The Redeemed (28 page)

'I think Pastor Strong said something. I can't recall his
precise words.'

'Did he tell them she was at home?'

Nelson shook his head. 'Possibly . . .'

'Is it fair to say she had become something of a talismanic
figure, a person people had come to see as living proof of the Mission Church's
work?'

'I can't deny that.'

But your answer
says you'd like to. Why, Mr Nelson? What is it you'd rather I didn't know?

'Were you ever aware of her receiving unwanted attention from
any member of the church?'

'She never mentioned anything of that sort to me.'

Four thousand worshippers. There had to be more than a few
who idolized her less than healthily, who had spent the day in anticipation of
being in her presence. A lightning rod for the sexual and religious mania of
countless confused and searching souls; the disappointment of her absence must
have been crushing.

'She was friendly with a young man in her study group by the
name of Freddy Reardon. Unfortunately he died two nights ago. It seems likely
he took his own life.'

'Yes, I heard. It's a tragedy. I also heard he had a history
of mental illness.'

Anticipating Sullivan's objection, Jenny turned to the jury.
'That's correct, members of the jury. Freddy Reardon was sixteen years old, but
had suffered a depressive illness in his earlier teens. He was due to give
evidence to this inquest on Monday, but as you may have read in the local press
it appears he took his life on Sunday evening. It's not our job here to
speculate why that was, so please take care not to read any undue significance
into that event.' She turned back to Nelson. 'Did you know him?'

'Hardly at all, I must confess.'

'Were you aware that he was friendly with Eva?'

'Vaguely. I might have seen them chatting once or twice.'

Was she imagining it or was Prince's new companion now
operating Nelson by invisible strings? Her steady gaze was fixed on him, but
angled as he was slightly towards the jury, Jenny couldn't see if his eyes were
meeting hers.

'He was a regular volunteer at your church.'

'I'm afraid I'm a back-office man,' Nelson said. 'I knew
Freddy's name, but I doubt he knew mine.'

Jenny followed swiftly with a question she hoped would open a
fissure. 'Tell me about Alan Jacobs.'

This time there was no doubt. Nelson glanced at the anonymous
lawyer, who gave the slightest twitch of her eyebrows as if to remind him of
his script.

'I believe he's another member of the congregation who also
unfortunately took his life in recent weeks.'

'Not only a member of the congregation, a member of the same
study group as Freddy Reardon and Eva Donaldson. He also happened to be a
psychiatric nurse who had come into contact with Freddy when he was an
inpatient at the Conway Unit.'

'I'm afraid to say I didn't know Mr Jacobs either, but
obviously I'm deeply sorry for him and his family.'

'I presume his death was the subject of some discussion at
the church?'

'Not particularly,' Nelson said. 'When you've so many members
these sorts of things are to be expected.'

But how many
study groups had two members who had killed themselves within days of each
other?
She would like to have rubbed Nelson's nose in the
circumstantial evidence until he was forced to say that Eva must have known
things about them that no one else did, that she was their confidante and
confessor, their channel from the darkness to the light and perhaps back again.
Jenny had to be cleverer than that; she had to find the single weakness that
would cause Nelson to stumble and drop his guard.

'Mr Nelson, as the administrator of a church with such a high
public profile, you must have been particularly alarmed at Mr Jacobs's death,
given his close association with Eva Donaldson.'

'As far as I know the police saw no connection, and nor did
we.'

'"W,
being—?'

'The church's trustees.'

Ruth Markham, solicitor for Kenneth Donaldson, stood up from
her chair and broke her morning-long silence. 'Ma'am, if I may say so, it
strikes me that this inquiry is in danger of straying some distance from the
narrow issue of what caused Eva Donaldson's death. Clearly while the relevance
of evidence is a matter for you to determine, the influence of irrelevant
evidence on the jury could affect the sustainability of a verdict.' She gave an
almost apologetic smile.

