The Coroner (59 page)

    She turned
to the witness Kevin Stewart, who was picking idly at his nails, but words
wouldn't come. The edges of her vision started to cloud and pressure mounted on
her temples; the low babble of chatter in the room was drowned out by the
rushing of blood in her ears. She plunged her hand into her pocket, searching
for the mints, but her fingers refused to close around the tube. She saw Arvel
moving swiftly from her left and guessed he was coming to catch her as she
fell, but he strode past and up between the rows of seats and went to a woman,
a blonde older woman, and exchanged urgent, whispered words. It was
Alison.
And as Arvel turned Jenny saw Tara at her shoulder and between them a slender,
straw-haired youth with a seraphic face. The boy.

    Arvel
hurried back to Jenny's desk, almost at a jog. 'A Mrs Alison Trent, your
officer. Apparently, she has a witness for you, Mr Mark Clayton.'

    As
quickly as the wave of panic rose, it subsided again. Jenny felt her feet on
solid ground and the band around her diaphragm loosen. She reached for water,
forced a mouthful down and found her voice.

    'Stand
down, Mr Stewart. But don't leave the room.'

    He
pushed up from the chair and strolled to the back with a dismissive shake of
the head.

    'I
call Mr Mark Clayton.'

    The
blond boy, no more than eighteen or nineteen, turned to Alison, who urged him
forward, a hand in the small of his back like a protective mother. Tara stood
behind them, her face dancing with excitement.

    Clayton
came nervously to the front, Arvel steering him to the witness chair and
standing close by as he stumbled through the oath, his eyes wide and
frightened.

    Jenny
said, 'You are Mark Clayton?'

    'I
am.'

    He
gave his age - eighteen - and his address in the south of the city with a soft
accent, more Somerset than Bristol. She could tell he'd never stood in a
witness box before: he had none of the swagger of the seasoned delinquent.

    With
no notes to question him from, no rehearsed plan, no idea what it was he had to
say, she had only Alison's stoical frown to reassure her that whatever it might
be was for the best.

    'Could
you please tell us what connection, if any, you have with the deceased, Danny
Wills?'

    Clayton
glanced at Alison, as if taking her cue from her, and turned self-consciously
to the jury. 'I was ... I was a friend of the coroner, Mr Harry Marshall.'

    Jenny
said, 'When you say
friend?'

    'Yeah
. . . Well, actually it was more than that, you know . . . I met him about
three months ago, saw him every couple of weeks.'

    There
was a surge of energy through the room. The journalists looked up in unison,
the most cynical eyes agog.

    She
trod carefully. 'Was this a romantic friendship?'

    'Kind
of ... I met him online.' Another glance to Alison. 'He'd pay me.'

    'Harry
Marshall, the coroner who was investigating Danny Wills's death, paid you once
a fortnight to have sex with him?'

    'Yes.'

    She
caught sight of Williams lowering his head in sadness for what would now greet
Mary Marshall and her daughters, but there could be no going back. She asked
Arvel to bring the envelope to the witness chair and invited Clayton to open
it. He pulled out the photographs.

    'Can
you tell us please what those are?'

    Clayton
seemed surprised, disgusted even, at what he saw. 'They're pictures of me and
Harry in a hotel room.'

    'Is
there a date on them?'

    'Yes
-25 April.'

    'Where
were you?'

    'In
the Novotel in Bristol. It's where we always went.'

    'Were
you aware that photographs were being taken?'

    'No .
.. Neither of us was.'

    'There's
a note attached to the photographs. Can you read what it says?'

    Jenny
glanced over at where Frank Grantham had been sitting, but he was no longer there.

    
'It
says,
Dear Frank, Your friend.
H.'

    'Is
there a date?'

    'Yes
- 3 May.'

    Jenny
turned to the jury. 'You'll remember that Mr Marshall mailed those photographs
to Mr Grantham on the morning of the 3rd and died later that day.' She addressed
Clayton again. 'What do you know about them?'

    'Harry
called me on my mobile, I think on the Friday before and said he was sorry, but
there was a chance some pictures of us together might appear in the press. He
said someone had sent copies to his office. He didn't know how it had
happened.'

    'How
did he sound?'

    'Upset.
. . very.'

    'Did
he mention anything to you about his work?'

    'Not
that time. It was only a short call ... I was angry.'

    'About
the pictures?'

    'What
else? Yeah.'

    
'You
said,
Not that time—''

    'He
called me once more, the next week, the Thursday. To be honest I didn't want to
know, but he kept calling, wouldn't leave it, so I picked up ...'

    'What
time?'

    'I don't
know exactly. Late in the evening, may even have been past midnight.'

    Jenny
glanced over at Alison, thinking of the call she had received from Harry, the
call that might have stopped him had she found the courage to ring back.

    'What
did he say?'

    'He
sounded quiet, not upset, just sort of sad . . . He said he wasn't well. And
that if anything happened to him, I was to tell his office that the man he was
looking for was called Sean Loughlin and he was a nurse at Portshead Farm. He
said,
Sean Loughlin killed Danny Wills and I wasn't brave enough to prove
it.
That was it.'

