The Redeemed

CHAPTER 16




Ignoring Alison's grim warnings of recriminations from above, Jenny postponed the resumption of the inquest for twenty-four hours and forced her officer to spend her evening making phone calls to grumpy lawyers and tetchy witnesses. She unplugged her telephone at the wall and spent the evening holed up in her study. She imagined Ed Prince pacing his hotel suite, venting his anger on exhausted assistants while concocting his plans for revenge. Michael Turnbull would be quietly sounding out friends in the government, seeking assurances that this wasn't some elaborate rouse to derail his precious bill. To them he would present the calm and rational face of a well-meaning reformer, but at home with Christine the talk would be of the devil's voice making itself heard in Cassidy's testimony.

As she lay in bed dosed with pills to deaden her jangling nerves and stamp out her unruly imagination, Jenny picked up Eva and Lennox's book, Forgiveness. It was trite stuff written in a folksy style, half a chapter by Lennox, half by Eva, but as sleep threatened, a passage caught Jenny's eye. Eva had written:



'Forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us,' is one of those little phrases I didn't think about much at first, but which changed my life. It's that little word 'as'. God forgives us as we forgive others. It means that you can be free of your sins and living in peace with him only so long as you're doing all in your power to forgive those who've hurt you, including yourself. God's forgiveness is always there like water to your house, and just like the water company he leaves it completely up to you whether the tap's on or off. People wonder how someone who has been born again can so easily fall out of step with God; often the simple reason is they've turned off the tap and stopped forgiving.



The book fell from Jenny's fingers and clattered to the floor as her eyelids drooped and closed. She switched out the light and slipped from consciousness with a picture of Eva at her kitchen sink turning the tap on and off.





A mortuary technician was sluicing down a body as Jenny arrived at the Vale early the next morning to talk to Andy Kerr. He was caught up in a call to the lab, which he took on the phone screwed to the autopsy room wall, leaving Jenny, dressed in green overalls, to watch the end of the procedure on the table next to the one on which Freddy's naked body lay. The corpse was that of a woman of about her age and bore no obvious signs of injury.

The technician, a small, wiry man with unnaturally bright eyes, said, 'A bit close to home, eh?'

Jenny gave a half-hearted smile and looked away. She didn't want to know how the woman had died.

'Sorry about that.' Andy came off the phone and pulled on a pair of gloves. 'Is there anything I should know about him?'

'I'm still waiting for his medical records,' Jenny said, 'but I do know there was a history of mental illness, I'm guessing manic depression.'

'We'll run blood tests for the usual drugs. Anything physical?'

'Not as far as I know.'

Andy began with a visual examination. Starting at the feet, he checked for signs of bruising, abrasions or needle marks. Finding nothing of note, he moved on to the midsection, scanning the skinny abdomen and chest before levering the body onto its side to examine the back.

'No cuts or bruises. No sign of a struggle.' He leaned in close to inspect the welt left by the washing line. 'No bruising around the mid or lower neck -' he glanced back down at the legs - 'the blood's pooled in the lower half of the body. A classic case of self-inflicted asphyxiation I'd say.'

Jenny nodded. It was exactly as she had expected, but part of her had been hoping for evidence of violence having been used against him. She didn't want any doubt hanging over Freddy. She was sure she would establish that he had been at the Mission Church the night of Eva's murder, but his suicide raised a suspicion she couldn't ignore. His history suggested instability; his closeness to Eva hinted at motive.

She dismissed the thought. It was more likely that Freddy had killed himself out of despair. Having looked up to Eva and seen her as living proof of healing and redemption, her death must have shaken him to the core. Perhaps he had been in love with her. Scarred as she was, it would have been almost impossible for any young man who knew her not to have been.

'Are you OK?' Andy asked, reaching for the nine-inch knife he would use to make the first incision.

'Fine. Just thinking.'

'You've never got used to this, have you?'

She glanced at Freddy's plaster-white face, the sharp bones jutting through his hollow cheeks. 'I was with him the other day.'

Andy set the knife down on the counter. 'Why don't you wait in my office?'

It would have been the sensible thing to do, but a voice in her head insisted she stay, telling her she owed it to Freddy to see it through to the end.

'I'll stay,' Jenny said, 'I'll just look the other way.'





