According To The Evidence

SEVENTEEN

It was the following Tuesday before the usual routine of the Garth House partnership was disturbed. The coroner’s officer in Brecon phoned to say that a double inquest on the two deaths at Ty Croes Farm was to be held on Friday and that both Richard Pryor and Dr Bray would be required as witnesses.

‘Why on earth do they want me, I wonder?’ asked Angela. ‘Apart from collecting some material for the Cardiff lab, I had nothing really to do with it.’

‘It’s a day out in beautiful countryside,’ said Richard cheerily. ‘And there’ll be a fee – probably enough for a couple of cups of coffee, given it’s only a coroner’s court.’

For some time Siân had been dropping hints about wanting to visit a court of law, where she could see how her efforts in the laboratory were sometimes used. Angela suggested to Richard that the Brecon inquest might be a good introduction for her, as they were keen to encourage her enthusiasm for all things forensic. The young blonde was as pleased as if they had given her a salary rise – which they had not long ago, as it happened.

But before the great day arrived, more news came in about their other cases. A large registered envelope came from Stow-on-the-Wold, containing copies of the expert opinion written by Professor Zigmond and a copy of the sworn affidavit from Wolfgang Braun in Cologne. George Lovesey wanted Richard to make a careful check of the wording to make sure that there would be no hitches when they were presented in evidence.

‘No sign yet of the American opinions?’ asked Angela as he retreated to his office to go through the documents.

‘Should be here soon, if airmail performs as well as last time,’ he replied. ‘I expect George is biting his fingernails every time he looks at the calendar.’

An hour later, satisfied that every word, comma and full stop was acceptable, Richard rang the solicitor in Stow and reassured him that the affidavits seemed in perfect order.

‘You don’t have to disclose these to the prosecution in advance, then?’ he asked out of curiosity.

‘No, but once we offer them in evidence, they could ask the judge for an adjournment to discuss the spanner we’ve thrown in the works. They could even ask for time for their experts to investigate our new propositions.’

Richard heard him clear his throat over the telephone and suspected he was in for a legal lecture.

‘There’s been unease about these “surprise defences”, as they’re called, among the law lords and the legal pundits in Parliament,’ he explained. ‘I suspect that one of these days there’ll be a change in legal procedure to make advance notice of new evidence compulsory, but at the present time we can spring it on them.’

Lovesey confirmed that his leading counsel, the flamboyant Nathan Prideaux QC, had been kept abreast of Richard’s efforts and was happy with the way in which things were progressing. ‘He wants another conference before trial, but I haven’t got a date yet. I’ll be in touch with you again as soon as this material comes from the United States.’

After the call, Richard felt unsettled, as keeping track of several cases at once called for some mental agility. The murder-suicide near Brecon was now a straightforward clearing-up exercise, as there was no question of anyone being prosecuted, but the veterinary surgeon threatened with judicial execution, and the strange matter of the soldier shot through the head, seemed to be hanging over him like a cloud. To divert himself, he got up from his desk and wandered into the office and then through into the laboratory to take his mind off these problems.

‘What are you doing this morning, Siân?’ he asked as he stood behind his technician, who was seated before several rows of test tubes in racks.

‘This is new, doctor! Water analysis, not exactly forensic, but it’s all grist to the mill.’

Angela called across from her bench on the other side of the large room. ‘Jimmy got that work, bless him!’ she explained.

‘Some of his farmer friends up near Trelleck have had boreholes drilled on their land for a water supply and they want to make sure that they’re not going to poison themselves or their cattle. It’s mostly spot tests for dissolved metals.’

Siân swung round on her stool, a pipette in one hand.

‘Jimmy says that there may well be a number of other farmers wanting an analysis, if we can do it cheaper than the big labs elsewhere.’

Richard moved over to his partner’s section, where all the biological work was done. ‘More paternity tests?’ he asked.

‘No, it’s an insurance job,’ replied Angela, looking up from a microscope. ‘The owner of a fur shop in Bristol has claimed thousands for stolen mink coats, but their insurance investigator has sent in fibres from a suspect van belonging to the owner’s cousin.’

‘You’ve got to identify them, have you?’

She nodded. ‘They’re animal fur, right enough. I’ll have to try to narrow it down to mink, if I can find the right references. Anyway, the cousin said he used the van only for carrying carpets, so it’s obviously an insurance fraud.’

He squatted on a nearby stool, pleased to hear how they were diversifying their business.

