The Redeemed (33 page)

The short drive
into the city centre turned into an agonizing twenty-minute crawl through a
solid jam. By the time she had made it to Queen Charlotte Street Jenny had lost
all patience and cut across a silver Mercedes to beat it to a parking space.
She met the driver's protest with a raised finger and a volley of abuse. She
felt her face burn with shame as she hurried into the Georgian splendour of
Queen Square; under pressure, she was no more civilized than a sewer rat.

Reed Falkirk
& Co. occupied an elegant double-fronted building named Montego House. A
frieze carved into the stonework depicted a ship in full sail with Caribbean
palm trees in the background. Like all those in the square, it dated from the
city's heyday, when local merchants and their bankers had grown rich on slaves,
sugar and tobacco.

She climbed the
stone steps and pressed the intercom.

A clipped female
voice came over the speaker. 'Hello?'

Jenny turned to
face the camera, trying to look imposing. 'Jenny Cooper, Severn Vale District
Coroner. I'm here to see Mr Lynd.'

She entered a
vestibule that opened into a spacious reception area set out to resemble a
Regency drawing room: dark wood furniture upholstered in button-down velvet.
Empress of this domain was a receptionist with perfectly painted nails and a
silver brooch at the fussy collar of her blouse. Jenny approached her desk
feeling irrationally timid.

'Good morning.'

The woman
glanced up from a slender monitor. 'Do you have an appointment, Mrs Cooper? I
don't see one.'

'No. But I won't
take long. Five minutes at most.'

'I'll see if Mr
Lynd's available.' She lifted the receiver and dialled a number with sharp,
disapproving stabs of her immaculate fingers.

Jenny glanced up
at the vast oil painting hanging above the mantelpiece. It depicted a tall wooden
ship being unloaded by piratical-looking stevedores, dogs and ragged children
at their feet. A young black man in a wig and frock coat stood in the
foreground; an older clerk at his side was recording figures in a ledger with a
quill pen.

'He'll be down
in a moment,' the receptionist said coolly.

'Thank you.'
Jenny was struck by the fact that the young man in the picture had fine
features but strangely unforgiving eyes.

'It's called
The Sugar Man
,' the
receptionist explained, more friendly now. 'The one in the wig is William
Clayton, the first owner of this building.'

'Really,' Jenny
answered, surprised that a black man had been that wealthy.

'He had a white
father and a slave mother. He was one of the richest men in Bristol in the
1790s.'

At that moment a
man came down the ornate oak staircase. He was younger than she had expected,
and more fashionable than the lawyers who appeared at her inquests; his
prematurely bald head was close-shaved and he wore expensive Italian glasses.

'Mrs Cooper?'

'Yes.'

'Damien Lynd.'
He turned to the receptionist. 'Is the meeting room free, Susan?'

'Mr Reed has a
conference in ten minutes.'

'We won't be
long.'

Lynd steered
Jenny to a door leading to a conference room which, apart from a plasma TV
screen, could have been the same one in which William Clayton had entertained
his business associates two hundred years before. Dark polished boards creaked
underfoot as they sat at opposite sides of a cherry-wood table.

'What can I do
for you?' Lynd asked.

'I've seen from
correspondence that you acted for Eva Donaldson. I'm sure you know that I'm
currently conducting an inquest into her death.'

'One could
hardly avoid it.'

'May I ask if
you're acting for her estate?'

'No, we're not.
I believe her executors instructed someone else.'

'Her executors
being—?'

'Her father and
his long-standing solicitor, as far as I am aware.'

'I see. Then I
presume you're still in possession of her files, at least until her bill is
paid.'

'Yes,' Lynd said
cautiously. 'That would be the usual situation.'

'Then, if you
don't mind, I'd like to see the originals and to have copies made.'

The lawyer
studied the backs of his hands. 'I'm afraid that won't be possible, Mrs
Cooper.'

His objection
came as no surprise, but Jenny was curious to see how he would justify it. He
must know as well as she did that her next move would be to make an order
requiring their disclosure, and that failure to obey would amount to contempt.

'You no longer
have them?'

'I'm afraid I
find myself in the position of being unable to answer any questions on this
subject.'