She stepped back to the corner of the room and stared at anything but the autopsy table as Andy opened the cadaver, first with a knife, then with shears to crop through the stubborn ribs. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him excising the tongue muscle, drawing it down through the throat and carrying it to the counter for dissection. The small, horseshoe- shaped hyoid bone, which sat halfway between the bottom of the chin and the Adam's apple, always yielded the first major clue in a suspected suicide by hanging. If the victim had been strangled by a third party, it would invariably be broken; if he had hanged himself, the point of compression would be higher up the neck.

'Hyoid's intact,' Andy said. 'Looks like my theory's safe.'

She heard it rattle as it hit the kidney dish. Andy turned back to the opened body.

Next he removed the stomach, carefully cutting it open with a scalpel to reveal the contents.

'Empty. He hadn't eaten in hours,' he announced, and turned his attention to the duodenum. A short while later he confirmed his finding. 'I'd say he probably hadn't eaten all day.'

'No sign of pills or alcohol?' Jenny said.

'No. We'll wait for the blood tests, but I'd be prepared to bet he was completely sober.' Andy looked over his shoulder at her. 'Would it help to put some music on? I'm about to use the saw.'

'Maybe I will wait outside.'

She stepped out into the corridor as Andy fired up the fine surgical saw with which he would remove the top of the skull. She felt ashamed of herself for still being squeamish, but every post-mortem still felt to her like an act of sacrilege.





She had been loitering for nearly fifteen minutes when Andy came to the door.

'All done. Not a lot to report.'

She followed him back inside, tugging off her overalls and dropping them in the laundry bin. The bright-eyed assistant was already at work, humming quietly to himself as he stitched Freddy's bloody torso together again.

'All the major organs were very healthy,' Andy said, stripping off his gloves, 'though I'd say he liked a cigarette.'

'That would be his mother.'

'Then she's been doing enough for both of them. No sign of any trauma or anything to indicate a struggle,' Andy continued. 'I've taken nail scrapings and internal swabs. Don't ask for any results in less than forty-eight hours - you're more likely to walk on water.'

'That'll do.'

There was a sudden rush of water as the technician switched on the shower head connected to the autopsy table and began to sluice Freddy's body down.

Andy stepped over to the sink, soaped his hands and started to scrub.

'Maybe I shouldn't ask you until the inquest's over, but did you find out what that tattoo on Eva Donaldson's body meant?' he asked. 'It caused quite a stir yesterday. My name was in so many newspapers my mother's making a scrap- book.'

'I'm afraid she took her reasons with her.'

'You know what I think? It was the Marilyn Monroe thing, you know, the whole little girl act to make up for the fact she was corrupted so young.'

'What's little girl about tattooing your crotch?'

'She was what, twenty-seven? To that generation getting a tattoo's as natural as buying a new outfit. She wouldn't have thought twice. And with her public profile, beneath the bikini's the only place she could have put it without running the risk of it being caught on film.'

'It's as good a theory as any,' Jenny said, and turned to glance one last time at Freddy as Andy dried his hands on a paper towel.

The assistant casually moved a forearm to rinse down the right side of the ribs, and that was when Jenny noticed: a bracelet of red marks around the right wrist. She moved towards the table.

'Look at this.'

Andy tossed the towel away and joined her.

'Marks on the wrist. Why didn't you see them?'

'Turn that off,' Andy ordered the assistant. ''Now.''

He stepped round to the left side of the body and studied the wrist. He reached for a clean scalpel and scraped it gently across the skin. He held the blade up to the light. 'There's some sort of concealer on there, like make-up.'

Not bothering with scrubs, Andy pulled on another set of gloves. Jenny watched as he scraped away what looked like a hardened layer of foundation cream, revealing a ring of abrasions around the wrist.

'See there, where it rubs against the bone,' Andy said, pointing at the rawest section of flesh, 'that was handcuffs.'

'How recently?'

'There's scabbing, evidence of healing. I'd estimate a couple of days before death.'

'There was no evidence of sexual contact?'

'Not on visual inspection,' Andy said. 'The swabs will tell us more.'

Jenny stepped away from the table and tried to fathom what it meant.





She called Alison from the car but there was no answer at the office. She tried her mobile and got through to her on a bad line with the sound of seagulls and motor launches in the background. Alison claimed she was out running errands, but the sounds of the harbourside were unmistakable. She could tell from her assistant's guilty inflection that she was meeting Martin again.

