She had never felt as alone as she did sitting in the office at the back of the hall decorated with pictures of Noah and his ark. She'd spent two nights away from home in this small Welsh town and had had only one message from Steve, to say congratulations on getting her job back. He would have come over and seen her only he'd picked up a few days' forestry work and needed the money. She had detected an edge in his voice: she had things to do, so had he. Alison hadn't called and nor had Moreton. The only person who had was Williams, and he was beginning to worry her: he was so eager to stick it to the English, she'd had to tell him to calm down and make sure not to be too heavy-handed. Her isolation had, however, allowed her to realize something about her own motives. It was no longer just about getting justice for Danny Wills or Katy Taylor; she wanted to do it properly, she wanted to be Jenny Cooper, the coroner, and be successful at it. Respected.

  She had taken a single temazepam and had a tube of primed mints in her pocket. Short of sleep and scared, the medication was barely touching her. Her heartbeat was up, her palms were clammy and her tongue felt too big for her mouth. She should have found a doctor over the weekend and replaced the pills she had thrown down the sink, but she'd convinced herself she'd be so fired up she wouldn't need them. It had made perfect sense in a hotel room, but about to hold court she couldn't see how she'd get through.

  Arvel's funereal footsteps approached on the other side of the door. He knocked twice.

  'Come in.' The words stuck in her throat.

  The seventy-year-old entered and stood to attention, wearing a regimental blazer and tie beneath his usher's gown, grey hair slicked down, shoes gleaming. 'We're ready for you now, ma'am.'

  She stepped into the roomy, high-ceilinged hall, which had been built in Victorian times as a school room and still conveyed a sense of grim purpose. Her table, draped with green baize, was positioned by itself, a good twelve feet away from a row of desks spanning nearly the entire width of the hall at which sat a row of aggressive, indignant-looking lawyers. Hartley held pole position in the centre.

  To her right, occupying two rows of four chairs, sat the jury. The rest of the hall was crammed with hungry journalists. Simone Wills and two friends, women Jenny remembered from the adjourned hearing, were squeezed on to the end of a row, shooting angry looks at the reporters invading their space. There was no sign of any UKAM executives and the only one of the summoned witnesses she could see was Justin Bennett, wedged in by the door. Jenny took her seat with a growing sense of unreality. A hundred pairs of eyes fixed on her.

  Keeping it brief to hide the tremor in her voice, she thanked everyone for their patience during the adjournment and said she hoped their business could now be concluded swiftly. She could see Hartley trying to catch her eye, eager to take the stage, but made him wait, turning to Arvel, who had tucked himself at a desk with a tape recorder to her left, between her and the lawyers.

  'Mr Hughes, have each of the witnesses answered their summons?'

  He stood up and bowed in a studied display of deference. 'No, ma'am.' He read from his clipboard through reading glasses. 'Mr Justin Bennett is present; witnesses Mrs Elaine Lewis, Dr Nicholas Peterson, Mr Frank Grantham, Mr Darren Hogg and Mr Kevin Stewart have failed to attend.'

  'Thank you.' Jenny turned to the lawyers. She counted two counsel apart from Hartley and four instructing solicitors. 'I take it some of these parties are represented here this morning.'

  Hartley, their nominated leader, got to his feet. 'Ma'am, as you know, I represent UKAM Secure Solutions Ltd and by agreement Mrs Elaine Lewis—'

  'Not Mr Hogg or Mr Stewart?'

  'No, ma'am. I have received no instructions to do so. Indeed, I had no idea they had been summoned until this morning. I think it's fair to say that, given recent events, this resumed hearing came as rather a surprise to most of us in this room.'

  Ignoring his attempt to embarrass her, Jenny said, 'Perhaps you could ask your instructing solicitors to find out where they are? I have certificates from the process server confirming that documents and conduct monies were delivered to their home addresses on Saturday evening. As their employers, your clients have to let them comply with this court's request even if it means missing work.'

  'I can assure you my clients are perfectly aware of their obligations—'

  'Then where is Mrs Lewis?' Jenny heard herself snap like a schoolmistress, her tension spilling over into irritation.

