Before he could decide to say anything he might regret, she turned and clipped up the short path to her front door.
They called their goodnights and she vanished to the sound of a yapping welcome from her Yorkie. Richard turned to walk back home and sighed heavily. He enjoyed the company of women, especially such an attractive one as Moira.
‘Perhaps I should have given her a goodnight kiss,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Though she is my cook and secretary. It would complicate matters, wouldn’t it, Richard my lad?’
ELEVEN
The journey to Gloucester from Tintern was just under an hour, and on a fine morning it was a pleasant drive along the north bank of the River Severn. The tide was in and once again promising himself to come down to see the Severn Bore one of these days, Richard Pryor felt contented to be back in Britain after fourteen years in Asia.
The barrister’s chambers were near the Shire Hall, in which the Assize Courts were situated. This impressive porticoed building was in Westgate Street, in the centre of the city. The huge cathedral loomed not far away, and after cruising around to find a parking space Richard Pryor walked back and was directed to the lawyer’s hideout in a tall, narrow Victorian building.
The usual vertical list of resident barristers was discreetly displayed in the porch, and Mr Leonard Atkinson was fourth from the top in pecking order of seniority. This was the name that the solicitor had given him, and when he enquired in the clerk’s office on the ground floor a ginger-headed girl led him upstairs to a spacious room replete with the usual fittings of a lawyer’s domain. A large mahogany desk, heavy buttoned-leather chairs and several walls lined with legal books were the setting for the conference. The other four delegates were already present, and the man behind the desk rose to greet Richard.
‘I’m Leonard Atkinson, doctor. I’m happy and relieved to meet you!’
He introduced the others, the first being a dark-haired girl, his pupil in chambers, whose main function seemed to be to sit and listen and hand out coffee from a tray on a side table.
‘Mr Lovesey, our instructing solicitor, you’ve already met in Stow.’ He turned to the remaining person with the air of a ringmaster introducing a new circus act.
‘And this is our new leader, Mr Nathan Prideaux QC, from the Middle Temple.’
The leading counsel was a striking, almost eccentric figure.
Younger than Richard had anticipated, he was a large, almost overpowering figure, dressed in a black jacket and striped grey trousers. A white silk handkerchief flopped out of his breast pocket and a cravat-like grey tie hung around a stiff wing collar.
He had a craggy face with thick bushy eyebrows of a steel-grey colour similar to the cascade of hair that was swept back from his forehead to reach the back of his neck. Richard felt that he was a real showman, but no doubt this aspect of his character was matched by a considerable intellect. His coroner friend in Monmouth, whose brother was also a barrister, had informed him that Nathan Prideaux was one of the most sought-after defence advocates in London – and certainly one of the most expensive.
Prideaux rose to shake his hand across the desk.
‘We are very relieved to hear that you may have something we can use, doctor,’ he said in a sonorous voice that would have readily guaranteed him an alternative occupation as an archbishop.
Richard sat down and pulled his papers from his old case, which he laid against the leg of his chair. The group got down to business without delay, with Prideaux leading the discussion.
‘Dr Pryor, we went through most of the non-medical aspects of this sad case before you arrived, so it’s your contribution that we now need to explore.’
He put on a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez, which Richard felt was another affectation in line with his flamboyant appearance. Sliding a large file across the desk, Prideaux opened it at a green tab.
‘Perhaps I should briefly remind you of the relevant background of the alleged crime. Our client, Samuel Parker, is a respected veterinary surgeon who for some twenty years has practised in Eastbury. His wife Mary unfortunately developed a cancer of the pancreas early last year and, to put it bluntly, had been dying for the past few months.’
‘Her regular medical attendant, Dr Rogers, has given a statement in which he says he did not expect her to live for more than another month,’ offered the other barrister, Leonard Atkinson. ‘He also said that he wouldn’t have been surprised to hear of her death at any time.’
The solicitor joined in the discussion, with his more local knowledge.
‘Dr Rogers has been their GP for many years and is a solid old-fashioned practitioner with plenty of common sense,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, he was away at the material time and his locum, Austin Harrap-Johnson, came as a result of Parker’s urgent telephone call. Having heard him at the magistrates’ committal proceedings, I have to say that he sounds an officious and self-important young gentleman, out to make a name for himself.’
Nathan Prideaux peered at George Lovesey over his pince-nez and took up his résumé. ‘Be that as it may, the sister of the dead woman immediately and stridently accused her brother-in-law of doing away with her sister and repeated this to Dr Harrap-Johnson, telling him of the recent injection mark on Mrs Parker’s arm and the Pentothal and potassium chloride bottles in the animal surgery. Whereas perhaps Dr Rogers might have calmed her down and defused the situation, it seems that young Dr Harrap-Johnson seized on the accusation and promptly telephoned the coroner’s officer, telling him that he was unwilling to sign a death certificate.’
Richard nodded and felt that he ought to say something. ‘Once that had been done, it would have been very difficult to draw back. After the coroner is informed, it’s virtually impossible to un-inform him!’
‘Quite so,’ agreed the Queen’s Counsel. ‘The coroner, a Mr Edwin Randall, had little option but to accept the case and ordered a post-mortem examination, ostensibly to allay any further suspicion. It was done next afternoon at the public mortuary in Stratford. The pathologist was a retired fellow, regularly employed by the coroner for routine cases.’
Richard nodded and shuffled among the papers that the solicitor had given him on his visit to Stow.
‘I’ve read his report. He declined to give a cause of death until further investigations were carried out. Because she was on frequent doses of morphine, he wanted to have an analysis in case of some overdosage. That’s fair enough. I would have done the same if I couldn’t find any immediate cause of death.’
Prideaux’s sharp blue eyes fixed on the pathologist. ‘If the GP said she could have died at any time, would you need any immediate cause of death, doctor?’
Pryor considered this for a moment. ‘Well, maybe the pathologist didn’t know what the regular GP thought, as he was away and the statement you have from him was long after the event. Given that this locum doctor was so gung-ho about it and that the sister was yelling murder, he might well have been cautious. In really advanced cancer, of course people can die at any time, but often one can find a definite terminal event, like a pulmonary embolism or a haemorrhage.’
The QC nodded and continued his monologue. ‘By this time, the sister, this pharmacist Sheila Lupin, was voicing her suspicions in the village, and she actually went to see Edwin Randall, the coroner, to demand a full investigation and inquest.’
George Lovesey was nodding his head like a mechanical doll. ‘I know the coroner well; he’s a solicitor in another practice in Stow. He felt a little pressurized by this, and to be on the safe side he had a quiet word with the local police superintendent and they agreed that the safest course would be to ask for a second post-mortem by a Home Office pathologist.’
Richard turned over another page in his own folder.