A/N: All forensic evidence has been created with the assistance of the American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology, the European Journal of Trauma and many of Patricia Cornwell's novels.
Part Eleven
When they all reconvened in the public gallery for the afternoon's session, George could feel her nerves beginning to hum, like the strings of a violin being tuned to expert precision, ready to take part in a work by Mahler or Wagner, any music that might at any moment pour a whole load of emotions down upon her. She inwardly cursed herself for thinking she could do this. Both John and Jo were far better at dealing with hurt and angry people than she was. They knew how to be sympathetic, how to offer comfort and more importantly, to recognise when neither was wanted. But that was tough, she thought resignedly. Neither John nor Jo are here and you are, so deal with it. Karen had noticed how tense George had become, but being able to attribute no reason to it, she put it to the back of her mind. But George wasn't the only one to feel a sense of nervous anticipation. After having given her opening speech, Jo was quietly collecting her thoughts, ready to defend her client to the death. Well, perhaps not quite that far, but that's how it felt. John also had not been able to relax over lunch. He had paced the length and breadth of his chambers, annoying Coope to distraction. "Is something wrong, Judge?" She had finally been forced to ask. "Have you ever felt like you've really betrayed a friend?" He asked. "Why?" Coope asked without giving him an answer. "Oh, no reason," He replied, not wanting to share all the details with her, feeling that even to his ears it sounded stupid. But when he walked in to court and sat down behind the Judge's bench, he offered up a silent prayer that the shock wouldn't be too great for Karen.
"Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan began. "Would you tell the court, exactly what you did and what your first impressions were when you received James Fenner's body?" As Sam Ryan began to speak, John reflected that someone as pretty as her really shouldn't be doing something quite so horrific for a job, and that her beautiful Irish lilt certainly didn't belong in a court room discussing what had killed one of the most loathsome men he'd ever encountered. "It is part of normal procedure for a forensic pathologist to x-ray any corpse that comes in to his or her possession, before beginning the postmortem. This is to identify whether there are any foreign objects concealed within any internal organs, that an initial external examination might not reveal. This is usually done as a precaution to warn the pathologist of any sharp objects they may encounter. The initial x-ray I did on James Fenner showed a bullet to be lodged in his spine, approximately just under the naval." "This will be shown later, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan. "I then collected any visible fibres and other debris from his clothes. This mostly consisted of soil particles from the ground where he was buried. Once I'd removed his clothes, I found the entrance wound of his gunshot injury. As I'd suspected by the position of the bullet in his spine, James Fenner was shot in the region of his navel. On further examination, I was able to ascertain that this wasn't a contact injury." "How can you be certain of that?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked. "There was no gun residue on the surrounding tissue, there was no muzzle mark on the skin, and if this type of bullet had been fired at such close range, it would have passed straight through the body, not lodged itself in his spine." At this point, Neumann Mason-Alan moved to stand in front of an overhead projector, which had yet again been forced to take a part in a trial inside the ancient structure of the Old Bailey. Picking up Fenner's x-ray film from the evidence bench, he switched the projector on, waited for it to warm up, and then placed the film under the light source so that it was projected on to the blank wall of the court. Karen hadn't wanted to look, but like everyone else in the gallery, Marilyn included, she found her gaze inexorably drawn to the intricate design of Fenner's skeleton. Clearly lodged in the lower half of his spine, was a tiny cylindrical bullet. Professor Ryan continued. "The bullet is sitting at L5, or in the fifth lumbar bone, in the superior or upper bone of the Lumbar Sacral junction. From the moment he was shot, James Fenner would not have been able to feel anything below this point. He would have had absolutely no sensation in his lower body whatsoever. If he was standing when he was shot, which I suspect he was, he would have ended up in either a sitting or a lying position, thoroughly incapable of getting to his feet or of using his legs in any way. This would have seriously impaired Mr. Fenner when it came to defending himself from further assault." Neumann removed Fenner's x-ray film from the overhead projector, but left it switched on, showing that there were more pictures to come. He returned to the evidence bench and picked up something in a transparent bag. Holding it up to the light, he said, "Members of the jury, sealed in this evidence bag, is the bone of James Fenner's spine which originally contained the bullet. During your eventual deliberations, I would like you to look closely at this piece of evidence, keeping in mind the small whole it contains. I would like you to think to yourselves what sort of impairment this injury would have caused Mr. Fenner, and to further consider how he would or would not have been able to defend himself with such an injury." When Neumann had announced to all and sundry what he had in his hand, there had been a quiet gasp from Marilyn. Karen looked over at her with sympathy, but not knowing what, if anything, she could say to her. "Now, Professor Ryan," Neumann continued. "Would you describe James Fenner's gunshot injury." "James Fenner had been shot at fairly close range, by a nine millimetre Remmington cartridge, the bullet passing through the abdominal tissue to lodge itself in the spine. This injury was not James Fenner's