The Coroner (13 page)

    Clipping
up to the front door in a new pair of heels, this straightforward conclusion
felt liberating. She would hold an inquest into Katy's death and properly
explore the possibility of suicide or homicide, politely but firmly calling on
the relevant police officers to account for their actions. Meanwhile, she would
review the evidence in Danny Wills's case and come to a conclusion as to
whether the drastic step of seeking leave from the High Court to conduct a
fresh inquest was justified. Both courses of action were entirely proper,
uncontroversial and exactly what the Ministry of Justice would expect of a
diligent new coroner. She filed all paranoid thoughts of dark forces away and
went to work feeling a good deal saner.

    She
entered reception to find Alison hovering by her desk. Jenny glanced at her
watch. It was only eight-thirty.

    'Good
morning, Alison. You're early.'

    Alison's
eyes flicked apprehensively towards Jenny's office. 'Mr Grantham's here to see
you. I told him to wait inside. It's still a bit of a mess out here.'

    'Grantham?'

    'From
the local authority. Head of legal services.'

    'Oh,
OK.' She vaguely recalled the name from one of her interviews and wondered what
he could want. All meaningful control over the coroner's office, and there was
not a lot of it, was exercised by the Ministry of Justice. 'Are we expecting
him?'

    Before
her officer could answer, a stocky man somewhere in upper middle age emerged
from the inner office. He was dressed in a blazer and grey flannels and wore
what Jenny assumed was a golf club tie. He hoisted his heavy cheeks into an
insincere smile.

    'Mrs
Cooper, good to see you again.' He extended a plump hand, which she felt
obliged to shake. 'Thank you, Alison.'

    Turning
to Jenny, Grantham said, 'I won't keep you a moment. I know how busy you must
be.'

    'Yes,'
Jenny said, doing a bad job of hiding her irritation.

    'Shall
we?' He gestured towards her office as if it were his own.

    Jenny
turned to Alison. 'Bring me through any overnight reports, would you?'

    'Will
do, Mrs Cooper.'

    Taking
her time, Jenny stepped into the room ahead of Grantham and gestured him to one
of the two visitor's chairs while she stood behind her desk and proceeded to
unload papers from her briefcase.

    'What
can I do for you, Mr Grantham?'

    'A
good job, I hope. I was on your interview panel.' He remained standing, still
vying for dominance.

    'I
remember.'

    'It
was a close-run thing. Several very good candidates.'

    Not
reacting, she calmly placed her briefcase on the floor, sat down in her much
bigger chair and looked up at her unwelcome guest with a professional smile.

    Grantham
tugged the thighs of his trousers up an inch and took a seat, his eyes
travelling around the room. They settled on a vase of dahlias Alison had placed
on the windowsill. 'I can see the woman's touch.' He seemed to find the thought
of a female coroner amusing. 'And you're making yourself very busy already, I
hear.'

    'That's
what I promised to do.'

    'Of
course. But, how shall I put this? . . . I'm sure none of us would want this
office to get a reputation for upsetting people unnecessarily.'

    She
looked at him quizzically. 'What are you referring to, exactly?'

    'I
know you're only just getting your feet under the table, but we do try to keep
the various public services in our district working in harmony.'

    'I'm
afraid I'm not following.'

    'I
hear you've been talking to Dr Peterson at the Vale.'

    'Yes.'

    'Like
I said, Mrs Cooper, in Severn Vale all our public services are encouraged to
support each other. That's our ethos, and it works very well.'

    'It
certainly wasn't working for this office. My predecessor was routinely waiting
three or four weeks for post-mortem reports. Obviously death certificates
couldn't wait that long to be signed, so he was forced to act improperly, in a
way, in fact, which could result in a coroner being summarily removed from
office.'

    She
observed Grantham suck in his cheeks a little, resenting being lectured but
without a ready response.

    'Coroners
are under so much pressure to investigate every unnatural death thoroughly, we
simply can't afford to cut corners.' She went in for the kill. 'But quite
frankly, I can't see that my discussions with the pathology department at the
Vale are any of your concern.'

    'My
department pays for the coroner. It's everything to do with me.'

    'I
think you'll find the law is against you on that.'

    'I'm
trying to be polite, Mrs Cooper, but the fact is each department relies on the cooperation
of every other. If you have a problem I will happily help guide you to the
appropriate channels. That's what I'm here for.'

    'If
you can help get post-mortem reports to me on time I would be more than
grateful.'

    'I'll
have a word.'

    'Thank
you.'

    'There
is just one other matter—'

    They
were interrupted by a knock at the door. Alison came in with a sheaf of
overnight reports, placed them on the desk and retreated. Jenny picked them up
and skimmed through, giving Grantham only half her attention.

    'I
understand from Alison that you're planning to hold an inquest into the death
of that young addict?'

    'Katy
Taylor . . . Yes. There should have been one a month ago.'

    'I'm
not here to tell you how to do your job, but really, is this strictly
necessary? From what I heard, the family aren't asking for it, and you know
what a meal the press make of these things.'

    'It's
absolutely necessary. Why else would I be doing it?'