‘It’s good to know we’re expanding into the civil side, not just coroners’ and police work. There must be lots of other problems out there that we can help with.’

Angela readily agreed. ‘And the other good thing is that we’re getting almost all our new cases by word of mouth – usually solicitors recommending us to one another. Nothing to beat the old boy network, is there?’

‘Perhaps you’d better join the Freemasons and the local Rotary Club, doctor!’ called Siân from her bench. ‘My dad says that’s where all the power lies these days.’

Richard grinned at Angela at the thought of getting business advice from a red-hot trade unionist like Evan Lloyd, then took himself back to his office to check the last batch of post-mortem reports which Moira had just typed.

Half an hour later his phone rang, switched through from Moira’s office next door. When a few months earlier Post Office Telephones had extended the single line to the phone in the hall, they had put a simple switching device in her office, so that she could divert a call to either the laboratory or to Richard’s room.

‘It’s the War Office!’ she hissed in a conspiratorial whisper before connecting the call.

‘Gordon Lane here, Dr Pryor.’ The voice of the Crown solicitor came across the ether. ‘We’ve made some progress, I’m glad to say. The first thing is that the bullet has arrived from Al Tallah. We’ve got it in a jar in the office here, safely wrapped in cotton wool.’

‘Good. I suggest you ask your ordnance experts in Woolwich to examine it, but I’d like to have a look at it first,’ said Richard. ‘What was the second thing?’

‘That’s the point of ringing, as we also have had consent from both the widow and the Home Office for an exhumation. I wanted to arrange a date with you.’

Richard Pryor was surprised at the speedy action, which normally could take weeks or even months. ‘That’s very quick work, Mr Lane! How did you manage that?’ he asked, perhaps impertinently. The lawyer sounded a little evasive.

‘There are ways and means within government, doctor. Anyway, the widow’s solicitor saw that they were not going to get any further with their claim if they refused – and the coroner for Northolt, where the body came in by air, said that it was none of his concern as he had declined to hold an inquest.’

‘So that left just the Home Office?’

‘Yes, and even they were somewhat uncertain about their jurisdiction as this was an army incident that occurred abroad. However, to be on the safe side they rubber-stamped the appropriate forms, so we can proceed.’

Richard thought rapidly, as the Gloucester trial was now less that a fortnight away. He had the Brecon inquest this week, so that ruled out the next few days.

‘I think it will have to be one day next week, Mr Lane. As far as I recall, the body is buried in south-east London?’

‘Yes, in Lewisham municipal cemetery.’

‘Where could we take it for a post-mortem, somewhere that has decent facilities?’ asked Richard.

‘I’ve discussed this with Paul Bannerman, who’s leading this case. He suggests the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital in Millbank. Perhaps you know it, having been an RAMC officer?’

‘I know where it is, certainly. Very near the Royal Army Medical College, with the Tate Gallery between them.’

‘Paul Bannerman is still a serving officer, so I’m sure he can arrange matters with the hospital commandant. Which day would suit you best?’

Richard decided that Wednesday would be as good as any other, and the solicitor promised to ring back to confirm a time.

‘We’ll have to make arrangements with the cemetery for the exhumation and also for transport from Lewisham to Millbank.’

After he had rung off, Richard went to report to his partner. ‘Trip to London next week, Angela. Know anything about bullets?’ He repeated what Lane had told him.

‘I’m a biologist, not a firearms examiner,’ she said. ‘But I’ve picked up a bit of the jargon and mystique from listening to them in the Met Lab over the years.’

‘Good enough. You can look at the thing with me next week. I’ve got a feeling about what could have happened, but first I need to look at that wound.’

At lunchtime he told Moira and Siân about the developments, but neither of them wanted to join Angela on a trip to London.

‘Must be horrid, an exhumation,’ said Moira with an expression of disgust. ‘How long has the poor chap been buried?’

‘Only a few months – and he was embalmed first, so he’ll be almost as good as new.’

‘I’m happy to be coming to that inquest with you, doctor,’ said Siân. ‘And I saw a couple of post-mortems when I worked in the hospital lab. But I draw the line at exhumations!’

That evening Richard talked to Angela about the arrangements for the following week. ‘We’re not going to get our dirty weekend, I’m afraid. But as the exhumation is bound to be in the morning, we’ll have to travel up on Tuesday.’

Angela made a mock pout. ‘Oh, and I was looking forward to a sinful Saturday night!’