primary cause of death. If nothing else had been done to him, he would have eventually bled to death, though this could have taken anything up to a few hours." "How can you be certain that this wasn't his cause of death?" "On its journey through James Fenner's body, the bullet struck neither the iliac arteries, which supply the small intestine, nor any of the renal vessels, the veins and arteries leading to his kidneys." "Why wasn't this the case?" "Unless the person who shot Mr. Fenner had known exactly where to aim, they would not have been able to pinpoint any exact target." "And why did the bullet become lodged in Mr. Fenner's spine, instead of passing straight through his body?" "Two things could account for this. One being the distance the killer was standing from him when the gun was fired, and the second being the extensive amount of scar tissue present in the area of the wound. James Fenner had, I understand, been stabbed on a previous occasion, and it was the scar tissue both from this injury and the surgery performed to repair this wound that I believe slowed the bullet in its tracks. I couldn't possibly prove it," Sam continued carefully, knowing she was treading a very thin line. "But I believe it is possible that James Fenner's killer might have known fairly precise details of his previous injury." Jo rose to her feet with a look of fury on her face. "My Lord, this is an unsupportable assertion and should be struck from the record." "Mr. Mason-Alan," John said seriously. "I do hope you have evidence to back up this claim." "I do, My Lord," Neumann replied smugly, picking up an envelope of photographs from the evidence bench. Moving back over to the projector, he removed two specific pictures from the packet. "This picture, My Lord and members of the jury," Neumann began, with the weighty tone of someone about to deliver the Nobel prize, "Is a photograph taken from Mr. Fenner's medical records of the resulting scar from both the stabbing and the surgery to repair it." Karen looked in sheer horror at the picture of Fenner's torso, displayed to life-size proportions by the magnification of the projector on the wall of the court. It looked so real. The sight of such a familiar part of Fenner brought back a host of memories to her, but one in particular insisted on raising its ugly head. She could recall it like it was yesterday. It had been on Jim's first day back at work. He'd followed her round all day, persuading, cajoling, and finally succeeding in getting her to talk to him about their relationship. He'd eventually cornered her in her office. She saw herself, as if from a bird's eye view, taking off her jacket and dropping it to the floor, Jim taking off his tie and casting it aside, she unbuttoning his shirt... Feeling the bile suddenly rising in her throat, Karen knew she had to get out of there.
When Karen hurriedly rose from her seat and squeezed her way passed her, George took in the deathly pallor, the expression on Karen's face that could only be described as haunted. George sat for a moment, slightly stunned. Just why had a picture of Fenner's scar made Karen react like that? "Is she all right?" Nikki asked her in a whisper. "I'll go and see," George replied, remembering that this was why she was there in the first place. As she walked up the isle between the seats on either side, she was aware of Neumann Mason-Alan saying that the picture he was now showing was a photograph of Fenner's corpse, specifically his gunshot wound. Heartily grateful that she hadn't had to look at this, George walked out of court. When she came to the top of the stairs, she saw that Karen had already descended them and was striding purposefully across the foyer. Putting on a spurt, George ran down the stairs, jumped the last two steps, and briefly skidded on the tiled floor, landing in the waiting arms of Michael Nivin. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He asked her, making sure she was standing securely on her feet before letting go of her. "Sorry, Michael, can't stop. You didn't see a tall blonde woman heading off anywhere did you?" "She looked like she was heading in the direction of the Ladies'. Why?" "Because I'm supposed to be looking after her and I don't think I'm making a very good job of it." "Forgive me for saying this, George, but you don't strike me as the looking after people type." "Yes, thank you, Michael, I'm well aware of that. John asked me to do it." This wasn't strictly true but doing something for John would call for far less notice than doing a favour for Jo. "Isn't he overseeing the Atkins trial?" "Yes, and the victim's one time lover has just found out how he died. Michael, what am I supposed to do? You know me, I don't do sympathy." "Then it sounds like it's time for you to start." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, George left him and walked towards the ladies'.
Having thankfully had complete privacy in which to lose her entire stomach contents, Karen was splashing her face with cold water when George appeared. "Are you all right?" George asked, mentally kicking herself for the inanity of the question. "No, not really," Said Karen, praying that she wasn't about to throw up again. She could remember the feel of Fenner's very male skin on her fingers as she'd traced the length of his scar. But the memory that had caused such a violent reaction was of herself, the woman she looked at in the mirror every day, kissing that scar, actually putting her full, tasting lips against where Dockley had thrust her bottle. "I need a cigarette," Karen said in to the silence. "Well, I'm afraid that the new no smoking signs aren't just for show," Said George in disgust. "Then out in the rain it is," Replied Karen, taking a quick glance out the window. "I can do better than that," George said with sudden inspiration as she dug her car keys out of her handbag. "My car will always be friendly to addicts." As they walked out of the court building, through the pouring rain to George's car, Karen had time to put two and two together. It hadn't just been a coincidence that George had been there in the public gallery, George had been there to deal with a reaction like this one.
