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  The struggle between them was like a verbal game. Once he could shift the discussion onto the discomforts of camping in a tropical rain forest, Helen's response was predictable.

  'You must be joking. If I knew I had to take a raincoat I wouldn't go in the first place.'

  'It's not that awful,' he offered tentatively. 'It may rain every day but it's so hot you'll dry off quickly.'

  'Warm showers? You make it sound idyllic. But what does that say about the creepy crawlies – apart from your ant friends of course – that go with the steaming jungle? Mosquitos?'

  'Probably. But you can use nets at night.'

  'Stay in during daylight, avoid going out at night, I suppose,' she said sarcastically. 'What about snakes?'

  'Very few will bite, and even fewer are fatal.'

  'Brilliant. Germs?'

  'There's some dysentery and even nastier infections, though provided you take precautions it's rare to be caught out. There are plenty of minor parasites like fleas. In the region where we'll be staying, the people keep them out of their huts by mixing the earth from ant heaps with cow dung and smearing it over the floor every week or so.'

  Helen shuddered: 'Spare me the details.'

  'Then there are bed bugs,' he continued. 'They like warmer climates, which stimulate them to breed rather more prolifically. They also produce a very oily secretion which stinks so much that most predators, birds for instance, won't touch them. These days there are very effective chemical controls, but if they run out, there's a small black ant which is said to clear every bed bug from a house within a day or two.'

  'Very reassuring. And how do I get hold of this ant?'

  'Er, in Portugal. Though I believe it's also found in other parts of the world,' he added hastily. 'Don't worry though; when we're on safari we're comparatively safe. They're quite rare in the huts of natives. They seem to prefer a certain level of comfort. Have you heard the old rhyme: "The lightning-bug has wings of gold, the June-bug wings of flame, the bed-bug has no wings at all, but it gets there all the same!" It does like to move with people as they migrate from dwelling to dwelling, along pipes and drains and so on. Some say they arrived with boat loads of emigrants from Europe. So you see, we can't blame all these minor horrors on the natives. We exported more than Christianity to these warmer countries.'

  She gave him a withering look: 'Wonderful. Someone should tell the World Health Organisation to base their next strategy on this newly discovered formula for abolishing global disease – non-stop air tickets.'

  'It's not quite that simple,' he admitted.

  'Nothing bloody is with you. I can tell from this catalogue of horrors you don't want me to go anyway.'

  'Yes I do,' he protested weakly.

  'We can't afford it. Anyway, I'd cramp your style.'

  'That's ridiculous.'

  'You can stuff your African bug hunt right where you sit. I'm staying here. I'll stick to coffee shops, shopping and the odd night out. Better than shivering with malaria or finding reptiles in the bed.'

  'Isn't that rather an extreme reaction?'

  He stopped the car and backed into an alley near the river, at the end of George Street.

  'I'll drop you here.'

  As Helen got out, she was still responding to his earlier remark:

  'Rather extreme,' she mimicked as she got out. 'I'd say it's very controlled, given the stimulus. Isn't that what you scientists say?'

  * * *

  Laura and Helen sat outside the coffee shop in silence for a while. Pedestrians trickled past in skeins and tentatively prodded dockside capstans, remnants of Hull's massive fishing fleet, now consigned to tourist history. Helen used the spoon to play with the frothy milk on the surface of her coffee. It seemed as though they were the only still point and the entire world was passing by in a hurry to be somewhere. Increasing tourism meant Hull's indigenous population was swelled by visitors to the Old Town and mementos of its great fishing history.

  'I'll have even less time now,' said Helen, 'with Robin being up to his eyes in the University.'

  'I was going to ask you how all that's going,' said Laura.

  'The African field trip, or Robin being deputy director?'

  'Africa.'

  Helen eyed her curiously.

  'You knew about it?'

  'I thought about you last night, when Tom told me about the grant. Tom was quite upset at losing Robin, having only just secured him as full-time deputy of the Research Centre. I nearly rang. But I had to wait until now. I didn't want to be the first person to break the news.'

