The Redeemed (9 page)

Her reckless days were behind her. Jenny had checked whether
it was safe to increase her dosage at times of stress and had satisfied herself
it was. She pulled over into a layby to swallow the extra Xanax tablet to
allow time for it to get to work before she arrived at the Jacobs' house. It
was a blip. She'd had jumpy periods before and they had passed.

The key to not letting it take hold was not to panic, to
remind her subconscious mind who was in control.

The double dose did the trick. She arrived on Ceri Jacobs's
doorstep feeling a little woozy but not so much that it showed. Ceri came to
the door dressed in black trousers and top, a small silver cross around her
neck. She ushered Jenny into the house filled with flowers.

'It took people a day or two to know how to react,' Ceri
said. 'They wonder if sending flowers is the right thing to do.'

Jenny gave her the kindly but neutral smile she had
cultivated during her many months of visiting the bereaved. They sat at the
dining table in the kitchen area, Jenny declining the offer of a drink for fear
that her hand might tremble. Ceri sat upright, composed and dignified, the bewilderment
of sudden grief replaced with an air of quiet determination to soldier on.

'How's your daughter?' Jenny asked.

'I took her back to nursery this morning. There's no point
disrupting her routine.'

'No,' Jenny said. Small talk eluding her, she fetched a
notebook from her briefcase. 'My officer said the police have called off their
investigation.'

'So they tell me. I don't appear to have any say in the
matter.'

'It's a question of resources. If everything points to someone
having taken their own life they tend to hand over to the coroner fairly
swiftly.'

'Do they usually wipe people's computers when they examine
them?' Ceri nodded to a laptop sitting on the kitchen counter.

'I understand you were told it was an accident?'

'A technician accidentally formatted the hard drive, they
said. Apparently they take the drive out and put it in another machine.'

'I'm not familiar with the technicalities, but I can make
enquiries.'

Ceri shook her head. 'I don't know why I'm surprised. Why
would I expect the police to be honest?'

'What were you expecting them to find?' Jenny said.

Ceri glanced down at her hands, making a conscious effort to
keep her emotion at bay. 'Not even his good friends really knew Alan, not like
I did. He was a big, good-natured man, just the sort you'd want looking after
you - we've got a drawer full of letters upstairs from ex-patients. But what
you saw on the outside wasn't the whole story.' She paused and collected
herself. 'He was sensitive. He cared deeply about the kids in the unit, but he
didn't always agree with the methods used to treat them.'

'In what way?'

'The constant drugs for one thing. The fact they'd be so
short-staffed they'd have to knock the difficult ones out just so they could
cope. Sometimes he'd come home in tears, saying that instead of helping them
get better he was turning them into zombies.'

'How does this connect with what you think may have been on
his computer?' Jenny asked.

'I know he used it for work. And sometimes he'd look things
up, try to work out if a patient was being given the right treatment. Like last
month . . . there was a girl diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic, but Alan
thought it was a reaction to her anti-psychotics. The doctor wouldn't listen—'
Ceri paused, in two minds whether to continue.

'I'd like to hear,' Jenny said.

'Al took it upon himself to change this girl's pills. She was
getting better, she really was. Dr Pearce found out and changed the
prescription back again. He was threatening to have Alan suspended, but the
girl hanged herself in the night.' Struggling with the painful memory, Ceri
said, 'He was involved with each one of them, he couldn't help it.'

'You think that incident might have something to do with his
death?'

Ceri's eyes clouded as she relived the memory. 'All I know is
that he went through three very black days when he thought his career might be
in danger. I'd never seen him like that.'

'Did you tell any of this to the police?'

Ceri nodded. 'They said they'd spoken to his superior and she
insisted there had been no complaints lodged against him.'

'Is it possible something else was happening which might have
led to a complaint?' Jenny asked. 'Another case perhaps?'

'I've no idea. But why this business with his computer? It's
more likely he'd found out about other mistakes. He was the kind of man who had
to tell the truth. It just wasn't in him to lie or cover anything up.'

'So your theory is that he had uncovered some incident or
malpractice . . . then what, exactly?'

Ceri shook her head, the possibilities in her mind too
dreadful to articulate.

Jenny gently changed tack to a line of questioning she felt
was probably more relevant to the manner of Alan Jacobs's end. 'Would you say
that your husband was a secretive man?'

'No. Not at all. We told each other everything.'

'When did he tell you about the girl and her misdiagnosis,
for example?'

