#YouToo

by Candy Denman

  Jo hurried out of the surgery with a handful of visits she was determined to get through as quickly as possible. Mike Parton had in- formed her that Giles Townsend’s inquest was due to be opened that afternoon and Jo wanted to be there even though she was probably not needed. She knew the Coroner had all the statements, including her own, and that he would just open the inquest and immediately adjourn the proceedings to give the police a chance to investigate it thoroughly. It was unlikely that he would take evidence or interview witnesses at this point, but she wanted to see who else turned up, if anyone. Normally these affairs were unattended apart from an occasional local journalist, but due to the interest in the case, Jo suspected more people would be there. It would be enlightening to see who put in an appearance, and in particular, whether Mrs Townsend or any- one from the firm attended.

  The inquest opening was due to happen at Muriel Matters House, the Borough Council Building on the seafront, an entirely unexceptional sixties office block abutting a fine regency crescent and neoclassical church. Hastings was rightly proud that the well-known Australian suffragette, educationalist and labour party candidate for the constituency in the 1920s had chosen to settle in their town; it was just a shame there wasn’t a more prestigious building to name after her. The Borough Council Building was situated just across the road from Pelham Place carpark and, although it was another grey and drizzly day, and without a tourist in sight, it took Jo a little while to find a parking space.

  Arriving at the main door of the building a couple of minutes before proceedings were due to start, Jo was amazed to see a group of people hanging around on the pavement outside, including what looked like several journalists. She tried to make her way to the door but was stopped by a woman Jo recognised as being from the local newspaper. Whilst she had expected a few people to be interested by the salacious aspect of the case, she hadn’t expected it to be so many.

  ‘No point hurrying, they aren’t letting anyone in,’ the reporter told her.

  ‘Oh.’ Jo wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

  ‘Did you attend the scene?’ the woman asked as Jo looked round to see how best to make her escape.

  ‘No comment.’

  Both she and the journalist knew she couldn’t, and wouldn’t, talk about the case but experience had taught Jo that it was always easiest to make yourself scarce because one of the other journalists might not be so easy to put off. Jo looked round and saw Mike Parton looking out of a window in the main reception area. He spotted her and beckoned. Jo hurried over, pushing her way through the throng of people around the door. As soon as she got there, ignoring the questions being fired at her, he opened the normally automatic door and let her in quickly, holding up a hand to stop anyone else from trying to come in.

  ‘Gosh, I knew there would be some interest but I hadn’t expected there to be quite so many people.’

  ‘We thought we’d kept it fairly quiet but someone seems to have tipped off the press and told them that there would be a statement about some kind of development today.’ Mike led her down the short corridor as he spoke.

  ‘Someone from your office?’

  No.’ Mike’s lips were set in a firm line and he was clearly not amused by the suggestion.

  ‘And is there?’ Jo asked. ‘Going to be a statement, I mean?’

  ‘Not as far as either myself or the Coroner are aware.’ He ushered her into the council meeting room that the Coroner used for inquests one day a week. A list by the door informed her of two inquests that were due to be heard later in the day, neither of them Giles Townsend’s, as the Coroner only wanted to open and adjourn at this point and the business would be dealt with before the other events.

  The room was laid out with several rows of chairs for the public placed in a semicircle in front of a long table. There were three chairs be- hind the table, for the Coroner, the Coroner’s officer and the Coro- ner’s assistant, who was also the inquest manager. A chair was placed in front and to the side of the table for the person giving evidence. Mrs Townsend, dressed in an unfashionable and well-worn but useful black two-piece, was already sitting front centre and ignoring every- one else in the room. Antonia Hersham, in a very expensive-looking suit, and Mervyn Bartlett, looking slightly less well-turned out, were also seated at the front but a few seats to one side, leaving a gap that said a great deal about the relationship between Mrs Townsend and her husband’s colleagues. DI Miller was sitting towards the back. Jo smiled and sketched a small wave towards Miller. She was surprised that they were all here and wondered if they too had been tipped off about a possible statement.

