Jack Higgins - Brought in Dead

“A last question, Miss Grey. I understand you were present at a private party given by Mr. Vernon at his flat at the Flamingo Club on the night the deceased died.”

“That’s right.”

“Please tell us what happened.”

“It was about nine o’clock. The party had just got started when Joanna walked in. She was in a bit of a state so Mr. Vernon took her into the corner to calm her down.”

“Could you hear their conversation?”

“Not really. She was obviously very upset and Mr. Vernon seemed to be trying to take her out of herself. After a while she just turned and walked out.”

“What did Mr. Vernon do?”

“He took me on one side and said he hadn’t liked the way she was talking. He asked me to keep an eye on her, to let him know if there was anything he could do.”

“Thank you, Miss Grey.”

Monica Grey returned to her seat as Baxter sat down and Vernon was called. He made an impressive figure in the dock, erect and manly in a well-cut suit, the Guards tie standing out against a snow white shirt. His occupation was given as company director, which made the impression on the jury that Miller had expected.

“Mr. Vernon, how long had you known the deceased?”

“About four months,” Vernon said. “Miss Monica Grey, an employee of mine, brought her to a party at my place one night. I understood they’d been students together.”

“And you became close friends?”

“I think it would be fair to say that.” Vernon shrugged. “As an artist, she had real talent and I admired her work. I commissioned her to paint a series of murals at my club.”

“I see.” The coroner’s voice was dry, remote. “Was the relationship ever anything more than a business one?”

“I took her to dinner now and then or to the theatre. We got on very well together. I liked her immensely.”

“And on occasion you were intimate with her?”

Vernon managed to inject just the right amount of outrage into his voice when he replied. “The girl’s dead, damn you! Can’t she be left in peace!”

There was a flurry of movement amongst the jury, an outburst of whispering. One man even nodded approvingly and the coroner had to call for silence.

He removed his spectacles and leaned back in his chair.

“Mr. Vernon, I can respect your feelings in this matter, but I must insist on a reply — and you are still under oath, sir.”

Vernon’s shoulders sagged. “Yes, we were intimate.” He drew himself up suddenly and glared fiercely at the coroner. “And why not? She wasn’t a child. It was our own affair.”

The coroner replaced his spectacles and examined the papers before him again. “Were you aware that she had become a drug addict?”

“Certainly not. Do you think I could have stood by and done nothing if I’d known?”

“We’ve already heard that on the night she died, she appeared at a private party you were giving at your club.”

“That’s right.”

“What happened on that occasion?”

“There really isn’t much to tell. She was depressed and unhappy. She told me that she’d lost the urge to paint, that life didn’t seem worth living any longer. I realise, in retrospect, that it was the drugs which had reduced her to that state. I advised her to go home. She’d told me previously that she and her father hadn’t been seeing eye to eye, but it seemed to me that didn’t matter any longer. That home was the best place for her.”

“How did she react to that advice?”

“She didn’t, I’m afraid. I went to get her a drink. When I returned, she’d gone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Vernon. You may stand down.”

As Vernon went back to his seat, Baxter rose again. “If I might insert a word at this time on my client’s behalf?”

The coroner nodded and Baxter continued, “Certain allegations do seem to have been made in connection with this unfortunate young woman’s death, allegations which would suggest that my client was in some way responsible. I would suggest his complete honesty in answering the question put to him, and his bearing on the stand, added to the statement of Miss Monica Grey, an independent witness, make nonsense of these allegations, which are completely without foundation. My client is Managing Director of a company which controls several important enterprises. I might also add, although he has attempted to dissuade me from so doing, that he was at one time a regular officer in the Brigade of Guards and in 1951 was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for gallantry and outstanding leadership during the Malayan Emergency.”

Vernon looked suitably embarrassed as Baxter sat down. “Thank you, Mr. Baxter,” the coroner said. “Call Colonel Craig, please.”

All eyes turned on Craig as he got to his feet and moved to the stand. He stood there, hands resting lightly on the rail, the eternal soldier in spite of his dark suit and tie.

“You are Colonel Duncan Stuart Craig and you reside at Rosedene, Grange Avenue, St. Martin’s Wood?”

“That is correct.”

“Did you see the body of a woman at the City Mortuary on Tuesday of this week?”

“I did.”

“Who was she?”

“My daughter — Joanna Maria Craig.”

“I will issue you with a burial order.” There was a pause as the coroner made a note and he continued, “I know this must be most distressing for you, Colonel Craig, so I shan’t keep you long. Until four months ago or thereabouts, your daughter was a perfectly normal young woman for her age in every way?”

“That is so. The change, when it came, was inexplicable to us. Temper tantrums, extremely emotional behaviour, that sort of thing. She became a completely different person. I realise now that her general deterioration was a direct consequence of her addiction to heroin.”

“From the time your daughter left home until her death did she ever communicate with you?”

“There were three letters, all postmarked Chelsea. They are before the court.”

The coroner nodded. “I have read them. They would seem to imply that she was residing in London and studying at a College of Art there. Presumably some acquaintance posted them for her.” He hesitated and then went on, “Colonel Craig, you have heard the evidence before the court. Have you anything to add?”

Miller felt Brady stir beside him and held his breath, waiting for Craig’s answer. “I have nothing to add, sir. The evidence in this matter seems clear enough.”

“And you can make of that what you like,” Brady whispered to Miller.

And then, with a rush, it was all over. The jury didn’t even bother to retire and the foreman, a small, greying bank clerk, rose self-consciously. “We find that the deceased took her own life while the balance of her mind was disturbed.”

“And that is the verdict of you all.” The foreman nodded and sat down. “Let it so be entered.”

There was a sudden hush as people sat up expectantly, waiting for the coroner’s closing words. “It is not within my province to make moral judgements. It is sufficient for me to say that on the evidence presented I must agree completely with the verdict of the jury. There is one disturbing feature of this case and it is this. Joanna Craig was not a registered drug addict and yet somehow or other she managed to obtain a daily supply. I trust that the representatives of the police present in court will see that this aspect of the affair is most thoroughly investigated.”

“The court will rise for Her Majesty’s Coroner.”

There was a general move towards the exit and Brady turned towards Miller, his face grim. “And that’s that. The swine’s got away with it.”

“What else did you expect?” Miller said.

Colonel Craig and Harriet were still sitting down at the front and Vernon and Baxter had to pass them. For a moment, Vernon hesitated as if about to speak and then obviously thought better of it. He nodded to Miller and Brady as he passed them, face grave, and went out.