The Coroner (51 page)

    He
flipped up the screen on his laptop and stuck in the flash drive containing
Peterson's files. They were all stored in the standard 'My Documents' folder
and started two years ago. Each file name followed an identical format 'NJP/'
for Peterson, then the initials of the deceased, the day, month and year. Jenny
took over the mouse and scrolled down to April.

    Tara
said, 'What exactly are we looking for?'

    Jenny
found NJP/DW on 16 April and clicked it open. 'Evidence of what Peterson saw
when he first looked at Danny's and Katy's bodies. Professor Lloyd thinks he
hasn't been telling us the whole truth.'

    She
was looking at the original of Danny's post-mortem report. It was identical to
the one in Marshall's file: a simple finding of asphyxiation due to
strangulation consistent with suicide. She closed it and searched on, her eyes
running ahead to a file headed NJP/KT dated i May. It was Katy's postmortem
report, again, identical to the report she had on file: death by heroin
overdose.

    'Damn.
It's what I've already seen.'

    Tony
leaned over and pointed halfway down the screen. 'What's NJP/DWAmend?'

    Jenny
looked at the date: 23 April. She clicked it open.

    'Oh,
my God . . .'

    Tara said,
'What does it say?'

    Jenny
sat back and turned the screen around so they could both read:

    Re-examination
of Wills D (14 years)

    
At
the instruction of the Severn Vale Coroner I am today re-examining the body of a
fourteen-year-old boy who was found hanging by a bed sheet from his cell window
in Portshead Farm Secure Training Centre. On the postmortem on 16th of this
month I determined the cause of death as asphyxiation as a result of suicide.
The coroner has requested further examination for evidence of violence or
assault occurring at the time of or prior to death.

    
On
close examination of the subject's torso I note minor bruising and oedema to
the front, mid-section of the chest. There is further minor bruising and
scratching to the subject's left wrist. On the upper lumbar section of the
subject's back there is evidence of further localized bruising. Dissection of
the area confirms some considerable degree of force was applied. A further,
possibly insignificant finding, was a small bare patch approximately half an
inch across the rear left side of the subject's scalp.

    
While
not remarkable in themselves, taken together, these injuries may suggest that
the subject was placed in face-down physical restraint at some point prior to
death. Reported cases (such as Reay et al. 1988; O'Halloran and Lewman 1993)
suggest that such restraint techniques, when applied for a period of several
minutes or more, may cause death by asphyxiation. In my opinion, from the pattern
and bruising and oedema in the subject's face and neck, death was caused by
hanging strangulation. However, in the absence of flailing injuries - scratches
on the neck area indicating attempts to loosen the ligature etc. - it is
clinically possible that the subject was only partially conscious, or indeed
unconscious, at the time of asphyxiation
.

    Jenny
sat back in her chair and looked at Tara. 'He had the same injuries as Katy.
We're looking for the same killer.' Tara said, 'Jesus Christ.'

    Tony
nodded across the restaurant. 'Who's the granny?' Jenny turned and saw Alison
approaching. She looked whiter than death.

    Alison
wouldn't show Jenny the contents of the package in front of Tony and Tara, so
they went into the Ladies. She turned away, avoiding her reflection in the
mirror, as Jenny opened the Jiffy bag and pulled out a bunch of A5 stills. Some
of the images were blurred at the edges, as if they'd been captured from
poor-quality video. They had been taken from a camera mounted in the ceiling of
what looked like an average hotel room and were date-coded: 25 April. The first
shot showed an overweight middle-aged man lying naked, face up on the bed.
Straddling him, also naked, was a beautiful young blonde with short hair and a
slender, tapered waist. Only when she reached the shots where the lovers had
switched positions did Jenny realize what had seemed strange: the heavenly
young creature screwing Harry Marshall's brains out was male.

    Attached
to the final picture was one of Harry's compliment slips. He had written:
Dear Frank, Your friend. H.

    Jenny
put the photographs and slip back in the Jiffy bag, trying to find the right
words. She settled on, 'I guess you didn't know?'

    Alison
shook her head, turning back to face her now the pictures were out of sight.

    'It
makes a few things clearer.'

    'He
had four daughters.'

    'He
did well holding it together as long as he did ... Or perhaps he was confused.'

    Alison
said, 'I don't want to talk about it now.' She reached for the package.

    'Why
don't I keep hold of these?'

    'What
for?'

    'Because
I can see what you might do with them. They could be useful.'

    'I
don't see how.'

    'They're
evidence.'

    'I'm
not allowing those pictures to be seen.'

    'They
can't hurt him now. He's dead.'

    'What
about his family? Why do you think he killed himself?'

    'Maybe
they'd have preferred him alive and gay? His daughters anyway.'

    Alison's
expression hardened. 'I want your word that his family won't ever find out
about these, Mrs Cooper.'

    'I
can't-'

    The
older woman stepped towards her. 'Give them to me.'

    Jenny
clutched the Jiffy bag tight to her chest. 'You don't even know what I've found
. . . We've got all Peterson's computer files from the hospital server. On 23
April, he says at Marshall's request he examined Danny Wills's body a second
time and found injuries which looked to him like they'd been caused by forced
restraint. He says he could even have been strung up before he was dead.
Marshall had already known for three days from Justin Bennett that Katy had
said Danny was having trouble with one of the staff. The pictures explain what
happened next. . .'

