The Sun Will Still Shine Tomorrow (15 page)

“Of course.”

“And then she gets on with the rest of her life, Ash, that’s how it happens. That’s what she needs.”

“The rest of her life,” Ashley muttered into the phone. Yeah… the rest of her life.

Kate Wilkinson sat with Ashley in Middlesbrough Crown Court as the coroner deliberated over proceedings. It was a sombre affair with the usual people in attendance. Curiosity seekers, a smattering of journalists, law students and people with nothing better to do.

A middle-aged PC sat opposite the public gallery just slightly to the left of John Roddam. Ashley was curious as to why Roddam had made the hour-long trip down the A19. There were more uniformed police officers sitting with Roddam; two or three were vaguely familiar. He assumed they were his former colleagues from Northumbria Police though couldn’t be sure.

After John Markham’s little lecture, Ashley had agreed that the accidental verdict would be best all round even if there were a few small loose ends.

He wanted to reassure Kate and tell her it was over. He wanted to help with the funeral arrangements and get on with his own life, and so she could get on with hers.

An open verdict. That would be a little trickier. Never mind; Kate had no knowledge of the law and none whatsoever of what a coroner’s verdict actually meant. If an open verdict was the outcome he’d reassure her that it was normal when the exact nature of the cause of death hadn’t been clearly established.

The first verdict came after about thirty-five minutes of mundane bureaucratic procedures and formalities.

Death by drowning.

No surprise there. A policeman from Berwick-upon-Tweed, PC John Renton, then went on to describe how he’d carried out an investigation to establish where Tom Wilkinson had fallen in the water. It had been mentioned that Northumbria Police had been asked to establish if a connection had been made between Holy Island and the deceased. He went on to explain that the mother of the deceased had intimated that the last phone call suggested he intended to visit the island.

The coroner, Dr Douglas, a large, bespectacled, no-nonsense type addressed the policeman.

“So, Police Constable Renton, what conclusion did you arrive at? Had the deceased ever been to Holy Island and was there any evidence to suggest where he entered the water?”

PC Renton examined his notes, took a deep breath.

“Well, sir, I followed several lines of enquiries. As you know a small amount of alcohol was found in the body of the deceased. I figured a good place to start would be the pubs on the island. I interviewed all of the regulars over a three-day period. The island population is just over three hundred and during the course of my investigation I interviewed just about every person over the age of eighteen. I showed them the latest photograph supplied by the deceased’s mother.”

The coroner removed his glasses, peered down from the dock.

“And, constable.”

“Not one person can recall seeing the deceased, sir.”

The coroner replaced his spectacles and began making notes in a large book on the desk.

After a few minutes he looked up.

“That will be all, constable.”

PC Renton nodded and, as he sat down, cast a glance in Ashley’s direction. It ruffled Ashley; was that a grin or a slight smirk?

Or had he just imagined it. Next up was the pathologist Dr Alex Morgan who had carried out the autopsy.

No real surprises as he read out the technicalities and medical names associated with drowning. Anoxic brain damage and salt water drowning.

“Brain damage you say, Dr Morgan?”

“Anoxic brain damage, sir. It means lack of oxygen, not the sort of brain damage caused by a blow, a punch or a kick. Mr Wilkinson’s lungs were three times their normal weight from the amount of water they’d taken in.”

Kate Wilkinson reached for Ashley’s hand and gripped it tightly. He looked across; her eyes, focused on the policeman in the dock, welled up with tears.

“Ah, I see, Dr Morgan,” the coroner replied as he turned a few pages in his book. Again he removed his glasses before speaking to the pathologist. “But I understand the deceased had a few abrasions on and around his face, and a broken rib?”

“Yes, sir,” the pathologist replied. The coroner once again consulted his notes. “The sort of injuries that could have been attributed to a fall

perhaps… say from a cliff or a harbour wall.” “Yes, sir,” the pathologist answered politely. The coroner stood up, closed his book and spoke. “I think I’ve heard all I need to know. We’ll adjourn for lunch

and I’ll deliver my verdict later this afternoon.”

Ashley looked across at the Berwick policeman. He hadn’t imagined it this time; he’d definitely smiled. He stood up to leave, picked his cap up and tucked it under his arm.

“Excuse me, sir.” It was the pathologist; he was addressing the coroner. “Yes, Dr Morgan, what is it?” “There is one other thing.” “Go on, Dr Morgan.” The pathologist coughed to clear his throat. Ashley looked at

the Berwick policeman who all of a sudden didn’t look so relaxed. The pathologist took a deep breath and spoke.

“The deceased had an unusual abrasion on the right side of his face, his cheekbone, sir.”

He waited for a signal from the coroner to continue. The coroner raised his eyebrows; the pathologist spoke again, this time a little louder.

“I’d describe it as a pattern or a symbol. About a quarter inch in diameter, the shape of a perfect circle with interlocking lines. A little like the Star of David though it was difficult to make out every line. It would take a good geometrist or historian to figure out exactly what it was or what it means.”

The coroner sat back down at the large desk, clearly interested in this latest development. He stroked his chin, pondered for a moment and looked the pathologist directly in the eye.

“And, Dr Morgan, in your opinion would you like to take a guess at what exactly caused this… erm… abrasion.”

The pathologist shook his head.

“I’m not in the professional habit of guessing, sir.”

The coroner smiled and removed his glasses again as if they were an imaginary barrier between him and the truth.

“I do apologise, Dr Morgan. Let me put it another way. In your professional opinion, what do you believe caused this abrasion?”

The pathologist stole a quick glance around the courtroom, making eye contact with Ashley and Kate for a split second, then focusing directly on the coroner.

