told me.' She turned to Mrs Jacobs. 'I only prayed with Alan once. He prayed for his wife and his daughter and for several people I believe he was caring for in his work. It was all sincerely meant, not unusual in any way, but I remember he fell silent for a moment. I sensed there was something else he wanted to say and I tried to prompt him, then suddenly his face started running with tears. It surprised me. I'd always seen him as very in control, strong, but calm. I asked him what the matter was. He said, "I've become involved with some people I shouldn't have. I thought they were helping me but now I don't know. I don't know what's going on. I feel as if I don't know who I am any more." I remember the look of despair on his face. I tried to get him to say some more but he wouldn't. So I prayed for him. It must have been at least three weeks before he died, but he more or less avoided me in the sessions after that.'
'Might he have spoken to anyone else in the group before his death?'
'I somehow doubt it. He kept his distance from all of us. I think he felt he had embarrassed or compromised himself. I was in a difficult position—'
Jenny said, 'I understand.'
Neither of the lawyers had any questions for Mary Richards. The images her sketchy evidence had conjured were vivid enough without causing further distress to the widow. Jenny hastily summarized the evidence, eager to bring proceedings to an end. The faces of Ceri Jacobs, her family and priest, as they waited for the word they all dreaded, were pictures of desolation. As she started to read aloud from the form of inquisition, a lump as hard and dry as pumice stone formed in her throat. But at the last moment, as if succumbing in a struggle with a supernatural force, she struck a line through the word 'suicide' and recorded an open verdict.
Chapter 7
The relief of seeing the Jacobs family greet her inconclusive finding with smiles and grateful embraces was short-lived. As if to punish her for her weakness, Alison pursued Jenny into the corridor behind the courtroom and handed her a list of urgent calls that had to be made before close of business. Jenny promised to deal with them later and locked herself in the tiny office for a few moments' peace.
She made the return journey to Jamaica Street on foot. It was only a mile across the city centre and the afternoon was warm enough for road-menders to be working shirtless and teenagers to be paddling in the public fountain while perspiring policemen stood by smiling. A few rays of sunshine and the city was transformed. All was peace and goodwill. She fetched out her phone and tried Ross's number.
To her surprise he sounded almost pleased to hear her. 'Mum. How are you?'
'Feeling guilty. Sorry I missed our call. Things got a bit frantic.'
'No problem.'
'I don't suppose you're free tonight.'
'Could be-'
'I thought we could go for dinner. It's been ages.'
'Why not?' Ross said, trying hard not to sound over- enthusiastic.
'Pick you up around seven?'
'I could come into town.'
'No need. I ought to say hello to your father.'
The heat must have gone to her head. Having friendly feelings towards David had to be a sign that she wasn't in her right mind.
Alison shoved a note into her hand the moment she stepped through the door. 'Simon Moreton called, twice. You're to phone him back immediately.'
'What does he want?'
'Didn't say. But I'd guess it was your blood.'
'What have I done now?'
Alison shrugged and went back to her emails. Jenny noticed that she had swapped her dark trouser suit for a slim-fitting skirt and matching jacket that was stretched a little too tightly across her shoulders.
'Are you going somewhere?' Jenny said.
'Just meeting a friend.' 'Oh?'
'Yes.' Alison thrust a second piece of paper in Jenny's direction, her cheeks colouring. 'You might want to look at this.'
Jenny cast her eyes over the email from someone calling himself Doc Scratch.
He claimed to be the tattoo artist who had drawn Eva Donaldson's design. He said his diary showed she'd come on the morning of Friday, 23 April, a little over two weeks before she died. She had called herself Louise Pearson and paid in cash, but everyone in the studio had recognized her from the television. You couldn't mistake the scar.