  The door at the back of the room opened and the Coroner entered with his assistant and sat at the long table.

  ‘Please settle down everybody,’ he said sternly, and Jo quickly plonked herself down in a free chair. The Coroner cleared his throat.

  ‘I don’t like to have closed hearings but due to the unprecedented interest in this case and the fact that I will not be taking any evidence on this occasion, I have decided to keep the public out.’

  Antonia Hersham leapt to her feet.

  ‘Can I ask if you will be making any sort of statement relating to these proceedings?’

  ‘Ms Hersham.’ He looked at her with distaste and then looked di- rectly at Mrs Townsend, pointedly directing his next remark to her. ‘I can assure you that the only statement I will be making is that today I opened and adjourned the inquest into your husband’s death.’ He looked back at Antonia, ‘and I will be investigating exactly who told the press that I would be doing anything other than that.’

  He looked down at his notepad and Antonia flushed with anger. ‘I can assure you that no one at Townsend Bartlett had anything

  to do with it.’

  ‘Then you will have nothing to worry about with my investigation, will you?’

  Antonia sat down, still seething with anger at what the Coroner had intimated, as he did exactly as he had said he would. He declared the inquest open and then adjourned for further inquiries to take place. There was a moment of awkwardness and then everyone head- ed for the door. In the rush to get out, Antonia managed to elbow her way next to Mrs Townsend.

  ‘I do hope you don’t think anyone from the office would have said anything to the press?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Mrs Townsend replied, to Antonia’s evident relief, before continuing. ‘You and the firm will have been every bit as embarrassed by this furore as me.’ And the older woman marched away, leaving Antonia tight-lipped with fury, again.

  Back at the reception desk, Jo could see that the press pack was still waiting outside for the expected statement. There was a flash as a photographer started taking pictures through the glass and Mike took charge.

  ‘The back entrance is this way,’ he said and led them through to the staff carpark, where there was a gate out onto Castle Gardens. There was no one about, although if the press had any sense they would be hurrying round as quickly as they could run. ‘Mrs Townsend? Where are you parked?’

  Mike had gone straight to his car and was unlocking it as he spoke. ‘Pelham Place,’ Mrs Townsend answered quickly, getting into the

  passenger seat as she spoke.

  ‘Jo!’ Miller called as he too unlocked his car, but Jo just waved at him and moved towards Mike’s car.

  ‘Me too,’ Jo added and climbed into the back seat. Miller looked surprised and a little bit put out, which pleased Jo.

  Mike started the car and was pulling away before Antonia Hersh- am and her sidekick, as Jo was beginning to think of Mervyn Bartlett, could ask to get in as well. Jo resisted the urge to wave as Mike drove the car passed the two of them, Antonia looking daggers at them and holding a file over her head as it started to rain. Miller was still looking puzzled but shrugged as he got into his car. He clearly wasn’t going to offer a lift to the lawyers.

  ‘I’ll take you the long way around,’ Mike said as he indicated right at the end of the road, just as one or two of the journal
ists and photog- raphers hurried up the steps towards the entrance to Castle Gardens, ‘if you don’t mind?’

  Neither Jo nor Mrs Townsend had any objection to going the sce- nic route to avoid the press. Both were more than happy to leave the two solicitors to answer any questions they might have.

  Once they were on their way up the West Hill, Jo turned to Mrs Townsend and asked, ‘Did anyone contact you about the inquest to- day?’

  ‘Mr Parton, of course,’ Mrs Townsend replied.

  ‘But I suggested that you should not attend, Mrs Townsend, in case there were press present.’

  ‘But then I got a second call, from a girl at your office, telling me that the Coroner was going to make a statement and would like me to be there.’

  ‘You mean the Coroner’s office?’

  Mrs Townsend thought for a moment.