  'You mean you thought Robin might not tell me last night?'

  'Not quite. But I didn't know when. And then I couldn't think of an excuse to ring you very late at night.'

  Helen seemed to find this reassuring.

  Laura giggled. 'All those well-endowed Africans.'

  'That's not a very p.c. remark – surprising, coming from you. Anyway, more than half the families of university staff where they're going have at least one member with HIV AIDS. It's the enemy of promiscuity.'

  With characteristic suddenness Laura's flippancy fell away. She was full of regret.

  'A thousand apols. I hope I haven't offended you.'

  Helen waved her hand. She was one of those women whose gestures conveyed her meaning graphically.

  'Forget it, darling. I'll slaughter Robin if he ever takes me for granted again. One thing Robin and I still share though – typical Scots – is we're well balanced. A chip on each shoulder.'

  They both laughed. Laura stirred her coffee. She'd anticipated trouble between Robin and Helen for ages. She wished she didn't know so much. It was difficult, hearing snippets from Tom about Robin's flings and being supportive over the past month while Helen went through the trauma of ending her affair with Detlev and what Helen saw as the aftermath of her actions.

  'How are you feeling about it?'

  'I was pissed off when Robin first told me. I shouted at him.'

  'Naturally.'

  Helen saw Laura's smile. She returned a somewhat wan smile.

  'I've calmed down now.'

  Laura licked her spoon reflectively.

  'You know, living with an academic at worst is living with a person who isn't there.'

  'Tell me about it.'

  'At best it's like living with the rest of the research team,' she said. 'You get the body now and again, usually at the wrong time of the month. As for the mind, only between grants.'

  'Grunts? You make them sound like animals.'

  'I said grants, research grants, darling. But grunts is about right.'

  'You said body and mind. What about the heart?'

  'What about the heart? Do they have them?'

  Since the waiter had brought Helen a glass of fruit juice with ice, she had perked up considerably, despite the warmth. Somehow, this warm, muggy weather in Hull drained her in ways which a far hotter but drier Mediterranean or tropical climate never had.

  'You're all right with Tom,' Helen continued. 'He's more reliable than Robin.'

  Laura's face displayed her scepticism. At that moment though, she wasn't ready to talk about herself. Helen giggled unexpectedly.

  'I'm not at all keen on anything wriggly unless it's chocolate covered. That goes for ants as well.'

  'If it's a choice between pleasure and righteousness, go for the pleasure.'

  'Every time.' Helen nodded vigorously, slipping off a shoe and wriggling her legs. 'The big ones with the most sweet and genetically modified ingredients are much more fun than the pale, laboratory-bred ones. That goes for people as well.' They both laughed.

  That was why you fell for Detlev, Laura thought. He was tall and well-built, in contrast with Robin's more portly, if ardent, sensuousness.

  Helen continued. 'I should be so lucky.'

  'Seriously though, it'll be an amazing experience I'm sure. But I don't envy you having to face all those creepy crawlies.'

  'Robin won't exactly be living in a te
nt. I've some pictures of the University at home.'

  Laura hadn't the heart to share her private thoughts about the venture. On past form, she doubted whether Helen would even get as far as the airport.

  * * *

  Day in day out, Wilkes hardly varied his introduction to different inquests by a single word:

  'This is not like a trial court, though there are some similarities. It doesn't have rules of evidence of sufficient rigour to support an investigation into who was responsible for a particular outcome. The purpose of an inquest is not to apportion blame, but merely to find out the facts. The coroner's court attends to four questions: who died, where, when and how the person came by death. As you might expect, the last of these questions takes up most of the time. At the end of these proceedings, I am required to give a verdict, so phrased that it does not determine criminal or civil liability. In the process, a number of witnesses will be called to give evidence. Normally they will have submitted statements. They may read these, or I may simply go through the statement, highlighting the main points and asking questions here and there. There are some statements submitted to be read in the court by people not attending and under Rule 37 of the Coroner's Rules I am required to tell you who these are.'

