The Chosen Dead (Jenny Cooper 5) (30 page)

In the midst of her anxious thoughts, a male face, dark and soft-featured, was briefly illuminated by a phone’s light in a stationary Range Rover idling on the opposite side of the road. A glimpse of profile was enough to make her turn around – he had been looking at her,
watching
her – but the light had gone out and the man’s face was once again hidden in the darkness. The car pulled slowly away and moved off up the hill.

‘Pull yourself together, Jenny,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Now you really are becoming paranoid.’

C
ALL ME.
W
E SHOULD TALK.
T
HEN A PAUSE.
You know how much I care about you, Jenny.
She had lain awake agonizing until 2 a.m. before her pride finally gave way, but when Michael had answered the phone he had groaned that she must be out of her mind to call in the middle of the night. Go back to bed.

So much for being in love. Steve would have trekked through a blizzard to be with her. Even David, when they were first seeing each other, had once hitchhiked all the way to southern Spain to where she had been working in a cheap bar. He had slept rough at the roadside and fought off muggers in Barcelona, just to share a few sleepless nights in her mosquito-infested bedsit. The difference between her and Michael, she had decided in the depths of the night, was that she was still in the fight, while he was looking for a way out of it.

Jenny couldn’t comprehend life without a struggle, without something to kick against. Every tree, every blade of grass, every bird and insect was radiant only in the face of what it had overcome in order to exist. Life was a constant, defiant celebration in the face of death. Driving through the Wye Valley early in the morning as it shrugged off its mantle of mist, she felt like a kind of animist. She absorbed the energy of the forest and marvelled at the alchemy that had created it from dust. Passing under its arcing canopy more intricate than any cathedral ceiling, she wondered if Michael could ever understand how she fitted with the world. Adam Jordan would have done. He had shared her need to go back to the source; to move in time to the raw pulse. She had a picture of him in her mind: in a mud-stained T-shirt, drinking water from a hand-pump at the end of a day’s work, children playing nearby in the dust. She had a feeling she would have liked him; in fact, if he was anything like the man she imagined, she probably would have fallen a little in love with him, too.

Alison spoke only to tell Jenny that the lawyers had arrived and were anxious to begin. It was a Friday morning and they all wanted the inquest dealt with in time for them to be safely back in London by evening. Jenny tried to embark on a long-overdue apology for her neglect in recent days, but Alison was impregnable. Jenny had left her in the lurch one too many times to be forgiven. The bond of trust between them had been broken, and nothing Jenny could say at this moment would rebuild it.

‘Is Dr Kerr here?’ Jenny asked.

‘He is,’ Alison answered abruptly. ‘You’ll be glad to know Major Fielding’s answered his summons, though I can’t say he looks happy about it. Shall I tell them you’re ready?’

‘Yes, please.’

Alison turned to the door.

Jenny said, ‘I haven’t told you all that I found out yesterday, but when I do, I think you’ll understand.’

‘You and I have always had different priorities, Mrs Cooper. I think we can safely say there can be no argument about that now.’

The scent of her perfume hung in the airless office as a reminder of her disapproval, but also, Jenny sensed, of the desperation it masked. Beneath the manicured exterior, she was in fear for her life.

The courtroom was even more crowded than it had been before Jenny had adjourned at the news of Elena Lujan’s death. The rumours circulating in the hospital had spilled out into the world beyond. A dead thirteen-year-old girl had become public property. Sitting behind their lawyer and angled away from one another, Ed and Fiona Freeman might as well have had a wall between them. Fiona was inhabiting a realm of anger and recrimination; Ed was simply drowning in grief.

Hidden at the end of a row at the back of the court was Dr Kerr. Jenny could see only half his face, but it was sufficient for her to register his fear at what horrors the witness box might hold for him. He would be wondering if he would end the day with a job to return to.