    'Why
didn't you call his office, Mr Clayton?'

    'I
didn't want to have anything more to do with him. It was just business, you
know. And when his wife started calling me, that was all I needed.'

    Williams
had sent a note suggesting an adjournment when she'd finished with Clayton, but
didn't say why. Later he would tell her how in that half-hour, with the news
crews whipping themselves into a frenzy outside on the pavement, the real story
was happening in the alley at the back of the hall, where he had his constables
bring Stewart and Hogg. With the same look in his eye that appeared when he
talked about outdoing the English, he told her how he'd offered a deal to the
first one who talked. Hogg turned out to be quicker than he looked, sticking
his hand up like a schoolboy. Stewart swung a punch at him, then tried to bolt,
but ended up cuffed in the van parked at the other end of the alley, where they
already had Frank Grantham. Williams told her Grantham was the worst, kept
saying, 'Do you know who I am?' He had given him an answer, but it wasn't
repeatable in polite company.

    The
Welsh country detective, whose workload consisted mostly of shed break-ins and,
if he was lucky, the odd domestic, was enjoying himself.

    Hartley
and the UKAM solicitors were back in the hall when Jenny reconvened in the
middle of the afternoon, but were gathered in a corner of the public gallery,
trapped between their need to stay in with the action and too proud to lose
face by retaking their seats at the front. Several rows ahead of them, Alison
and Tara Collins were sitting with Simone Wills and her friends, Tara having
taken the place of the trainee porn star, holding Simone's hand.

    Jenny
called Hogg to the front and reminded him that he was still on oath. There was
no trace of shame or embarrassment in his demeanour. He had all the arrogant
confidence of a man who believed he had got away with it.

    'Mr
Hogg, I believe that since you gave evidence earlier this afternoon you have
had some further thoughts and now wish to clarify certain matters.'

    Hogg
glanced across at Williams, double-checking he was fireproof. Williams
responded with a nod. Hogg said, 'Yes, ma'am.'

    'Mr
Hogg, could you tell us what you saw on the night of 13-14 April, the night
Danny Wills died.'

    'I
saw someone, a member of staff, going into his room.'

    'You
saw this from where?'

    'On
one of my monitors.'

    'You're
telling the court the camera covering the corridor in the male house unit was
working?'

    'Yes,
ma'am. It was.'

    Jenny
resisted looking at the jury. She could hear their quiet gasps, but didn't want
to respond to their emotion, her heart was hammering hard enough. Nor did she
dare look at Hartley or his team. She had to remain focused; all that mattered
was getting the undiluted truth out of Hogg.

    'It
hadn't been broken?'

    'No.'
Still no hint of regret. He was shameless.

    'Then
why did you say it had been?'

    'I
was instructed to say so and to report it broken early the next morning before
the end of my shift.'

    'Who
by?'

    'The
director, Mrs Lewis.'

    Jenny
heard the stirring from the UKAM lawyers, knowing that they would already be planning
their tactics to smear and discredit the witness.

    'You
didn't report the camera broken until the morning of the 14th, after Danny was
dead?'

    'That's
right.'

    She
took a steadying breath. 'Tell me what you saw on the camera, Mr Hogg.'

    'During
the evening I saw Mr Stewart making his checks, but he came to the outside of
the door of one room several times - it was Danny's. I couldn't see what was
going on inside, but Mr Stewart seemed to be shouting. It looked like the prisoner
was causing a disturbance. I'd noticed it on the previous nights, too.'

    'What
had you noticed?'

    'Mr
Stewart was having problems with Danny. He wouldn't settle. He'd have to keep
going to his door, then eventually he'd call Loughlin.'

    'Who
was Loughlin?'

    'One
of the nurses in the reception unit.'

    Jenny
said, 'Why haven't I seen his name on any of the staff rosters?'

    'I
didn't see him again after the 14th . . .' For the first time, Hogg dipped his
head. 'We were told that as far as we were concerned he'd been off for the last
two weeks .. . That if the police or coroner asked any questions that's what we
were to say.'

    'Mrs
Lewis told you this?'

    He
nodded.

    'And
if you disobeyed?'

    'We'd
lose our jobs and never get another one . . . And no one would have wanted to
get on the wrong side of Loughlin . . . The kids called him the Butcher.'

    'Any
particular reason?'

    'I
don't know if it's true or not. . .' Hogg was starting to sweat. He rubbed a
cuff over his waxy forehead. 'It was just the rumour I'd heard - he'd get them
drugs but treat them like meat.'

    'Meaning?'

    Hogg
reached for his tie knot, loosening it a touch. 'They'd pay for them with sex, I
guess. But I never saw it happen. All I know is he was on a lot at nights. The
duty nurse'd get called out when someone needed quietening down. Mostly that
was him.'

    'At
what time did Loughlin come to Danny's room?'

    'About
two-ish.'

    'Did
Mr Stewart go in with him?'

    'No.
He went in alone. He was in there maybe ten, fifteen minutes. I couldn't see
what had happened inside obviously, but when he came out I remember he looked
up at the camera, just a little look, you know . . .'