Caroline Graham - A Ghost in the Machine

“We have a lot of business to get through this morning,” said the coroner. “If you can’t keep quiet, madam, you’ll be asked to leave.”

Written evidence from the ambulance staff was then read out by the clerk, as was a letter from Dr. Jim Cornwell, who had identified the body.

Finally Leo Fortune of Brinkley and Latham, thought by the police probably to have been the last person to talk to the deceased, was called.

Asked about the dead man’s state of mind at this point, around five thirty on the evening that he died, Fortune replied: “Dennis seemed his usual self, calm and quiet. We’d just finished discussing a new account and were about to leave the office. This was about five thirty. It was a beautiful evening. I asked if he was doing anything special and he said having dinner with some friends. I got the impression he was very much looking forward to it.”

Fortune was thanked and stood down. He was the last witness. An air of disappointment possessed the assembly. The whole business had taken no more than fifteen minutes from start to finish. The coroner expressed his sympathy for the friends and relatives of the deceased before bringing in a verdict of Accidental Death.

That night Kate and Mallory sat companiably together in their big four-poster drinking real hot chocolate – dark squares of Valrhona melted in water and whipped up with cream.

Kate said, “What are we going to do?”

“God knows. I give up.”

“Mal…”

“What do you expect me to say? She’s immovable.”

“There must be something.”

“There’s nothing. You heard Cornwell’s opinion.”

“But where has it all come from?”

“She’s had an absolutely appalling experience.” The green fuse, its contents squeezed out into a grey and white and scarlet puddle seared his memory. “A terrible shock. And it’s left her very…unbalanced.”

It had taken them ten minutes to get Benny out of the coroner’s court and ten more to persuade her into the car. The moment the verdict had been announced she had got to her feet, pushed her way to the coroner’s table and begun to harangue him with great urgency. Her face was flushed and angry and there was lightning in her eyes.

“You have made a terrible mistake. Dennis’s death was not an accident. He was deliberately killed.”

Immediately Kate clambered out of her seat. Attempting comfort, she took Benny’s arm but was shaken off.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” cried Benny.

“The verdict was justly arrived at—”

“Justice! I’m telling you the truth. Why are you believing everyone else?”

The ushers were trying to clear the room with little success. At last people had got what they came for and they were not going quietly. Some were even sitting down again.

Mallory said, “Stop shouting, Ben, please.”

“He won’t listen.” She was struggling for breath.

“Let’s find somewhere to talk about this on our own.”

“Then it’ll be too late.”

“Not at all.” The coroner’s voice was low and insincerely serene. He sounded like an undertaker. “Inquests can always be reconvened should any reasonable doubt arise.” He caught Mallory’s eye, making it clear what he thought of the chances in this case while also blaming him for introducing a rogue element into the court. He nodded his head in the direction of the ushers and one of them moved firmly forward.

“You see?” said Kate, gently persuading Benny away from the table. “We can always come back.”

“Can we, Kate?” urged Benny. “Can we really and truly ?”

In no time at all Kate was sorry she had said that. In the car Benny started asking how soon coming back could possibly be arranged. And what had to be done to bring about this happy state of affairs. How quickly could they start? Where did they start? What could she, personally, contribute? What was the legal situation? Should they have a solicitor? Would any solicitor do or must they engage a specialist in criminal law? Should they perhaps use Dennis’s own solicitor?

After two or three hours of this Kate felt she wanted to run and hide. She kept going to the lavatory just to shut the sound out. At one point she pretended to go to the Spar and took a book and hid in the orchard, only to find, coming back, that Mallory had become worried and gone all over the village looking for her. At least they then had a short break. Left alone, Benny had returned to her flat.

In despair Mallory had rung Jimmy Cornwell and the doctor promised to make yet another visit to Appleby House on his way home from afternoon surgery. Prepared to comfort and tranquillise a grief-stricken woman suffering from post-traumatic stress, his expectations were immediately confounded. He found himself confronting blazing determination and a barrage of accusing questions.

How was it he had not grasped the real situation at the time of Dennis’s death? Did he understand that his evidence helped to bring in a shamefully wrong verdict? A re-examination was urgent. There was no time to be lost. Could a police doctor be used next time – someone more experienced in matters of unnatural death?

“She’s thrown her tablets from the hospital away,” said Mallory, walking Cornwell to his car. “Says she can’t afford to be only half awake when there’s so much work to be done.”

“Oh dear.”

“We simply can’t get through.”

“You won’t. Obsessives don’t respond to reason. Or common sense.”

“So – what happens now?”

“I can arrange for some counselling. Bit of a wait on the NHS—”

“We’ll pay, of course.”

“But as things are at present I doubt if she’d agree.”

“You don’t think she’ll just…give up?”

“From Benny’s point of view there’s nothing to give up. It’s everyone else who’s wrong.” Cornwell got into his car. “I’ve left another prescription with Kate. You might be able to slip her something by stealth.”

“I hate that idea.”

“Sorry, but that’s about it.”

Now, recalled to a miserable present, Mallory put his empty chocolate mug down and knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Through the window moonshine poured, washing the walls and furniture with pale light. All this tranquillity, which should have been soothing, seemed somehow an affront, totally inappropriate to the turmoil that was presently containing them all. He could see Benny’s flat through the window. All the lights were on. Mallory checked his luminous clock. Half-past two.

Kate, heavy against his chest, had drifted off. He couldn’t move without disturbing her. So he sat on, worrying about Benny, worrying about Polly, worrying about moving house, worrying about the new business. He remembered the day, now seemingly years ago, when he and Kate and Polly had sat in the offices of Brinkley and Latham for the reading of his aunt’s will. How excited and happy they had all been.

Dennis too, for entirely selfless reasons. Mallory remembered how spontaneously he had offered to help. How thrilled he was by the very idea of the Celandine Press. Mallory’s thoughts slid even further back. He recalled times when he was quite young and Dennis had come to his aunt’s house. And how he, Mallory, was always politely included in any non-business conversations. Mostly, of course, he wasn’t interested and ran off to play. But he never forgot the kindness, the serious attention paid by Dennis when he did attempt to join in.

There had been so much drama over the past three days, so many practical things that had to be done after Dennis’s death, that the process of mourning had passed Mallory by. Now he felt it, a slow paralysis of grief, gradually stealing across his heart.

Naturally Benny Frayle’s outburst in the coroner’s court was all over the village. Most people were sympathetic, especially those who had witnessed her terrible, stumbling progress from Kinders towards Appleby House the evening Dennis Brinkley died. Others were more heartless, pointing out that she’d always been several cards short of a full deck so what was new?