When they were seated in George's car with the heater running, Karen reached for her cigarettes and then realised that she'd left her handbag up in the public gallery. George held out her own and they both lit up. "That was why you were here, wasn't it," Karen stated flatly. "Yes, partly," George replied, not knowing any other way of dealing with this rather than to be honest. "Who asked you to be there?" Karen asked, not quite knowing why this was important. "Jo did. She came to see me on Saturday and," She searched for the right words, "Filled me in so to speak." Considering what had actually happened to Fenner, this hadn't been her best choice of vocabulary. "But neither Jo nor John, because I'm assuming he knew about this, could possibly have known that seeing a life-size photo of Fenner's scar would affect me like that, which makes me further assume that there's a lot more that I would have learnt had I stayed." Briefly thinking that Karen had definitely been spending too much time with John, George also realised that Karen still didn't know the half of it and that she, George, would have to fill in the details. "Seeing that picture made you remember something, didn't it," She said, for the moment avoiding answering Karen's question, which in itself was as good as an answer. "You could say that," Said Karen with a shudder. "What was it?" George gently probed. "Trust me," Said Karen decisively. "You really don't want to know." "Perhaps not," conceded George. "But there isn't much about you and Fenner that I don't already know. So try me." "When he was stabbed, and during the investigation that followed, Helen discovered, possibly from Yvonne, that I was sleeping with Fenner. Probably because of this, and because of the slightly irrational way I dealt with his hostage situation, I told him I wanted to cool things for a while. But this was Fenner after all, and he doesn't take no for an answer. The day he came back to work, he kept trying to talk to me, and I kept avoiding him. But Fenner has this way of getting under your skin so that you end up going along with exactly what he wants." Karen suddenly seemed to realise that she was talking in the present tense instead of the past, as if Fenner was still alive. Giving herself a mental shake, she continued. "Most of the inmates and the rest of the officers were having a Pool competition. We went up to my office. We ended up screwing on the floor of my office. You know how it is," She said with a shrug. "The threat of discovery can turn even a nun in to a raging torrent of lust. What I remembered," She said very slowly. "Was kissing his scar." Taking in a deep, contemplative breath, George attempted to keep her face rigidly blank but failed spectacularly. "I did warn you that you wouldn't want to know," Said Karen dryly. "It was just one of those things," She went on, "One of those things you push to the back of your mind because there's absolutely no reason to remember it, and then some prosecuting barrister flashes up a picture without any warning, and there you are, a complete emotional wreck." She said these last two words with such self-loathing that George winced.
Back in court, Neumann Mason-Alan had finished illustrating the fact that Fenner had been shot in the area of the lower end of his scar, which meant that John was forced to allow the assertion that Fenner's killer might have known details of his stab wound. "Professor Ryan," He continued. "Please would you explain to the court, the exact nature of James Fenner's primary cause of death?" "When I excised Mr. Fenner's lungs, their insides were liberally speckled with soil. this told me that after he was shot, James Fenner was buried alive." There rose a murmur of voices from the public gallery. Nikki and Roisin exchanged looks, both having been told by Yvonne and Lauren respectively what had happened on that fateful day. Nikki found herself looking over at Fenner's ex-wife, who had tears running unheeded down her cheeks. "I can be one hundred percent certain of this," Sam Ryan continued, raising her voice slightly over the murmur of voices. "Because James Fenner's lungs could not possibly have contained any foreign substance unless it had been breathed in by him. As his oxygen supply decreased, his lungs would have worked increasingly harder to secure an adequate air supply. This in turn would have caused the collapse of the alveolar framework, the overlapping of the alveolar septa and resulting in very little if any oxygenated blood reaching the heart." "Professor Ryan," Interjected the Judge. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain this process in language that the jury can understand. I believe that you are the only person in this court so familiar with the medical terminology you are using so liberally." "I was just about to ask the same, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan, hating it when this particular judge intervened. "If I might have leave to illustrate this, My Lord," Sam Ryan's voice crept over his senses. "It may make it easier for the jury to understand." "Be my guest," He said with a smile. Walking over to the overhead projector, Sam picked up a blank sheet of acetate and a pen and began to draw a picture of a pair of lungs. "The trachea, or the windpipe, begins at the throat, and goes down until it branches to left and right, forming the bronchus tubes," She said, drawing them in to place. "These two branches then form even smaller branches called the bronchioles, which in turn lead to the alveoli, or ducts and air sacs. In James Fenner's case, there was a considerable amount of soil on the lining of his trachea, his bronchus tubes and the bronchioles. This clearly illustrates a desperate attempt by the lungs to breathe in oxygenated air. When his air supply became greatly diminished, he began decompensating. His lungs would have begun to breathe quicker and quicker, with a rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen. A lack of oxygenated air, together with the presence of a foreign substance inside his lungs, would have caused the collapse of the alveoli, the ducts and air sacs, and an overlap of the alveolar septa or partitions between the air sacs." Sam had said all this in the tone of one giving a lecture, which John suspected she did on a regular basis. "Does that explain things more clearly, My Lord?" She asked. "I am much obliged, Professor Ryan," John replied, giving her his most chivalrous smile. "Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan said, clearly glad to regain the reins of his case. "The last detail that I would like you to explain to the court, is what you did just prior to the removal of James Fenner's lungs." "Before I excised James Fenner's lungs, I was able to ascertain that his laryngeal nerve was still intact. If it had been damaged in any way, by either a blow to the throat or a stab wound, Mr. Fenner would have had considerable difficulty in shouting for help. The fact that the nerve that directly controlled his voice box was still in tact, means that he ought to have been able to shout for help at any time during his abduction." "And can you make a suggestion as to why this did not take place?" Asked Neumann with all the stealth of a cat. But Jo hurriedly rose to her feet. "My Lord, it is not Professor Ryan's area of expertise to make assumptions as to the victim's lack of verbal response." "Not quite how I would have put it, Mrs. Mills," Said John mildly. "Though I do take your point. Mr. Mason-Alan, any speculation as to why James Fenner did or did not attempt to draw attention to his situation is not for Professor Ryan to comment on. That question will be struck from the record." "But My Lord," Mason-Alan persisted. "Surely that suggests that he knew his killer and that he either didn't expect her to go through with her threat, or that he was far too scared to put up a fight." "Fenner, scared?" muttered Nikki in the public gallery. "That'll be the day." "Mr. Mason-Alan, that will do," John said firmly. "You have been in my court less than a day and already you are pushing my patience. I would caution you on pushing it further. Is that clear?" "Crystal clear, My Lord," He said with a scowl. "No further questions."