  'Mrs Lewis is in Washington, DC, ma'am, on an extended business trip expected to last several weeks.'

  'She received her summons in person thirty-six hours ago. If you're telling me she has left the country since, then I'll have to treat it as contempt.'

  Hartley said, 'Firstly, I would like to extend my client's sincere apologies for not being able to defer her trip, and secondly, I would ask you to consider a less drastic course of action, namely taking evidence from her, should it be necessary, via a video link. The use of such technology has been encouraged by the Lord Chief Justice in recent practice directions.'

  Several of the other lawyers smiled at Hartley's subtle jibe at the primitive facilities in the make-do courtroom.

  Jenny held her temper. 'You will provide me with details of her current whereabouts and I will apply to the High Court for a warrant for her arrest.'

  She knew that a UK coroner had no power to issue a warrant with effect beyond the borders of the UK, a fact which UKAM's lawyers had doubtless confirmed to their anxious clients some time late on Saturday night. To repatriate Elaine Lewis would involve a lengthy and costly procedure which a team of highly paid lawyers in the US courts could postpone indefinitely.

  Assured of his client's safety, Hartley said, 'I will gladly furnish those details to your officer,' and resumed his seat, omitting to bow.

  Next on his feet was a foppish young barrister in a hand- stitched pinstripe suit who attempted an imitation of Hartley's attitude of mild disdain. He announced himself as Henry Golding representing Dr Peterson, who, he said, was seeking a clarification of the issues on which he was being asked to give evidence. Having already testified, Golding argued that his client was entitled to know exactly why he was being called back. And if the answer to that raised any controversial issues he was instructed to seek an adjournment on the grounds that Peterson's computer files had recently been hacked into and disturbed. It would be impossible for him to refer to any of them, Golding assured her, until their integrity had been established beyond all shadow of doubt.

  Confident she was on firm ground, Jenny said, 'Mr Golding, you have given no lawful excuse for your client's failure to answer his summons and the questions I wish to ask him are about a body he examined only a few weeks ago.'

  With a smile he clearly considered endearing, Golding said that, with respect, Dr Peterson was carrying out up to half a dozen post-mortems per day. He couldn't be expected to recall details of a case he dealt with nearly two months ago.

  'Thank you, Mr Golding,' Jenny said. 'I have noted your submissions.'

  Thrown by her response, he mouthed emptily for a moment, then, with a theatrical shrug, said, 'And your decision is, ma'am?'

  'I'll hear from remaining counsel first.'

  Golding sat down with a bemused expression and looked to Hartley for confirmation that he was right to be confused. The older lawyer gave him an insincere smile, glad the young man was no threat.

  The third barrister, Pamela Sharpe, a woman of a similar age to Jenny whom she vaguely recognized from the family courts, rose slowly to her feet, pretending to be engrossed in far more important matters in her file. Drawing herself away with apparent reluctance, she said that she had been instructed to inform the court that Mr Grantham was also seeking clarification and an adjournment, firstly, on the grounds that no senior manager in a vital public service could be expected to answer a summons at such short notice, and secondly, on the grounds that he had no material evidence to give, never having had anything to do with Danny Wills or his case. Before Jenny could answer she sat down, as if there was no conceivable argument to the contrary.

  'Do you want me to respond to that, Miss Sharpe?'

  The barrister rose wearily to her feet, her look to the jury saying this had better be worth the effort.

  'You and your client both appear to have similar attitudes towards the authority of this court,' Jenny said. There were smirks among the instructing solicitors. 'The most perfunctory reading of the law would have informed you that I alone determine which witnesses it is necessary and in the interests of justice to call, and that refusal to attend when lawfully summoned is an offence.'

  'It is customary to ask a witness to an inquest to provide a statement in advance, ma'am.'

  Pamela Sharpe's unyielding defiance sent a bolt of anxiety through her. It was always the way: people who refused to connect emotionally while inviting conflict caused her to panic.

  'Miss Sharpe,' Jenny said, her heart crashing against her ribs, 'I am issuing warrants for the arrest of your client, Dr Peterson, Mr Hogg and Mr Stewart.'