His lean face broke into one of his famous grins. ‘We may as well make a day of it, so we’ll go up early on the Red Dragon and you can have the afternoon to hit the shops while I go to the BMA library to see if they’ve got anything I missed elsewhere.’

‘Oh, you’re so masterful, Richard! The romantic BMA library!’ In a playful mood, she pretended to swoon.

‘Stop taking the mickey, lady!’ he commanded. ‘We’ve got to decide on somewhere to stay. I suppose the Great Western Hotel at Paddington is the easiest, especially as we’re not footing the bill.’

Serious again, she nodded. ‘Sounds fine to me. Better get Moira to book a couple of rooms there. Knowing her, she’ll make sure that they’re on different floors at opposite ends of the building!’

On Friday they set off in the Humber at eight thirty, as the inquest was to start at half past ten. Siân arrived early and they left Garth House in almost a picnic mood, in spite of the sombre nature of the event. The technician sat in the back, enjoying the ride in a large, comfortable car, for there was no such luxury in her household. Though Siân was a very mature, self-possessed woman of twenty-four, for a few moments Richard had a fantasy that she was their daughter, with Mum and Dad sitting sedately in the front!

It was a nice day, getting cooler as the autumn took hold, but dry and sunny between breaks in the cloud. As they drove up to Monmouth, then along the A40 through Abergavenny and Crickhowell to Brecon, they all revelled in the lovely countryside of Monmouthshire, then the grandeur of the Usk Valley through the Beacons. Apart from her one visit to the crime scene, this area was new to Angela. She had been brought up in the flatter Home Counties and today she had the leisure to better appreciate the Welsh scenery. As for Siân, she was entranced, as being a child during the war, with all the shortages and restrictions – and no car in the family – her excursions had been mainly to Barry Island and Porthcawl, with a few holidays in Gower or Ilfracombe.

Brecon came all too quickly and soon they were driving up The Watton into the town, past the grim nineteenth-century barracks that was the depot of the South Wales Borderers.

‘That’s where that young lad who found the body is being called up to National Service this week,’ said Richard. ‘Let’s hope he enjoys it, though he’ll find it a lot different from mending tractors on a farm.’

‘Won’t he have to be at the inquest?’ asked Siân.

‘Yes, I’m sure he will. But he won’t have far to go, for we’re there already.’

On their left, at an angle to the main road, was another massive early Victorian building, the Shire Hall, with its classical portico of four fluted columns supporting a triangular pediment.

The coroner’s officer was in the forecourt, and he waved them in to a parking place behind the iron railings.

‘I kept you a place, doctor. There’ll be a fair crowd here today. It’s not often we get a murder.’

Billy Brown led them up the steps into the impressive building and into the main courtroom, a forbidding place panelled in dark wood, explaining as he went.

‘The coroner usually holds inquests in the magistrates’ court or even in his own office, if there are only a few witnesses. But today he’s borrowed the courtroom. Normally, it’s kept for sittings of the Assizes and Quarter Sessions.’

A high panelled bench dominated the front of the court, below which was a desk for the clerk and a large central table with benches for the lawyers. The witness box was to one side near a couple of rows of pews for the jury. On the opposite side there was more seating and a place for the press. The rest of the large, high chamber was filled with benches for witnesses and the public – Siân was reminded of the interior of her Methodist chapel in Chepstow.

Billy Brown shepherded them into a pew just behind the lawyers’ table, where a florid middle-aged man in a dark suit and a wing collar sat with a thin file of papers. Three journalists were squeezed into a narrow space on the opposite side of the court from the jury benches. One was a bald man with a large red nose, another an anaemic-looking girl and the last a bored-looking young man with severe acne.

In the row behind the forensic team, the four members of the Evans and Morton families were sitting silently, dressed in their Sunday clothes, the men displaying black ties and Betsan and Rhian in suitably black or grey outfits.

The chamber was partly filled with some farming neighbours from Cwmcamlais, together with members of the public attracted by the morbid thrill of a murder-suicide in this usually peaceful area. There were several uniformed constables at the back of the court, and five minutes after the Garth House party arrived Detective Inspector Arthur Crippen and his sergeant slipped into the other end of their pew, nodding a greeting at the Garth House group. Just before the large old clock on one wall reached ten thirty, the coroner’s officer shepherded in half a score of people to act as jurors. They filed self-consciously into the two rows of hard benches, eight men in their best suits and a couple of women in shapeless hats. Billy Brown vanished, then reappeared from a side door and came up to whisper to Richard Pryor.