It was a muted interjection, but the message issued in
lawyerly code was loud and clear:
Stop this
fishing trip and stick to hard facts or we'll have the High Court tear up your
verdict before the ink's dry.
Jenny watched Sullivan and Markham exchange a glance.
Working in concert, they were sharing the load, making the record show that it
was clear to all parties present that the coroner was trespassing where the law
said she shouldn't. She was caught in a catch-22: despite her duty to seek out
and determine the truth, the ever-tightening case law told her she could only
cast her net in certain well-defined waters. She desperately wanted to make the
connection between Freddy, Jacobs and Eva, but almost any line of questioning
hinting at one would suggest pre-judgement and bias. Reluctantly, she accepted
that for present purposes Jacobs's and Freddy's deaths were off- limits.

Thanking Markham for her observation, Jenny addressed her
final question to Nelson: did he know of anyone other than the man convicted of
her murder who wanted to kill Eva Donaldson?

'No, ma'am. I firmly believe her killer is already behind
bars, where he belongs.'

Jenny's mind swam with questions and half-made connections
as first Sullivan, then Ruth Markham led Nelson through a series of questions
and answers designed to banish any suspicion that Eva's mental state was
anything less than stable, or that the untimely deaths of Alan Jacobs and
Freddy Reardon were anything other than a cruel coincidence. The Mission
Church of God had suffered more than its fair share of suicides among its
congregation, Nelson admitted, but as the last stop for the ill and the
desperate it was only to be expected. If they had made one mistake it was in
failing to protect Eva from its most troubled souls.

Closing the door of her office to await Turnbull's arrival,
Jenny attempted to crystallize her suspicions into a theory that might be
tested. She had grown increasingly certain throughout the morning that what
linked Eva to Alan Jacobs and Freddy Reardon went beyond the simple fact of
their acquaintance and into much darker places. She recalled Freddy's hostile
reaction when she had mentioned Jacobs's name to him. They had met at the
Conway Unit, but Freddy had violently denied that Jacobs had steered him
towards the church. Eva had spoken to Freddy frequently, telephoned him and
shared her insecurities. Why him? Did she sense a kindred spirit? And what had
caused Freddy's bleak mood the night three months ago when he arrived late for
his dinner with his kindly neighbour, Maggie Harper?

Jenny's two brief forays into the Mission Church had taught
her that it was a place of drama and catharsis; a crucible of emotion in which
buried pains and passions were encouraged to erupt and spill out to the
applause and wonder of the excited crowd: a theatre of the soul. It didn't
surprise her that Eva had been drawn from pornography to the Mission Church's
particular brand of religion. It was no coincidence that 'ecstasy' invariably
described either sexual or religious euphoria.

She lifted the phone and dialled Andy Kerr's direct line at
the Severn Vale District Hospital's mortuary. She had hoped to reach him in
person, but her call was answered by his machine.

'Andy, it's Jenny Cooper. I need you to run a DNA test for
me. It's just a hunch, but could you please establish if the semen found in
Alan Jacobs's body came from Freddy Reardon. I need to know as quickly as
possible. Thanks.'

She looked up to see Alison framed in the doorway.

'There's someone to see you, Mrs Cooper,' she said guiltily.

She stepped aside to make way for two men.

'Good morning, ma'am,' the older of the two grunted.
'Detective Sergeant Simon Gleed.' He passed her his warrant card and nodded to
his younger colleague. 'Detective Constable Alan Wesley.'

The junior detective gave an embarrassed nod. Not yet thirty,
he held a briefcase awkwardly in front of his body and glanced around the
shabby room to avoid meeting Jenny's gaze. Gleed was closer to fifty and hadn't
worn well; a beer drinker's stomach strained against his shirt, and his bald
head was coated with a thin sheen of perspiration.

'You can leave us, Alison,' Jenny said.

She waited for the door to click shut before addressing her
visitors.

'Do you make a habit of interrupting judicial proceedings, Mr
Gleed?'

'We're answering your enquiry, ma'am,' he said with a
pronounced Somerset burr that made him sound almost quaint. 'I understand
you've been trying to reach me.'

Jenny sighed: an outward show of impatience to disguise the
sensation of panic tightening her chest. 'Let's not play games. What do you
want?'

Gleed helped himself to a seat, leaving his subordinate
standing.

'A statement might be useful.'

'Concerning?'

'We've had a complaint, Mrs Cooper,' Gleed said, as he
reached a handkerchief from his pocket and swept it across his forehead,
'relating to an investigation that happened rather a long time ago.'