  Tom found his mind wandering. He gazed at those present, trying to imagine what they were thinking and feeling as the coroner listed those giving statements. He was jolted back as Wilkes began to summarise the case.

  'Dr Detlev Brandt was a research fellow from the Centre for Entomological Studies at the Hull Wilberforce University, and until a year before his death, a special constable in the East Yorkshire constabulary. On November 17 last, he took the train from Hull to Beverley, and then a taxi to the Beverley Motel, a three-star hotel on the outskirts of this market town in East Yorkshire, about ten miles from Hull. He was due to attend a meeting with scientists from the Cawood agricultural research establishment the following morning. When he did not arrive at 9:00 hours, they telephoned the hotel, to find he had not yet appeared for breakfast. The hotel is one of those where the rooms are single-storey, detached from the main hotel block. Dr Brandt's room was the end one in the block and the adjacent room had been unoccupied the previous night. An investigation began: the hotel manager entered his room at 9:15 hours and found it empty. The bed, apparently, had not been slept in. Meanwhile, at about that time a body was discovered by Mr Alderson, farmer at Lowfield Farm, immediately adjacent to the hotel. This was subsequently confirmed as being that of Dr Brandt. Dr Edna Williams, consultant histopathologist, you carried out the post-mortem.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Please take us through your report.'

  'Yes, sir. We normally begin the post-mortem by an external examination of the body and then carry out an internal examination.'

  'If I may interrupt,' said Wilkes hastily as though realising he'd forgotten, 'I'll ask Dr Williams to summarise the report, omitting the unnecessary medical details for the sake of those members present.

  'Of course,' said Dr Williams. 'In this case, the body lay on its back with the head facing upwards. A wound in the upper palate was visible in the open mouth. A shotgun lay between the legs. On measuring, the length of the shotgun from the trigger to the end of the barrel was found to be significantly shorter than the distance from the finger of the person to the mouth. This confirmed that it was physically possible for the person to have fired the fatal shot.'

  'The second part of the necropsy consists of an internal examination, including all organs. The injuries confirmed the cause of death as from a shotgun wound to the head. There was massive damage to the skull and the brain, which would have led to instantaneous loss of consciousness and death within seconds through loss of blood. In carrying out further examination, it was evident that there was no significant disease or injury present which would have had a bearing on this death. Samples of blood and urine were retained for analysis. The blood showed an alcohol concentration of 185 milligrams per 100 millilitres and the urine showed 290. This greatly exceeds the legal maximum in the UK of 80 milligrams per 100 millilitres. It indicates a marked degree of intoxication which would be likely significantly to impair cognition, physical co-ordination and emotional responses.'

  'Thank you, Doctor.'

  'If the Court permits,' said Dr Williams, 'I should appreciate it if I could be excused, once I have dealt with any questions.'

  'I understand. Does anyone have any questions?'

  An expectant silence followed this question. But nobody spoke. The coroner nodded his assent and the consultant left the court.

  The words special constable still echoed round Tom's head. He was staggered. There was no reason why he should have known, of course. He hadn't been a member of the interviewing panel when Detlev was appointed. But it was more than that. The information added to the intangible suspicion, already fed by occasional remarks from Laura. It lay out of focus and was un-addressed; so as time went by, it was increasingly threatening to his precise mind. He'd come to the coroner's court, hoping the process of the inquest would resolve his uncertainties. He particularly wanted to be dissuaded from the suspicion that there could be more to Detlev's former life, and so to his death, than a simple suicide – if suicide could ever be called simple.

  * * *

  'I'm sure you'll make the best of it, whether in Africa or at home,' said Laura, well aware of how adept Helen was at turning the conversation away from herself.

  Laura thought Helen was avoiding eye contact under the guise of spooning the froth on her cappuccino.

  'I'd rather not talk about it any more,' said Helen. 'How are you?'

