Recalled to Death

by Priscilla Masters

  Martha had planned very carefully what to say.

  She scanned the room. The pathologist from West Sussex was present – she’d spoken to him again at length. As she was a doctor they had quickly established a rapport and, when she had given him the backstory, he had been intrigued enough to travel up to Shropshire.

  She began, as usual, with her opening speech.

  ‘You may find it very strange, ladies and gentlemen, that the inquests on Simeon van Helsing, the man who was a vagrant in the environs of Shrewsbury and who was murdered in September in the grounds of Moreton Corbet Castle, and Rafael Poulson, who drowned in a sailing accident in West Sussex five years ago, should both be held here, in Shrewsbury. Be patient …’ She scanned the room. ‘There is a connection.’

  She paused. ‘I shall relate events chronologically and perhaps all will be made clear.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘March the fifth, in the year 2000, was a Sunday. It was cold and blustery. Nevertheless, three people, a husband, wife and male friend, decided to go sailing in a boat called …’ She couldn’t resist a glance at Randall, who was watching her with a fascinated, rapt look tinged with apprehension, ‘the Lucy Manette.’

  Alex gave a nod, understanding, and she carried on. ‘The exact circumstances of the tragedy are unclear. What is certain is that the boat capsized. One person, a man, was later found drowned and identified as her husband by Verity van Helsing, who survived the accident.’ Here she allowed her eyes to dwell, just for a moment, on Verity van Helsing, who was wearing an expensive-looking black suit, and a hat with a veil which hid her eyes and her face, except for a pink-lipsticked mouth.

  ‘The man was subsequently buried as Simeon van Helsing and the million-pound life insurance money was paid out. The other body was never found.’ She waited. The court was silent, knowing there was more – much more.

  ‘Only one person knows what happened that day on the Lucy Manette – Mrs Van Helsing.’ She addressed the woman directly. ‘I know you’ve already given an account of the tragedy to the West Sussex coroner. But we now know that the man whom you …’ she dropped the emphasis to sit, heavy and accusatory, in the courtroom like a bad smell, ‘identified as your husband, apparently drowned, in fact was not your husband but your … family friend.’ Again, she allowed the phase to be suggestive. ‘Perhaps …’ Martha directed a sugary sweet smile at Verity. ‘Perhaps you’d like to give us the true account of that Sunday in March?’ She tried to ignore the furious look Verity van Helsing aimed at her, but was delighted to see the gentlemen of the press were taking copious notes. Now what, she wondered, would be their headlines? Widow in tragic mix up? Or something else? Something a little less innocent, a little more pointed. A little more perceptive and subtly accusatory? Would they be taken in by Verity’s pretty face and slight figure or would they see right through to her other side? The dark side. Would any of them dare to make the connection between one fatal accident and a murder, look at the common denominator and, oh, yes, point a finger at the innocent-looking and beautiful Mrs Van Helsing? A bit of trial by headline?

  Verity made her elegant way towards the witness box and turned towards Martha, as though ready to challenge her. Instead she said softly and politely. ‘Where do you want me to start, Coroner?’

  ‘First of all,’ Martha said, ‘would you like to tell me who the man who died in the boating accident five years ago really was?’

  Had Verity been a cat she would have hissed and had her claws out by now instead of simply tightening her lips. ‘It seems as if he must have been Mr Poulson.’

  Martha was determined to hammer this one out – hard. ‘And remind me – who,’ she asked, eyes wide, ‘was Mr Poulson?’

  ‘Mr Rafael Poulson was a close friend of my husband’s.’ Verity couldn’t quite conceal her irritation.

  Martha sometimes wished she wore glasses. It would have given her account some natural pauses as she took them on and off. Time to think. ‘We have here a letter …’ she scanned the room, ‘verified as having been written by your husband, Mr Simeon van Helsing, which puts a rather different light on that.’

  Verity licked her lips. ‘Letter?’

  The rules of disclosure did not apply to coroner’s courts, unlike courts of law.