'I was hoping you could go and talk to Mrs Reardon for me. It turns out Freddy had some abrasions around his wrists that he'd tried to conceal. It looks as if he'd been handcuffed.'

'Oh, I might be a little while —’

'Anything important?'

'Where would you like me to begin, Mrs Cooper?'

Jenny winced; it was embarrassing to listen to. She gave up on the idea of avoiding confronting Eileen Reardon herself. Alison would hardly have her mind on the job even if she could be prised away.

'It's all right, I'll go,' Jenny said, and left Alison to her fun.





Eileen Reardon refused to answer her door. Jenny knocked and knocked again, but to no avail. The bunches of flowers which had been left the day before lay untouched, their petals browning in the heat. She pushed open the letterbox and peered into the darkened hallway. There was no sign of life.

'Mrs Reardon. It's Jenny Cooper. I really do need to speak to you.'

No answer.

'We've found some marks on Freddy's body. Please, it's very important.'

'You're wasting your breath.'

Jenny turned to see a white-haired old lady standing cross-armed in a doorway across the hall.

'Do you know if she's in?' Jenny asked.

'She'll be in there all right, never comes out. She's got a "phobia"; that's what her boy said, anyway. Fond of a drink as well, though God knows who'll fetch it for her now she's on her own.'

Jenny said, 'Did you know Freddy?'

The woman eyed her suspiciously. 'Are you with the police?'

'No. I'm the coroner.' 'Oh-'

'Nothing to do with the police.' She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. 'Maybe you could help me?'

The woman thought for a moment, then glanced along the corridor to check they hadn't been seen.

'You'd better come in.'

Jenny followed her into a spotlessly clean flat and sat at a small table in the kitchen.

'I didn't catch your name,' Jenny said, introducing herself.

'Maggie Harper.'

Jenny's eyes travelled over the shiny surfaces and polished cupboard doors. It was a world away from the flat across the hall. 'Have you lived here long?'

'Twenty-five years - about fifteen more than her. You wouldn't think she was the same person to look at her now.'

'I can believe it. She doesn't look well.'

'It's ever since that man of hers,' Maggie said. 'He did for both of them in my opinion.'

'Was that Freddy's stepdad?'

Maggie pulled a face as she nodded. 'He was a dropout. Hippy type, hair all matted. Didn't do a stroke all day as far as I could tell, except yell at those two and smoke whatever it was.'

'I heard Freddy got into a fight with him.'

'He was only protecting his mother. He'd hit her - Gary, was his name. You could hear it all from in here. I'd call the police when it got too bad but she'd never say a word against him. Some women are like that, don't ask me why.'

'But this man, Gary, he pressed charges against Freddy, did he?'

'Oh, yes. I told Freddy I'd speak for him in court, but he went and pleaded guilty. I think he did it to save his mum the ordeal of giving evidence.'

'What happened to this man?'

'Right after that he just packed up and left. Never heard of him again.' She looked down at the table, shaking her head. 'It's a wonder that boy lasted as long as he did. He was lovely when you spoke to him on his own.'

'Did you know him well?'

'He's been coming over for years. I'd give him his tea sometimes when she was out of it. But he was ever so loyal to her, wouldn't say a bad word.' She looked up. 'What is it you'd like to know?'

'I know Freddy had been involved with a church, but I've no idea about his personal life, who his friends were, what he might have got up to.'

'He never seemed to have any friends,' Maggie said. 'I was probably as close to him as anyone. I certainly never saw him bring anyone home.'

'Did he ever talk to you about the people he'd met at church?'

'Not much. We had our little routine, you see. He'd come over and watch TV in the front room and I'd bring him something to eat and sit with him. That's the way he liked it. Cosy. No fuss.'

'And lately? Did you see a change in him?'

Maggie frowned. 'It's not so much recently, it's more since before Christmas. He hadn't been coming over as often, maybe once every couple of weeks.'

'How did he seem?'

'Quiet. I thought he was worried about his mother - he said she hadn't been well - but I suppose I should have seen the signs . . .'

Jenny waited.

Maggie had a kind face, she thought, and she was glad Freddy had had at least one caring and trustworthy adult in his life. Her orderly flat must have been an oasis for him.