  'Surely a brief adjournment—' 'No.'

  Golding shot to his feet in protest. 'Ma'am, I'm sure my client will come to court without having to be arrested.'

  Erupting, Jenny said, 'Do I have to spell it out, Mr Golding? Each of your clients has ignored a summons. That's a criminal offence.' She aimed her last word at Hartley: 'And fleeing the jurisdiction is particularly serious. Mrs Lewis can expect the consequences to be severe.'

  Hartley, untroubled, traded a look of mutual condescension with Pamela Sharpe, assuming their victory in Jenny's loss of cool. Just wait, their expressions seemed to say, she'll do our job for us.

  Jenny nodded to Arvel, who brought over a sheaf of pre- prepared warrants. She signed each of them and asked him to telephone Williams with instructions to execute them immediately. While he retreated to a side room to make the call, she ordered Justin Bennett forward to the witness chair.

  It took her a while to register the full change in Bennett's appearance. He still wore a short ponytail, but the dreadlocks had vanished, as had all but one of the earrings and studs. He was dressed in a brand-new charcoal suit with a shirt and tie. He read the oath card in a quiet, obedient voice, giving every impression of wanting to assist the court. Jenny felt her anxiety subside a little.

  The three barristers listened intently, taking verbatim notes as Justin explained that he had dealt with and met Danny on numerous occasions before his reception into Portshead Farm. He confirmed that he was a difficult boy from an unstable family and it was no surprise to him that the family's social worker, Ruth Turner, had called him a fortnight before his sentencing hearing to say he was in a fragile mental state. Jenny asked him if he acted on Ruth Turner's phone call in any way. He glanced guiltily over at Simone Wills and said no, apart from mentioning in the pre-sentence report that Danny was deeply disturbed at the prospect of custody.

  'Mr Bennett,' Jenny said, 'with hindsight, would you have done anything differently?'

  'I could have tried for a psychiatric referral. But I'm not saying I would have got one. Every young person I see could do with some help of that kind. That's just the way it is.'

  Simone's overweight friend - the trainee porn star - put an arm around her as she started to sob. Looking at her, Jenny felt oddly dispassionate, thinking about Simone on Saturday night, noisily humping her new boyfriend with five kids downstairs.

  'After he went into custody, did you have any further contact with Danny?'

  Justin shook his head. 'No.'

  'But you did hear about him?'

  'Yes . . .' The lawyers all looked up at once. 'I was dealing with another client, Katy Taylor, a fifteen-year-old girl who came out of Portshead Farm at the end of her sentence on 17 April. I saw her on the 18th at my office and again on the Friday, the 20th. That's when she spoke about Danny.'

  'What did she say?'

  Justin aimed his answer at the floor, his voice hardly carrying across the room. 'We'd been talking about whether her time in custody had changed her. She told me she thought it had, but only because she was frightened to go back ... I asked her why that was and she wouldn't really say . . . It's the way we're trained, not to push kids to answer, to let things come out in their own time ... It was right near the end of our session and she was getting up to go when she asked if I remembered Danny. I said of course, she knew I did. She kind of went quiet for a moment - unusual for her - then said she'd been worried about him at Portshead. She'd bumped into him a couple of times in the canteen before he hanged himself. He'd seemed in a bad way, quiet and depressed. The last time she saw him, the evening before he died, she went over and asked him what was the matter, and he told her he was having trouble with one of the staff, didn't say who. I think she said why didn't he do something about it. Danny told her he was going to, he was going to get hold of a knife to defend himself . . . That was it, all the conversation they had.'

  'Did she have anything else to say about him?'

  'Only that it seemed strange he was thinking about defending himself just before he committed suicide.'

  'Did she mention having any problems of her own with the staff?'

  'No, not specifically, but—'

  'But what, Mr Bennett?'

  'I got a feeling from her that there might have been something, but, like I said, I didn't push it. I was expecting to see her again in a few days.'

  Jenny turned to the jury. 'The reason Mr Bennett didn't see Katy Taylor again was that she went missing two days later and was found dead on the outskirts of the city, eight days after that. You may have read about her case in the press. The police are currently investigating.'