  'Oh, business as usual I guess,' replied Laura with false jollity. 'The department and the Research Centre will go on having their crises of survival.'

  'But that's not you. You're good at turning the conversation onto other topics rather than talking about yourself. You haven't told me how you are.'

  'No, I haven't.' Laura bit her lip pensively.

  'So?'

  'Tom and I? We'll work it out, I suppose.'

  Laura didn't want to talk about it. She saw Helen looking at her with a mixture of puzzlement and concern.

  'I don't need sympathy,' she said sharply. 'We're doing what married people do after a few years of – whatever. It's okay. Anyway, if it's not, that's too bad. Plenty of other couples manage. We've been managing for years. We're experts at it by now.'

  * * *

  Coroner Wilkes had taken statements from relatives and other witnesses and was speaking again.

  'Now we shall hear the statements from the police. You are Constable Tebbutt, Number 149?'

  'Yes, sir.' Tebbutt looked nervously round the courtroom.

  'Please read the court your statement.'

  'Yes, sir. At approximately 9:10 hours on the Monday morning of 17 November 1997, I was on patrol in the village of Nesterton near Beverley, when I received instructions to proceed in response to a 999 call from Mr Alderson, a farmer from Lowfield Farm, Beverley Lane. On arrival, I found Mr Alderson, the farmer at Lowfield Farm, erecting some temporary fencing to prevent his cattle wandering into the immediate vicinity of the barn. Mr Alderson told me that he had heard a shot at about 8:45 and on going outside to search the farm outbuildings, had found the deceased lying in the barn. I walked with Mr Alderson to the barn fifty metres to the rear of Lowfield Farm. There I viewed the body of the deceased lying on a pile of hay beside a stack of hay bales. I directed Mr Alderson to wait while I confirmed that the deceased could not be resuscitated. I then contacted headquarters at 9:48 hours and arranged for them to call out the Scenes of Crime officer, ambulance and duty doctor. Meanwhile, I observed that a shotgun lay between the legs of the deceased, pointing upwards. The shotgun was the up and over type. I first made the weapon safe. Then I inspected the inside of the weapon and found a spent cartridge in the top barrel and that the bottom barrel contained an intact cartridge. The ambulance arrived at 10:15 and two paramedics checked the body and con
firmed the death.'

  'You knew and worked with the deceased in his capacity as Special Constable?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Did you have any reason to suspect Dr Brandt might take his own life?'

  'None at all, sir.'

  'Thank you, Constable Tebbutt. Has anyone any questions? You may step down. I shall now take the statement of Constable Birch, the Scenes of Crime officer.'

  Constable Birch stepped up, took the oath, sat next to the coroner and read her statement:

  'I was on duty at about 9:30 hours on the morning of 17th November, when I received a radio message from headquarters directing me to attend a reported incident at Lowfield Farm, Beverley. I approached a group of people standing on the driveway. Following their directions, I approached the body, which lay in the barn, adjacent to some stacked hay bales. I observed a large pool of blood under and around the head of the deceased. I could see a shotgun between the legs of the deceased. I took photographs. The negatives of these are held at Central Police Station, Beverley, East Yorkshire. Prints PS one to nineteen from these photographs labelled HDS1 can be viewed at Central Police Station, Beverley, East Yorkshire. I searched the barn in the immediate vicinity of the body. I was unable to locate the spent cartridge from the shotgun in the loose hay surrounding the body. I also searched the hotel room occupied by the deceased. I took away a note book which was lying on the bedside cabinet. This item was entered in police property at Beverley Central Police Station and is available for inspection there as police item DS 1.'

  'Am I right, Constable, that the writing on this notepad has been confirmed as that of the deceased?’ Wilkes asked.

  'Yes, sir. The handwriting has been identified by Professor Fortius, a colleague of the deceased in the Centre for Entomological Research at the Hull Wilberforce University, as that of Dr Brandt.'

  'And am I right that there was not any definite message in the writing? It was just scribbled notes.'