The Redeemed (26 page)

A mortuary
technician was sluicing down a body as Jenny arrived at the Vale early the next
morning to talk to Andy Kerr. He was caught up in a call to the lab, which he
took on the phone screwed to the autopsy room wall, leaving Jenny, dressed in
green overalls, to watch the end of the procedure on the table next to the one
on which Freddy's naked body lay. The corpse was that of a woman of about her
age and bore no obvious signs of injury.

The technician,
a small, wiry man with unnaturally bright eyes, said, 'A bit close to home,
eh?'

Jenny gave a
half-hearted smile and looked away. She didn't want to know how the woman had
died.

'Sorry about
that.' Andy came off the phone and pulled on a pair of gloves. 'Is there
anything I should know about him?'

'I'm still
waiting for his medical records,' Jenny said, 'but I do know there was a
history of mental illness, I'm guessing manic depression.'

'We'll run blood
tests for the usual drugs. Anything physical?'

'Not as far as I
know.'

Andy began with
a visual examination. Starting at the feet, he checked for signs of bruising,
abrasions or needle marks. Finding nothing of note, he moved on to the midsection,
scanning the skinny abdomen and chest before levering the body onto its side to
examine the back.

'No cuts or
bruises. No sign of a struggle.' He leaned in close to inspect the welt left by
the washing line. 'No bruising around the mid or lower neck -' he glanced back
down at the legs - 'the blood's pooled in the lower half of the body. A classic
case of self-inflicted asphyxiation I'd say.'

Jenny nodded. It
was exactly as she had expected, but part of her had been hoping for evidence
of violence having been used against him. She didn't want any doubt hanging
over Freddy. She was sure she would establish that he had been at the Mission
Church the night of Eva's murder, but his suicide raised a suspicion she
couldn't ignore. His history suggested instability; his closeness to Eva hinted
at motive.

She dismissed
the thought. It was more likely that Freddy had killed himself out of despair.
Having looked up to Eva and seen her as living proof of healing and redemption,
her death must have shaken him to the core. Perhaps he had been in love with
her. Scarred as she was, it would have been almost impossible for any young man
who knew her not to have been.

'Are you OK?'
Andy asked, reaching for the nine-inch knife he would use to make the first
incision.

'Fine. Just
thinking.'

'You've never
got used to this, have you?'

She glanced at
Freddy's plaster-white face, the sharp bones jutting through his hollow cheeks.
'I was with him the other day.'

Andy set the
knife down on the counter. 'Why don't you wait in my office?'

It would have
been the sensible thing to do, but a voice in her head insisted she stay,
telling her she owed it to Freddy to see it through to the end.

'I'll stay,'
Jenny said, 'I'll just look the other way.'

She stepped back
to the corner of the room and stared at anything but the autopsy table as Andy
opened the cadaver, first with a knife, then with shears to crop through the
stubborn ribs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him excising the tongue
muscle, drawing it down through the throat and carrying it to the counter for
dissection. The small, horseshoe- shaped hyoid bone, which sat halfway between
the bottom of the chin and the Adam's apple, always yielded the first major
clue in a suspected suicide by hanging. If the victim had been strangled by a
third party, it would invariably be broken; if he had hanged himself, the point
of compression would be higher up the neck.

'Hyoid's
intact,' Andy said. 'Looks like my theory's safe.'

She heard it
rattle as it hit the kidney dish. Andy turned back to the opened body.

Next he removed
the stomach, carefully cutting it open with a scalpel to reveal the contents.

'Empty. He
hadn't eaten in hours,' he announced, and turned his attention to the duodenum.
A short while later he confirmed his finding. 'I'd say he probably hadn't eaten
all day.'

'No sign of
pills or alcohol?' Jenny said.

'No. We'll wait
for the blood tests, but I'd be prepared to bet he was completely sober.' Andy
looked over his shoulder
at her. 'Would it help to put some music on? I'm about to use
the saw.'

'Maybe I will wait outside.'

She stepped out into the corridor as Andy fired up the fine
surgical saw with which he would remove the top of the skull. She felt ashamed
of herself for still being squeamish, but every post-mortem still felt to her
like an act of sacrilege.