    Grantham
sighed and knitted his fingers together. 'Then I'll leave you with something to
think about. Harry Marshall was a good friend of mine, a very good friend. He
never held an inquest when he didn't have to. And in all the years he ran this
office we never had a single complaint.'

    He
heaved himself up from his chair, wished her good day and let himself out. She
heard him saying a friendly goodbye to Alison and her replying with a,
'Goodbye, Frank.' Jenny waited until he had exited into the hall, then went out
to confront her.

    'Did
you know he was coming?'

    'He
phoned me last night and said he would be.'

    'And
you didn't call me?'

    'It
was after nine.'

    'How
did the Katy Taylor inquest come up in conversation?'

    'He asked
me about it. He must have picked up the gossip from the station.'

    'And
you didn't think to clear it with me before telling him my business?'

    'He
is the boss.'

    Jenny
took a deep breath. 'Wrong. We answer to the Ministry of Justice, not to him.
Understood?'

    Alison
gave an uncertain nod.

    'And
while we're on the subject, maybe you can tell me about this informal network
of public servants who seem to be trying to make each other's lives as easy as
possible.'

    'It's
just that everyone knows everyone. And Frank Grantham's very well connected.
He's on a lot of committees.'

    'Masons,
Rotary .. .'

    'That
sort of thing.'

    'And
he's frightened of me upsetting his friends in the police by holding an inquest
which might show them up?'

    'I
wouldn't know.'

    'Alison,'
Jenny said, 'when you said that Detective Superintendent Swainton might have
been sat on, who were you thinking of?'

    'No
one in particular . .. just someone more senior.'

    'Are
you and Grantham friends?'

    'Not
particularly ... I know his wife, though. We play golf sometimes.'

    'And
where does Dr Peterson fit into the social scene?'

    'I
think he and Harry might have been on the same charity committee, raising money
for cancer research. I know Frank does a lot of that sort of thing, too.'

    It
was all becoming clear. Severn Vale District might take in a large slice of
north Bristol, but it ran like a small country town. Doctors, policemen, civil
servants, the coroner all woven into the same fabric. Very useful if your face
fitted, but also adept at covering up friends' mistakes. Jenny felt the
certainty with which she entered the office twenty minutes earlier slipping
away. Suddenly anything seemed possible, no scenario too far-fetched. It wasn't
implausible to conceive of Katy Taylor being hired for sex by a local
Establishment man, or Marshall being leaned on to save the reputation of
Portshead Farm Secure Training Centre. Jenny wanted no part of it; more than
that, if such a sleazy system existed, she wanted it exposed and dealt with.

    'OK.
I'm going to open the Katy Taylor inquest tomorrow morning.'

    'Tomorrow?'
Alison sounded shocked.

    'Before
our witnesses have a chance to get their stories straight. I want summonses
issued this morning to Dr Peterson, the investigating officers and whoever was
handling her parole at the Youth Offending Team.'

    'What
about the family? Shouldn't we give them more notice?'

    'I'll
deal with them.' Jenny marched towards her office.

    'Mrs
Cooper?'

    She wheeled
round. 'Yes?'

    'Where
are you planning to hold it?'

    She
stalled for a moment. The question was obvious, yet it hadn't occurred to her.
Severn Vale was one of the majority of coronial districts which didn't have a
dedicated courtroom; coroners had to book venues when needed. Some of her
colleagues were still forced to hold court in the function rooms of leisure
centres and church halls, slotting in between kids' birthday parties and quiz
nights. The only legal restriction was an ancient prohibition on holding
inquests in public houses.

    'Where
did Marshall hold his inquests?'

    'Usually
in the old county court, but it's just been sold for flats.'

    'What
do you suggest?'

    'We
used Ternbury village hall occasionally. It's cheap.'

    'A
village hall? Is that the best we can do?'

    'At a
day's notice? There's an upstairs room in my local Indian.'

    It
took Jenny a moment to realize that Alison was being sarcastic. 'Fine. We'll go
with the village hall.'

    The rest
of the morning was spent dealing with the overnight death reports. A Polish
lorry driver had crashed into a bridge on the M4, having apparently fallen
asleep at the wheel. It took an hour to track down and inform the appropriate
authorities in Gdansk, and shortly afterwards Jenny received a call from a
hysterical woman she presumed to be the widow who couldn't speak a word of
English. She wept incoherently on the line for more than fifteen minutes while
Alison tried and failed to locate a translator. Next was a four-year-old girl
who had died at home from advanced leukaemia. The GP was prepared to sign a
death certificate but the parents were insisting on a post-mortem, convinced
their child had been contaminated by radiation from the nearby decommissioned
Berkeley power station. Jenny granted them their wish, if only to give them
peace of mind.

    Her
afternoon was largely taken up with calls to bemused consultants at the Vale
explaining that she wouldn't be writing death certificates for their recently
deceased patients until she had received written post-mortem reports. After
eight such encounters she received an angry call from a senior manager, Michael
Summers, who complained that their mortuary was already full to overflowing.
Jenny told him that hiring a secretary for the pathology department would be
far cheaper and more environmentally friendly than a fleet of refrigeration
lorries.