George and Karen had smoked in companionable silence for a while after Karen had related the details of what had made her flee from court. "Do you know what's really stupid about all this," Karen said after some thoughtful contemplation. "I've known the reasons behind what Lauren did pretty much ever since she killed him, but I've never actually followed it to its logical conclusion. Everything about this case, one way or another comes back to me." "I don't think it's quite that simple," Replied George, thinking she could see where this was going. "So Jo didn't give you all the details then?" "Only what she thought I needed to know." "Which you have yet to tell me," Answered Karen quietly. "If you had stayed in court long enough," George said with an air of finality in her tone. "You would have heard that Lauren Atkins' bullet wasn't what killed him." "So what did?" "He was buried alive," Said George, feeling like she'd just removed the pin of a handgrenade but had neglected to throw it out of harm's reach. "Jesus Christ," Said Karen meditatively. George simply waited. "And Yvonne couldn't tell me." "To give Yvonne her due," Said George fairly. "I don't think she has told anyone exactly what her daughter did. Jo tried to get her to tell you, but she couldn't." "How long has John known about this?" "Only since the weekend." "So that we're quits," Said Karen, attempting to get off the subject of Fenner's actual cause of death. "Lauren killed Fenner because the last letter Ritchie wrote to her, on the night he died, asked her to. It was Ritchie's way of making up for the way he'd used me to get Snowball's gun in to Larkhall." "Typical Ritchie Atkins logic," Said George in half amazement half resigned acceptance. "Slightly askew from everyone else's." Karen briefly smiled. "You got to know him quite well in those ten days, didn't you." "More than I realised at the time, yes." "But you see now why I appear to be at the centre of all this." "Darling, it won't do you any good to think about it like that," George said emphatically, barely noticing that she'd called Karen darling. "If I hadn't slept with Ritchie, he'd very likely have still been alive and he wouldn't have asked Lauren to do something so reckless and stupid." "Karen, listen to me," George said sternly though with a hint of sadness in her voice. "If Fenner hadn't forced himself on you in the first place, then you very likely wouldn't have gone looking for a bit of rough from Ritchie Atkins. One might even call what happened to Fenner poetic justice. Blaming yourself is pointless, trust me. I've done self-recrimination since before my daughter was born, and I can promise you it gets you absolutely bloody nowhere." "Just answer me one thing," Karen said, having taken a moment to calm down slightly. "When I asked you earlier if this was why you were here, you said partly. What was the other reason you were here?" George had been caught completely off guard, and now she stared at Karen, not having the faintest idea how to explain why she would have been there whether Jo had asked her or not. But she eventually bit the bullet, knowing that to give Karen anything less than a completely honest answer wouldn't be fair. "I, erm, I would have been here today in any case," She began slowly, "Because I knew without doubt that you would be here. As adolescent as it sounds, I couldn't quite resist the opportunity of seeing you again." The soft, incredibly pretty blush that rose to George's cheeks, left Karen in no uncertain terms precisely aware of George's motive. "Wow," Karen couldn't help saying in gentle amazement. "I certainly didn't expect that as a reply." "And I didn't expect I would actually be saying it," George said, looking slightly shell-shocked. "But for once in my life, honesty seemed to be the best policy." A little while later, they saw a crowd of people emerging through the front doors of the court, signifying that court had been adjourned for the day. "I'd better go," Karen said, half regretfully, knowing that talking to George had done her a surprising amount of good. "Thank you for being here," She said, briefly touching George's hand. "And thank you for being honest with me, about a lot of things." As George watched Karen walk back towards the building, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For over a year she'd thought about Karen, wondering what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her again, and now here she was. She hadn't just seen Karen and talked to her, she'd actually dropped her barriers long enough to finally get off her chest what she'd been thinking about ever since Jo had told her she was taking on the Lauren Atkins case.
