'It seems Mrs Jamal is going to get her wish,' Jenny said. 'They're not letting you go ahead?' Alison said incredulously.
'After a fashion.'
'It won't achieve anything. They'll make sure of that.' 'You don't have to be involved, Alison.' 'Did I say that? I'm just giving you my opinion, Mrs Cooper. No one will ever find out what happened to those boys. They reined in the police eight years ago, and you'll be treated no differently.'
'We'll see. But if you've got a problem with this case, or with Muslims or whatever it is, can you get it off your chest so we don't run into difficulties later?'
'No, I don't have a lot of sympathy with radical Muslims, Mrs Cooper. It's always struck me as strange that we bend over backwards to be decent to these people when we despise everything they stand for. Their views on women for one thing: if my husband thought like they do he'd be a pariah.' 'Aren't all radicals outcasts?'
'Try being on the receiving end of them - see if you still feel as reasonable.'
'You've had personal experience?' Jenny said, sarcastically. Alison set her jaw and looked away. 'Mrs Cooper, I'm quite capable of putting personal feelings to one side when I'm at work. I was a police officer for twenty-five years.' She turned and walked out of the door, leaving a toxic wake.
Chapter 7
The inquest had been arranged for Monday morning, the second day of February. In common with many coroners throughout the country, Jenny was still without a permanent, or even a semi-permanent, courtroom. Alison leaned on her contacts in the Court Service, but was told that none would be available in the Bristol area for several months. Jenny had grown used to this sort of low-level obstruction. She had no objection to the range of village and community halls she had used over the previous months - some coroners had been known to convene in scout huts and the function rooms of unlicensed restaurants (by law inquests could not be held in licensed premises) - but part of her secretly craved the recognition and gravitas a proper court would bring. Alison had suggested the former Methodist chapel in which her New Dawn Church met each Sunday. Jenny politely declined. They had compromised on an unassuming venue at the northern end of the Severn estuary. It was in a village close to the Slimbridge bird sanctuary, of which Alison was a life member and which had an excellent cafe, she said.
Such were the trivialities which competed for Jenny's attention, along with stolen corpses, a steady stream of paranoid text messages (which had replaced the phone calls) from Mrs Jamal, and planning tactics to extract maximum information from the police and Security Services. And all the while she was staving off the symptoms of acute anxiety with extra beta blockers. She had tried emailing Dr Allen for advice, but received an out-of-office reply that said he had gone skiing in the Italian Alps for a week. Lucky him. She had a mobile number for critical emergencies, but feared that the moment she called it he would be forced to sign her off sick, with or without her consent. She had little choice but to manage as best she could.
Ross came home late on Saturday night. Jenny was woken by his and Karen's stifled giggles and two pairs of clumsy footsteps on the stairs. They retreated to his bedroom, and moments later music started. It had been part of their deal that he could have his girlfriend over to stay if her parents agreed, and Jenny had a certain self-satisfaction in being cool enough to suggest it in the first place. The reality was a pain. She resented him wanting to be treated like an adult without being prepared to take an ounce of responsibility. And she was childishly jealous. She was still just about young enough to have the kind of good time they were having next door, but the chances of it ever happening for her seemed increasingly remote.
The teenagers lay in bed until close to midday, then appeared yawning and dishevelled, complaining of being tired. Despite her disturbed night, Jenny had spent a productive morning in her study planning questions for the witnesses at her inquest. A rush of adrenalin had temporarily pushed her subconscious anxieties aside. Focused and purposeful, she carried her energy into the kitchen and set about preparing lunch. Her sense of achievement gave her the tolerance not to be irritated by the sight of the two of them slumped on the sofa with the curtains half drawn to keep the daylight - God forbid - from hitting the TV screen. With forced cheer she fetched and carried cups of tea, even drawing a smile and a thank you from Karen.
The kids were still glued to a movie when Jenny emerged from the kitchen having produced a full-scale Sunday lunch. She gazed on her achievement with pride: she was capable of being a good mother.
Jenny laid the table at the far end of the living room and they sat down to eat, Ross and Karen appearing surprised at the sudden magical appearance of food. She attempted to make uncontroversial conversation. It was tough going. Terrified of being embarrassed in front of his girlfriend, Ross shot her silencing looks each time she opened her mouth. His timidity was baffling. He was being allowed to behave however he wanted - Jenny was doing all in her power to treat him as a grown-up - yet he was cringing like a frightened child.
Tired of treading on eggshells, Jenny said to Karen, 'Did Ross tell you what happened on Friday? A body was stolen from the hospital mortuary. It completely vanished.'
'God. That's awful. Why?'
Ross threw her a glance. She ignored him.
'We're not sure. The best guess is that she was murdered and whoever killed her is trying to dispose of the evidence.'
Ross said, 'Do we have to talk about your gross work all the time?'
'I don't mind,' Karen said. 'It's interesting.'
'Not to me it isn't. Dealing with dead people all day, it's sick.'
Jenny said, 'We have to know how people died.'
'I don't. It gives me the creeps.'
She held up her hands. 'Sorry I mentioned it.'
'I'm only saying - you don't have to get uptight about it.'
She snapped. 'Me uptight? I was trying to make an effort so we wouldn't have to sit here in silence.'
'Well, don't bother.'
'Fine.'
She helped herself to more potatoes, smiled at Karen and ate in silence. What she should have done was tell him to behave properly or leave the table, either to contribute to the household or put up with being treated like the baby he was. Instead she let the silence yawn and open up to a chasm. Her positivity drained away and a sense of rising panic rushed in to take its place. Her stomach began to knot and her hand trembled as she lifted her glass to take a sip of water. God, she wished it was wine. Just a little alcohol would take all the pain away, dissolve the tears that wanted to come and make her relaxed enough to turn the atmosphere with a single light remark.
Jenny gathered the empty plates quickly and offered to heat up some apple pie. Ross refused on Karen's behalf and announced they were going to her house for the afternoon. He made for the door without lifting a finger to help.
Jenny said, 'Ross, could I have a word with you, please?'
'What about?'
'Karen, could you take those dishes out to the kitchen? Thanks.'
Jenny silenced her son's protest with a look that promised a scene way beyond merely embarrassing if he objected. He traipsed sulkily after her into the hall.
'Maybe you can tell me what it is about letting you have your girlfriend stay the night then cooking you both lunch that's so unreasonable that you can't even bring yourself to say a civil word to me,' Jenny said.