'You're referring to the death of my cousin.'

He nodded. 'I am indeed.'

'A complaint from whom?

'Officially it's from your surviving cousin, Mr Christopher
Chilcott. But I'll let you into a secret - it was a retired police officer who
alerted him to the situation.'

'Situation?'

'Let's just say that police investigations sometimes weren't
as thorough back then as they would be now.' He gave an apologetic smile.

'Hold on a moment,' Jenny said. 'I was a child. I have no
recollection of the circumstances and until three months ago I had no idea I
even had a cousin Katy. A little girl died tragically, but her parents are both
dead and the only other adult with any connection is my father, who you may
already know is so senile he doesn't recognize his own daughter.'

'Your father's medical condition is certainly something the
Crown Prosecution Service will consider,' Gleed said, 'should it ever come to
it. But it's not a matter that I can let stand in the way of an investigation -
there's the public interest to consider, and the victim's.'

'What victim? Christopher Chilcott never even knew his
sister.'

'I can appreciate a woman in your position not wishing to
have this raked over, Mrs Cooper, but you'll understand my position too.'

'You don't find the timing of this complaint a touch
coincidental?'

Gleed glanced at his colleague and shook his head.

'The fact that I'm in the middle of an inquest which might
impact on a major murder investigation carried out by your colleagues in
Bristol.'

'Nothing to do with me, nor the old fella who came forward.
He's a Weston man, born and bred.' Folding his damp handkerchief back into his
pocket, the detective said, 'We could take it now if you like, but I'm sure
you'd prefer to make an appointment to come to the station. Would later this
afternoon suit?'

'And if I tell you I have nothing to say?'

Gleed fixed his small, black eyes on her. 'We'd both know you
weren't telling the truth, wouldn't we?' He heaved his bulk up from the chair.
'We'll say five-thirty, shall we?'

The detectives left as abruptly as they had arrived. Jenny
went to the window and peered out from behind the curtain as they walked,
unnoticed by the news crews, to their unmarked car parked at the edge of the
road. She was in no doubt what was happening: fearing another humiliation at
her hands, Bristol CID had dug deep and found a nugget. If she brought her
inquest to a quiet close, perhaps the complaint would vanish and DS Gleed
could return to chasing pickpockets on the promenade.

It was between her and her conscience. She pulled the
curtains tight shut and wandered back to her desk in a semi- daze. What was she
hoping to achieve? Her two main suspects were Jacobs and Freddy and they were
both dead. Was it right to risk her reputation and livelihood merely in search
of truth for truth's sake? Weren't some secrets better left undisturbed?

There was a knock at the door.

'I'm busy.'

Pretending not to have heard, Alison entered. 'Mr Sullivan
would like to address you, Mrs Cooper - in open court this time.'

'What about?'

'He wouldn't say, but I think it might be about his witness.'
She pressed the door shut behind her and kept her hand on the handle as if it might
suddenly be opened from the other side. 'That new lawyer has been talking to
him, the woman. She looks to me as if she's in charge.'

'Do we know her name?'

'According to the attendance form she's called Annabelle
Stern. She's from the same firm as Mr Prince.'

'All right,' Jenny said, 'I'll hear him.'

News of the application hadn't filtered through to the journalists
and reporters milling outside the hall. Aside from Kenneth Donaldson and
Father Starr there was barely anyone occupying the rows of seats behind the
lawyers. Jenny could tell at once that this was Annabelle Stern's play. While
Prince sat back disinterestedly with arms folded, she leaned forward, watching
Sullivan intently as he rose to address her.

'Ma'am, it's with great regret that I have to inform you that
my client has been unavoidably delayed in the Lords - I understand he has been
required to participate in a whipped vote. I'm afraid his business there may
not be concluded until later this evening.'

'I thought I made myself perfectly clear, Mr Sullivan.'

'Ma'am, you did.' He hesitated momentarily as if losing
courage. 'But those instructing me have suggested that as you have doubtless so
much to consider, a short delay would make no material difference.'

Annabelle Stern and now Fraser Knight turned their gazes to
Jenny, their hard, determined expressions and the empty seats behind her
telling her all she needed to know: they would keep her secret if she didn't
pry any further into theirs.