‘The coroner would like a word before we start, doctor.’ He led Richard up to the front bench and lifted a flap in the corner. A few steps led up to the judicial platform, then through a door at the side into the judge’s chamber.

The coroner was Charles Matthews – as usual, a local solicitor. A tall, thin man, he could only be described as ‘grey’, as he was grey-haired, had a grey walrus moustache and wore a grey suit. Even his complexion seemed grey, but he was a courteous and affable man. As he shook hands, he thanked Richard for his prompt and expert assistance in this matter.

‘I just wanted to meet you and explain that I am keeping the inquest as low-key as possible, doctor. This tragic case has the potential to cause serious embarrassment to respectable people living in what is a very tight-knit rural community. I see no merit in offering the press a lot of irrelevant detail, given that there is no possibility of any further legal action.’

They chatted for a moment longer, Matthews expressing genuine interest in the new venture in the Wye Valley and promising to bear them in mind when he or any of his legal colleagues in the area had need of forensic advice.

Gratified by this promise of future work, Richard took his leave and got back to his seat before the inquest began.

Billy Brown appeared inside the side door and, in a stentorian voice that seemed loud for his short stature, demanded that all should rise.

The coroner hurried in clutching a sheaf of papers and sat himself in the large central chair, normally occupied by a High Court judge or the chairman of the Quarter Sessions. His officer then called the court to order with the traditional exhortation.

‘Oyez, oyez, oyez, all persons having anything to do before the Queen’s coroner for the County of Brecon, touching the deaths of Thomas Littleman and Mostyn Dewi Evans, draw near and give your attendance!’

Before anything else was commenced, the lawyer at the table rose to his feet and announced to the coroner that he was Maldwyn Prosser, a solicitor holding a watching brief for the Evans family. As his practice was directly across the street from Charles Matthews’ own law office, the coroner was well aware of his identity, but the professional niceties had to be maintained.

The next task was to swear in the jury, and Billy walked along the two rows of benches, giving a battered copy of the New Testament to each juror as he came to them.

‘Take the book in your right hand and read the words on the card.’

A piece of pasteboard stuck out of the book and, in either halting words or more confident bravado, each person stood up and swore by Almighty God that they would diligently ‘a true presentment make according to the evidence’.

When they had settled down again, the coroner leaned forward and regarded them over his half-moon spectacles.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, there are two inquests to be dealt with today, but as they are inextricably linked I am taking them together, though at the conclusion you must provide me with two separate verdicts.’

He then asked the jury to choose their foreman, and a portly, red-faced local butcher was appointed.

‘Undoubtedly, all of you must have heard about this sad occurrence in Cwmcamlais, but you must put out of your mind anything you have heard or read and consider only what you will hear in this courtroom today.’

He leaned back and shuffled his papers unnecessarily before continuing.

‘A coroner’s inquest is concerned with only four things. Who, where, when and by what means someone came to their death. In addition, I have the power under the law to commit any person you consider guilty of criminally causing such a death for trial in a higher court. However, I can tell you now that this will not arise today, so it is only the first four you need consider.’

He nodded at Billy Brown, who moved to the front of the witness box, his trusty New Testament at the ready.

‘The first witness is Shane Williams,’ he announced. Heads turned to watch the former apprentice lope down the side of the court and step up into the waist-high cubicle of varnished wood.

He wore an ill-fitting khaki battledress, denoting his four days of service in Her Majesty’s armed forces.

Shane had been sitting halfway up the chamber, alongside the impressive figure of a sergeant major in the uniform of the South Wales Borderers, and the general impression was that it was with reluctance that the army had let such a raw recruit escape his penal servitude for an hour or two.

The youth mumbled his way through a different oath printed on the same card, swearing by the same Almighty God that he would tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Richard glanced past Angela to look at Siân and saw that she was transfixed by the proceedings, which brought to life all she had read about courts in newspapers and novels or heard on the radio.

‘Wait until we take her to the Assizes,’ he whispered to Angela. ‘She’ll be in ecstasy then with wigs and gowns!’