She had been loitering for nearly fifteen minutes when Andy
came to the door.

'All done. Not a lot to report.'

She followed him back inside, tugging off her overalls and
dropping them in the laundry bin. The bright-eyed assistant was already at
work, humming quietly to himself as he stitched Freddy's bloody torso together
again.

'All the major organs were very healthy,' Andy said,
stripping off his gloves, 'though I'd say he liked a cigarette.'

'That would be his mother.'

'Then she's been doing enough for both of them. No sign of
any trauma or anything to indicate a struggle,' Andy continued. 'I've taken
nail scrapings and internal swabs. Don't ask for any results in less than
forty-eight hours - you're more likely to walk on water.'

'That'll do.'

There was a sudden rush of water as the technician switched
on the shower head connected to the autopsy table and began to sluice Freddy's
body down.

Andy stepped over to the sink, soaped his hands and started
to scrub.

'Maybe I shouldn't ask you until the inquest's over, but did
you find out what that tattoo on Eva Donaldson's body meant?' he asked. 'It
caused quite a stir yesterday. My name was in so many newspapers my mother's
making a scrap- book.'

'I'm afraid she took her reasons with her.'

'You know what I think? It was the Marilyn Monroe thing, you
know, the whole little girl act to make up for the fact she was corrupted so young.'

'What's little girl about tattooing your crotch?'

'She was what, twenty-seven? To that generation getting a
tattoo's as natural as buying a new outfit. She wouldn't have thought twice.
And with her public profile, beneath the bikini's the only place she could have
put it without running the risk of it being caught on film.'

'It's as good a theory as any,' Jenny said, and turned to
glance one last time at Freddy as Andy dried his hands on a paper towel.

The assistant casually moved a forearm to rinse down the
right side of the ribs, and that was when Jenny noticed: a bracelet of red
marks around the right wrist. She moved towards the table.

'Look at this.'

Andy tossed the towel away and joined her.

'Marks on the wrist. Why didn't you see them?'

'Turn that off,' Andy ordered the assistant.
''Now.''

He stepped round to the left side of the body and studied the
wrist. He reached for a clean scalpel and scraped it gently across the skin. He
held the blade up to the light. 'There's some sort of concealer on there, like
make-up.'

Not bothering with scrubs, Andy pulled on another set of
gloves. Jenny watched as he scraped away what looked like a hardened layer of
foundation cream, revealing a ring of abrasions around the wrist.

'See there, where it rubs against the bone,' Andy said,
pointing at the rawest section of flesh, 'that was handcuffs.'

'How recently?'

'There's scabbing, evidence of healing. I'd estimate a couple
of days before death.'

'There was no evidence of sexual contact?'

'Not on visual inspection,' Andy said. 'The swabs will tell
us more.'

Jenny stepped away from the table and tried to fathom what it
meant.

She called Alison from the car but there was no answer at the
office. She tried her mobile and got through to her on a bad line with the
sound of seagulls and motor launches in the background. Alison claimed she was
out running errands, but the sounds of the harbourside were unmistakable. She
could tell from her assistant's guilty inflection that she was meeting Martin
again.

'I was hoping you could go and talk to Mrs Reardon for me. It
turns out Freddy had some abrasions around his wrists that he'd tried to
conceal. It looks as if he'd been handcuffed.'

'Oh, I might be a little while —’

'Anything important?'

'Where would you like me to begin, Mrs Cooper?'

Jenny winced; it was embarrassing to listen to. She gave up
on the idea of avoiding confronting Eileen Reardon herself. Alison would hardly
have her mind on the job even if she could be prised away.

'It's all right, I'll go,' Jenny said, and left Alison to her
fun.

Eileen Reardon refused to answer her door. Jenny knocked and
knocked again, but to no avail. The bunches of flowers which had been left the
day before lay untouched, their petals browning in the heat. She pushed open
the letterbox and peered into the darkened hallway. There was no sign of life.

'Mrs Reardon. It's Jenny Cooper. I really do need to speak to
you.'

No answer.

'We've found some marks on Freddy's body. Please, it's very
important.'

