The Redeemed (27 page)

Jenny came away feeling that she'd learned more from Maggie
Harper than she would have done from Eileen Reardon. With a little pressing she
had established that the Friday night she had talked about was either the third
or fourth in March. It meant that whatever had caused the dip in Freddy's mood
had pre-dated Eva's death. Jenny wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign.
Maggie had been certain of one thing, though, there had been no girlfriends.
'He was far too innocent for any of that,' she had said. 'He was still a
mummy's boy, except his mum was hopeless.'

Back at the office Alison was tapping furiously at her
computer. Jenny didn't mention her lunch date with Martin and nor did she; they
didn't have to. They both knew where she had been and Alison was doing her best
to demonstrate she was making up for lost time. She briskly handed over a batch
of new death reports and rattled off a list of urgent phone messages, including
several from various members of Michael Turnbull's legal team protesting at her
demand that he return to the resumed inquest. Jenny retreated to her office and
endeavoured to cram a day's work into what remained of the afternoon. There
were new cases to log, hospital consultants to call, post-mortem reports to
wade through, a host of deaths to certify and bodies to release, but Eva and
Freddy refused to leave her thoughts. There was something she had yet to find
out; she felt sure there was a person who would unlock them both, but she still
felt far from knowing who that might be.

The fading sun had retreated behind a bank of dark cloud as
Jenny turned off the valley road at Tintern and climbed a mile up the narrow
lane to Melin Bach. The dull evening light coupled with an unseasonal chill
gave the countryside a melancholy air that reflected her mood. It was an
evening for ghosts and regrets, the lengthening shadows seemed to say.

She resented the fact that her emotions could shift as
swiftly as a child's, that something as mundane as the changing weather could
cause her mood to plunge. The thought of returning to her empty cottage filled
her with irrational dread, but as she rounded the penultimate bend and spotted
its slate roof through a gap in the trees, the sky opened again and a stretch
of brilliant blue appeared over Barbadoes Hill. Just enough to repel the
anxious, unwanted thoughts which had started to intrude.

There was no time to be neurotic, she told herself; all that
would have to wait until Eva's inquest was over. Then she would set aside the
necessary few weeks to resolve her problems. It would be good to feel properly
human again. She couldn't wait.

She was surprised to see Steve's Land Rover parked in the
lane outside the house. Alfie, his sheepdog, shot out from the verge in pursuit
of a rabbit, which zigzagged along the road for several yards then disappeared
into the hedge with Alfie hard on its tail. She pulled into the overgrown cart
track and stepped out of the car to the smell of ripe grass and lavender. Steve
wandered across to meet her from the back garden, beating a path through the
weeds with a stick.

'You could do with someone to sort this place out,' he said
with a smile.

'It's good for the wildlife. I thought you were in
Edinburgh.'

'Signed up the client before lunch and caught an earlier
plane.'

'That sounds like good news.'

'Could be. But if they kept me on to manage the project it'd
mean spending a lot of time up there.'

'What about France?'

'Still stringing them along.' He swished distractedly at a
clump of thistles.

Jenny absorbed his tired and thoughtful face; he'd changed in
a year. Study and responsibility had diluted the carefree spirit, but she liked
the man who was emerging. He was sensitive, searching, and he wanted her. Yet
she remained frightened to give, scared of letting him down. And perhaps
fearful of what he would ask from her. He wanted to know parts of her that her
ex-husband wouldn't have even known existed.

Jenny said, 'Do you get the feeling that you're being dragged
out of the woods at last?'

'Maybe I don't want to be. Something might work out.' He
tossed the stick aside and looked at her. 'What about you? Do you ever think
this place is just a staging post, somewhere to hide out for a while?'

'Ask me in a couple of months' time.'

'What happens then?'

'Maybe I'll be out of the trees and the world will look
different.'

A gust of wind blew her hair across her face. Steve reached
out and pushed it back, brushing his fingers against her cheek. He moved his
lips, as if about to speak, but instead stepped closer and touched her hand.
'If you weren't here, the decision would be easy.'

