The Coroner (10 page)

    'Twice
in two days, Mrs Cooper? To what do I owe the pleasure?'

    She
breathed through her mouth, telling herself it was only disinfectant and
formaldehyde she was smelling, not decomposing flesh. 'I got your report
yesterday. Thank you.'

    'Don't
think it'll happen every time.' He held a slice of lung up to the light. 'See
that? Threaded through with lines of black soot. He wasn't even a smoker.
That's atmospheric pollution - lived most of his life in London. Everyone in
the south-east has lungs that look like they've been on thirty Bensons a day.'

    Unable
to help herself, she glanced over at the dark pink, spongy slab he was holding
up for her benefit. Sure enough, the surface was speckled with tarry spots.

    He slapped
it on the counter and went back to work, slicing like a sous chef. 'Ever
watched an autopsy before?'

    'No.'

    'If
you feel the need to vomit there's a plastic bucket up there somewhere. And if
you feel light-headed, make sure to sit down. I had a female student fall right
over the front last month. Landed in a pile of sliced liver.'

    'Thanks
for the warning.'

    'No
problem.' He glanced up at her, eyes smiling over his mask.

    Jenny
swallowed against the nauseous sensation rising in her throat. She was coping
mentally, but her body was desperate to leave. She'd have to get this over with
quickly or take up the offer of the bucket. 'I'm here about Katy Taylor. I'll
need a detailed statement from you.'

    Moving
on to the second lung, Peterson said, 'I gave my findings in my report.'

    'It's
not just your findings I want. I need to know what contact you had with
Marshall and the police. How you were briefed, what was said. Anything at all
you can remember.'

    He
carefully studied another section of lung, prised open the trachea with
callipers and peered inside. 'To what end, exactly?'

    'The
death was hardly investigated, not in any meaningful sense. I'll be finding out
why.'

    Peterson
placed the callipers in a kidney dish and rested both hands on the counter top.
'If you're implying that I've been involved in something improper, Mrs Cooper,
I'd appreciate hearing it straight.'

    'Until
I've investigated I've no idea whether anyone acted improperly or not.' She
sucked in another breath; she could even taste the air in here. 'But what I do
know is that a fifteen- year-old girl died in circumstances which merited more
than a two-page report from a constable and half a dozen lines from a
pathologist four weeks after the event.'

    'If I
were you, I'd try the job on for size for a few weeks. You might find the
system works better than you thought. Start throwing your weight around, you'll
make enemies you never even dreamed of.'

    'That's
your philosophy, is it? Keep your head down and don't rock the boat.'

    That
smile behind the mask again. 'Tell you what, Jenny, why don't we start again?
How about we meet up for a drink one night and I'll give you the benefit of my
experience - off the record, of course.'

    Jesus.
It had only taken him two
days.

    'I'd
rather you spent the time writing your statement.'

    'And
if I have nothing to say?'

    'I
won't believe you.'

    She
turned to the door.

    Peterson
said, 'Ever seen an aortic valve?'

    She
glanced back over her shoulder. He was holding a bloody heart in his hand. 'A
flap of tissue not much thicker than your thumbnail. All it takes is for the
tiniest piece of cholesterol to break free and jam it, you're dead.'

    'Your
point being?'

    'Perhaps
you should be a little more philosophical? Spend a few days down here and you'd
come out with a whole different view of the world.'

    'You're
not kidding.'

    Andy
and Claire Taylor lived in a 1930s ex-council semi with a mock-Georgian front
door and geraniums in hanging baskets either side of it. Their street was less
than a mile from the estate Jenny had visited the day before, but the houses
and public areas here were cared for. There were no truants on the street.

    She found
both parents at home. Andy, who was a clerk of works in a construction company,
had taken a day's leave to go with Claire to the hospital that morning. She'd
been off sick since Katy died. Her doctor said it was probably depression that
was causing the crippling abdominal pains that kept her awake at night, but was
sending her to have a barium meal to rule out a tumour.

    All
of this came spilling unprompted out of Andy, a stocky, hospitable man with
kind, conscientious eyes. While Claire sat silently next to him on the sofa
hugging a cardigan around her waist, he gabbled like a man who'd been rescued
from a life raft after weeks adrift. Claire, with her hollow cheeks and pale,
freckled skin, looked like she was still drowning, barely recognizable as the
woman in the family photographs arranged on the mantelpiece.

    When
Andy eventually paused for breath, Jenny explained the reason for her visit. Mr
Marshall had acted too hastily in signing a death certificate. She was
investigating prior to holding a formal inquest into Katy's death.

    Claire
looked up and spoke for the first time since her mumbled hello. 'He told us
there wouldn't have to be one.' She turned to Andy. 'Didn't he? When we went to
his office.'

    Andy
reached for his wife's hand. 'Yes.'

    Jenny
adopted her best bedside manner. 'I'm afraid he was wrong about that. Obviously
he was trying to avoid putting you through any more unpleasantness, but where
there is any possibility that death wasn't due to natural causes, by law an
inquest must be held.'

    Andy
said, 'What does that mean?'