'I do hope you
haven't been placed under any pressure, Mr Lynd?'

'I'm really not
at liberty to discuss this any further. I know it sounds odd, but that is the
situation.'

'Mr Lynd, either
you make Eva Donaldson's files available to my inquest in their entirety, or I
will use the full force of the law to compel you. Do I make myself clear?'

With the pained
expression of a man walking an excruciatingly fine line, Lynd said, 'I
understand your impatience, but if you were to take that approach I can tell
you that it would trigger a different order of legal proceedings entirely.'

'What kind of
proceedings?'

'Enforcement, I
would imagine.' Lynd spoke in such a way that suggested there was a subtext she
was expected to understand.

The light slowly
dawned.

'Are you trying
to tell me that there is some sort of court order preventing you from
disclosing Miss Donaldson's papers?' Jenny asked.

Lynd gave her
look indicating that even to answer that question was a risk he couldn't take.
She was left in no doubt: he had been gagged in a manoeuvre that only a lawyer
of Annabelle Stern's expertise could have executed.

'I can't claim
to be an expert on the law of confidentiality, Mr Lynd, but I do know that
there is no lawful means of putting Miss Donaldson's papers beyond the reach of
a coroner.'

'Moot point, Mrs
Cooper. And not one I'm willing to test,' Lynd said.

'And if I were
to make the order here and now and summon police assistance to take the
documents from the premises?'

'I would pick up
the phone to a judge.'

'Any judge in
particular?'

Lynd's forehead
creased with the mental effort of charting a course through his complex
ethical dilemma. Whichever way he jumped, he risked being found in contempt of
court, and many lawyers had been struck off for less.

Jenny said,
'Don't say anything. Just listen. I'm assuming there's an injunction in force
preventing you discussing or disclosing any documents relating to Miss
Donaldson or her affairs, and I can guess who obtained it. I can also guarantee
that the judge wasn't told anything like the whole story, nor did he intend to
derail a perfectly legitimate inquest.'

'All logical
conclusions,' Lynd said, starting to relax a little now that she had retreated
from her earlier threats.

'I appreciate
you can't tell me who the parties were or even confirm that this injunction
exists, but if it does, I'm sure it doesn't contain a provision preventing you
from naming the judge who granted it.'

'Almost
persuasive, Mrs Cooper.' He glanced anxiously at his watch. 'I think our time's
nearly up.'

'Just a moment.'
Jenny fetched out her phone and speed- dialled Alison's mobile.

She answered
from her car.

'Alison, I need
police assistance at the offices of Reed Falkirk & Co., Montego House,
Queen Square. Right now.'

'Police? What
for?'

'To enforce an
order for disclosure.'

'Now, hold on a
moment—' Lynd protested.

Jenny cupped a
hand over her mobile. 'Yes?'

Lynd pressed his
fingers to his temples in an agony of indecision.

'Mrs Cooper?'
Alison's tinny voice cut through the ominous silence between Jenny and Lynd.

'I'm sorry, I
don't have time for this. Alison?'

'No!' Lynd said.
'Mr Justice Laithwaite.'

'Thank you.'
Jenny spoke into her mobile. 'Blank that last instruction, Alison. But I want
you to call the Royal Courts and get me an appointment before Mr Justice Laithwaite.
As soon as possible.'

She rang off and
turned to Lynd. 'If a single document goes missing from those files I will hold
you personally responsible. Do you understand?'

'I think you've
made yourself perfectly clear.'

'And by the way,
I know about her dispute with GlamourX.'

Lynd's mouth
fell open: she clearly wasn't meant to.

'Someone left a
letter in her personal papers. I'm presuming the £15,000 she owed you was
spent dealing with the injunction. Hard to catch everything, I suppose.'

Getting up from
the shiny table, Jenny paused. 'One thing you might be free to talk about - Eva
called the police on 15 March to complain that someone was harassing her. A
male. Any idea who?'

'I have no knowledge
of any complaint,' Lynd answered woodenly.

'I don't suppose
you'd care to speculate as to who Eva had upset enough to want to kill her.'

'Why do you say
"upset"?'

'I get the
feeling she was a woman of extremes; you'd either love her or hate her, possibly
both.'

'No comment,'
Lynd said.