Jenny wanted to tell him that his life was his own, that he
mustn't let her hold him back, but as he kissed her the thought of losing him
was too painful to bear. She held him tightly, pressing herself to his hard
chest, aware of how selfish she was being but powerless to do a thing about it.
He was her release, her glimpse of freedom.

They made love on the grass beneath the last rays of the
dying sun. Afterwards, Steve ran naked into the stream, daring her to join him.
When she pleaded that she was too cold, he came and picked her up, squealing,
and tumbled backwards into the water bringing her with him. The freezing water
took the breath from her; she shrieked and protested but he clung on to her
until the feel of it against her skin was like a million hot needles. And when
they walked back to the house scooping up their clothes, the blood coursed hot
through her veins, and for a short while she felt alive and invincible.

Steve lit a fire in the grate and they lay entwined on the
sofa sipping tea and waiting for the shivers to subside. Jenny leaned back
against him as he stroked her hair. Alfie stretched out on the hearthrug, his
eyes half-closed in bliss.

'How are you feeling?' Steve said.

'Good . . . tired.'

'Are you going back to Dr Allen?'

'When this inquest's over. Let's not talk about that now,
hmm?' Jenny sensed that he was tense. 'What is it?' she asked.

His hand slid from her head and rested against her arm. 'I
had a message on my phone when I got home. The man said his name was Detective
Sergeant Gleed, based at Weston. He left a number.'

Gleed.
It wasn't a
name she recognized.

'Did you call him? What did he want?'

'Yes. He was polite enough—'

Jenny put down her mug and sat up, tugging away from him.

'What did he want?'

'He said he understood that I knew you, and had you ever
talked about an event in your childhood? If so, he'd like to meet and discuss
what you had told me.'

Jenny looked at him in disbelief.

'I said I didn't know anything about it.'

'A detective?' Jenny said, incredulously. 'Why didn't you
tell me this before?'

'I was going to. That's why, well, one of the reasons I
came—'

'But you thought you'd have your fun first.'

'That's not fair.'

'Jesus. God.' Jenny sunk her head in her hands. 'You
bastard.'

'Jenny, it's not like that. You know it's not. I care about
you. I—'

'Don't say it!'

'I do. And I want to be with you, but you've got to deal with
this stuff.'

'Or what?'

'Or nothing. You just have to. You know you do. Why don't you
call this man? See what he wants.'

'He can go to hell. I was a child, for Christ's sake.'

'He wants something. These people don't just go away.'

'It'll be Dad. He'll have said something to one of the nurses.'

'All the more reason to clear it up.' Steve reached to his
shirt pocket. 'Look, I've got the number—'

'I don't want to know.'

He grabbed hold of her wrist. 'Jenny, you've got to face
this.'

She wrenched free. 'Don't tell me what I've got to do.'

'How else are you going to sort yourself out?'

'Leave me alone.'

'Why don't you call him while I'm here?'

'Stop trying to control me.'

'I'm trying to help.'

'Shut up! Shut up!' She shot off the sofa. 'Get out! Go!'

She wanted to punch him, to lash out and hurt him and make
him hit her back, to turn her anger and confusion into physical pain she could
rail and pound her fists against, but Steve absorbed her outburst without a
word. He left the scrap of paper bearing Gleed's number on the corner of the
sofa and turned to leave.

He stopped briefly in the doorway with his back to her. 'I'll
be here for you, Jenny, but—'

'Please go.'

Softly, but with a finality she knew was real, he said, 'You
know what I mean.'

She sat and stared into the fire for the time it took the
logs to dwindle to embers, her mind racing with angry thoughts and wild
theories. She had never felt more exposed or more furious. Why? Why now? Who
could the events of nearly forty years ago possibly be of interest to? It was
past eleven when she snatched up the phone and punched in his number. An
anonymous answer message played. Jenny said, 'Detective Sergeant Gleed, it's
Jenny Cooper, Severn Vale District Coroner. I don't know what you think you're
doing, but I'll expect your call tomorrow.'

She screwed up his number and tossed it into the grate.

