Martha picked up the phone and this time connected successfully with Mark Sullivan. She got straight to the point. ‘You’ve finished the PM on Gina Marconi?’
‘Oh,’ he groaned. ‘That’s an awful one.’
‘Conclusions?’
‘Where do you want me to start? She died from a ruptured aorta and a nasty collection of other injuries, at least five of which could have proved fatal. Other than her injuries she was a perfectly healthy young woman.’
‘Any sign of excess alcohol? Drugs?’
‘Just the equivalent of a small glass of wine and no evidence of drugs so far. Obviously I’ll have to wait for the toxicology but it looks as though there was nothing abnormal except the results of the impact.’
‘There isn’t any possibility she had a temporary loss of consciousness?’
‘The brain was normal apart from the result of the impact.’
There was silence for a moment and she could almost guess his next sentence.
‘I’m not trying to tell you your job, Martha, or influence the result of your inquest, but I can’t see that there can possibly be any other verdict but suicide.’
It didn’t help.
‘Tssch, Mark. I’m struggling here.’
‘Me too,’ Sullivan confessed. ‘Me too.’ Now it was he who hesitated. ‘I hate the term “temporary insanity” but I can’t see any other conclusion.’
‘Temporary insanity,’ she mused. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever used that verdict. A bit like you, I’ve always hated it. It sounds so – well – medieval. But maybe this time I’ll be forced into it.’
‘I’ll keep you up to date with any results or developments and you’ll get my full report in a week or so.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
She picked up the file again. More than one friend or acquaintance of Gina’s had been quoted.
‘Gina was really happy.’
‘It’s inexplicable.’
‘She had everything to live for.’
Nothing to die for?
She read through more friends’ statements emailed over by Alex. The police were working hard, busily turning over stones, searching for something, anything, crawling underneath the stones if necessary, but so far there was nothing.
No hint of indiscretion either in her private or professional life; no indication that she was anything but Caesar’s wife – beyond reproach. Martha suddenly smiled, inexplicably transported back to fourteen years ago, reading Little Miss Perfect as a bedtime story for a demanding Sukey.
Was anyone perfect? Really?
She scanned through further, trying to read between the lines. No dirty little rumours or expressed doubts about her forthcoming marriage. She picked up the phone, connected with Alex Randall, and took down Julius Zedanski’s mobile telephone number.
It was switched off. She left a message asking him to give her a call.
Then she rang the law practice and spoke to the secretary, explained who she was and requested an interview with Curtis Thatcher, Gina’s partner. He too was temporarily unavailable but the secretary assured her he would call back. ‘As soon as he’s got a minute,’ she said, her voice high-pitched and squeaky with a slight lisp. ‘We’ve had so many phone calls with Miss …’ she paused, then continued, trying to find the words, ‘… with Gina’s … accident.’
So that was the official line. It would do for now.
Martha forced herself to focus on some of her other cases. Gina Marconi had not been the only person to die over the weekend. And in the sight of the Grim Reaper all deaths are equal.
Ten minutes later the phone rang and Curtis Thatcher introduced himself in a very Patrician accent.
‘We’re struggling to understand why Gina’s accident happened,’ Martha said.
‘You’re struggling?’ He spoke with a frankness that was as refreshing as a peppermint.
‘Had you noticed any change in her lately?’
‘She’d been a bit quieter than usual, but she was busy. We both were.’
‘Tell me about her work,’ she said. ‘Detective Inspector Randall hinted that she had dealings with the underworld.’
Thatcher laughed. ‘She was a criminal lawyer,’ he said. ‘Of course she dealt with the underworld.’
‘Anyone in particular?’
‘Plenty.’ He paused, adding, ‘You could line them up.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Well, I suppose the most high-profile was a case that began about five years ago with a fellow called Mosha Steventon. He was accused of money laundering. She got him off, which I thought was amazing considering the evidence and the tightening up of proceeds of crime laws. Anyway, he must have thought so too, because he basically sent all his criminal cronies straight to her. With some she was successful and with others not so. Obviously the ones who paid her fees but still went to prison took it badly.’ Again, he stopped speaking as though reflecting. ‘Though that might account for say a threat or even at worst an assault, it hardly explains how these various cases could incite her to suicide.’
‘No,’ she agreed.
‘The other point here, Mrs Gunn, is that …’ She could sense his awkwardness, even over the phone. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, Mosha was in her debt. He’s an evil fellow with a lot of influence. He’s been mixed up with all sorts of stuff – murder, torture, bribery, organized crime. And Gina was a criminal lawyer with some very dark clients. If there was any threat to her, Mosha would have protected her.’
‘Did she ever discuss this with you?’
‘No. There are some things, as a professional partner in a law firm, that it is better not to put into words.’
‘Quite.’ Even knowing she was barking up the wrong tree, Martha couldn’t stop herself from pursuing the point. ‘Did she ever appear nervous, threatened by her clients?’
‘Sometimes, but I can’t think of anyone in particular,’ he said. ‘She would sometimes express very private thoughts, say someone was guilty, that they were better off in prison, that even defending them put her in a tricky position.’
‘I think,’ Martha said, having glimpsed into Gina Marconi’s complicated professional life, ‘I may want to speak to you again as we proceed with our enquiries.’
‘But she committed suicide,’ Thatcher pointed out reasonably.
‘Suicides usually either leave a note or show signs of instability in the time leading up to the act.’ She realized she was leaving the door ajar for some agreement or statement, but none came, so she continued, ‘Perhaps you’ll email me the main cases Gina was involved with up until her death?’
‘Of course. But I can’t see what any of this could possibly have to do with her suicide.’ He sounded defensive, and she realized that he was already distancing the law firm from his partner’s death, so she hid behind the blandest of explanations. ‘We’re exploring all possibilities, Mr Thatcher.’
‘I can’t think she had a guilty conscience about something she did or did not do at work. If she did she never spoke to me about it. Maybe her mother …?’
‘I’ll be speaking to her.’
She thanked him and the conversation was over, leaving Martha very thoughtful. There was something about the violence of Gina’s death that particularly disturbed her. In general, it was men who killed themselves by violent means – knives, guns, high buildings. Women tended to opt for the gentler ways of ending their life – drugs, alcohol. This had been a determined bid for death. She had left her mobile phone at home. So that she could not leave a last message or be contacted?
Added to that, she had not written a suicide note, which left an element of doubt even after such an act. There was no doubt she had planned her escape. And even that word – escape – seemed significant. Escape from what? Escape from whom?
To Martha, the absence of a note meant she had not wanted to explain – not to her son, her mother or her fiancé. She would leave them wondering, even though she must have known questions would roll around in their minds – possibly forever. Was it this? Was it that? Was it something I did or did not do? Gina had given them no answers.
Martha stared down at the facts that she knew so far. What was she missing?
A connection with the criminals she worked with? Had she compromised her professional integrity? Or was it something closer to her?
Terence Marconi, Gina’s eight-year-old son, surely could have had nothing to do with his mother’s death. And Gina’s mother, Bridget, who was originally from Ireland, must be devastated. Preparing for a society wedding, she surely could not have expected her daughter to die.
Martha leafed through the file and picked up on another character. Gina’s ex-husband, Terence’s father, lived in New York. According to DI Randall’s one brief reported telephone conversation with him, the divorce had been amicable. He had had very little to do with either Gina or their son and had not travelled outside the United States of America in the last five years. Contact with his ex-wife was minimal, limited to money paid into her bank account for the upkeep of their son. And that was really her close family.
Julius Zedanski, Martha felt, would be much more interesting. Perhaps her fiancé, who would have known her best, might have some explanation?