His partner banged his knee with hers to shut him up, as the coroner began questioning Shane Williams. The former worker at Ty Croes stumbled through a description of when and how he had found the body, and confirmed that it was indeed that of Tom Littleman. Matthews avoided any probing into Shane’s knowledge of any disputes between the dead man and any other persons at the farm. There was little else to be said and, after a short description of the barn and its contents and the position and state of the Fordson tractor, the coroner finished with Shane. He invited the family solicitor to ask any questions, but this was declined and Shane left the witness box with obvious relief. As he came back into the body of the court, the immaculate sergeant rose and reclaimed his recruit, marching him off as if he was under arrest.

At this stage the coroner instructed his officer to hand a slim album of photographs to the jury, to be passed around among them.

‘These are not very pleasant, but I’m afraid you need to follow what was found in this barn at Ty Croes Farm, as will be described by the next witnesses,’ explained Matthews.

They huddled over the pictures as they went along the two benches. Although the coroner had excluded the more gory photos, several of the men looked queasy at the sight, though the two women did not turn a hair, studying the details with apparent relish.

Arthur Crippen was called next and, scorning the card, held the Testament high in the air and rattled off the oath with the familiarity of thirty years’ experience in the courts.

He then described the scene in the barn when he was called by the uniformed officers and, with the jury following his account on their photographs, led them through the relevant points of the tractor, the scattered wooden blocks and the position of the chain hoist hanging from the roof.

The next witness was Aubrey Evans, who was dealt with quite briefly but sympathetically by Charles Matthews. He formally confirmed that the dead man was Thomas Littleman and, on being further questioned, said that he knew almost nothing of the man’s background, except that he had been an army mechanic and had worked at Ty Croes Farm for several years.

The coroner then explained to the jury that efforts by the police to trace any relatives had failed.

‘Military records showed that he was born in London and had joined the Regular Army at the age of eighteen. His parents were dead and he had no brothers or sisters. No other family has made themselves known, so that disposal of the body has been left to the local authority.’

After stating that the dead man had last been seen alive on the previous evening, Aubrey Evans left the witness box, the coroner having carefully avoided any questions about his own family, and the next witness was Richard Pryor.

Angela had been in court with him previously, but she listened again to see how he conducted himself. Siân was on the edge of her seat, enthralled by her boss being the centre of attention for a few minutes.

After taking the oath in a steady, serious voice, he identified himself and gave the Garth House address.

‘Your qualifications are a Doctor of Medicine and a Bachelor of Surgery?’ asked Matthews. Richard agreed and added that he also held a Diploma in Clinical Pathology.

‘You are also a consultant pathologist to the Home Office?’ added the coroner, to make it clear to the jury that the witness was an expert.

After these formalities, Richard explained how he had been called to the scene and what he had found there.

‘The dead man had severe injuries to the neck region, but these were caused after death. They were insufficient to conceal a ligature mark on the neck which indicated that he had actually been hanged.’

There was a buzz of astonishment in the court, and the three reporters suddenly jerked themselves into more rapid scribbling in their notebooks.

This was further increased when he then calmly announced that even that was not the cause of death, but that the victim had been manually strangled before being hanged.

The coroner led him into an explanation of the proof of these remarkable deductions, and Richard described the settling of the blood in the legs and arms which showed that the body had been in a vertical position for a considerable time after death, which had probably occurred during the previous night.

‘And you ascertained where this hanging had taken place, doctor?’ asked the coroner.

‘It seemed likely that it was from the hook of that hoist you can see in the photographs. There would have to have been something like a rope as well, which was confirmed by laboratory examination.’

After a few more questions about the lack of natural disease as a contribution to death, Richard stood down, the coroner indicating that he would recall him later. Then Billy Brown invited Dr Angela Bray to the witness box. In a trim navy-blue suit and a small tilted hat, all dark enough for the sombre occasion, she stood calmly erect and took the oath with practised ease. Charles Matthews, who seemed very taken with this elegant scientist, invited her to be seated, but she gracefully declined. He then got her to declare her professional qualifications and the fact that she was a former senior scientist in the Metropolitan Police Laboratory, which again stimulated some whispers and more rapid note-taking on the press bench.

She explained that she had been present at the scene in the capacity of a professional colleague to Dr Pryor and that she was not the official forensic scientist.

Matthews rather brushed this aside and said that no doubt the investigating officers were very glad to have someone of such experience and expertise at the scene. Angela then said that she had removed some fibres from the neck of the dead man and caused them to be sent to the Cardiff laboratory for examination, together with various samples of rope from the barn.