The news crews were already busy setting up as Jenny squeezed
her Golf between their vans and parked on the rough grass at the side of the
hall. They were a different crowd from those who had been present on the first
day; she recognized the faces of several national television reporters among
them. Making her way to the hall, she overheard an earnest young woman
explaining to camera that the sudden apparent suicide of a witness who had
failed to testify, coupled with Cassidy's allegation that Eva had lost her
faith, suggested there were many questions the police inquiry had failed to
answer.
Or even ask
, Jenny wanted to butt in.

'The parties are all assembled, Mrs Cooper,' Alison announced
as she appeared in the office doorway, 'but counsel would like to speak to you
in chambers before we begin.'

'What about?'

'They didn't say.'

'Didn't you ask them?' Jenny said as she gathered her papers,
trying to ignore the sudden palpitations that the prospect of facing a row of
awkward lawyers had caused to erupt.

Alison swallowed defensively. 'I didn't think it was my
place.'

'I see. Has Michael Turnbull answered his summons?'

'I didn't notice him.'

'So he's failed to attend. Are his lawyers aware that amounts
to contempt?'

'I wouldn't know.'

Jenny took a deep breath, struggling to hold her impatience
with her officer in check.

Alison hovered uncertainly. 'Shall I tell them to come in?'

Jenny marched towards the door, her apprehension turning to
anger. 'You can tell them to stand up.'

Christopher Sullivan and Ed Prince wore expressions of
surprised indignation as Jenny took her seat at the head of the packed hall.
She could see Father Starr and Kenneth Donaldson amidst the swollen ranks of
reporters, but there was no sign of Michael Turnbull. She did, however, spot a
new face alongside Prince: a female lawyer with the hard attractiveness and
sharp-eyed gaze that could only belong to a seasoned litigator, and wearing an
outfit that could only have been afforded by a partner in a wealthy firm. She
was their new tactician, Jenny guessed; a woman sent to read and undermine her.

Sullivan was first to his feet. The new lawyer flashed him a
look that reminded him to remain polite. 'Ma'am, might counsel be permitted to
address you briefly in chambers?'

'I don't see counsel in chambers, Mr Sullivan,' Jenny said,
still battling a racing heart. 'As a matter of principle I conduct my business
in public and on behalf of the public whose interests I represent.'

He strained to be polite. 'As an exceptional deviation from
the rule, it would be much appreciated.'

'This isn't like a criminal court, as you well know, Mr
Sullivan. It is
my
inquest, and as
counsel you have the right to cross-examine any witnesses I may call, but not
to dictate procedure. Now do you have anything you wish to say before I call on
Lord Turnbull to answer his witness summons?'

Sullivan glanced back at Prince and his female colleague and
exchanged whispered words. Jenny noticed Fraser Knight QC and Ruth Markham,
passive observers to their colleagues' discomfort, exchange a hint of a smile
across the length of the advocates' bench.

Sullivan turned back to the front, still wearing his
expression of mock civility. 'Ma'am, I have to inform you that it has not been
possible for Lord Turnbull to appear as promptly as requested. You may not know
- and the fault may be ours for failing to inform you - just how busy a
parliamentary timetable he has at the present moment.'

'On the contrary, your instructing solicitors informed me
yesterday afternoon. And I told them that he was required to give evidence here
at ten o'clock this morning.'

'Ma'am, it simply hasn't been feasible—'

'Where is he, Mr Sullivan?'

'Ma'am, a degree of reasonableness is customary—'

'Where is he?' Jenny insisted.

Sullivan's eyes flared, but fighting every instinct he contained
his anger. 'In London. On urgent business, I believe.'

'And when
is
he proposing to
attend?'

'He's very busy with parliamentary business all next week,
ma'am.'

At her desk, Alison sat hunched over the tape recorder,
avoiding the lawyers' gaze, pretending she was part of the furniture. It
suddenly occurred to Jenny that they must have intimidated her into arranging
the cosy meeting in chambers in which they hoped to ensure that Turnbull's
absence would be excused and never mentioned in front of the press.

'Members of the jury,' Jenny said, 'in the light of Mr
Cassidy's evidence about Eva Donaldson's state of mind prior to her death, I
issued Lord Turnbull with a summons; he was to attend this morning to see if he
could help us any further with the issue. Failure to comply is a contempt of
court, an offence punishable by fine or imprisonment.'

