Chapter Eleven

Cassie had gone straight from Babcia's flat to Camden Coroner's Court, relieved to have something to distract her from the situation with Archie, and the emotional turmoil that Bronte's death had stirred up.

Now she shuffled sideways on the back row of the public seating area so she was half hidden behind a pillar. She wanted to be able to see and hear the inquest proceedings without being seen herself. Dr Curzon was already here, sitting where witnesses waited to be called, ready to give his expert testimony, and she didn't want to risk him spotting her: he already thought she was an uppity minion and although it wasn't exactly forbidden for a mortuary tech to attend an inquest it would definitely be considered weird behaviour.

She was here because the case about to be heard – the unexplained death of twenty-six-year-old Felix Zuberi – had got under her skin. In the front row sat a professional-looking couple wearing dark suits, their shoulders touching – clearly his mum and dad. Mr and Mrs Zuberi hadn't viewed Felix's body at the mortuary, so there was no risk of them recognising Cassie.

The coroner, an intelligent-looking woman of middle years – appeared behind the bench and everybody stood. Taking her seat she introduced herself as Judy Ginsberg, and Cassie saw Felix's dad reach out and fumble for his wife's hand. Seeing the way they supported each other made her think about Chrysanthi and George, also facing questions about their daughter's death but unable to share the burden of grief.

The policeman, a young traffic PC with a razor cut under his chin, was the first into the witness box. He'd also been first on the scene in Forty Hill – a surprisingly rural area just inside the M25 – responding to the report of a body lying on the grass verge of a quiet road at seven in the morning. As the local mortuary was closed for maintenance Felix had been brought to Camden. Cassie could still see his dark eyes fixed open in shock above his battered body when she'd unzipped the body bag that day. He still wore his running gear, the front caked in mud from where he'd fallen, after supposedly being hit from behind by a vehicle on his regular morning run.

When the uniformed cop said that all the evidence pointed to a hit and run Mrs Zuberi leaned against her husband, who put his arm around her. Seven years working with the dead had taught Cassie one thing above all: the worst thing for a bereaved family was not knowing what had caused their loved one's death. Coping with the loss of a child was dreadful enough, but enduring a lifetime of doubts and questions – the endless Why ? and How ? – would be intolerable. She could only pray that her hunch had been right and that Mr and Mrs Z might get the closure they desperately needed.

Next into the witness box was Philip Curzon. He was wearing his ‘court' suit – the one made by his tailor in Savile Row, as he never tired of mentioning – and now he turned his most ingratiating smile on the coroner. Her returning smile was cooler and more businesslike.

She had him walk her through the day of the post-mortem, which was still pin-sharp to Cassie.

Felix was one of five bodies on the list that day and Cassie recalled Curzon being in his usual hurry – lunch at Rules being next on his schedule. After his cursory external examination he'd bought the police theory of a car or van hitting Felix and failing to stop.

Cassie remembered eviscerating Felix. Certainly there was plenty of evidence of blunt force trauma – six ribs caved in at the rear, a hairline fracture of the skull, and his radius and ulna were broken, just like Bronte's, a classic defensive injury during a fall.

But.

Something had niggled her about the vehicle versus pedestrian story, although she wouldn't have been able to verbalise her doubts – not at that point.

Now, Curzon was saying, ‘The injuries were entirely consistent with a vehicular impact from the rear. Blunt force impact to the ribs, skull fracture on landing. Death was the result of catastrophic injuries to the ribcage.' He smiled his best ‘dear lady' smile at the coroner. ‘Complex fractures of the posterior ribs pierced the lungs and caused a pneumothorax – that is, a collapsed lung – as well as pulmonary contusions.'

‘What effect would that have had on Felix?' asked the coroner, sending the parents a sympathetic look.

‘He was alive at this point, but would have died from respiratory distress within, oh, fifteen or twenty minutes?'