'There was one night; it must have been three months ago. It was a Friday, quite late. He came to the door all pale, as if he'd had a fright. I sat him down in the other room as usual and came in here to make him some supper. I thought it was something on the television at first, but it was him, he was sobbing. He'd dried his eyes by the time I came back in. I asked if he was all right. He said was fine, but I could see he wasn't. He was like this -' she curled her fingers into her palms and pressed her elbows to her sides - 'like a little lost soul.'

'He didn't say anything?'

'No. I probably should have asked, but I didn't want to scare him off. You can understand.'

'Of course.'

'I didn't see it as any of my business. I just wanted to be there for him when he needed me,' Maggie said. 'But it wasn't enough, was it?'





Jenny came away feeling that she'd learned more from Maggie Harper than she would have done from Eileen Reardon. With a little pressing she had established that the Friday night she had talked about was either the third or fourth in March. It meant that whatever had caused the dip in Freddy's mood had pre-dated Eva's death. Jenny wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad sign. Maggie had been certain of one thing, though, there had been no girlfriends. 'He was far too innocent for any of that,' she had said. 'He was still a mummy's boy, except his mum was hopeless.'

Back at the office Alison was tapping furiously at her computer. Jenny didn't mention her lunch date with Martin and nor did she; they didn't have to. They both knew where she had been and Alison was doing her best to demonstrate she was making up for lost time. She briskly handed over a batch of new death reports and rattled off a list of urgent phone messages, including several from various members of Michael Turnbull's legal team protesting at her demand that he return to the resumed inquest. Jenny retreated to her office and endeavoured to cram a day's work into what remained of the afternoon. There were new cases to log, hospital consultants to call, post-mortem reports to wade through, a host of deaths to certify and bodies to release, but Eva and Freddy refused to leave her thoughts. There was something she had yet to find out; she felt sure there was a person who would unlock them both, but she still felt far from knowing who that might be.





The fading sun had retreated behind a bank of dark cloud as Jenny turned off the valley road at Tintern and climbed a mile up the narrow lane to Melin Bach. The dull evening light coupled with an unseasonal chill gave the countryside a melancholy air that reflected her mood. It was an evening for ghosts and regrets, the lengthening shadows seemed to say.

She resented the fact that her emotions could shift as swiftly as a child's, that something as mundane as the changing weather could cause her mood to plunge. The thought of returning to her empty cottage filled her with irrational dread, but as she rounded the penultimate bend and spotted its slate roof through a gap in the trees, the sky opened again and a stretch of brilliant blue appeared over Barbadoes Hill. Just enough to repel the anxious, unwanted thoughts which had started to intrude.

There was no time to be neurotic, she told herself; all that would have to wait until Eva's inquest was over. Then she would set aside the necessary few weeks to resolve her problems. It would be good to feel properly human again. She couldn't wait.

She was surprised to see Steve's Land Rover parked in the lane outside the house. Alfie, his sheepdog, shot out from the verge in pursuit of a rabbit, which zigzagged along the road for several yards then disappeared into the hedge with Alfie hard on its tail. She pulled into the overgrown cart track and stepped out of the car to the smell of ripe grass and lavender. Steve wandered across to meet her from the back garden, beating a path through the weeds with a stick.

'You could do with someone to sort this place out,' he said with a smile.

'It's good for the wildlife. I thought you were in Edinburgh.'

'Signed up the client before lunch and caught an earlier plane.'

'That sounds like good news.'

'Could be. But if they kept me on to manage the project it'd mean spending a lot of time up there.'

'What about France?'

'Still stringing them along.' He swished distractedly at a clump of thistles.

Jenny absorbed his tired and thoughtful face; he'd changed in a year. Study and responsibility had diluted the carefree spirit, but she liked the man who was emerging. He was sensitive, searching, and he wanted her. Yet she remained frightened to give, scared of letting him down. And perhaps fearful of what he would ask from her. He wanted to know parts of her that her ex-husband wouldn't have even known existed.

Jenny said, 'Do you get the feeling that you're being dragged out of the woods at last?'

'Maybe I don't want to be. Something might work out.' He tossed the stick aside and looked at her. 'What about you? Do you ever think this place is just a staging post, somewhere to hide out for a while?'