Sullivan interjected: 'Ma'am, my client can hardly be said to
have wilfully absented himself.'

'That's just what he has done, Mr Sullivan. The law applies
to a wealthy member of the House of Lords as much as it does to a street
sweeper. I find him to be in contempt and I'll sentence him when he appears. Do
I need to issue a warrant?'

'He'll be here this afternoon, ma'am,' Sullivan said, through
gritted teeth.

Jenny saw Ed Prince and his companion trade a glance that
said they'd taken a punch, but could ride it. She sensed there was something
else in play, a deeper strategy, but right now she had neither the time nor the
mental space to ponder what that might be. She glanced down at her copy of the
witness list. Apart from Turnbull's name, there was only one other yet to be
ticked.

'Is Mr Joel Nelson present?'

The man who had greeted her in the office at the Mission
Church stood up. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Please come forward, Mr Nelson. We'll hear from you now.'

As Nelson walked the short length of the hall Jenny noticed
Prince and his female colleague both sending messages on their phones. Two
rows behind them, Father Starr was sitting perfectly still, his steady,
piercing gaze telling her that she was being judged, and by the most exacting
standards.

Jenny studied Nelson carefully. Beneath the sober suit and
tasteful tie he was an attractive young man with sky- blue eyes and sandy hair.
He wore no wedding ring, she noticed, and had the slim frame and well-defined
features of someone who took good care of himself. He exuded ambition and
purpose.

'Could you please state your full name?'

'Joel Henry Nelson.'

'Your age.'

'Thirty-two.'

'And your occupation?'

'I am employed by the Mission Church of God based in Bedminster,
Bristol. My official title is administrative director - which in practice
means I run the office,' he added with a polite smile.

'How long have you worked for the Mission Church, Mr Nelson?'

'A little over two years.'

'And prior to that?'

'For eight years I worked for the corporate finance arm of an
investment bank. Then I saw the light, as it were.' The smile again.

'I'm intrigued. How did a banker come to work for a church?'

'I answered an ad.'

His quip drew a ripple of laughter from the jury.

'Actually I'd become rather disillusioned with finance,' he
continued. 'Money does indeed make the world go round, but among my colleagues
I witnessed levels of greed and excess that made me uncomfortable. I'd started
looking for something more rewarding when I went to a talk given by Michael
Turnbull. It was an epiphany; here was a man who had made a vast fortune then
committed himself to working for good. I knew I had to be part of his project.'

'Just out of curiosity, was this also a spiritual epiphany?'
Jenny asked, aware that she was straying into territory that wasn't strictly
within the bounds of her inquiry.

Nelson leaped on the opportunity to tell more of his story.
'At that time I would describe myself as agnostic. As a thoroughly rational
person I believed it was the only intellectually honest position to take.
Impressed as I was by Michael's work, I saw organized religion as more of a
social good than an expression of absolute truth, a positive motivational
force if you like; some people need it to behave well, others don't.' He smiled
to himself as he tried to find the words to express what happened next. 'I was
still working at the bank when I came down to Bristol to see the church for
myself. To be honest, I was sceptical. There were maybe four or five hundred
people present and after nearly an hour I'd had enough, I decided that I had
made a mistake. But then Pastor Lennox Strong challenged any new arrivals to
come forward and commit themselves to God. I was already on my way to the exit,
but it was as if a strong hand placed itself on my shoulder and turned me
around.' He paused briefly. 'For those who have never experienced anything
similar this will make no sense at all, but I was drawn to the front of the
church by a force I can only assume was that of the Holy Spirit. And when
Pastor Strong placed his hands on me, I experienced something to which words
can do no justice—'

'I'm sure we'd be very grateful if you'd try,' Jenny said.

'It's a phenomenon that's become known as the Rapture. If you
can begin to imagine an overwhelming sense of warmth and unconditional love
coupled with a sense of the physical body being transformed into something
light and radiant, you're a fraction of the way there. We call it a gift of the
spirit; an experience God gives us to prove that he's real. Some of us believe
this has been sent to reinforce the promise of the rapture described in
Thessalonians, when Christians are lifted from the earth to the heavens.'