Jenny took her seat on the raised dais at the head of the court, grateful that after years of relying on pills to get her through the courtroom ordeal, she was at last able face it without. Her heart beat slow and steady. She was apprehensive but strong. All that stood between her and the truth were four witnesses and three determined lawyers. Turning to address them, she reminded herself they were only human; beneath the bravado they would be as nervous and as fallible as she was.

‘Thank you, everyone, for your patience over the last few days. I believe we’re now in a position to proceed to the conclusion of the evidence. If we could begin with Mr Freeman, please.’

Fiona Freeman folded her arms across her chest and looked away, as if disowning her husband.

‘Ma’am, if I may . . .’ Alistair Martlett, counsel for the Health Protection Agency, was on his feet. ‘We have received two brief, and if I may say so, obscure statements, one from Mr Freeman and one from a Major Fielding. Neither appears in any way relevant to the issue of what caused Miss Freeman’s death. May I suggest we hear Dr Verma first? You may find that no further evidence is required.’

‘I appreciate that you are used to civil trials, Mr Martlett, but these proceedings are not a contest. You are here to assist my inquiry into the truth. I will decide on the relevance of the evidence and in what order I call it.’

‘With the greatest of respect, ma’am –’ she had never heard the phrase used less sincerely – ‘I am only seeking to save this witness, in particular, the distress of giving evidence.’

It was a cheap shot, but it stung nonetheless.

‘I’m sure your clients would prefer to dispense with the inconvenience of an inquest altogether, Mr Martlett, but I’m afraid they’re not above the process of law any more than you or I. Come forward, please, Mr Freeman.’

Martlett exchanged a look with the small team of lawyers behind him, as if to say they should have expected nothing less of a jumped-up coroner from the backwoods.

Ed Freeman mumbled the oath in a voice that barely carried to Jenny, let alone to those at the rear of the courtroom. Gently reminding him to speak up, she started to lead him through the facts of his visit, along with his daughters, to the Hampton’s Health Club, although she was careful to omit reference to the still-anonymous woman friend he had met there. If necessary she would visit that detail later, but for now she would spare him – and Fiona – the embarrassment.

The two girls swam in the pool for a little under an hour while he sat in the cafe, he explained. It had been busy that day, but not excessively so. It was an expensive club, always clean, the last place you would expect to pick up a disease. Neither of his daughters seemed to suffer any ill effects. As far as he was concerned, it had been a perfectly harmless trip.

Anthony Radstock, the Freemans’ solicitor, had no questions for his client, evidently relieved that Jenny had resisted straying into uncomfortable territory. He had the kindly face of a confidant, and she imagined Ed Freeman had confessed to him everything there was to know about his secret companion.

‘I have no wish to trouble Mr Freeman any further,’ Martlett said, ‘and would like to take this opportunity to extend my client’s deepest sympathies to both him and his wife.’

Ed Freeman muttered a thank you and began to step from the witness box, but Catherine Dyer, counsel for the Severn Vale District Hospital Trust, rose to her feet and stopped him.

‘Just a moment, Mr Freeman. I shan’t be long.’ She gave a disarming smile. ‘If you could tell me – were you alone in the cafe?’

Jenny saw Martlett suppress a smile. Somehow he had persuaded his younger colleague to do his dirty work. She fought the urge to intervene as Freeman stared at her, shame and astonishment temporarily halting his answer.

‘No.’

‘Were you with a woman?’

Fiona looked at him with a contempt beyond loathing.

‘I was.’

‘Can you tell us who this woman was?’

Freeman looked helplessly to Jenny. She had as good as promised him this wouldn’t happen. She had to do something.

‘You’re not obliged to name this person, Mr Freeman, certainly not in open court. What’s the point of this question, Miss Dyer?’

‘I’m merely seeking to establish if he may have had contact with anyone who might have been carrying the meningitis infection.’ And for added emphasis, she said, ‘Exchange of saliva is one of the most common modes of transmission.’

