Monday, 24 April, 10 a.m.
Martha didn’t have to wait for long.
David Steadman was, by nature, like many coroners, a curious beast. He and Martha had known each other for years, sometimes working side by side in deaths that criss-crossed their borders. They pooled knowledge, shared information, met on various courses and had bumped into one another at various social events, and yet he retained this formality that was so stiff and starchy it made her want to giggle. Sometimes she even had to cough to try and disguise this unfortunate tendency. She wondered why he’d rung and wondered whether he had noticed her brief appearance at Erica’s funeral.
‘Martha.’ He sounded almost disapproving. ‘It was good of you to pass this case on to me.’
Not exactly good, she thought, more expedient. But still …
‘It’s proved most interesting.’
‘I’m grateful to you,’ she said. ‘I’ve worked closely with DI Randall. I would have found it … difficult. And in the light of Doctor Sullivan’s findings almost impossible to conduct the inquest. But it didn’t stop me speculating.’
‘Quite. I understand you made the suggestion to Mark Sullivan that he perform genetic tests.’
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘I put together the fact that Mrs Randall had had a child with anencephaly and thought it was worth him testing Mrs Randall’s blood for a genetic defect.’
‘Which he found,’ he said. ‘And which explains everything: her son’s death, her poor mental state and probably loss of consciousness which in turn caused her to fall.’
‘Tragic. Had she ever had a brain scan?’
‘No. I thought that might be something I could pick up on. Her strange behaviour was put down to prolonged puerperal psychosis rather than being properly investigated.’
‘But with all the investigations in the world there would have been nothing anyone could have done.’
‘Maybe one day, Martha, we’ll have genetic engineering for such conditions.’
Her outlook was more glum. ‘More likely we’ll have more tests done to pregnant women and eugenics.’
‘Oh, really.’ He snorted and continued in the same vein. ‘I did discuss with DI Randall that there was possibly a case for medical negligence against one or more of the psychiatrists whose help he sought, but he isn’t interested.’
‘So how is he?’
Steadman paused. ‘It’s hard to say really. He’s quite a … contained man, isn’t he?’
‘Yes.’ Most of the time. The times when nothing is bursting out.
‘Will you be homing in on the failure to diagnose at the inquest?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’ll do neither Mrs or Mr Randall any good now. And it isn’t what he wants. But …’
She might have known there would be a ‘but’.
‘I might have a few words to say about making an assumption of psychiatric illness before excluding physical disease. That would be appropriate,’ he finished airily, ‘don’t you think?
‘It’s your case, David.’ She was smiling. ‘So your verdict will be …?’
‘Natural causes. A bit unsatisfactory under the circumstances but there is no question of either homicide or suicide and even I baulk at the idea of dragging in medical negligence. There was a failure to diagnose but no one is to blame for Mrs Randall’s death. However, it would be interesting to interview the psychiatrists Mrs Randall had been under, don’t you think?’
‘There would have been quite a few,’ she mused. ‘The DI has had a few moves in the last six years.’
‘Quite,’ he said. ‘But the change in care came with a diagnosis firmly in place. Mrs Randall had, apparently, not had a fit or headaches or any other physical symptoms which might have led to a brain scan and the discovery of her condition.’ He couldn’t resist giving himself a swift pat on the back. ‘I was most particular about asking DI Randall about this.’ She could imagine his tight little lips curving in a self-congratulatory smile as he carried on with his summing up of Erica’s death.
‘She was not properly investigated for an organic cause for her odd behaviour. And we can understand why. The malformation of her son would be enough to account for prolonged grief.’
‘But also it was a pointer,’ she said, thinking, poor Erica. Aloud, saying, ‘Poor woman.’
‘Indeed,’ Steadman said, pompously. ‘A sad state of affairs and bound to have a negative knock-on effect on her husband. He will be feeling guilty that he didn’t insist she seek medical opinion for a very long time, I’m sure.’
Thanks for that, Steadman.
He continued seamlessly. ‘The funeral has, of course, as you know, already taken place.’ So he had seen her there.
He finished with: ‘And I’ve set a date for the final inquest. I don’t know whether you’ll feel you want to attend?’
‘I don’t think so.’ She thanked him again and the conversation finished.