Chapter 1
Dr Clement Ryder looked over his packed coronerās court with slightly watery grey eyes that missed nothing. There was a preponderance of girls in their late teens clogging up the public galleries, but in the circumstances, Clement didnāt regard that as particularly surprising.
At just over six feet, and now nearing his sixtieth birthday, the former surgeon turned city coroner was an impressive figure. With thick silvery-white hair and matching bushy eyebrows, he was dressed impeccably in his favourite dark blue suit, and everyone who felt his gaze on them automatically sat up a little straighter. To begin with, heād never lost that cool, almost otherworldly confidence of a man who had regularly wielded a scalpel on a helpless human body. Plus, there werenāt many people in that room who were unaware that Dr Ryder was someone of power and influence.
That particular Wednesday morning, with the courtroom clock showing that it was just coming up to half past ten, Dr Ryder was observing his latest jury with a slightly weary eye.
Yesterday, heād opened the inquest on the death of Raymond Reason ā a musician found dead at the Bootleggers Club, halfway down a set of spiral iron stairs, having apparently fallen down them. All the witnesses had been questioned, and the medical evidence had been duly given. Unfortunately, theyād started late, and the medical evidence had thrown up some rather complicated issues (picked up on and thoroughly questioned by Clement himself) and so theyād had to reconvene today.
Which meant that the members of the public who had been called upon to do their civic duty and act as coronerās jury were anxious not to waste any more time than they had to in order to get things over and done with. And, unless Clement was totally misreading them (and Dr Ryder very seldom did that) they were itching to deliver a verdict of accidental death and then swarm out of the courthouse to hearth and home, work or the nearest pub, depending on their various priorities.
And there was very little that he could do to stop them, much as he might like to.
As a former surgeon, he had listened closely and, far more importantly, understood the medical evidence given by the pathologist. Namely, that Ray Reason had received two blows to the head, with the second one being the fatal injury. But he was not sure that the jury had noted the significance of this, even though heād tried his best to bring it to their attention with his questioning of the medical expert.
He sighed and straightened a little in his chair. The remainder of the evidence available had now been dealt with, and he had only to give his summing up.
Unluckily for him, he was frustratingly aware that he had no real legal or ethical way of directing them towards the verdict that he thought should be brought in. In his opinion, the way and means by which Raymond Reason had met his death could bear much more investigation. But even he had to admit that the evidence simply wasnāt there to bring in a verdict for murder by person or persons unknown. Not yet anyway.
Which meant that he could only let the inquest continue to take its due course and finish doing his job in a fit and proper manner. He was damned if he was going to give anyone the opportunity to say he hadnāt done his job properly ā especially since he might not have his job much longer.
Pushing that thought determinedly aside, he now eyed the jury one by one. Consisting mostly of men with just one lone woman (a rather bored-looking housewife), they all respectfully looked back at him, careful to hide their impatience.
Clement, aware that he was about to have to try and explain to them the difference between a verdict of accidental death and a verdict of death by misadventure, knew that very soon their impatience would give way to total consternation. Because even lawyers and doctors had trouble grasping the difference.
Not that it would matter much in the long run, he thought wryly. Either verdict wouldnāt be the right one in this case.
āLadies and gentlemen of the jury,ā he began dryly and politely. āYou have now heard the evidence, and it is up to you to deliver your verdict on how Mr Raymond Reason met his death on Saturday last. Remember, we are only concerned in this court with establishing the identity of the deceased ā which has, Iām sure youāll all agree, been done to your satisfaction ā and cause of death. Now, there is no doubt that Mr Reason died due to blunt-force trauma to the head, resulting in a catastrophic brain injury. You will, no doubt, have listened very attentively to the evidence of the doctor who performed the post-mortem.ā
As had Clement. Very carefully indeed. It was perhaps not surprising, given his former profession as one of the countryās top surgeons, that Clement had understood far more than his jury the true significance of the head wounds that the musician had sustained at the Bootleggers Club. Unfortunately, these were not sufficiently suggestive, in themselves, for him to feel justified in confusing the jury by trying to explain their import in the hope that theyād then bring in a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown.
Besides, as heād just pointed out, their job was simply to say who had died, and how. And Mr Reason had definitely died because of injuries to his head.
