CHAPTER 18
There was an inquest two months later, as we had had a death, and an infant’s at that. It was my first one for a child, and the first I was required to attend, as the others had been happy simply to use my witness statement. I quickly grasped why, as several of the questions related to whether the seat was secured or not. It was an interesting atmosphere, because the whole tone was gentle rather than confrontational. Our boss had been clear in his advice.

“Normal court, don’t try and be helpful, just answer the questions, and NEVER try and justify yourself. This sort is different, because you are there to justify your actions. Do it objectively, though, and pardon the pun, clinically. Got me?”

I went in after Tom, and the Coroner called me ‘Jennifer’, for starters, which felt odd.

“I normally go by ‘Jen’, Your Honour”

“Thank you, Jen. This is a court of inquiry, not a trial of facts, so I am afraid there will be a lot of specific questions. Can you describe the scene on your arrival?”

“Yes. There was one other ambulance on scene as well as a single Police Officer, on a motorbike”

The Coroner turned to one of those sitting by him.

“That will be Traffic Constable Price, I believe”

He then turned back to me.

“Please carry on, Jen”

“I could see multiple damaged vehicles, and the other ambulance crew were dealing with a very agitated patient, who was screaming loudly. The Traffic Officer indicated a child seat in the road and said that there was a child fatality. We covered the body with a blanket and Tom, my partner, approached the Ford van in which we were told the driver was trapped”

“Did you examine the child before covering him?”

I tried to settle myself before answering, but it didn’t work very well.

“It… It was clear that the child seat, holding the boy, had exited the car through the front windscreen. There were scuffs on it showing how it had bounced, as well as a trail of glass fragments. I didn’t feel the need to check for vital signs because… Because the head was misshapen, and on the child’s shoulder, as I believe his neck was broken. His remaining eye was open and unresponsive, and there was no blood flow despite the visible cuts. May I ask a question?”

“Certainly, Jen”

“I’m unsure how much detail is appropriate here, but please accept that it needed no medical expertise to know that the child had… passed away”

“Thank you, Jen, and your testimony together with the medical reports are sufficient. Why did you cover the infant?”

“Honestly? So that nobody else would have to see such an awful thing, and to offer a little dignity”

“What was the Traffic Officer doing?”

“Managing the crowd—steering people away from the live carriageway and so on”

“Did he sit down and put his head in his hands?”

Oh, you bastards. They were after somebody for the death, and some arsehole in a desk job had decided that it would be bad optics to go for Mummy No Belt.

“To answer that question fairly, Your Honour, I need to do some more scene setting. We had multiple vehicles and casualties. Tom was in the front of the Transit calming the driver, as he is smaller than me and could squeeze in. The mother, I assume, of the dead baby was screaming and having to be restrained by the first crew on scene. The Traffic lad had arrived first, and secured everything so that there would be no more casualties, on his own. He marshalled the arrival of the Fire Brigade, and in my presence gave a clear handover to the next Traffic Officers on scene. Only when his help was no longer crucial did he let himself become human and have a bloody good cry. If someone is trying to say he neglected his duty, they are talking utter rubbish”

“And how did the events affect you, Jen?”

“Me? I did what I assume he did. I cried myself to sleep that night, and I feel no shame in admitting that”

There were a few more questions, of a more general nature, especially about our treatment of the van driver before the arrival of Super Team, and then I was released. I was rather put out, to be honest, because it was very, very clear the managers wanted a scapegoat. The Coroner hadn’t given me that impression, but bollocks to the shiny-suited arseholes.

Tom caught my expression, and simply nodded.

“Day off tomorrow, Jen. I have had an idea”

“Would this idea involve booze?”

“Yes. Time you met the wife, for starters, and I thought we’d use that pub of yours”

“The Smugglers? You know what sort of place it is!”

“It’s a safe space, you say, and you have friends there. If I bring Connie, it will help keep things civilised”

He gave me a twisted smile.

“Her idea, to be honest. They want to hang that copper out to dry, don’t they?”

“Yeah, I got that feeling as well. Time?”

“About seven? Gives us time to bail and grab something to eat if we feel like it”

I nearly missed our ‘date’, in the end, as I lost complete track of the time sitting on my bed staring into space. I made it at seven twenty, to find Tom sitting in the usual bar with a pleasantly plump woman of around the same height as him.

“Jen, Connie. Dogs are with her Mum; she’s housesitting for the evening. Drink?”

“Old Thumper, if it’s still on. Start as I mean to finish”

He headed for the bar as Connie gave me the once-over.