Seeing Felix's mum drop her head, clearly weeping, Cassie winced. Sure, the job of an inquest was to establish the facts around death, but did Curzon have to act like he was enjoying his moment in the limelight?

‘So if this was a collision with a vehicle, and the driver had stopped, he or she might have been able to call for help,' asked the coroner, sounding sombre. ‘Even possibly to save his life?'

Belatedly, Curzon made a stab at a ‘sad' expression. ‘I'm afraid so.'

Cassie couldn't look at Mr and Mrs Z, who were having to face the terrible thought that somebody would crash into their son and just drive off leaving him to die alone on a roadside verge.

The coroner referred to a file in front of her on the bench. ‘And how do you account for the laceration on Felix's shoulder blade?'

He gave an expressive shrug. ‘It was minor, and could have been caused by a broken wing mirror or something else on the vehicle.'

After Curzon left, Cassie saw a guy come in and take a seat on the bench where witnesses sat. She felt her heart starting to go tap-tap in her chest. He was plain clothes but obviously a cop. Was it the guy she had spoken to when she'd called CID anonymously?

The coroner stood Curzon down and the detective went into the box, introducing himself as DC Josh Brookwood. Bollocks . She did recognise his voice from the phone call but he looked all of fourteen. Would some newbie detective constable have gone the extra mile investigating some mixed-race kid killed in an RTC?

‘DC Brookwood, talk us through your investigation of Felix's death?'

‘Yes, ma'am. Our first line of enquiry was that Felix was hit by a driver who left the scene. His housemates say he ran along that stretch of road every day at 6 a.m. The roadside verge narrows just ahead of the collision site so our working hypothesis was that he had strayed into the road and been struck by a driver going too fast. It's a fairly quiet back road but that only encourages drivers to break the speed limit. We released a media appeal and put up roadside boards asking for information or any dashcam footage of Felix and vehicles on the route that day.'

‘Did anyone report seeing anything?'

‘No, ma'am.'

‘And did you find any evidence of a vehicular impact – tyre marks, a broken light, that sort of thing?

‘No, ma'am.' But Cassie had been watching him intently, and DC Brookwood's body language struck her as too .?.?. perky to chime with someone whose investigation had hit a regrettable dead end.

The coroner must have picked up the same vibe because now she frowned at him. ‘So do you accept the finding of the pathologist that the cause of death was "entirely consistent" with a vehicular collision?'

‘No, ma'am.'

Cassie held her breath.

‘Enlighten us, DC Brookwood?' said the coroner with a touch of testiness.

He looked over at Felix's mum and dad. ‘We didn't want to release any information until we were certain, but we now have evidence that Felix took a short cut across the field adjoining the road. A field with a nine-hundred-kilo bull in it.'

Felix's mum gave a soft gasp, reaching out to grip her husband's forearm.

Cassie remembered the look of shock etched on Felix's face and the niggling feeling that he was trying to tell her something.

‘You believe this animal attacked Felix?!' asked the coroner.

‘Yes, ma'am. We believe that the bull charged Felix, striking him from the rear, and threw him over the fence onto the verge, causing his fatal injuries.'

The parents were sitting up straight, gazing at DC Brookwood.

‘Whatever gave you this idea?' asked the coroner.

‘I got an anonymous phone call. A woman saying that Felix might have been attacked by a cow or a bull.'

Cassie recalled how dismissive he'd been when she'd finally got hold of him, treating her like some kind of nutjob. But when she'd suggested the family might run their own tests on Felix's clothing – which they would be entitled to do – she had sensed him changing his tune.

‘How extraordinary,' said the coroner. ‘But a phone call isn't "evidence".'

‘No, ma'am.' Brookwood pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. ‘We did have Felix's clothing sent to the lab for testing, and I only received the results this morning.' Unfolding it, he read from the printout. ‘It confirmed that there were "multiple hairs" found on the rear of his hoodie which were "bovine in origin".'