āNow, there are several verdicts you may consider,ā he continued. āFor instance, suicide.ā
Somewhere in the public gallery there was a slight quiver of interest. Probably members of the press, scenting a scandal or a story, Clement thought with distaste. He hurried to squash any such notions.
āBut in this case, the deceased was a young man with everything to live for, had showed no signs of depression or despondency to any members of his family or wide group of friends. Nor had he left a suicide note. And you may conclude, besides, that throwing yourself down a short flight of spiral stairs would hardly be likely to guarantee oneās own demise.ā
The housewife on the jury nodded at the logic of this.
Clement sighed. āThere is also open to you the option of bringing in a verdict of murder by person or persons unknown,ā he said, and again a little wave of excitement rippled across the full courtroom.
He paused hopefully, but not even the most intelligent members of his jury seemed to take the hint.
With a grim internal smile, Clement pressed on. āWhich leaves you to consider that Mr Reason met his death either accidentally or by misadventure,ā he concluded in resignation.
āNowāā he leaned a little forward in his chair, his face becoming totally impersonal āāI need you to attend to me very closely.ā
The oldest member of the jury, a man in his early seventies, blinked nervously, and surreptitiously put his hand to his ear to turn up his hearing aid a notch.
āThe law regarding the difference between accidental death and death caused by misadventure can be rather complicated,ā he began, and saw his clerk roll his eyes at this massive understatement. āIn order to bring in a verdict of accidental death, you must be reasonably convinced that neither the death nor the acts which brought it about were intended.ā
At this, four people on the jury blinked, three of them shot the person next to them a quick, blank look and one looked frankly panicked.
āFor example,ā he rushed on, ātake prescription medication. A person takes something, say an aspirin, for a headache. But they have a bad reaction to it, which causes them to die. That the person died was unintentional, but the act of taking the medication was intentional. That was not then a truly accidental death.ā
Seeing the housewife frown, he tried again. āWhere death can be said to be truly accidental, it is in the sense that there was no intentional act which caused that death.ā
The old man with the hearing aid very distinctly reached up and turned it off. Clement sighed, but persevered. āMisadventure, on the other hand, is an intended ā albeit lawful ā act, where death is the unintended outcome.ā
Now, even the alert young professional types on the jury were looking confused.
Clement was by no means convinced that Ray Reason had died as a result of either accident or misadventure. But he was resigned to the fact that the evidence so far could only justify the citing one or the other. So he bit the bullet and did the only thing he could do, in the circumstances, and gave them the push they needed.
āAccidental death reflects death following an event over which there is no human control. If it is your belief that Mr Reason fell down the stairs, hitting his head and causing his death, then you must return a verdict of accidental death.ā
The housewife looked relieved. So did the rest of them.
Clement, with a sigh, asked them if they wished to retire in order to discuss the matter and bring in their verdict. But as he suspected, they wanted only to get it over with. As he watched they hastily consulted, selected a foreman, whispered their consent to a unanimous verdict and stated with confidence that Mr Raymond Reason had met his death due to accidentally falling down an iron spiral staircase, whereupon he had hit his head, causing him to die.
Clement, somewhat wryly, thanked them for their diligence and dismissed them.
In the public gallery, a lot of pretty young girls wept and had to be consoled by other weeping young girls. A few newspaper men scribbled copy that would no doubt later appear in their respective newspapers, bemoaning the tragedy of dying young.
And Dr Clement Ryder, after completing his paperwork and grabbing a very hasty lunch, set off towards the nearest police station to make one Inspector Harry Jennings a very unhappy man.
It wouldnāt be the first time heād done that. But as he strode down the street, blind to the dreaming spires above him and the subfusc-clad students weaving their way around him, he did wonder if it would be the last.
Chapter 2
Inspector Harry Jennings looked up as a peremptory rap came on his office door. But before he could give permission to enter, it was thrust open.
Since he knew no subordinate would ever dare to march in on him without permission, he was expecting a superior officer to enter. But he was not particularly surprised, after a split second of recognition, to see that it was the city coroner instead.
In his early forties, Harry Jennings had thinning fair hair, a big nose that was the bane of his life and hazel eyes. Unmarried, he was still trying to find himself a wife, but for some reason, even though he could offer a nice little home (a rented council house towards Cowley way) and a nice and steady income, the good women of Oxford werenāt exactly beating a path to his door.