“He told me about the PCOS, Jen, so don’t worry about stupid questions”

“Well, let me try one, then: where did you two meet?”

“Seriously? School”

“Class sweethearts, eh?”

“No, not exactly. Lost touch for a few years, then met up at a PDSA fund-raiser. Here’s your beer. That one of those that tastes like an old log’s been soaking in swamp water?”

Tom laughed out loud, handing me the requested pint and his wife a white wine, then settled into his seat with a pint of lager.

“Barmaid sends her best, and a heads-up: man at the bar was asking after you”

I looked up to see what was almost certainly the man in question walking over towards us. He was Asian in appearance, with a very experienced looking nose, if experience were to be measured in punches received.

“Jen Bradley?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Er, Samir Patel. I’m police. It’s nothing to worry about, not for you, anyway. Mind if I fetch my pint?”

I looked over to the bar to see Lil giving me a thumbs-up. Right…

“Go on, then”

He was back quickly, with two-thirds of a pint of bitter, and settled himself onto a spare chair.

“Right, cards on table. This is neither perverting the course of justice nor contempt of court, just in case any of you start to worry. I’m supposed to know these things because I am a police inspector”

He smiled as he said that, and it was so genuinely warm I did indeed start to settle down again.

“You’ll be wondering why I gathered you here today, and so on. Well, for my sins, and due to being so junior, I have been tasked with liaison with the pink community, which is why I know this pub. That isn’t why I’m here, though, as it’s a bit more personal. Now, I know who two of you are’ I’m guessing this is your missus, Tom”

“Er, yes. Connie, Inspector Patel”

“Sammy, please. I’m here on a personal, pastoral thing. It’s about Adam Price”

Christ, they were indeed after the poor bastard. I felt myself starting to close down, which was when I realised how sharp Patel was.

“No, not going down that route. I am not here to mess up the hearing, nor to press either of you on extra little snippets of gossip. I am going to tell a story, for your education and enlightenment, and you may well agree with its main points. Some of this is a bit nasty, so I’ll skate over those details. Are you happy with me talking in front of your wife about you know what?”

Tom just took Connie’s hand.

“We share everything”

“Good. Well, children, once upon a time there was a traffic policeman who liked bikes. He was a very proactive copper, and a popular lad, especially with some of the girls, but he was resolutely single. Because he was so proactive, he kept finding things that weren’t nice, often involving dead bodies. Not just on the road, because he was so proactive, but also in the sort of out of the way farms where depressed farmers swallow their shotguns. That is our Adam.

“I was at court for the hearing, people, because I had been given a few hints that one of our new fast-streamers was looking for a scalp to show what an effective and upwardly-suitable manager he was, and had selected our boy for an example of lack of moral fibre, cowardice, whatever. He tasked CID to trawl through Adam’s history for suitable ammunition, I won’t dignify it with the word ‘evidence’. Now, did either of you hear about the triple fatality out near Morriston last week?”

Tom nodded, slowly.

“Gary and Shona had that one, Jen. I am guessing---was it his bike jammed in the front of the car?”

Sammy sighed, pain in his eyes.

“Aye, it was. He chased down three youths doing fuel theft, big drums in the back of the car. They rammed him, and he went over the top of the car as they crashed. They were smoking, and You can guess the rest of it. Thing is, Adam was blown halfway to Ireland when the car went up, but all the damage to his lid, jacket and that was to the front. He was trying to get the kids out even when the car was alight. That, my children, is why Adam didn’t turn up for court; he did his bit from a hospital bed by special link”

He downed his pint in one long swallow, then looked at ours.

“Just getting a round. Same again, all of you?”

We nodded, and returned a few minutes later with a tray of drinks.

“Right, getting to the point. That arsehole of a fast-streamer was after Adam to boost his own CV, but from your faces, you had already worked that one out. I am not going to predict the Coroner’s verdict, as that would be naughty, but your analysis, Jen, that matches our Crash Investigator’s assessment. Nice one. My main reasons for being here are to thank you for sticking up for our mate, and also to let you know what sort of man he really is”

I prickled a touch at that.

“Nothing unmanly with crying, Sammy”

“Nope. I fully agree”

Connie simply asked, “And this CID thing?”, and Sammy smiled, this time without a tace of warmth and in a most unsettling way.

“Oh, a couple of the lads told him to fuck off and die, pardon my French. I believe he is seeking another perch to shit from”

Once again, he necked half a glass in one go, and looked at the empty.

“Got to be good. I’ll leave you to your evening; don’t get too sober. Oh: Dai Gould sends his best”