  ‘No, she said she was ringing for you as you were out of the office, and that you had asked her to call and let me know.’

  Mike gave Jo a look in the rear-view mirror. They both knew that he had no help in the office where he was based at the police station and there was no one that he could ask to make calls for him. The Coroner’s administrative office was not based in either the council or police station, which made communication a bit laborious at times but was important in order to show that the Coroner was impartial and separate from both.

  Jo wondered who could have called Mrs Townsend, and presumably the press, bringing them together like that. It would be good to know if Giles Townsend’s colleagues had been similarly contacted. It seemed that whoever was killing and humiliating the lawyers was set on doing the same to their family and colleagues.

  Jo had barely got into the main surgery office when Richard came over to her and hovered expectantly. Jo ignored him for a moment and picked up her basket of notes before turning to him and raising an eyebrow. He really was the most exasperating young man she had ever worked with.

  ‘Yes, Richard?’ she prompted, when he didn’t immediately speak.

  ‘My friend called. From the discharge team. They sent Mr Herring home this morning.’

  ‘Already?’ She put down her basket with a sigh. ‘I thought they would have at least kept him in a further night. I mean, they can’t even have had all his results back yet.’ Jo knew it was pointless taking out her irritation on the messenger, and also unfair. After all, he hadn’t discharged her patient, nor had he engineered the situation where there was a chronic shortage of hospital beds.

  Richard stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do or say next.

  ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s not your fault. It’s just frustrating when they hadn’t managed to get to the bottom of his problem.’ She tried to think of the best way forward.

  ‘I thought I’d visit him after evening surgery, if that’s all right with you?’ Richard said. Jo could have hugged him. As if it wouldn’t be all right with her; what with the rush round her visits and the kerfuffle of the non-inquest, Jo hadn’t even had time for a sandwich, so someone, anyone, actually volunteering to visit one of her patients was a god- send. Particularly Mr Herring.

  ‘Thank you,’ was the only response she had the energy to make as she was so tired and hungry. Linda took one look at her and took the situation into her own hands.

  ‘Tea and chocolate biscuits required,’ she said. And she was right, as always.

  It was only once Jo was tucked up on the sofa in her home, after an evening surgery that had seemed to last a lifetime, that she had time to think. Studiously ignoring the flashing light of the answering machine, knowing that it was almost certainly a message from her mother, she returned to her lightbulb moment from earlier and thought about the implications of it. The killer wasn’t just humiliating the lawyers, getting Mrs Townsend to the inquest and then alerting the press made it seem as if he or she was trying to inflict the same on their families. And colleagues. From what Antonia had said, it looked as if she had been told there would be a statement as well. Jo would have to ask Penny if she knew anything about how the message had come in.

  When she thought about it, the publicity around each of the incidents looked as if they were about inflicting maximum embarrassment and getting revenge, not just on the victims, but on those around them as well. Why would anyone do that? Why would Antonia do that if she was the person who had killed Giles, now that she had her partnership? Wouldn’t she want publicity around the whole affair to die down now? And why had only two of the lawyers been killed whilst others had lived to tell the tale, so to speak?

  Initially, Jo had thought that perhaps it was a disgruntled client or a criminal getting revenge, but then, with the revelation that Giles Townsend was in the habit of sexually harassing his staff, Jo had be- gun to believe that might be the reason. Someone’s sister or daughter had been a victim perhaps? But why would family and colleagues be involved? Unless, of course, it was because they allowed it to happen in some way. That seemed to make sense to Jo. Even if they hadn’t actively helped, their silence might have allowed the harassment to continue. Mrs Townsend must have known about the complaint against Giles. And if she knew and did nothing, apart from hide away in her big house in the country, perhaps she could be seen as complicit in some way. And the same with the firm. His last firm where the complaint had been made must have known at the time and, if it was still going on, Townsend Bartlett too. In fact, they must have been facilitating the abuse by sending the girls round to his flat to collect paperwork. That would make them a target, without doubt. And John Dixon might have been blamed for not following up on the complaint, perhaps. She could see how this theory worked for the Giles Townsend situation but how did Adrian Cole fit in? What had he done?