'He couldn't tell me about it at the time,' Ceri said
defensively. 'It was difficult enough ethically without asking me to compromise
my morality too.'

'In what sense?'

'You could say he was acting unprofessionally. He knows I
would never have approved of him being dishonest.'

'So he was giving her one type of medication but entering
another into her records.'

'Yes.'

'When did he tell you?'

'It all came out after she died. There was an inquest. No
action was taken against him.'

Jenny made a note, putting off asking her next question. The
silence crackled. They both knew what was coming.

Jenny approached the subject obliquely. 'I've seen enough
suicides now to be able to tell you that even husbands and wives sometimes have
no clue as to the depth of their partner's depression, or what's caused it.'

She waited, hoping the widow would search her memory and
start to put together telltale pieces.

Ceri's expression hardened. 'I know what you're trying to
say, Mrs Cooper. You think Alan was gay, and probably involved in some sordid
scandal with a patient.'

'We certainly have to deal with the forensic evidence.' Jenny
braced herself. 'Your husband did have sex with a man in the hours before his
death, Mrs Jacobs.'

'I don't believe it.'

'It may be difficult, but there is no other rational
explanation.'

'He could have been murdered,' Ceri said coldly. 'Drugged and
molested. It's happened to others. There were marks on his arms, the police
showed me the report. He must have been attacked.'

'Those lesions weren't very deep. They weren't necessarily
caused in a struggle.'

'If he was drugged he would hardly have been able to put up a
fight. The knife they found next to him wasn't even one of ours.'

'I'm not sure that's proof of very much.'

Ceri's conviction wouldn't be shaken. 'Alan went to church
every week to learn about the Catholic faith. He wanted us to be able to share
that part of our lives. We were happily married, Mrs Cooper.'

'I can see that,' Jenny said, deciding there was nothing to
be gained from pursuing the subject. 'Just one more thing while I remember. Did
he have any connection with the church where he was found?'

'We've never even been there. Our church is St Xavier's, in
town.'

Jenny wrote the name down. She'd instruct Alison to talk to
the priest.

'I refuse to believe he killed himself, Mrs Cooper. He loved
his family too much. We were everything to him.'

Jenny gave an understanding smile. The ones left behind
always said that.

Kenneth Donaldson had been waiting in reception for over an
hour and was in no mood to be fobbed off. Somewhere in Eva's file Jenny had
seen him named as her only family. His occupation was listed as company
director, and he gave every impression of being a man used to getting his own
way and at a time of his choosing. He brushed Alison's attempted introduction
aside and collared Jenny the moment she walked through the door of the
reception area.

'Kenneth Donaldson, Eva's father. Would you please explain
why you haven't released my daughter's body? It's bad enough that you made us
wait until the killer pleaded guilty.'

'Pleased to meet you, Mr Donaldson. Would you like to come
this way?'

'I'd like an answer. Now, preferably.'

'That's what I'm offering you.' Jenny stepped past him and
into her office.

Donaldson sighed sharply and followed.

'Please, take a seat,' Jenny said.

'Now listen,' Donaldson said, refusing the offer, 'I've
already taken the advice of several very senior lawyers, who assure me that
this is completely irregular.'

'It's unusual, certainly,' Jenny said calmly, 'but from what
I've seen so far I'm not satisfied the police have investigated the
circumstances of your daughter's death to an extent that I consider
satisfactory.'

'The man confessed. What the hell are you expecting to find?'

'Please, do sit down.'

'Do you have any idea what it's like waiting nearly two
months to bury your child?'

'No. I'm sorry.'

'Well try, Mrs Cooper. You might begin to understand why if
you don't release her immediately I'll be lodging a formal complaint.'

Jenny managed to remain impassive in the face of his anger.
'I'm requesting one further post-mortem examination - it could happen as early
as this afternoon. If nothing significant arises I will release your daughter's
body at once.'

'The cause of death was established beyond all doubt. There
was no dispute about it whatsoever.'

'From a forensic perspective all we know for certain is that
she was killed by a single stab wound. I'd like to know a little more - whether
there is any trace of third-party DNA, whether there are physical signs of a
struggle, whether there is any possibility that the wound was self-inflicted.'

'That's absurd. Her killer is behind bars. I'm told that it's
virtually unheard of for a coroner to continue fishing for evidence at this
stage.'

'With respect, Mr Donaldson, many coroners do as little as
they can get away with. I prefer to cover every possibility.'

'No matter how futile or traumatic to the family?'

'Wouldn't you like to think no stone had been left unturned?'