Part Eleven
When they all reconvened in the public gallery for the afternoon's session, George could feel her nerves beginning to hum, like the strings of a violin being tuned to expert precision, ready to take part in a work by Mahler or Wagner, any music that might at any moment pour a whole load of emotions down upon her. She inwardly cursed herself for thinking she could do this. Both John and Jo were far better at dealing with hurt and angry people than she was. They knew how to be sympathetic, how to offer comfort and more importantly, to recognise when neither was wanted. But that was tough, she thought resignedly. Neither John nor Jo are here and you are, so deal with it. Karen had noticed how tense George had become, but being able to attribute no reason to it, she put it to the back of her mind. But George wasn't the only one to feel a sense of nervous anticipation. After having given her opening speech, Jo was quietly collecting her thoughts, ready to defend her client to the death. Well, perhaps not quite that far, but that's how it felt. John also had not been able to relax over lunch. He had paced the length and breadth of his chambers, annoying Coope to distraction. "Is something wrong, Judge?" She had finally been forced to ask. "Have you ever felt like you've really betrayed a friend?" He asked. "Why?" Coope asked without giving him an answer. "Oh, no reason," He replied, not wanting to share all the details with her, feeling that even to his ears it sounded stupid. But when he walked in to court and sat down behind the Judge's bench, he offered up a silent prayer that the shock wouldn't be too great for Karen.
"Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan began. "Would you tell the court, exactly what you did and what your first impressions were when you received James Fenner's body?" As Sam Ryan began to speak, John reflected that someone as pretty as her really shouldn't be doing something quite so horrific for a job, and that her beautiful Irish lilt certainly didn't belong in a court room discussing what had killed one of the most loathsome men he'd ever encountered. "It is part of normal procedure for a forensic pathologist to x-ray any corpse that comes in to his or her possession, before beginning the postmortem. This is to identify whether there are any foreign objects concealed within any internal organs, that an initial external examination might not reveal. This is usually done as a precaution to warn the pathologist of any sharp objects they may encounter. The initial x-ray I did on James Fenner showed a bullet to be lodged in his spine, approximately just under the naval." "This will be shown later, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan. "I then collected any visible fibres and other debris from his clothes. This mostly consisted of soil particles from the ground where he was buried. Once I'd removed his clothes, I found the entrance wound of his gunshot injury. As I'd suspected by the position of the bullet in his spine, James Fenner was shot in the region of his navel. On further examination, I was able to ascertain that this wasn't a contact injury." "How can you be certain of that?" Neumann Mason-Alan asked. "There was no gun residue on the surrounding tissue, there was no muzzle mark on the skin, and if this type of bullet had been fired at such close range, it would have passed straight through the body, not lodged itself in his spine." At this point, Neumann Mason-Alan moved to stand in front of an overhead projector, which had yet again been forced to take a part in a trial inside the ancient structure of the Old Bailey. Picking up Fenner's x-ray film from the evidence bench, he switched the projector on, waited for it to warm up, and then placed the film under the light source so that it was projected on to the blank wall of the court. Karen hadn't wanted to look, but like everyone else in the gallery, Marilyn included, she found her gaze inexorably drawn to the intricate design of Fenner's skeleton. Clearly lodged in the lower half of his spine, was a tiny cylindrical bullet. Professor Ryan continued. "The bullet is sitting at L5, or in the fifth lumbar bone, in the superior or upper bone of the Lumbar Sacral junction. From the moment he was shot, James Fenner would not have been able to feel anything below this point. He would have had absolutely no sensation in his lower body whatsoever. If he was standing when he was shot, which I suspect he was, he would have ended up in either a sitting or a lying position, thoroughly incapable of getting to his feet or of using his legs in any way. This would have seriously impaired Mr. Fenner when it came to defending himself from further assault." Neumann removed Fenner's x-ray film from the overhead projector, but left it switched on, showing that there were more pictures to come. He returned to the evidence bench and picked up something in a transparent bag. Holding it up to the light, he said, "Members of the jury, sealed in this evidence bag, is the bone of James Fenner's spine which originally contained the bullet. During your eventual deliberations, I would like you to look closely at this piece of evidence, keeping in mind the small whole it contains. I would like you to think to yourselves what sort of impairment this injury would have caused Mr. Fenner, and to further consider how he would or would not have been able to defend himself with such an injury." When Neumann had announced to all and sundry what he had in his hand, there had been a quiet gasp from Marilyn. Karen looked over at her with sympathy, but not knowing what, if anything, she could say to her. "Now, Professor Ryan," Neumann continued. "Would you describe James Fenner's gunshot injury." "James Fenner had been shot at fairly close range, by a nine millimetre Remmington cartridge, the bullet passing through the abdominal tissue to lodge itself in the spine. This injury was not James Fenner's primary cause of death. If nothing else had been done to him, he would have eventually bled to death, though this could have