Faith Martin - A Fatal Obsession

Perhaps it was just instinct.

She certainly didn’t have the look of the average bystander, or one of those repressed members of the public who came in hopes of hearing some titillating secret being unearthed, or else gruesome descriptions of death and injury.

He was so busy trying to figure out why she interested him that it actually took him a moment to realise he’d actually seen her before somewhere. Many years ago – in circumstances that, he rather thought, hadn’t been particularly comfortable.

But before he could pursue the elusive memory, he lost sight of her as the room began to slowly empty, with spectators and court personnel filing out through the narrow doorway.

For a few minutes he remained in the empty room, sitting as still as a hunting heron on his chair, and thinking furiously. Just where had he seen those green eyes, set in that pale face and with that dark frame of hair, before?

He had a brief flashback – an impression of her stoic calm and dull voice – and was convinced she’d somehow known great pain and loss. And yet she hadn’t been a participant in one of his courts, of that much at least he was sure. He had a clear and precise recall of all the cases he’d presided over – and there was nothing wrong with his memory.

Unless this damned disease had begun to rob him of some of his mental faculties? Angrily, he shook his head, stubbornly refusing to give credence to such a disaster.

And yet… Yes – it was coming back to him now. And he had seen her in a coroner’s court before – just not one he’d been presiding over!

When he’d first decided to become a coroner, he’d started haunting the courts, sitting in the public gallery and watching as case after case was heard, listening and distilling the essence of what was happening. And one particular case…

Suddenly he snapped his fingers and, reaching forward, picked up his copy of the McGillicuddy folder and stared intently at the victim’s name.

And suddenly he had it.

McGillicuddy.

Of course, that’s where he’d seen her before.

Slowly, he leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing on his lips. Now he understood what had brought Beatrice Fleet-Wright to this inquest.

And he wondered.

He wondered quite a lot.

He’d thought there had been something very wrong about the Fleet-Wright case. But at the time he’d been in no position to question the residing coroner’s verdict. He hadn’t even started his training then. But that hadn’t stopped it from grating on him. He’d been convinced then that a number of the witnesses in that case had lied. Lied and lied again. And that one of the worst of these offenders had been Mrs Beatrice Fleet-Wright.

He hadn’t liked the evidence of the PC either – the first responder at the scene. He hadn’t trusted him one inch.

And Clement had had no doubt that the verdict handed down had been wrong – very wrong.

Naturally, he’d known it would be pointless to interfere. The coroner, one of his now-retired but very esteemed predecessors, wouldn’t have listened to the opinions of a man – no matter how eminent in his own field – who hadn’t even had the benefit of any legal education.

Besides, Clement had got the distinct impression that, behind the scenes, some very delicate wrangling was going on. Not that he’d ever have been able to prove it.

So, he’d had to just let it slide – much as it went against the grain. And it was one of the many reasons why, when he’d taken office, he’d sworn to himself there would never be anything iffy about any of his cases. Everything would be out in the open and above board, able to withstand any amount of public scrutiny.

He knew his way of doing things had made him a lot of enemies, but everyone, from the police and the Town Hall, to Oxford’s wealthiest and most prominent people, knew he couldn’t be bought, cajoled, fooled or lied to. He simply wouldn’t tolerate it.

And now, finally – perhaps he just might be in a position to do something about that earlier case as well? If he was very careful and rather clever?

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