  ‘Yes,’ Martha said. And if Verity was struggling not to sound guilty she was making a similar effort not to sound smug. ‘It was left by Mr Simeon van Helsing, concealed near the place where he was murdered. This letter gives us a different account of the relationship between Mr Poulson and your husband which appears to give us another story.’ She held the transcript up. ‘I quote: “We had many friends, amongst whom was a man called Rafael Poulson. I don’t know how he became one of our circle of friends. He liked boats and said he’d been in the military like his father and grandfather before him. Another family business, he joked. I didn’t even think Verity liked him. But perhaps dancers can be actresses too. I never saw her speak to him but he was apparently one of our friends. Suddenly there he was.”’

  Martha paused to allow the words and their tacit implication time to sink in then she addressed the court again. ‘However, the purpose of this court is not to investigate the origins of friendships but to ascertain who died, where, when and, if possible, why or how.’ She knew the law demanded she stop there. If the CPS found the letter inadmissible as evidence and not enough to charge the widow then she would be in contempt of court if she carried on – however tempted she might be.

  She turned again to the widow. ‘So, Mrs Van Helsing, you were in the boat with this mutual friend, and the boat capsized.’ She scanned the room. Everyone was watching. There was an air of tension. Verity was watching her very warily, anxiety marking her face even with the paralysing effect of Botox.

  She responded in a breathy, Marilyn Monroe sort of voice. ‘That’s correct. I don’t remember exactly what happened or how. I just remember the boat going over with a huge, horrible splash.’ She put a tissue to her eyes as though to blot tears. But Martha was near enough to see that there were none.

  ‘I believe you managed to secure yourself to a life raft.’

  Verity nodded. ‘I hardly remember,’ she said. ‘I suppose I must have done. And then I was rescued.’

  Martha could feel a subtle change wash over the court. Verity was doing a great acting job but it wasn’t winning her any sympathy from the courtroom.

  She moved on briskly. ‘Quite. And then what, Mrs Van Helsing?’

  ‘I was called in on the following day to identify my husband.’

  ‘Aah.’ Martha held her finger up to make sure everyone heard, particularly the members of the press who would, if they wanted, make much of this. ‘Your husband.’

  And now the widow looked distinctly wary. She was worried what Martha was about to say.

  ‘I have a found a little out about Mr Poulson. He was six feet tall, was he not?’

  ‘I – I don’t know. I don’t remember.’ She looked around the courtroom desperately, searching for a friendly face. ‘It was a long time ago. I was traumatized.’

  ‘Whereas your husband’s height was five feet nine inches.’

  Again, she stopped while Verity watched her, wide-eyed with apprehension.

  Martha ploughed on doggedly. ‘Mr Poulson was also balding whereas your husband had a full head of hair, did he not?’

  ‘I didn’t look that closely. I was in such a state.’

  Martha felt the ripple go around the room with a sense of satisfaction. Gotcha.

  ‘I was very upset,’ Verity continued, still trying to convince the court, whereas she didn’t need to. ‘I was in shock,’ she insisted, unaware that Martha had no jurisdiction over wrongful identification.

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Martha continued smoothly, ‘whatever the circumstances, it would appear that the man buried as your husband was, in fact, Rafael Poulson.’ She looked around the room with the blandest of expression. ‘Family friend. It would appear a case of wrongful identity.’

&nbs
p; Verity fidgeted, itching to get out of that witness stand. But Martha hadn’t quite finished with her yet.

  To prolong the agony she summoned the pathologist who had performed the post-mortem on Rafael Poulson and asked him to detail the man’s injuries and cause of death.

  Pathologists were frequently quite defensive when such a mistake had occurred, but in this case he was a competent, experienced pathologist with probably only a year or two to go before retiring. He was perfectly comfortable giving evidence under such circumstances.

  ‘The primary cause of death,’ he said, ‘was drowning. Sea water was expelled from the lungs during the procedure. A contributory factor would have been a nasty blow on the head, possibly from the boom swinging across at the time when the boat capsized. The gentleman had been in the water some hours so hypothermia might also have played a part in his inability to keep afloat or, indeed, to make his way to the life raft, which had been inflated.’

  Martha pursed her lips and sneaked a glance at Verity, who looked pale but defiant. She wondered then. Had Verity tried to get Poulson into the life raft or not? They would probably never know.