He had hopes of gaining a promotion soon, however, and had been assiduously working towards that aim. The last thing he needed to see right now was the troublesome Dr Clement Ryder cluttering up his office. The man inevitably brought problems with him.
In the past, the coroner (with the help of one of Jenningsā own very junior officers) had been instrumental in uncovering and investigating several deaths that had turned out to be not as cut and dried as the police department had originally thought. Which meant that, along with the kudos that inevitably resulted by presenting the city with yet another successfully solved murder case, also came the internal embarrassment of having had their fat pulled from the fire by the ever-vigilant ā and extremely competent ā coroner.
It was perhaps not surprising that any visit made by Clement Ryder to the police station instantly gave Inspector Jennings a severe case of the heebie-jeebies.
āInspector, I need a word with you,ā Clement said flatly.
The words caused the Inspectorās already despondent heart to sink even further, but he smiled stiffly and invited the old vulture (as he was widely known, but never to his face) to take a seat. As Clement duly folded himself into the chair, the Inspectorās mind was frantically trying to anticipate any possible slip-ups they might have made. But for the life of him, he couldnāt think how any of their current cases could have attracted the old manās attention.
āItās about the Ray Reason case,ā Clement began briskly, helping him out.
āWho?ā Jennings responded blankly.
āThe inquest on the musician found dead at the Bootleggers Club. Iāve just come from conducting the inquest.ā
Jennings sighed, quickly trawling his memory for the facts. āThis is the young layabout who drank too much and toppled down a nasty flight of stairs, yes?ā he mused aloud. Although his department had investigated it, he had assigned it (as a low-priority case) to his right-hand man, Sergeant OāGrady. From the brief reports heād read, it had seemed a simple enough, open-and-shut case. Some young lad with aspirations to make it onto the radio, wailing out some of that so-called music that was becoming so popular with the youngsters nowadays, had drunk a bit too much at a sleazy nightclub and taken a tumble down the stairs. Cracking his head on the way down. Nothing particularly controversial with that, surely?
He knew that the Bootleggers Club was a thorn in their side, and that a lot of his colleagues had been trying to get enough evidence against the manager to have it shut down for a while now. They suspected under-age drinking on a large scale, and call girls probably did a bit of business there too, and they suspected a spot of dope might be involved. But much as everyone might want to see Felix Simpkins behind bars at last, there had been nothing to indicate that heād had anything to do with a death on his premises. In fact, logically, if Simpkins had wanted someone dead, the last place heād have it done would be in his own club.
Nevertheless, the Inspector now eyed the city coroner warily. āYou say youāve just held the inquest? What was the verdict the jury brought in?ā
āAccidental death,ā Clement said reluctantly, but his eyes were twinkling just a little. He knew the way the Inspectorās mind worked, and was already anticipating the little skirmish that would come next. And Clement Ryder did enjoy a little skirmish now and then.
āAh, thatās all well and good then,ā the Inspector said, his shoulders relaxing just a little. āSo I can cross it off our books.ā
āIām afraid not,ā Clement said quietly and firmly.
The Inspector bit back an impatient sigh. Couldnāt this bloody coroner just ever let well enough alone? āIf the jury brought in a verdict of accidental death, Iāll be recommending to my superiors that we close the case,ā he countered, equally firmly, and in a valiant attempt to nip in the bud whatever it was the old vulture was angling for.
āIn which case, Iāll just have to ask them to open it again,ā Clement warned him flatly.
For just a split second, Harry Jennings was about to open his mouth and say that, in which case, the powers that be would thank him politely for his opinion and send him on his way. But then reason ā and sanity ā returned, and he left the words unsaid. Because both of them knew that if he was determined to make waves, Dr Clement Ryder wouldnāt hesitate to do so. And that he had the clout to make those waves whoppers.
For a start, a peer of the realm, no less, had good reason to believe that his son owed his life to this man and WPC Trudy Loveday, the constable whoād worked that case with him. And then there was the sticky fact that his own Superintendent had asked the coroner to investigate a case that had cleared his son ā posthumously ā of murder.
And if all that wasnāt enough, there was the undeniable fact to be taken into account that the old vulture certainly did have a nose for smelling when something wasnāt quite right. And that, if ignored, he was perfectly capable ...