Donaldson placed his fingers to his temples, a look of pain
contorting his face. He sank into the chair, fury giving way to exasperation.

'I went through all this with the police. Of course you'd
think there are potentially thousands of men who might have preyed on her, but
there was simply no evidence for it. Since she'd become synonymous with the
Decency campaign all that sort of unwanted attention had petered out.'

'But before that she was harassed?'

'I couldn't say how bad it was. Eva didn't communicate very
much once she'd embarked on her . . .' He faltered. 'Since she left home. The
detectives just assumed that would be the case.'

'Do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?'

He shook his head.

'Do you have any idea what Eva was planning to do with her
life after the Decency campaign? Did she have any long- term plans?'

He thought for a moment. 'I really couldn't say. I assume she
may have harboured a maternal instinct somewhere.'

'Do you have any insight into her mental state in the months
before she died? I know she had money problems—'

'I'm afraid we didn't often talk.' He glanced away guiltily.
'She lost her mother when she was fourteen. I'm afraid I never succeeded in
filling the gap my late wife left.'

'That must have been a source of sadness to you.'

His expression turned to one of mistrust. 'If you're angling
for some profound psychological insight, I'm afraid I can't give you one. She
had a perfectly happy childhood. She went to excellent schools and even seemed
to weather her mother's death far better than I could have hoped for, but the
moment she went to college she became completely wild. What more can I say?'

Quietly, Jenny said, 'I think you know what I'm asking.'

'She didn't kill herself, Mrs Cooper,' Donaldson said
sharply. 'God knows, nothing would have surprised me, but if she had the knife
would have still been at the scene.'

'There are other scenarios. Craven could have entered the
house and found her already dead.'

Donaldson's gaze travelled around her untidy office as he
seemed to be weighing her motives. 'I don't suppose a woman in your position
has many opportunities to step into the limelight. I presume it's a case of
grabbing it when you can.'

'Believe me, Mr Donaldson, this isn't for my benefit.'

He fixed Jenny with a look that was more knowing than accusing.
'I'm afraid I don't believe you. You could make a formal finding of unlawful
killing today. But you won't because you want a piece of the action. She's too
hot a property for you simply to let her go. And you know what that makes you?
No better than those parasites who made their filthy fortunes from her. Why
can't you let her rest in peace, for God's sake? Leave her with some tiny shred
of dignity intact.'

Jenny wavered. For a brief moment she believed he was right.

'I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll ask the pathologist to
complete his examination today. That way you can have Eva's body tomorrow, and
I give you my word I'll deal with this matter as swiftly and discreetly as I
can.'

'Before the Decency Bill has its first reading?'

'If at all possible.'

She guessed he had been speaking to Turnbull; they were men
who would understand each other.

Donaldson held her in a steady, evaluating gaze. 'You
understand my cynicism, Mrs Cooper. This industry my daughter was working to
shut down isn't a sideshow, it's a powerful force. Its interests are
secretively owned by many hugely successful legitimate businesses. These are
people who would stop at nothing, baulk at corrupting no one, to protect their
revenue.'

'If anyone offers me a brown envelope you'll be the first to
know. Meanwhile, can I assume you'll allow me a day before making a complaint?'

'No. You're a bloody fool and deserve whatever's coming to
you.' Donaldson rose from his chair. 'If I were you, Mrs Cooper, I'd be wary of
far more than brown envelopes.'

'I don't know why you're bothering,' Alison said after
Donaldson had stormed out. 'Haven't we got enough to deal with?'

Jenny looked at her accumulating mountain of files. Heaped up
on the floor was a newly delivered stack of document boxes marked
R v. Paul Craven.
They contained all the papers from
Craven's trial and would take at least a day to digest. She was tempted to give
Donaldson what he wanted: quick and easy closure and a smooth path for Turnbull
to deliver Eva's legacy. A few strokes of the pen and the case would be
disposed of. What was stopping her? Images of Father Starr and Paul Craven
jostled with a picture, now scored on her memory, of Lennox Strong's haunted
expression as he described his brush with death; and behind them all the smiling
face of Alec McAvoy as he turned to her with a wise, mischievous smile on the
day they first met: 'I could kneel all night in prayer, to heal your many ills,
My Dark Rosaleen.'

Jenny said, 'Call Dr Kerr and tell him I want her body
autopsied this afternoon.'

Alison protested, 'But Mrs Cooper—'

'Then start making arrangements for the Jacobs inquest. I
want it out of the way by the end of the week.'