risk which resulted in unintended fatal consequences) or, where there was no conclusive evidence as to the immediate cause of death, an open verdict. Addressing the waiting witnesses, Jenny reminded them that they would be giving evidence on oath, and that failure to answer truthfully was a criminal offence punishable by imprisonment. Family members exchanged glances, an elderly priest sitting at the back of the room frowned gravely, Ceri Jacobs stiffened. Jenny felt for them all, but unlike some coroners, she was not inclined to massage the truth to save people's feelings. Her inquests were conducted strictly in the public interest.
Mrs Jacobs was the first witness to be called forward. Composed, dignified, and displaying no outward sign of nervousness, she placed her hand on the Bible and swore to tell the truth. Repeating what she had told Jenny during her visit to her home, she said that she had enjoyed six happy years of marriage to Alan, during which time he had showed himself to be a loving husband and father and a deeply committed psychiatric nurse. Unprompted, she produced a number of letters from former patients and requested permission to read sections aloud. Jenny granted it. In a letter dated the previous February, Chris, an eighteen-year-old drug addict with a history of suicide attempts, wrote to thank her late husband: 'for showing me that life is the most precious thing there is, no matter how hard it gets. You've taught me there's always something better to hope for and I'll always, always remember that. Thank you, Big Al. You're the reason I'm still here.'
'It was the successes that gave him the strength to deal with the failures,' Ceri Jacobs said. 'You couldn't find a nurse more devoted to his patients.'
'Did this dedication take a personal toll?' Jenny asked. 'Did your husband show any signs of depression?'
'He was low sometimes, it was inevitable. But he was never moody or bad-tempered.' She was adamant. 'I've seen depressed people. I would have known.'
Jenny said, 'Do you accept that he wasn't telling you the truth when he said he had been called in to work on the afternoon before he died?'
'Yes.'
'Did he make a habit of lying to you?'
'He did not.'
'You say he left home around four o'clock on the Saturday afternoon. According to the pathologist, he died approximately five hours later. His body was found in a graveyard a little over two miles from your home. His clothes were in a nearby bin along with the packaging for a quantity of phenobarbital. This is an anti-convulsant drug, fatal levels of which were found in his bloodstream.' Jenny paused to take a mouthful of water and seize the momentary opportunity to avoid Ceri Jacobs's gaze. 'Do you have any idea what led him to that graveyard, Mrs Jacobs?'
'None at all,' she retorted, as if Jenny's question was nothing short of indecent.
'A sign of the cross was cut into his torso with a small kitchen knife that was found close to where he lay. It seems likely he did it himself. Do you know why?'
'I don't believe it's at all likely,' Ceri Jacobs said. 'I don't believe my husband took his life. I think he was molested and left to die.' She lifted her gaze to the old priest. 'If he did make that cross, it was as a sign to me, and to God, that he was leaving this world in faith.'
'The forensic evidence shows that your husband had intercourse with an unidentified male in the hours immediately preceding his death. Are you able to shed any light on this, Mrs Jacobs?'
The widow took a moment to compose herself, then answered with a level of certainty that took Jenny and the entire courtroom by surprise. 'If it happened, it was not consensual. My husband worked with the ill and disturbed, with people who are dangerous to themselves and often to others. He wasn't just a nurse to them, he was a friend. The only explanation that makes sense to me is that he went in good faith to meet someone who attacked him. I also believe that there was some hint of this meeting on his computer, and that for whatever reason that evidence was destroyed by the police, who have chosen not to pursue this line of inquiry.'
Her accusation was met with silence from her family, a look of suppressed pain from her priest and one of resignation from DI Wallace. Alison caught Jenny's eye, her expression suggesting there was little point