The coroner nodded wisely and followed this up. ‘I have not thought it necessary to bring anyone from that laboratory up to Brecon today, given that you are present, Dr Bray. So perhaps you could read out the report they prepared on the samples you had recovered.’

He gave his officer a sheet of paper, which Billy handed to Angela. She studied this before reading it verbatim, then explaining its significance for the benefit of the jury.

‘It means that the fibres I recovered from the skin of the neck were examined under a microscope and by various other tests and were found to be identical with fibres from two of the lengths of rope that were recovered from the barn.’

‘Does that indicate that one of those lengths was used to hang the deceased, doctor?’ asked the coroner.

Angela shook her head. ‘One can’t be definite, sir. Sisal rope varies widely in type, but no doubt there are many other coils in this county which are identical. The ropes from the barn were examined at Cardiff for any traces of skin, but none were identified. It would be very difficult to find such tiny fragments on long lengths.’

Matthews nodded wisely. ‘But it shows, does it not, that a rope of this nature had been wrapped around the neck?’

Angela agreed. ‘Also, the laboratory applied sticky tape to the hook of the hoist you described and found identical fibres caught on the rusty surface. Of course, they may have come from previous legitimate use in the workshop, but it seems to point to the use of that hoist to suspend the body.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us, Dr Bray?’

‘We analysed samples of blood and urine retained from the body and found that there was a moderate amount of alcohol present. It was enough to hamper a person’s ability to drive a vehicle safely, but in my opinion well below the level likely to make him obviously inebriated.’

The coroner seemed rather reluctant to let this elegant witness leave the box, but, after receiving profuse thanks, Angela stepped down.

‘He seems quite taken with her,’ Siân whispered to her boss. ‘But I don’t think he’s her type!’ she added with a grin.

The coroner then explained to the jurors that he would move on to the second part of the double inquest, so that they could understand the sequence of events. He recalled Arthur Crippen and reminded him that he was already on oath.

‘Detective inspector, I understand that you made extensive enquiries into this matter over the course of the next few days?’

Crippen related how his officers had interviewed all the family members and neighbours within a reasonable distance, without making any progress.

‘Enquiries were also made in Brecon, at the flat where the deceased lived, as well as with the army authorities in relation to Littleman’s past history,’ he added.

As Arthur had also had a pre-inquest chat with the coroner, he avoided mentioning the revelations about the victim’s amorous relations with the two women in the family. At this point, Betsan and Rhian sat immobile in the court, hardly daring to breathe, even though Crippen had explained to them that the coroner had decided that in view of subsequent events he saw no reason to parade embarrassing family matters for the delectation of the press.

Charles Matthews then led the detective through the finding of Mostyn Evans’ body in the same barn and the obvious supposition that he had killed himself.

This time it was Jeff Morton who was to identify the body. He was called to nervously relate how he had heard a distant shotgun discharge and gone to investigate.

‘One look was enough to know who it was. And I recognized the four-ten as belonging to Uncle Mostyn,’ he said. ‘So I shut the door and ran back to ring the police.’

Both he and his cousin Aubrey testified that they had no idea of Mostyn’s actions and that he had not given the slightest indication of committing suicide, so the coroner then recalled Richard Pryor, again reminding him that he was still on oath.

The pathologist gave a brief summary of his findings, describing death as having been caused virtually instantaneously by a shotgun wound to the throat which had penetrated the brain.

‘Mr Evans also suffered from an advanced cancer of the prostate gland, which had already spread into his bones,’ he added.

Matthews followed up his report with a few additional questions. ‘Doctor, is there any doubt in your mind that this gunshot was self-inflicted?’

Richard shook his head, feeling on safe ground given that a suicide note had been left.

‘None at all, sir. The position of the wound was one of the prime “sites of election” for suicide. The gun had been resting against the skin, leaving a partial muzzle impression. I measured the length of the weapon from muzzle to trigger and it could easily have been fired by the deceased.’

The coroner turned over a sheet of paper on his desk and nodded. ‘I see that only the fingerprints of Mostyn Evans were found on the shotgun.’

Richard Pryor finished his report by confirming that the body contained no alcohol or drugs and that the time that Jeff Morton heard the gunshot was consistent with the time-of-death examination that he himself had made on arriving at the farm later that afternoon.

Once again, the family’s solicitor had no questions, and Richard went back to sit with Angela and Siân.

The coroner then applied himself to the jury, peering at them over his glasses. ‘The only remaining evidence is what you might well consider the most important and revealing,’ he began, holding up a couple of pages of pale blue notepaper.