  She braced herself for Hartley's objection, but none came. He'd turned to his solicitor and was in whispered conversation. The expressions on the jurors' faces were suddenly deadly serious, as if a dark cloud had settled over the courtroom. Simone had stopped sobbing but looked ashen.

  Jenny said, 'How well did Katy and Danny know each other?'

  'They weren't exactly close,' Bennett replied, 'but they'd been on the same drugs awareness course last December, and I think they'd been at the same primary school.'

  'What was your reaction to this information?'

  'I was very worried by it. I'd known Danny a long time. I was shocked when I heard he was dead.'

  'Did you tell anyone what Katy had said?'

  'Yes. I'd already had a call from the coroner, Mr Marshall, a few days before, asking if I knew anything relevant. He left me his number, so I called him that same evening and passed on what she had told me.'

  'What did he say?'

  'He thanked me very much and said he'd like to talk to her himself.

  'I said, maybe it would be best if he left it a few days and let me speak to her first, see if she came out with anything more. I didn't think Katy would have opened up to a complete stranger like that. But he insisted, so I gave him her mobile number.'

  'So, as of the evening of Friday 20 April, Mr Marshall, the then coroner, knew that Danny had told Katy Taylor he was having trouble with a member of staff and that he was seeking a knife to defend himself?'

  'Yes. He did.'

  'And did he call Katy?'

  'I've no idea.'

  'Thank you, Mr Bennett. If you'd like to wait there. You may be asked some more questions.'

  Hartley had a hurried word with his two fellow counsel and rose to represent all of them. 'Mr Bennett, Miss Taylor gave you no information about the circumstances of Danny Wills's death, did she?'

  'No.'

  'She had a lengthy criminal record and was a frequent drug user, was she not?'

  'Yes.'

  'And despite her tender years she was also suspected of prostitution.'

  'Yes . . .' A note of annoyance entered Justin's voice. 'But there was a lot more to her than that.'

  'I'm sure there was, and I'm sure we're all extremely sorry for her tragic death.' He paused in a moment of unconvincing sympathy. 'Now, if you could please tell me whether Danny Wills had previous convictions for crimes of violence?'

  'He did. Several.'

  'Then would it be fair to say that if he was having trouble with a member of staff, whatever that might mean, he was the kind of young man who might well have thought in terms of a violent response?'

  Jenny watched Justin, his gaze fixed on his feet, blink several times as if suppressing an uncharacteristic violent urge of his own and then round on his questioner. 'He was the kind of kid we try to help but usually fail. I don't know what happened to him any more than you do, but I do know that if he hadn't been sent away he wouldn't be dead. Custody doesn't work - if it did, I'd be out of a job and so would you.'

  'Your passion is admirable, Mr Bennett. I don't think anyone in this room feels anything other than deeply sad that a young life was lost. And in my long experience it's always so much more perplexing when it happens for no apparent reason.'

  Jenny was about to call an adjournment when there was a disturbance at the back of the hall. Journalists who'd finally got a clear view of the action were forced to shuffle aside as two uniformed police officers arrived with Grantham and Peterson. Grantham was puce with rage; Peterson had the grey pallor of a man facing the gallows. DS Williams stepped in behind them with a look of profound satisfaction. Bennett's evidence had taken less than forty minutes, which meant his officers must have been already waiting for the two men, ready to pounce.

  Williams nodded to Arvel, who got to his feet. 'Witnesses Mr Frank Grantham and Dr Nicholas Peterson are now present, ma'am.'

  A murmur of anticipation spread through the gallery. Jenny called for quiet and asked Grantham to come forward. She felt an unhealthy burst of adrenalin, and while a constable followed him all the way to the witness chair, she picked a mint out of the packet on her desk and sucked out the half-pill.

  She then thanked the police officer and released him, affording Grantham the dignity of being able to face the court without looking like a criminal. But he nevertheless glared at her with a degree of venom she had only experienced in the bitterest of marital rows. She fought the tightness in her throat and offered a brief, silent prayer. She was in charge and had to act as if she meant it.

 

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