taken anything up to a few hours." "How can you be certain that this wasn't his cause of death?" "On its journey through James Fenner's body, the bullet struck neither the iliac arteries, which supply the small intestine, nor any of the renal vessels, the veins and arteries leading to his kidneys." "Why wasn't this the case?" "Unless the person who shot Mr. Fenner had known exactly where to aim, they would not have been able to pinpoint any exact target." "And why did the bullet become lodged in Mr. Fenner's spine, instead of passing straight through his body?" "Two things could account for this. One being the distance the killer was standing from him when the gun was fired, and the second being the extensive amount of scar tissue present in the area of the wound. James Fenner had, I understand, been stabbed on a previous occasion, and it was the scar tissue both from this injury and the surgery performed to repair this wound that I believe slowed the bullet in its tracks. I couldn't possibly prove it," Sam continued carefully, knowing she was treading a very thin line. "But I believe it is possible that James Fenner's killer might have known fairly precise details of his previous injury." Jo rose to her feet with a look of fury on her face. "My Lord, this is an unsupportable assertion and should be struck from the record." "Mr. Mason-Alan," John said seriously. "I do hope you have evidence to back up this claim." "I do, My Lord," Neumann replied smugly, picking up an envelope of photographs from the evidence bench. Moving back over to the projector, he removed two specific pictures from the packet. "This picture, My Lord and members of the jury," Neumann began, with the weighty tone of someone about to deliver the Nobel prize, "Is a photograph taken from Mr. Fenner's medical records of the resulting scar from both the stabbing and the surgery to repair it." Karen looked in sheer horror at the picture of Fenner's torso, displayed to life-size proportions by the magnification of the projector on the wall of the court. It looked so real. The sight of such a familiar part of Fenner brought back a host of memories to her, but one in particular insisted on raising its ugly head. She could recall it like it was yesterday. It had been on Jim's first day back at work. He'd followed her round all day, persuading, cajoling, and finally succeeding in getting her to talk to him about their relationship. He'd eventually cornered her in her office. She saw herself, as if from a bird's eye view, taking off her jacket and dropping it to the floor, Jim taking off his tie and casting it aside, she unbuttoning his shirt... Feeling the bile suddenly rising in her throat, Karen knew she had to get out of there.
When Karen hurriedly rose from her seat and squeezed her way passed her, George took in the deathly pallor, the expression on Karen's face that could only be described as haunted. George sat for a moment, slightly stunned. Just why had a picture of Fenner's scar made Karen react like that? "Is she all right?" Nikki asked her in a whisper. "I'll go and see," George replied, remembering that this was why she was there in the first place. As she walked up the isle between the seats on either side, she was aware of Neumann Mason-Alan saying that the picture he was now showing was a photograph of Fenner's corpse, specifically his gunshot wound. Heartily grateful that she hadn't had to look at this, George walked out of court. When she came to the top of the stairs, she saw that Karen had already descended them and was striding purposefully across the foyer. Putting on a spurt, George ran down the stairs, jumped the last two steps, and briefly skidded on the tiled floor, landing in the waiting arms of Michael Nivin. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" He asked her, making sure she was standing securely on her feet before letting go of her. "Sorry, Michael, can't stop. You didn't see a tall blonde woman heading off anywhere did you?" "She looked like she was heading in the direction of the Ladies'. Why?" "Because I'm supposed to be looking after her and I don't think I'm making a very good job of it." "Forgive me for saying this, George, but you don't strike me as the looking after people type." "Yes, thank you, Michael, I'm well aware of that. John asked me to do it." This wasn't strictly true but doing something for John would call for far less notice than doing a favour for Jo. "Isn't he overseeing the Atkins trial?" "Yes, and the victim's one time lover has just found out how he died. Michael, what am I supposed to do? You know me, I don't do sympathy." "Then it sounds like it's time for you to start." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, George left him and walked towards the ladies'.
Having thankfully had complete privacy in which to lose her entire stomach contents, Karen was splashing her face with cold water when George appeared. "Are you all right?" George asked, mentally kicking herself for the inanity of the question. "No, not really," Said Karen, praying that she wasn't about to throw up again. She could remember the feel of Fenner's very male skin on her fingers as she'd traced the length of his scar. But the memory that had caused such a violent reaction was of herself, the woman she looked at in the mirror every day, kissing that scar, actually putting her full, tasting lips against where Dockley had thrust her bottle. "I need a cigarette," Karen said in to the silence. "Well, I'm afraid that the new no smoking signs aren't just for show," Said George in disgust. "Then out in the rain it is," Replied Karen, taking a quick glance out the window. "I can do better than that," George said with sudden inspiration as she dug her car keys out of her handbag. "My car will always be friendly to addicts." As they walked out of the court building, through the pouring rain to George's car, Karen had time to put two and two together. It hadn't just been a coincidence that George had been there in the public gallery, George had been there to deal with a reaction like this one.