‘This letter was found on the ground near the body, addressed to me. I have no intention of making it public, as it contains very personal family issues which I see no reason to divulge, as the rest of the very full description of the circumstances seem to me to be more than adequate for the purposes of this inquest.’

There was again a low buzz around the court, and one of the reporters hurriedly turned over a page of his notebook in preparation for his scoop of the month.

‘In this letter, Mr Mostyn Evans acknowledges that he had a terminal illness, which, incidentally, he had concealed from his family. He then admits that he had killed Thomas Littleman on the night before the body was discovered, the motive being a personal dispute about which I do not propose to elaborate. Suffice it to say that Mostyn Evans knew that he had only a short time to live due to his fatal illness and decided that he would settle his dispute with Littleman and then kill himself.’

Again the coroner peered intently at his jury as if defying them to challenge his decision. ‘Of course, if this was a murder trial in the Assize Court, every scrap of information would have to be presented in the cause of justice. But again I emphasize that this is an inquest, not a trial. We are here to determine who, where, when and by what means these two men came to their deaths – and I feel you have ample evidence before you to come to a conclusion.’

After delivering this homily, he briefly summarized the evidence they had heard about the two deaths and then charged the jury with providing verdicts on each victim, offering them the choices of natural causes, accident, suicide or unlawful killing.

The result was never in doubt, and within minutes, after a muttered consultation between the ten stalwart Breconians, the beefy butcher rose and provided Charles Matthews with what he wanted.

After expressing his sympathy to the families from Ty Croes and thanking the jury and witnesses for their help, Billy Brown asked the court to rise and the coroner gathered up his papers and left through the door at the side of the bench.

Outside, Arthur Crippen and Detective Sergeant Nichols were standing talking with the two couples from the farm, but broke away for a moment to say goodbye to the Garth House team.

‘Thanks for your help, doctors, you did a grand job for us,’ said Crippen. ‘If the opportunity to use you again comes up, we’ll look forward to seeing you!’

As they walked towards the gates, the coroner’s officer also thanked them and recommended the Wellington Hotel if they wanted some lunch. This was a large Georgian building just up from the Shire Hall, one of the focal points of the small town. As it was now noon, Richard steered his colleagues towards it and treated them to a celebratory meal.

As they sat over their oxtail soup in the old-fashioned dining room, Angela asked Siân what she thought of her first visit to a court.

‘Great, it’s all so medieval!’ she enthused. ‘That business of the coroner’s officer chanting the “Oyez” bit! Do they always do that?’

Richard grinned. ‘It’s dying out, but often in the country courts the coroner’s officer likes to have his say. Wait until you go to the Assizes, then you’ll see scarlet robes, wigs and velvet breeches!’

‘Can I come to the Gloucester trial when you go, doctor?’ she asked, almost like a child wanting to visit a funfair.

‘I think Moira has booked a visit there, but I might have to go for more than one day, so be good and I’ll see what I can do!’

Over their gammon steaks with egg and pineapple, a treat that had only come back on the menu in the last couple of years, Angela remarked on the skilful way in which the coroner had avoided the embarrassing background to Littleman’s death.

‘I’ll bet the jury were bursting to know what was in that suicide letter,’ she said. ‘There’ll be some tongues wagging in the neighbourhood tonight, all with their theories about what was really going on at that farm.’

Richard speared a chip with his fork. ‘I think he cut a few legal corners this morning – but who’s to stop him? Coroners are almost a law unto themselves, especially out here in the sticks. Unless a family challenges his verdict and takes it to a Divisional Court for appeal, what he says, goes.’

‘Well, this family certainly won’t object,’ said Angela. ‘No doubt they’re desperately relieved that their dirty washing hasn’t been hung out in public.’

After apple tart with custard for dessert and a cup of coffee, Richard paid the bill and they walked back to their car. He drove leisurely back through the sunlit countryside, Angela noticing that on the main roads traffic was noticeably greater than it had been a few years earlier, now that new cars were freely available after their scarcity during the immediate postwar period.

There were still plenty of pre-war cars about, but now the sleeker Fords, Austins and Vauxhalls abounded, with foreign cars like her own Renault becoming too common to be curiosities any longer.

For Siân, the Wye Valley appeared all too soon, and after the last few miles down the side of the river from Monmouth, they finally pulled into the yard at Garth House satisfied with a day away from their usual routine.