'Ask me in a couple of months' time.'

'What happens then?'

'Maybe I'll be out of the trees and the world will look different.'

A gust of wind blew her hair across her face. Steve reached out and pushed it back, brushing his fingers against her cheek. He moved his lips, as if about to speak, but instead stepped closer and touched her hand. 'If you weren't here, the decision would be easy.'

Jenny wanted to tell him that his life was his own, that he mustn't let her hold him back, but as he kissed her the thought of losing him was too painful to bear. She held him tightly, pressing herself to his hard chest, aware of how selfish she was being but powerless to do a thing about it. He was her release, her glimpse of freedom.

They made love on the grass beneath the last rays of the dying sun. Afterwards, Steve ran naked into the stream, daring her to join him. When she pleaded that she was too cold, he came and picked her up, squealing, and tumbled backwards into the water bringing her with him. The freezing water took the breath from her; she shrieked and protested but he clung on to her until the feel of it against her skin was like a million hot needles. And when they walked back to the house scooping up their clothes, the blood coursed hot through her veins, and for a short while she felt alive and invincible.

Steve lit a fire in the grate and they lay entwined on the sofa sipping tea and waiting for the shivers to subside. Jenny leaned back against him as he stroked her hair. Alfie stretched out on the hearthrug, his eyes half-closed in bliss.

'How are you feeling?' Steve said.

'Good . . . tired.'

'Are you going back to Dr Allen?'

'When this inquest's over. Let's not talk about that now, hmm?' Jenny sensed that he was tense. 'What is it?' she asked.

His hand slid from her head and rested against her arm. 'I had a message on my phone when I got home. The man said his name was Detective Sergeant Gleed, based at Weston. He left a number.'

Gleed. It wasn't a name she recognized.

'Did you call him? What did he want?'

'Yes. He was polite enough—'

Jenny put down her mug and sat up, tugging away from him.

'What did he want?'

'He said he understood that I knew you, and had you ever talked about an event in your childhood? If so, he'd like to meet and discuss what you had told me.'

Jenny looked at him in disbelief.

'I said I didn't know anything about it.'

'A detective?' Jenny said, incredulously. 'Why didn't you tell me this before?'

'I was going to. That's why, well, one of the reasons I came—'

'But you thought you'd have your fun first.'

'That's not fair.'

'Jesus. God.' Jenny sunk her head in her hands. 'You bastard.'

'Jenny, it's not like that. You know it's not. I care about you. I—'

'Don't say it!'

'I do. And I want to be with you, but you've got to deal with this stuff.'

'Or what?'

'Or nothing. You just have to. You know you do. Why don't you call this man? See what he wants.'

'He can go to hell. I was a child, for Christ's sake.'

'He wants something. These people don't just go away.'

'It'll be Dad. He'll have said something to one of the nurses.'

'All the more reason to clear it up.' Steve reached to his shirt pocket. 'Look, I've got the number—'

'I don't want to know.'

He grabbed hold of her wrist. 'Jenny, you've got to face this.'

She wrenched free. 'Don't tell me what I've got to do.'

'How else are you going to sort yourself out?'

'Leave me alone.'

'Why don't you call him while I'm here?'

'Stop trying to control me.'

'I'm trying to help.'

'Shut up! Shut up!' She shot off the sofa. 'Get out! Go!'

She wanted to punch him, to lash out and hurt him and make him hit her back, to turn her anger and confusion into physical pain she could rail and pound her fists against, but Steve absorbed her outburst without a word. He left the scrap of paper bearing Gleed's number on the corner of the sofa and turned to leave.

He stopped briefly in the doorway with his back to her. 'I'll be here for you, Jenny, but—'

'Please go.'

Softly, but with a finality she knew was real, he said, 'You know what I mean.'

She sat and stared into the fire for the time it took the logs to dwindle to embers, her mind racing with angry thoughts and wild theories. She had never felt more exposed or more furious. Why? Why now? Who could the events of nearly forty years ago possibly be of interest to? It was past eleven when she snatched up the phone and punched in his number. An anonymous answer message played. Jenny said, 'Detective Sergeant Gleed, it's Jenny Cooper, Severn Vale District Coroner. I don't know what you think you're doing, but I'll expect your call tomorrow.'

She screwed up his number and tossed it into the grate.