When they were seated in George's car with the heater running, Karen reached for her cigarettes and then realised that she'd left her handbag up in the public gallery. George held out her own and they both lit up. "That was why you were here, wasn't it," Karen stated flatly. "Yes, partly," George replied, not knowing any other way of dealing with this rather than to be honest. "Who asked you to be there?" Karen asked, not quite knowing why this was important. "Jo did. She came to see me on Saturday and," She searched for the right words, "Filled me in so to speak." Considering what had actually happened to Fenner, this hadn't been her best choice of vocabulary. "But neither Jo nor John, because I'm assuming he knew about this, could possibly have known that seeing a life-size photo of Fenner's scar would affect me like that, which makes me further assume that there's a lot more that I would have learnt had I stayed." Briefly thinking that Karen had definitely been spending too much time with John, George also realised that Karen still didn't know the half of it and that she, George, would have to fill in the details. "Seeing that picture made you remember something, didn't it," She said, for the moment avoiding answering Karen's question, which in itself was as good as an answer. "You could say that," Said Karen with a shudder. "What was it?" George gently probed. "Trust me," Said Karen decisively. "You really don't want to know." "Perhaps not," conceded George. "But there isn't much about you and Fenner that I don't already know. So try me." "When he was stabbed, and during the investigation that followed, Helen discovered, possibly from Yvonne, that I was sleeping with Fenner. Probably because of this, and because of the slightly irrational way I dealt with his hostage situation, I told him I wanted to cool things for a while. But this was Fenner after all, and he doesn't take no for an answer. The day he came back to work, he kept trying to talk to me, and I kept avoiding him. But Fenner has this way of getting under your skin so that you end up going along with exactly what he wants." Karen suddenly seemed to realise that she was talking in the present tense instead of the past, as if Fenner was still alive. Giving herself a mental shake, she continued. "Most of the inmates and the rest of the officers were having a Pool competition. We went up to my office. We ended up screwing on the floor of my office. You know how it is," She said with a shrug. "The threat of discovery can turn even a nun in to a raging torrent of lust. What I remembered," She said very slowly. "Was kissing his scar." Taking in a deep, contemplative breath, George attempted to keep her face rigidly blank but failed spectacularly. "I did warn you that you wouldn't want to know," Said Karen dryly. "It was just one of those things," She went on, "One of those things you push to the back of your mind because there's absolutely no reason to remember it, and then some prosecuting barrister flashes up a picture without any warning, and there you are, a complete emotional wreck." She said these last two words with such self-loathing that George winced.
Back in court, Neumann Mason-Alan had finished illustrating the fact that Fenner had been shot in the area of the lower end of his scar, which meant that John was forced to allow the assertion that Fenner's killer might have known details of his stab wound. "Professor Ryan," He continued. "Please would you explain to the court, the exact nature of James Fenner's primary cause of death?" "When I excised Mr. Fenner's lungs, their insides were liberally speckled with soil. this told me that after he was shot, James Fenner was buried alive." There rose a murmur of voices from the public gallery. Nikki and Roisin exchanged looks, both having been told by Yvonne and Lauren respectively what had happened on that fateful day. Nikki found herself looking over at Fenner's ex-wife, who had tears running unheeded down her cheeks. "I can be one hundred percent certain of this," Sam Ryan continued, raising her voice slightly over the murmur of voices. "Because James Fenner's lungs could not possibly have contained any foreign substance unless it had been breathed in by him. As his oxygen supply decreased, his lungs would have worked increasingly harder to secure an adequate air supply. This in turn would have caused the collapse of the alveolar framework, the overlapping of the alveolar septa and resulting in very little if any oxygenated blood reaching the heart." "Professor Ryan," Interjected the Judge. "Perhaps you would be good enough to explain this process in language that the jury can understand. I believe that you are the only person in this court so familiar with the medical terminology you are using so liberally." "I was just about to ask the same, My Lord," Put in Neumann Mason-Alan, hating it when this particular judge intervened. "If I might have leave to illustrate this, My Lord," Sam Ryan's voice crept over his senses. "It may make it easier for the jury to understand." "Be my guest," He said with a smile. Walking over to the overhead projector, Sam picked up a blank sheet of acetate and a pen and began to draw a picture of a pair of lungs. "The trachea, or the windpipe, begins at the throat, and goes down until it branches to left and right, forming the bronchus tubes," She said, drawing them in to place. "These two branches then form even smaller branches called the bronchioles, which in turn lead to the alveoli, or ducts and air sacs. In James Fenner's case, there was a considerable amount of soil on the lining of his trachea, his bronchus tubes and the bronchioles. This clearly illustrates a desperate attempt by the lungs to breathe in oxygenated air. When his air supply became greatly diminished, he began decompensating. His lungs would have begun to breathe quicker and quicker, with a rapidly decreasing supply of oxygen. A lack of oxygenated air, together with the presence of a foreign substance inside his lungs, would have caused the collapse of the alveoli, the ducts and air sacs, and an overlap of the alveolar septa or partitions between the air sacs." Sam had said all this in the tone of one giving a lecture, which John suspected she did on a regular basis. "Does that explain things more clearly, My Lord?" She asked. "I am much obliged, Professor Ryan," John replied, giving her his most chivalrous smile. "Professor Ryan," Neumann Mason-Alan said, clearly glad to regain the reins of his case. "The last detail that I would like you to explain to the court, is what you did just prior to the removal of James Fenner's lungs." "Before I excised James Fenner's lungs, I was able to ascertain that his laryngeal nerve was still intact. If it had been damaged in any way, by either a blow to the throat or a stab wound, Mr. Fenner would have had considerable difficulty in shouting for help. The fact that the nerve that directly controlled his voice box was still in tact, means that he ought to have been able to shout for help at any time during his abduction." "And can you make a suggestion as to why this did not take place?" Asked Neumann with all the stealth of a cat. But Jo hurriedly rose to her feet. "My Lord, it is not Professor Ryan's area of expertise to make assumptions as to the victim's lack of verbal response." "Not quite how I would have put it, Mrs. Mills," Said John mildly. "Though I do take your point. Mr. Mason-Alan, any speculation as to why James Fenner did or did not attempt to draw attention to his situation is not for Professor Ryan to comment on. That question will be struck from the record." "But My Lord," Mason-Alan persisted. "Surely that suggests that he knew his killer and that he either didn't expect her to go through with her threat, or that he was far too scared to put up a fight." "Fenner, scared?" muttered Nikki in the public gallery. "That'll be the day." "Mr. Mason-Alan, that will do," John said firmly. "You have been in my court less than a day and already you are pushing my patience. I would caution you on pushing it further. Is that clear?" "Crystal clear, My Lord," He said with a scowl. "No further questions."