‘I have not had intimacy with any woman,’ Freeman said. ‘Besides which, I have tested negative for infection.’

‘I’m told it’s not impossible for someone to play temporary host, given the right set of circumstances. I appreciate it’s an uncomfortable question, especially as the only other confirmed case in the locality was that of a young woman who worked in a city-centre massage parlour.’

‘I have not engaged in any physical intimacy with any woman,’ Ed Freeman repeated, then added unconvincingly, ‘other than my wife.’

‘Or any man.’

‘Is that a joke?’

‘I’m sorry, Mr Freeman. We have to cover all possibilities. Are you sure that you’ve never visited the Recife sauna and massage parlour, whether or not for sexual purposes?’

‘I have not.’ He was furious, and Jenny could see that he held her entirely responsible for his humiliation.

‘I fully appreciate that it’s not the sort of thing that any married man would care to admit to, but by your own admission, you have sought out female company—’

‘That’s enough, Miss Dyer,’ Jenny interrupted.

‘Ma’am, I’m afraid it isn’t. If Mr Freeman is unwilling to name his companion in the Hampton’s cafe voluntarily, perhaps I can ask him to confirm whether he met this woman through an Internet site called Lunchdates.com.’

‘Miss Dyer, I’ve no idea where you’re dredging this from, and I don’t need to know. It’s inappropriate. You don’t have to answer, Mr Freeman.’

‘Ma’am, this evidence comes directly from my client’s lawfully maintained records. They detail the websites visited by Mr Freeman on his hospital computer, and the contents of his emails. He has specifically granted my clients access to this information in his contract of employment. If you’d like to check, I have a copy here.’ She reached for a document and held it up.

‘It’s all right, Miss Dyer.’

Ed Freeman clung to the edge of the witness box for support.

‘I’ve no desire to go into specifics,’ Catherine Dyer continued, ‘but I would like to ask Mr Freeman once again to assure the court that he hasn’t had sexual relations with anyone who might be considered promiscuous.’

‘You’ve already had that question answered, Miss Dyer. That’s enough.’

‘As you wish, ma’am. My clients will gladly make their records available to you.’

Catherine Dyer sat, her job done. No denial could dispel the innuendo once it had been raised. Ed Freeman stepped down from the witness box a man suspected of being the agent of his daughter’s death, and with his wife unable even to meet his eye. What’s more, the offer of evidence of his computer usage had been cleverly made. To refuse to review it would lay any verdict Jenny reached open to challenge. She would now have to look at it and, to Dyer’s obvious delight, she requested that any documents be handed to her before the end of the session.

Major Christopher Fielding was a younger man than Jenny had expected, only thirty-three years old and with a boyish, benign face that didn’t seem to match the seriousness of his profession. He was dressed in a civilian suit, but it did little to disguise his military bearing. He read the oath briskly then looked to Jenny with a bemused expression, as if awaiting an explanation for his summons to court.

Jenny said, ‘Major Fielding, I see from the statement that you kindly provided to my officer that you belong to the 4th Battalion Military Intelligence Corps, and are currently based at Bulford Camp, Salisbury.’

‘That’s correct.’

‘And on the 16th of July this year, you paid a visit to Hampton’s Health Club in Bristol.’

‘I did.’

‘Can I ask you why you were there?’

‘I had been on overnight business in Bristol, and called in the next morning. I belong to a club in Salisbury that has reciprocal membership.’

‘I appreciate that this may sound a slightly odd question, but do you mind if I ask what kind of business?’

‘I can answer up to a point—’

‘Please do,’ Jenny said.

Fielding picked his words carefully. ‘I’m on a regional liaison committee. Every few months the various law-enforcement and intelligence-gathering agencies come together to swap information on issues or individuals of interest to us. We had several sessions over the course of a weekend. It’s meant to make us more efficient.’ He smiled at what appeared to be his idea of a joke.

Jenny said, ‘Were you at the health club alone or with colleagues?’