'What happened to you then, Mr Nelson?' Jenny asked as the
lawyers exchanged shifty glances.

'Within a fortnight I had applied for and accepted the job.'
His eyes shone at the memory.

'I'd like to take you forward in time some seven or eight
months to when Eva Donaldson came to work for Decency. Did you have much
contact with her?'

'Yes. We were quite friendly. The board would meet in the
church offices, Eva would sometimes attend. She would always stop and talk.'

'Would you describe yourselves as close friends - did you
socialize?'

'Not in that sense. It was a friendly, professional relationship,
although we had different employers.'

'You never work for Decency?'

'They have their own staff.'

'So this wasn't the kind of friendship in which you discussed
intimacies, matters of a personal nature?'

'Not in the sense that I think you mean.'

'You'll know that her former partner, Joseph Cassidy, claims
that Eva lost her faith before her death. Do you have anything to say about
that?'

'I never doubted her faith. She gave total commitment - you
only have to consider her schedule, she didn't stop.'

Jenny turned back through her notebook to a section of
Michael Turnbull's evidence she had flagged. 'Eva was killed on the night of
Sunday, 9 May. She had been making a round of media appearances that weekend
and was due to speak at the evening service: is that your recollection of
events?'

'Yes,' Nelson answered cautiously.

'Michael Turnbull said in evidence that you took a call from
Eva, who said she wasn't able to attend.'

'That's right.'

'What precisely did she say to you?'

'She said she was very sorry, but she was exhausted and
wouldn't be able to make it to the evening service.'

'Had she ever done that before?'

'Not that I can remember.'

'Did you consider it unusual?'

'Not at all. I took her at her word, I had no reason not to.'

'How often did Eva address a congregation four thousand
strong?'

'I couldn't say. Not often.'

'So this was a special occasion. Michael and Christine
Turnbull were there, Lennox Strong. It sounds like something of a rally for
the Decency campaign.'

'No. It was a service at which Eva had intended to say a few
words.'

Jenny detected a hint of stiffness, or was it defensiveness,
in Joel Nelson's answer.

'To your knowledge, Mr Nelson, had anything happened? Had
there been any falling-out or misunderstanding which might have led Eva to stay
away?'

'No.'

'Were you aware that as long ago as last November she had
asked Decency for a pay rise and been refused?'

'No, I didn't know that.'

'Did you know she had money problems?'

'I had no knowledge of Eva's finances.'

'You weren't aware that all this committed work for Decency
was driving her further into debt?'

'I was not.'

'Would it be fair to assume that Michael Turnbull would have
known?'

Sullivan started to his feet. 'Ma'am, surely the witness
can't be asked to speculate on something about which he can have no knowledge?'

For once he was right, and Jenny was forced to concede. But
perhaps she had offered it subconsciously to provide a moment of distraction
before she cut to the bone. 'You're quite right, Mr Sullivan, it's a question
best saved for this afternoon. You don't have to answer, Mr Nelson.'

Sullivan sat down with the satisfaction of having scored his
first point of the day. Behind him, Prince and his colleague remained
impassive, their attention anchored in a lower realm Jenny had yet to fathom.
They had the brittle stillness of people waiting for something they hoped was
coming but might not; only their eyes moved, flitting from Sullivan to Nelson
to each other, a glance at the time, no attempt to take notes or pass messages.

'Let me ask you this, Mr Nelson,' Jenny said. 'Did you get
any sense from Eva that she was in any way resentful or annoyed that Sunday
evening?'

'Not at all. She sounded a little tired, that's all.'

Jenny flicked forward through her notes of Lennox Strong's
evidence and tried to picture the scene in the crowded church on that Sunday
night: the excited crowd whipped up by the music, hearing that Eva couldn't be
with them. Announcing that she was under the weather and had stayed at home
didn't seem to fit with the way the Mission Church choreographed its services,
each one a carefully staged 'happening' in which the rules of real life were
suspended.

'Do you remember how Eva's absence was explained to the
congregation?' Jenny asked.