George and Karen had smoked in companionable silence for a while after Karen had related the details of what had made her flee from court. "Do you know what's really stupid about all this," Karen said after some thoughtful contemplation. "I've known the reasons behind what Lauren did pretty much ever since she killed him, but I've never actually followed it to its logical conclusion. Everything about this case, one way or another comes back to me." "I don't think it's quite that simple," Replied George, thinking she could see where this was going. "So Jo didn't give you all the details then?" "Only what she thought I needed to know." "Which you have yet to tell me," Answered Karen quietly. "If you had stayed in court long enough," George said with an air of finality in her tone. "You would have heard that Lauren Atkins' bullet wasn't what killed him." "So what did?" "He was buried alive," Said George, feeling like she'd just removed the pin of a handgrenade but had neglected to throw it out of harm's reach. "Jesus Christ," Said Karen meditatively. George simply waited. "And Yvonne couldn't tell me." "To give Yvonne her due," Said George fairly. "I don't think she has told anyone exactly what her daughter did. Jo tried to get her to tell you, but she couldn't." "How long has John known about this?" "Only since the weekend." "So that we're quits," Said Karen, attempting to get off the subject of Fenner's actual cause of death. "Lauren killed Fenner because the last letter Ritchie wrote to her, on the night he died, asked her to. It was Ritchie's way of making up for the way he'd used me to get Snowball's gun in to Larkhall." "Typical Ritchie Atkins logic," Said George in half amazement half resigned acceptance. "Slightly askew from everyone else's." Karen briefly smiled. "You got to know him quite well in those ten days, didn't you." "More than I realised at the time, yes." "But you see now why I appear to be at the centre of all this." "Darling, it won't do you any good to think about it like that," George said emphatically, barely noticing that she'd called Karen darling. "If I hadn't slept with Ritchie, he'd very likely have still been alive and he wouldn't have asked Lauren to do something so reckless and stupid." "Karen, listen to me," George said sternly though with a hint of sadness in her voice. "If Fenner hadn't forced himself on you in the first place, then you very likely wouldn't have gone looking for a bit of rough from Ritchie Atkins. One might even call what happened to Fenner poetic justice. Blaming yourself is pointless, trust me. I've done self-recrimination since before my daughter was born, and I can promise you it gets you absolutely bloody nowhere." "Just answer me one thing," Karen said, having taken a moment to calm down slightly. "When I asked you earlier if this was why you were here, you said partly. What was the other reason you were here?" George had been caught completely off guard, and now she stared at Karen, not having the faintest idea how to explain why she would have been there whether Jo had asked her or not. But she eventually bit the bullet, knowing that to give Karen anything less than a completely honest answer wouldn't be fair. "I, erm, I would have been here today in any case," She began slowly, "Because I knew without doubt that you would be here. As adolescent as it sounds, I couldn't quite resist the opportunity of seeing you again." The soft, incredibly pretty blush that rose to George's cheeks, left Karen in no uncertain terms precisely aware of George's motive. "Wow," Karen couldn't help saying in gentle amazement. "I certainly didn't expect that as a reply." "And I didn't expect I would actually be saying it," George said, looking slightly shell-shocked. "But for once in my life, honesty seemed to be the best policy." A little while later, they saw a crowd of people emerging through the front doors of the court, signifying that court had been adjourned for the day. "I'd better go," Karen said, half regretfully, knowing that talking to George had done her a surprising amount of good. "Thank you for being here," She said, briefly touching George's hand. "And thank you for being honest with me, about a lot of things." As George watched Karen walk back towards the building, she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. For over a year she'd thought about Karen, wondering what it would be like to see her again, to talk to her again, and now here she was. She hadn't just seen Karen and talked to her, she'd actually dropped her barriers long enough to finally get off her chest what she'd been thinking about ever since Jo had told her she was taking on the Lauren Atkins case.