'You're wasting your breath.'

Jenny turned to see a white-haired old lady standing
cross-armed in a doorway across the hall.

'Do you know if she's in?' Jenny asked.

'She'll be in there all right, never comes out. She's got a
"phobia"; that's what her boy said, anyway. Fond of a drink as well,
though God knows who'll fetch it for her now she's on her own.'

Jenny said, 'Did you know Freddy?'

The woman eyed her suspiciously. 'Are you with the police?'

'No. I'm the coroner.' 'Oh-'

'Nothing to do with the police.' She offered what she hoped
was a reassuring smile. 'Maybe you could help me?'

The woman thought for a moment, then glanced along the
corridor to check they hadn't been seen.

'You'd better come in.'

Jenny followed her into a spotlessly clean flat and sat at a
small table in the kitchen.

'I didn't catch your name,' Jenny said, introducing herself.

'Maggie Harper.'

Jenny's eyes travelled over the shiny surfaces and polished
cupboard doors. It was a world away from the flat across the hall. 'Have you lived
here long?'

'Twenty-five years - about fifteen more than her. You
wouldn't think she was the same person to look at her now.'

'I can believe it. She doesn't look well.'

'It's ever since that man of hers,' Maggie said. 'He did for
both of them in my opinion.'

'Was that Freddy's stepdad?'

Maggie pulled a face as she nodded. 'He was a dropout. Hippy
type, hair all matted. Didn't do a stroke all day as far as I could tell,
except yell at those two and smoke whatever it was.'

'I heard Freddy got into a fight with him.'

'He was only protecting his mother. He'd hit her - Gary, was
his name. You could hear it all from in here. I'd call the police when it got
too bad but she'd never say a word against him. Some women are like that, don't
ask me why.'

'But this man, Gary, he pressed charges against Freddy, did
he?'

'Oh, yes. I told Freddy I'd speak for him in court, but he
went and pleaded guilty. I think he did it to save his mum the ordeal of giving
evidence.'

'What happened to this man?'

'Right after that he just packed up and left. Never heard of
him again.' She looked down at the table, shaking her head. 'It's a wonder that
boy lasted as long as he did. He was lovely when you spoke to him on his own.'

'Did you know him well?'

'He's been coming over for years. I'd give him his tea
sometimes when she was out of it. But he was ever so loyal to her, wouldn't say
a bad word.' She looked up. 'What is it you'd like to know?'

'I know Freddy had been involved with a church, but I've no
idea about his personal life, who his friends were, what he might have got up
to.'

'He never seemed to have any friends,' Maggie said. 'I was
probably as close to him as anyone. I certainly never saw him bring anyone
home.'

'Did he ever talk to you about the people he'd met at
church?'

'Not much. We had our little routine, you see. He'd come over
and watch TV in the front room and I'd bring him something to eat and sit with
him. That's the way he liked it. Cosy. No fuss.'

'And lately? Did you see a change in him?'

Maggie frowned. 'It's not so much recently, it's more since
before Christmas. He hadn't been coming over as often, maybe once every couple
of weeks.'

'How did he seem?'

'Quiet. I thought he was worried about his mother - he said
she hadn't been well - but I suppose I should have seen the signs . . .'

Jenny waited.

Maggie had a kind face, she thought, and she was glad Freddy
had had at least one caring and trustworthy adult in his life. Her orderly flat
must have been an oasis for him.

'There was one night; it must have been three months ago. It
was a Friday, quite late. He came to the door all pale, as if he'd had a
fright. I sat him down in the other room as usual and came in here to make him
some supper. I thought it was something on the television at first, but it was
him, he was sobbing. He'd dried his eyes by the time I came back in. I asked if
he was all right. He said was fine, but I could see he wasn't. He was like this
-' she curled her fingers into her palms and pressed her elbows to her sides -
'like a little lost soul.'

'He didn't say anything?'

'No. I probably should have asked, but I didn't want to scare
him off. You can understand.'

'Of course.'

'I didn't see it as any of my business. I just wanted to be
there for him when he needed me,' Maggie said. 'But it wasn't enough, was it?'