    Alison
eased back, putting the pieces together.

    'Harry
had two days, the 24th and 25th, the Tuesday and Wednesday before Danny's
inquest, when he must have been acting on that information. I'm assuming he
didn't tell the police, otherwise you'd have known about it. My guess is he
made some more enquiries at Portshead, tried to find out which staff had
contact with Danny. Maybe he even told Elaine Lewis what Peterson had found.
So, what does she do?'

    Alison's
eyes dipped towards the envelope in Jenny's hands.

    'Right.
UKAM go into overdrive. They already know about Harry's tastes - say they've
followed him in his car or hacked into his web trails - and set something up
for him. A boy he's been with before phones up and says he's short of cash, can
they meet in the Novotel, whatever.'

    Alison
shuddered.

    'The
next date we've got is the Friday, the 27th. That's when Harry went to his
doctor and got himself some pills. I think we can make a solid guess that's
just after the pictures arrived. On the Monday he held the inquest: Peterson
gave evidence and didn't even mention the second examination.' She paused for
breath. 'However we deal with this, Alison, these pictures are going to have to
be part of it.'

    She
looked up and met Jenny's eyes with an expression of wounded resignation. 'You
might be right, Mrs Cooper, but don't expect me to say well done. Right now I
wish you'd never started down this road.' She turned to go.

    'I'd
rather you were part of what happens next—'

    Alison
said, 'I'm not sure you and I could ever understand each other,' and went out
of the door.

    When
Jenny returned to the table, Tara, her eyes lit up with excitement, said, 'So
what's the big secret?'

    'It
seems Marshall had a penchant for young men. He managed to get himself caught
on camera two days after Peterson's second report.'

    'You're
kidding me. You've got pictures?'

    Jenny
nodded towards Tony. 'I'd rather not.'

    'Are
you serious?' Tara said. 'There's not a sex act ever performed kids like Tony
haven't seen on the internet.'

    Tony
sucked on his Pepsi, not appearing to mind either way.

    Jenny
said, 'Not while he's eating.'

    Tara
rolled her eyes, giving Tony a look. She turned to Jenny. 'We've got a
suppressed post-mortem report and some dirty pictures featuring the coroner.'
She smiled. 'All you need now is a good journalist. This could be huge. The only
question is, how big do you want it to go?'

    Jenny
thought about it. Having the whole story told across the centre pages had its
attractions, but she didn't share Tara's faith in the press. Sure, they'd let
her write some righteous investigative copy, but it'd be subbed out of sight.
They'd lead on the pictures of Marshall and make it a story about a coroner
(they'd call him a 'judge') who buried the truth because he'd been caught
having sex with a boy. Danny Wills would barely get a mention, Katy none at all
because of the on-going police investigation. Mrs Marshall, bless her, would
never be able to show her face again.

    Jenny
said, 'I'm not going to the press with this.'

    '
What
?'

    She
turned to Tony. 'Can I have a copy of those files?'

    He plugged
a flash drive into his laptop and hit some keys.

    'What
other option do you have? You're on a drugs charge, you're suspended from
office—'

    'I
need to think it through.'

    Trying
to strike a reasonable tone, Tara said, 'Why don't I come over to your place
this afternoon? We'll go through what we've got together.' Now she sounded
needy: 'I have been on this since the beginning.'

    Jenny
said, 'I'll call you in the morning. Thanks for your help.'

    She
took the flash drive and Jiffy bag and left the restaurant. Behind her, she
heard Tara, disbelieving, say, 'Jenny? . . . What's your problem? Don't you
trust me? I'm the one who's looking at a prison sentence, for Christ's sake.'

    She
experienced a dulling of the senses that felt like grief, even though she
hadn't known Harry. There was something about degraded sex so close to death
which disturbed her in a way she could only describe to herself as mental
nausea. The way Tara had lit up when she heard about the photographs, almost as
if she were aroused, had made her want to run away and find some clear space,
somewhere uncontaminated, to breathe.

    Leaving
the English side of the bridge and heading out towards Wales, she wound down
all four windows. The earlier rain had passed over, it was a clear late
afternoon and the air rushing through her hair was warm. She willed what she
was feeling to blow away and sweep off out to sea, but it stuck fast.

    As
she passed Chepstow racecourse the sun retreated behind the clouds and the valley
closed in. The woods on either side of the road were dense and forbidding, the
trigger for a sensation of dread which started as a pinpoint in her solar
plexus and spread outwards, seizing her chest and torso, blasting through the
barricade of pills. She tried the steady controlled breath,
my right arm is
heavy
, but it merely held her on the brink of a panic attack. Somewhere she
heard Dr Allen's voice reminding her to pull over if she felt this way, but as
she rounded the tight hairpin a mile after St Arvans she realized the only spot
was the lay-by she stopped at before. It lay half a mile ahead and became the
focus of her fear: the intense kind she'd tried to describe to her
uncomprehending ex-husband as like facing not certain death, but nothingness;
an empty space in which there was no possibility for life or hope or joy or any
sensation at all.