  She addressed the pathologist again. ‘There was no suspicion of foul play on Mr Poulson’s body?’

  The pathologist paused. He knew exactly what she was getting at. ‘The man wrongly identified as Mr Simeon van Helsing and now identified as being Rafael Poulson had injuries and a cause of death consistent with drowning in sea water following a sailing mishap.’ He met Martha’s eyes. ‘There was nothing to either prove or disprove foul play.’

  He raised his eyebrows. A mute, but unmistakable message. You won’t push me further than that, Coroner Gunn.

  She bowed her head, acknowledging his experience and professionalism. ‘In that case, I have to concur with my West Sussex colleague that the cause of death of the man brought from the sea on 7 March 2000 wrongly identified as Simeon van Helsing and now known to be Rafael Poulson was drowning, and therefore my verdict is one of misadventure.’ She eyed the press. ‘In other words, I have to concur with the pathologist. This appears an accident.’

  Like obedient schoolkids, they duly scribbled.

  ‘Now then, back to the real Simeon van Helsing, who was still very much alive. Mrs Van Helsing, can you think of any reason why your husband did not return home when he had survived the boating accident?’

  Zombie-like, Verity shook her head.

  ‘And why he made the unusual choice to adopt the life of a vagrant?’

  Another mute shake of the head and a dab of the eye.

  She let her go.

  Martha then addressed the court. ‘Mr Van Helsing offered some explanation in a letter he wrote. He hid this account in the castle where his body was found. I understand the police are considering it as evidence.’ She would love to have been able to then say, and on the strength of it, considering prosecution, but she sensed Alex Randall’s shoulders stiffening and knew she could go so far and no further.

  ‘However, as far as the gentleman we now know to be Simeon van Helsing is concerned, we shall hear first from the pathologist. Doctor Sullivan?’

  Mark duly rose and approached the witness box, swore on oath and looked across at her. ‘Would you give us your findings, please?’

  ‘The body we now know to be that of Mr Simeon van Helsing was found at Moreton Corbet Castle on September the twelfth at ten-thirty a.m. I pronounced him dead at the scene and estimated that he had died some time the previous evening, probably about eighteen hours earlier. The body was removed to the mortuary in Shrewsbury and I performed a post-mortem at nine a.m. on Monday, September the fifteenth.’

  There followed a list of people present at the post-mortem, details of procedure and samples taken.

  Martha sneaked a glance at Verity. She looked pale and was swaying very slightly. She sent a coded message to Jericho. He handed her a glass of water.

  ‘The cause of death, Doctor Sullivan?’

  ‘The cause of death of Mr Van Helsing,’ Mark said heavily, ‘was shock due to haemorrhage due to a fatal throat wound.’

  ‘Was it possible he could have inflicted this wound on himself?’

  A slow shake of the head. ‘And no weapon was found nearby.’

  He gave out a few more details, a low alcohol level, no contributory factors of disease. Martha risked another look at Verity, who had now pulled her veil right down over her face. ‘So, Doctor Sullivan, you agree that Mr Simeon van Helsing’s death was due to homicide.’ Again, she addressed the wider court in a loud, clear voice. ‘I understand the police have made an arrest.’ Another pause to give her next statement clear emphasis. ‘I understand the person charged with Mr Van Helsing’s murder is a colleague of yours, Mrs Van Helsing.’

  No response from the bench.

  Martha would have loved to have made a sarcastic comment about two of her friends being touched by tragedy, but she didn’t dare. All she could do was steer the press towards an observation.

  She continued, ‘In fact, an employee of Van Helsing Shoe Company.’ She had been determined to mention the firm.

  Another pause.

  ‘And I understand that the perpetrator is a man who I believe to have been very loyal towards you and your company, someone who only joined the firm four years ago, after your husband’s disappearance.’

  Verity lifted her veil just long enough to shoot Martha a fiery stare. Then she dropped the black lace over her face again.

  The verdicts were a foregone conclusion, that Poulson had died as a result of an accident and Simeon’s was homicide. Martha didn’t need to add, by person or persons unknown.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Monday, 22 December, midday.