  Jo took a sip of tea and thought about the possibilities. Presumably it was something related to his work, as his employer had been targeted as well. Sexual harassment again? Jo sat up, excited; she really felt she was getting somewhere. Could there have been a complaint? And could it be that the victim was the same person? It seemed a stretch. And what about Doreen Ponting? Jo couldn’t believe that she was guilty of sexual harassment, although there was no reason why a wom- an couldn’t be, but was it likely? And could it really all be related to one victim in all these cases? It didn’t seem likely, but it wasn’t impossible. For someone to have been sexually assaulted or harassed at one place of work was unfortunate, but at two, or possibly three, different ones? Jo slumped back. It just wasn’t feasible.

  Perhaps, like John Dixon, Doreen had made the decision not to prosecute someone. That seemed a little harsh. Criminal cases had to be assessed on the likelihood of a successful prosecution. If the evidence wasn’t there, and the case was unlikely to be won, she would have had no choice but to make the hard decision not to take it forward.

  Much as she tried, Jo couldn’t think of any other reason why these people would be targeted. But she needed to find out if there was any supporting evidence for her theory before she took it to Miller, otherwise he would just laugh at her over-active imagination. Again. However, a thought came to her that had her sitting forward in excitement again. There was something that she could check that would convince him once and for all that there was a connection and possibly even give them the name of the person who might be the suspect, or related in some way to the suspect. She just had to find a way to get the information, and she knew exactly the person who could help. Or at least, could point her in the right direction.

  Chapter 18

  As she briskly walked along the High Street on her way to work, Jo sipped the double-shot espresso she had picked up from Judges Bakery. She knew it was the wrong way to try and ease her hangover; that the coffee would make her more dehydrated and worsen her headache, not to mention possibly even give her palpitations to add to her problems, but she needed it. Just to function this morning, she needed it. The bacon roll in her bag would help too. When she felt able to eat it. If she felt able to eat it. She had hoped the walk across the East Hill and down the steep
steps leading to Tackleway and the old town would help clear her head, as it had on many occasions before, but it hadn’t proved enough. Hence the stop at the bakery. She took a sip of coffee and groaned quietly to herself.

  The night before, in her hurry to go and see Kate, who was in the Jenny Lind again, Jo had forgotten that she was tired and hadn’t eaten anything since the chocolate biscuits that Linda had produced for her. She was useless with alcohol at the best of times, but drinking on an empty stomach was always a bad idea. What made it worse was that Kate had been of little help and could only suggest that Jo try and see Doreen Ponting and ask her if she had ever considered a complaint against Giles Townsend, and if she had done so, had she then decided against prosecuting.

  Kate had been firm; there was no way she could find out about a decision by the CPS not to prosecute someone. No one would be willing to help. She was a defence solicitor, one of the enemy, and if she tried any underhand means to get the information, she would be laying herself open to a complaint of professional misconduct. Jo would have to find the information out for herself, either through the police or from Doreen Ponting. Of course, it had taken several drinks before Jo gave up trying to persuade her friend and Kate had insisted on buying her share of rounds to compensate for not being any help and also because she had been stood up. The musician she fancied and who she had chatted up when he played there the last time had promised to meet her but he wasn’t there. Musicians are notoriously unreliable, Jo had told her, but it was hopeless. Kate believed that the unreliability just added to their charm. Except when she was stood up like this. This was an insult. The combined result of her not being able to help Jo and feeling insulted was that they had both had far too much to drink.

  And Jo was certainly paying for it now. As she arrived at the surgery, she glanced up the road towards Mrs Springfield’s cottage. She really ought to find time to visit soon, or at least check in with the district nursing team to see how her patient was doing. Sticking it on her mental to-do list, Jo went in to work.