Ainslie nodded curtly to Balfour as the inspector took a seat. Then, glancing around, he cleared his throat.
“This court of inquiry has been summoned to establish the facts surrounding the disappearance and possible demise of Mr. Aloysius X. L. Pendergast. I say ‘possible’ due to the fact that no body has been recovered. The only witness to Mr. Pendergast’s death is the person who may have killed him — Judson Esterhazy, his brother-in-law.” Ainslie’s scowl deepened, his face so desiccated it almost looked as if it might flake off from the effort. “Since Mr. Pendergast has no living relations, one could say that Judson Esterhazy appears here not only as the person responsible for Mr. Pendergast’s accident but as his family representative, as well. As a result, this proceeding is not — and cannot be — a standard inquest, because in this case there is no body and the fact of death remains to be established. We shall, however, follow the form of an inquest. Our purpose then is to establish the facts of the disappearance as well as the proximate circumstances, and to rule, if the facts allow, on whether a death has or has not occurred. We will hear testimony from all concerned, then make a determination.”
Ainslie turned to Esterhazy. “Dr. Esterhazy, do you agree that you are a properly interested person in this matter?”
Esterhazy nodded. “I do.”
“And you have declined, of your own free will, to retain a solicitor?”
“That is correct.”
“Very well. Before we begin, let me remind all present of Coroner’s Rule 36: an inquest is not a gathering in which any civil or criminal liability can be assigned — although we can determine if the circumstances meet certain legal definitions of culpability. The determination of culpability is a matter to be taken up separately by the courts, if warranted. Are there any questions?”
When the room remained silent, Ainslie nodded. “Then let us proceed to the evidence. We shall begin with a statement from Ian Cromarty.”
Inspector Balfour listened as the lodgekeeper spoke at some length of Pendergast and Esterhazy — of his initial impressions of them, of how they had shared dinner together the night before, of how Esterhazy had burst in the following morning crying that he had shot his brother-in-law. Next, Ainslie questioned a few of the Kilchurn Lodge guests who had witnessed Esterhazy’s frantic, disheveled return. Then he turned to Grant, the gamekeeper. As the proceedings continued, Ainslie’s face remained an astringent mask of disapproval and suspicion.
“You’re Robert Grant, correct?”
“Aye, sir,” the wizened old man replied.
“How long have you been gamekeeper at Kilchurn?”
“Going on thirty-five years, sir.”
At Ainslie’s request, Grant described in detail the trek to the site of the accident and the death of the search dog.
“How common is it for hunters from your lodge to venture into the Foulmire?”
“Common? It isnae common. It’s agin the rules.”
“So Pendergast and Dr. Esterhazy here violated those rules.”
“That they did.”
Balfour could see Esterhazy stirring uncomfortably at this.
“Such behavior signals a lack of judgment. Why did you let them go out on their own?”
“Because I recalled them from before.”
“Go on.”
“The pair of them were here once, some ten, twelve years back. I took them out meself, I did. Bloody good shots, knew exactly what they were doing, especially Dr. Esterhazy here.” Grant nodded in the doctor’s direction. “If I couldna vouch for that myself I’d never have let them out without a guide.”
Balfour sat up in his seat. He’d known that Pendergast and Esterhazy had hunted at Kilchurn before, of course — Esterhazy had mentioned as much in one of the interrogation sessions — but the fact that Grant had taken them out and could vouch for Esterhazy’s being an excellent shot was news to him. Esterhazy had always played down his skill. Balfour cursed himself for not having discovered this nugget on his own.
Next, it was his own turn to speak. Balfour described his arrival at the lodge; Esterhazy’s emotional state; the search for the body and the dragging of the pool; and the subsequent fruitless search of the moors and surrounding hamlets for any sign of a body. He spoke slowly and carefully. Ainslie listened intently, interrupting only infrequently with questions.
When he was done, Ainslie peered about. “And in the ten days since the shooting was reported,” he said, “the police have continued their searches?”
“That is correct,” Balfour replied. “We dragged the pool not once, but twice, and then a third and fourth time. We also dragged the surrounding pools. We used bloodhounds to try to pick up a trail from the accident scene. They found no trace, although to be sure there had been very heavy rains.”
“So,” said Ainslie, “you have found no independent evidence Pendergast is dead, nor any evidence he is still alive. Is that correct?”
“Correct. We did not recover his body or any personal effects, including his rifle.”
“Inspector,” Ainslie said, “have you found Dr. Esterhazy to be cooperative in this matter?”
“For the most part, yes. Although he describes his shooting skills rather differently than Mr. Grant.”
“And how does Dr. Esterhazy describe his shooting abilities?”
“He calls himself inexperienced.”
“Have his actions and statements corresponded to those of a person responsible for such an egregious accident?”
“So far as I have seen, yes.” Balfour, despite all, had not been able to put his finger on a single thing in Esterhazy’s actions that was inconsistent with shame, grief, and self-blame.
“Would you say he can be considered a reliable and competent witness to these events?”
Balfour hesitated. “I would say that nothing we’ve found to date has in any way disagreed with his statements.”
The coroner seemed to consider this a moment. “Thank you, Inspector.”
Next to speak was Esterhazy himself. In the ten days since the shooting, he had regained a good measure of composure, although a faintly haggard look of anxiety seemed to have deepened about him. His voice was steady, earnest, and low. He spoke of his friendship with Pendergast, which started when his sister married the FBI agent. He briefly mentioned her shocking death in the jaws of a man-eating lion, which elicited audible gasps from the audience. And then — at the gentle prodding of the coroner — he talked about the events leading up to Pendergast’s death: the hunt on the moors; the discussion of which stag to try for; the stalking on the Foulmire; the rising fog; his own disorientation; the sudden, bounding entrance of the stag and his instinctive shooting; the frantic attempt to rescue his former brother-in-law; and the man’s sinking into the quickmire. As Esterhazy spoke of these last events, and of his desperate trek back to Kilchurn Lodge, his veneer of calm broke and he became visibly upset, his voice cracking. The onlookers shook their heads, clearly moved and sympathetic. Ainslie’s face, Balfour noted with approval, remained as mournfully skeptical as always. He had a few questions about minor particulars — the timing of certain events, Esterhazy’s medical opinion of Pendergast’s wound — but beyond that, nothing. Esterhazy’s testimony was over in fifteen minutes. All in all, a remarkable performance.