  It was almost a month later that Alex called in her office. Christmas was looming, Sukey was home for the holiday and Sam was preparing for the Boxing Day match. Jericho had erected a small Christmas tree in the lobby. Martha had read the headlines after the inquest and knew that, as anticipated, no charge had been made against Verity van Helsing. She did have some consolation, though. Shares in the Van Helsing Shoe Company had dropped with the news that the USA, Australia and France had cancelled their military contracts. The scandal had had a knock-on effect.

  A few celebrities were also reputed to have pulled out, citing a discomfort with the adverse publicity of the two cases which were intertwined as fatally as bindweed to the Van Helsing Shoe Company. Martha felt that, to some extent, the man they had dubbed ‘Charles’ had had his revenge. But how cold a dish.

  She wasn’t sure she would ever really understand his motives for dropping out so completely from his previous privileged life. Why hadn’t he simply gone to the police and told them what he knew? Could it possibly have been because he’d known the business he’d inherited would finally fold? Had his best contribution for Van Helsing Shoes been to disappear, to vaporize? Had he still felt a misguided love for his treacherous wife? Who could know?

  Something else bothered her – another point that she would never have answered. Simeon van Helsing had hidden his books in the chimney, both the novel and the exercise book. Why then? Had he then known that the man who had seen him in the town was stalking him like a tiger through the jungle? Had he foreseen his destiny?

  And while she understood him carrying the little girl’s clog around with him, a simple reminder of the best of human nature, had he really carried the Second World War medals around to remind him of the opposite? Of treachery, perjury and lies?

  What she didn’t know and what was disturbing her was how DI Alex Randall had viewed her performance at the inquest. He hadn’t been in touch since then and that made her uneasy. So she was glad when he rang on that Monday afternoon, giving no clue as to his view, simply asking, in a terse voice, whether he could come and see her in her office.

  ‘Of course, Alex,’ she said, and waited uneasily for his arrival.

  She had time to reflect. When one was young and sure of one’s attractiveness to the opposite sex things
were so much simpler. Now, looking back, she had taken so much for granted. But now – oh, it was so easy to fall into big mistakes, bigger misunderstandings and a state of toe-curling embarrassment by misreading the signs.

  She needn’t have worried. When he arrived he was wearing a large grin, a pair of smart navy jeans and a pale blue sweater. He walked in with a confidence she hadn’t seen before.

  ‘Martha,’ he said. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch. We’ve been finalising the case against Mr Schumacher, who paints an interesting story.’

  ‘Go on.’

  There was a twinkle in his eye as he continued. ‘Let’s go somewhere for lunch. My Christmas treat. Somewhere nice.’

  So they found themselves in the lovely panelled room of Drapers’ Hall. Right in the middle of town, in St Mary’s Square, opposite the church, studying the menu. ‘This is nice, Alex,’ she said impulsively.

  ‘Go on, say it,’ he said. ‘We should do it more often.’

  She should have said then, Woah, held her hands up and made her intentions clear – or at least clearer. But she didn’t and this omission would have long shadows which would one day reach into the most private corner of her life.

  ‘Well,’ Alex continued, perfectly at ease, ‘our Mr Schumacher has come completely clean and told us everything – and more. He claims he was having an affair with Verity who, incidentally, completely denies all this, but he will have his say in court, Martha. He won’t go down for murder without a struggle.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He told us that the beautiful Verity …’

  So you had noticed.

  DI Randall continued smoothly, oblivious to her wince, ‘… had promised to marry him.’ He made a face, ‘Though I doubt it somehow. Blackmailed into marrying him, more like. Anyway, it would have been impossible had her husband still been alive. The life insurance and assets would have been strained. And besides … he knew full well that the scandal would destroy the company. Their reputation had been built up on a fourth-generation family business: traditional, personal care, everything ethical and above board caring for their customers’ generations and so on. The tragedy of Simeon’s presumed drowning only enhanced the sense of a personal, family business. Since the news of the mix up, his strange decision to become wilfully homeless and the murder broke, their shares have plummeted. One whiff of scandal and many of their customers have abandoned them.’