'I'm not sure, Mrs Cooper. I suppose it depends what happens. People change.'
Jenny sensed she was being asked to delve deeper. Too proud to gush, Alison's way of revealing herself was invariably to drop tantalizing hints that she was supposed to pick up on. Something of the parent and teenage child had developed in their relationship, Alison craving Jenny's approval but never daring to let down her defensive guard.
'Have you met someone?' Jenny ventured.
'Me?' Alison said, feigning surprise. 'I've had a few dates. Why not? Terry's certainly making hay.'
With a knowing look, Jenny said, 'What's his name?'
'Who?'
'The man you were meeting on Friday night?'
'Oh, him,' Alison said casually. 'That was Martin. A friend put me on to one of these dating sites. It was the last thing I'd have done if she hadn't suggested it, but he turned out to be rather charming. Very gentlemanly.'
Jenny smiled. 'Sounds promising. What does he do?'
'He's a consultant, advising companies on their security, that sort of thing.' Alison's cheeks coloured. 'He's only forty-three. He thinks I'm forty-nine.'
Jenny had never seen her look this excited. 'Just dinner, was it?'
'Mrs Cooper. What do you take me for?'
Jenny offered absolution: 'I'm happy for you, really. You deserve some fun.'
Alison gave a grateful smile, knowing it wasn't just her wayward husband Jenny was referring to, but also Harry Marshall, Jenny's predecessor as Severn Vale District Coroner. Twelve months had eased the pain of his sudden passing, but during their five years working alongside each other, Alison had come to idolize him. In an unguarded moment, Alison had confessed that Harry had once tried to seduce her and that she had shied away. She regretted it still, and probably always would.
'I'm afraid there's not much fun in your postbag this morning,' Alison said. 'You might want to read that email first.' She handed a printout across the desk.
It was from Patrick Derwent, the father of the girl who had hanged herself in the Conway Unit. He was angry, and had been moved to write after reading local newspaper reports of the proceedings at Jacobs's inquest. Why was the truth of Jacobs's wholly inappropriate behaviour towards his daughter skimmed over, he asked? It wasn't just a matter of him attempting to subvert her psychiatrist's diagnosis; he had pestered her with his simplistic religious beliefs, plied her with evangelical literature and even forced her to pray with him, promising her that being born again could open the door to her recovery. It was bad enough that all this had been hushed up until after the cursory inquest into his daughter's death. It was unforgivable that it hadn't even been exposed following Jacobs's obvious suicide. Did Deborah Bishop's unit have something else to hide? How many other needless deaths had it contributed to?
'What do you think?' Alison said. 'His wife never mentioned any of that, did she?'
'I'd better talk to the coroner who dealt with Emma Derwent's death.'
'It would have been Mr Rogers. Do you want me to call him?'
'I'll do it.'
As Jenny picked up the phone to call her colleague in Bristol Central, she found herself wondering what it might do to Ceri Jacobs to reopen the wound. Who would it serve to go back and heap more ignominy on her dead husband's name? Weren't some things better left undisturbed?
Nick Rogers was of the curt, ruthlessly businesslike school of coroners, notorious for conducting his inquiries by the letter of the law and with the minimum display of compassion for the bereaved. Jenny secretly suspected the gruff exterior disguised a delicate soul, but Rogers would have scoffed at the notion and accused her of being a bleeding heart.
The girl never complained about Jacobs, Rogers said. As far as he had been able to ascertain, she had merely mentioned the prayer incident to her parents in passing. It wasn't strictly NHS practice, but it was hardly a crime in his book. It was only after the girl had hanged herself that the parents said anything to Deborah Bishop, and it was the first she'd heard of it.
'Did Jacobs give evidence at the inquest?' Jenny asked.
'Oh yes,' Rogers said. 'Poor man was visibly distressed.
He said the prayer incident was all at her request. They got chatting about this and that and she found out he was a believer. As far as I could tell it was all perfectly innocent. There was no doubting she was very sick. She killed herself during a major psychotic episode. I found no reason to suggest that he