“I’d be one hundred per cent certain, sir, that the abrasion and the bruise under the skin would have resulted from a heavy blow. Perhaps a punch from a person wearing a sovereign-type ring.”

A collective gasp reverberated around the courtroom.

The voices grew louder. PC Renton leaned over and spoke directly with a uniformed colleague. Roddam did likewise with an uncomfortable-looking, middle-aged, overweight sergeant who shrugged his shoulders. Ashley could now hear clearly the conversations and words springing from the courtroom, words like ‘attacked’ and ‘beaten’ and someone in the public gallery

saying ‘poor boy’.

“Furthermore–”

The pathologist wanted to continue but could not be heard above the noise.

“Please continue, Dr Morgan,” the coroner boomed above the commotion.

Dr Morgan took another deep breath then a hesitant yet confident look around the courtroom.

“I’d go further, sir. I’d say that the injuries weren’t caused by a fall. I’d suggest that they were caused by a beating prior to the deceased drowning.”

Kate’s grip tightened, she couldn’t control her emotions any longer and broke down sobbing. Ashley put his arm around her as she trembled.

The coroner stole a quick glance in their direction and put two and two together. He held a hand up in the direction of the pathologist, opened his mouth to speak but the pathologist was now in full flow.

“The victim had bruising around his arms and shoulders, the type of bruising caused when someone is held against their will or forced somewhere.”

“Somewhere, Dr Morgan?”

The pathologist had now used up his fifteen minutes of fame. He was into uncharted territory.

“He was forced somewhere, you say? Isn’t that a bit like guessing… something you said earlier you didn’t do?”

The pathologist nodded at the coroner.

“Yes, sir, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m reasonably certain some sort of altercation took place prior to this unfortunate young man ending up in the sea.”

Kate buried her face in Ashley’s chest; her dignity and composure left her as she cried like a baby. Ashley eased her to her feet and made for the exit with his arm wrapped tightly around her. The public gallery, court officials and the members of the press looked on sympathetically.

Court adjourned
was the last thing Ashley heard as the door closed behind him.

“Why did no one think to get at that damned pathologist? I mean we have the funds, everyone can alter their train of thought if a little money changes hands.”

“You think we should have bribed a pathologist, is that it? You think that’s a wise move–”

“But look at what he said, that’s never happened before. What if the coroner delivers an open verdict, worse, what if they reopen the case, what if ?”

The elder of the gentleman didn’t allow his colleague to finish his tirade.

“You’re wrong. It has happened before and the Brothers always deal with it, always deal with the undesirables. The last time was just after the war.”

The younger man listened intently, eager to learn even more of the organisation he’d devoted his life to. He thought he knew it all. He’d studied the history of the Keepers and the ancient ceremony that he participated in several times a year. In fact, he knew the hour-long ritual word for word. He had to know who to look at and which way to turn and what position to hold his head and the ceremonial sword. He needed to know the exact words of all his Brothers who took part in the ceremony too, as the Master would change it around routinely to test their knowledge. To make matters worse, a different ritual was performed several times a year and occasionally… thankfully… the punishment rite would be carried out.

The punishment rite. The most complicated of all.

Words he’d never heard of, generally an extra thirty minutes of actions and of course the violence and bloodletting. He was uncomfortable with the punishment ritual especially when it was acted out for real, normally a small lamb or a goat, but just occasionally an unfortunate.

He would never forget his first one at the tender age of nineteen.

Adultery. That was her crime. A brief sex-only fling with an outsider, an alien, who’d come on holiday to the island. Her husband was a member of the Brotherhood; word filtered back, walls have ears, and they’d been caught in a hotel bedroom in a passionate embrace.

The husband approached the High Council and insisted the ancient punishment ritual be performed on the two of them. Very rare. Two for the price of one.

He’d brushed up on the punishment rite the week before. Of course he’d studied it word for word; he knew the ceremony backwards and swore he’d recited it in his sleep.

So much study.

“1950 it was. Spring.”

His colleague’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Of course, I can’t remember it, but two or three of the older Brothers still can. You can imagine the euphoria after the war; by all accounts it was a pretty special time. Soldiers still took pride in wearing the uniforms out and about. You can’t think why, you’d think they’d have been glad to get into some nice civvies, but no.”

He smiled, looked across at the younger man listening intently. Something in his eyes beckoned him to continue.

“Some of them even thought that the uniform entitled them to free sex. The Americans were the worst of the lot. They were louder than everyone else and of course they had more money than the average Brit. I can’t imagine what possessed two American soldiers to visit the island when Edinburgh and Newcastle were a stone’s throw away but they did.

“One of them was black, the first black person the islanders had ever seen in real life. They caused quite a stir. They’d been on the island forty-eight hours when the trouble began. A seventeen-year-old island girl rushed into the Lindisfarne Hotel in a distressed state. She claimed that she’d agreed to go out on a boat trip with them over to the Farne Islands. They’d paid five pounds to one of the islanders for his boat for the day. It was more than a week’s wages, how could he refuse?

“They’d been on the boat for less than an hour when they came on to her. At first the girl explained it was gentle flirting then a little stronger, sexual innuendo. The girl was a virgin and didn’t know half the things they were suggesting. They anchored up in the bay about half a mile from shore and dragged her down into the galley. They stripped her and took turns to rape her. They made her perform the grossest acts of indecency you could ever imagine.

“The Brotherhood caught up with them halfway across the causeway. The fact they made such a hasty retreat proved their guilt. The Brotherhood dragged them back to the island and they were tortured for two days then executed.