    Claire
tugged her hand away from his and pulled the cardigan tighter around herself.

    'I'm
not for a moment suggesting that Katy's death was caused by anything other than
an accidental overdose, but the circumstances were such that other
possibilities have to be ruled out.'

    Claire
said, 'She didn't do it on purpose. I know she didn't. I told him.'

    'Part
of my task is to determine her state of mind. Whatever you have to say is
important evidence.'

    'Evidence?
What are you talking about? Mr Marshall told us this was all done with. He
phoned up and said so.'

    'I'm
sorry—'

    'I'm
not listening to this. We're not interested.'

    'I
appreciate how you must feel — '

    'No, you
don't. How could you? Will you please leave?'

    Andy
put a hand on Claire's shoulder. 'Love—'

    'Get
off me.' She pushed up from the sofa. 'I didn't ask for any of this. Why can't
you just leave us alone?'

    'Mrs
Taylor—'

    Claire
hurried to the door, slammed out into the hallway and ran upstairs. Andy got up
to go after her but gave up halfway across the room as a bedroom door crashed
shut, shaking the whole house.

    He
turned, embarrassed. 'She's been like this ever since we lost Katy.'

    'I
understand.'

    He
sat back down on the sofa, out of words now, despair on his face.

    'It
would help me a lot if you could fill in some of the background, Mr Taylor.'

    'What
do you want to know?'

    'As
much as possible. I saw in the file that Katy had some criminal convictions in
the last couple of years.'

    He
lowered his head. 'We moved here when she'd just turned thirteen - that's when
it all kicked off. The kids she was hanging out with were all into drugs and
stealing. We tried to keep her on the straight and narrow but every time we put
our foot down she ran off. Don't know how many times we've had the police out
looking for her.'

    'Where
did she go?'

    'Off
with friends. She'd never say who.'

    'Male
or female friends?'

    Andy shook
his head and looked up at the many photographs of his dead daughter on display.
A slight and extremely pretty blonde girl with a knowing look in her eye. The
latest photo, a school portrait, showed a beautiful young woman who would have
turned heads everywhere she went. 'Some of them must have been boys, in the
last year at least, because she got herself on the pill. Who they were, I
couldn't say.'

    'Did
the police ask you about any of this? Speak to her friends, check her mobile
phone?'

    'They
asked a few questions, but once they knew she'd injected they seemed to make up
their minds it was an accident. They said it happens all the time.'

    Jenny
gave him a moment, then said, 'What do you think she was doing out in Bridge
Valley by herself?'

    'It
doesn't take a lot of working out.'

    Jenny
recalled the police photograph of Katy's body, the little top that stopped
short of her navel, the tight jeans and high-heeled sandals. Slim, stunning,
sexy and in need of a fix.

    'You
think she was selling herself to feed her habit?'

    The
muscles tensed in Andy's jaw. 'We never thought it had gone that far, but
apparently friends of hers had seen her getting into cars ... I know it sounds
like we were bad parents, but you can't begin to understand how out of control
she was. We tried locking her in her bedroom, but she jumped out of the window.
She was wild. It was like she was possessed.'

    'Who
were these friends who saw her getting into cars?'

    He
seemed at a loss. 'Kids who hang out down by the rec - the police would tell
you.'

    Jenny
could see from the set expression on his face that he was close to breaking
down. She didn't want to make him suffer more than she had to, but couldn't
leave without some information about the police investigation. 'Mr Taylor, do
you remember the name of the police officer who liaised with you after her
death'

    'I
think it was PC Campbell, Helen Campbell - the same girl who arrested her
before she went inside.'

    'Inside?'

    Andy,
surprised, said, 'Yeah. She got three months for breaking a woman's nose.
Robbing for drugs again.'

    'Oh .
. . For some reason I hadn't picked that up.'

    'Back
in February. That's the craziest thing about it. The people from the Youth
Offending Team said once she was inside they'd get her clean. Get her off
before she was hooked for good is what they promised. Two days before she was
sentenced she went AWOL and turned up in a gutter somewhere. We were all night
in the hospital, wondering if she was ever going to wake up.' His voice started
to shake. 'When she did, she promised me, never again. But as soon as she was
out...'

    Jenny
gave him a moment. 'Where did she spend her time in custody?'

    'Up
there by the Severn Bridge. Portshead Farm.'

    'When
did she get out?'

    'My
wife's birthday - 17 April.'

    The
filing cabinets were stacked two high against one wall, the archive boxes in
neat piles next to them. A vase of flowers stood on the windowsill and there
were fresh magazines on the coffee table. At least Alison was making an effort,
even if there was no sign of her.

    All
the way back in the car Jenny had been making mental lists of witnesses she
wanted to depose, questions that needing answering. Her mind was buzzing. She
searched Alison's desk for a paper and pen and started to write it all down.
The phone in her office rang. She dashed through, writing as she went, and
snatched up the receiver, jamming it against her shoulder.

    'Jenny
Cooper.'

    'Tara
Collins,
Bristol Evening Post.
We spoke yesterday.'

    Her
heart sank. 'Yes?'