The Burning (34 page)

Alison glanced at Jenny with raised eyebrows. She seemed to be telling her that Falco’s line of questioning might not have been entirely fanciful. Jenny took a large mouthful of water and
a deep breath, then called for Dr Jasmine Hope.

Dr Hope was quiet, but unexpectedly confident and sure of herself as she entered the witness box and commenced her evidence. Grateful to be on uncontested territory, Jenny led her swiftly
through the details of the post-mortem. Dr Hope was adamant that Burden had died from asphyxiation due to strangulation, and that all the surrounding circumstances led to the conclusion that he had
been standing on the office chair which lay on its side several feet from where the body was found hanging. Further unequivocal evidence was provided by the vertical orientation of the rope lesions
around the neck and the fact that blood had pooled in the lower extremities. The death did not show any of the characteristics of accidental autoerotic asphyxiation, not least because the deceased
was fully clothed, and in any event, such accidental deaths were nearly always associated with biological males. In short, it was beyond all doubt that Daniel Burden had intended to kill himself
and that he had succeeded.

‘Are you happy with Dr Hope’s evidence?’ Jenny asked Falco, when she had finished her questioning.

Falco leant his hands on the desk and pushed himself upright. ‘No, ma’am, sadly I am not.’

Jenny exchanged a further glance with Alison and invited Falco to proceed.

‘Dr Hope, did you measure the length of the rope from where it was knotted at Mr Burden’s neck to where it was attached to the bars above him?’

‘Give me a moment.’ Dr Hope sifted through the notes she had brought with her to the witness box, then after several seconds of fruitless searching shook her head. ‘No,
I’m afraid I didn’t.’

‘Can I assume, then, you that you did not measure the length of his arms?’

Dr Hope cast Jenny an uncertain glance. ‘It wasn’t really necessary.’

Jenny guessed what was coming next and kicked herself for not having thought of it before post-mortem. The prospect of a quick and tidy end to proceedings by mid-afternoon was fast becoming a
distant hope.

Falco picked up the booklet of photographs issued by the police photographer. ‘In the absence of hard evidence, I suppose we’ll have to make do with some educated guesswork. Could
you look at the photographs of the body
in situ
, please.’

Dr Hope opened her own copy of the booklet.

‘Mr Burden was five feet, three inches tall. His feet look to be a little over a foot, perhaps eighteen inches, off the ground. Would you agree?’

‘Yes. About that.’

‘Look at the gap between the top of his head and the bar – what would you say that is?’

Dr Hope studied the photograph hard. ‘Slightly less than one foot.’

‘Meaning he could have reached up and grabbed those bars to save himself, had he wanted to. He wouldn’t have died straight away, would he? His neck wasn’t broken. He would have
been conscious for some seconds, perhaps thirty seconds, or even a minute or longer?’

‘It’s possible.’ Dr Hope said hesitantly.

‘Did you examine his wrists and arms for signs of restraint?’

‘There were no visible marks,’ Dr Hope said.

‘No
visible
marks,’ Falco repeated. ‘Hmm. All right. I’m going to paint you a picture, and you tell me if it could be consistent with what you see on this
photograph.’ He paused to glance at Anthony Burden, who reluctantly nodded his agreement for Falco to proceed. ‘Let’s say Mr Burden was not alone at the time of his death. There
was someone, or more than one person, present. They fastened his wrists together, perhaps with something soft that wouldn’t mark, like a rag then duct tape, attached the rope to the bars and
made him stand on the chair. Then maybe they asked him some questions, and when they were finished, kicked away the chair and waited for him to die. Then they removed the restraints to make it look
like suicide.’

Anthony Burden stared clench-jawed into space, waiting for Dr Hope’s answer.

‘It’s possible,’ Dr Hope said hesitantly.

Falco raised his voice, and jabbed his finger in the air. ‘Doctor, on this evidence you cannot be sure whether Daniel Burden committed suicide or was murdered, can you?’

‘No,’ Dr Hope conceded.

Falco dropped back into his seat with a defiant, upwards tilt of his chin.

Jenny had no more questions for Dr Hope. Letting her go, she told her that it was no reflection on her professional abilities that she hadn’t taken the measurements suggested by Mr Falco.
Her job as a pathologist was to determine the physical cause of death, which was precisely what she had done. As she left the witness box, Jenny saw DI Ballantyne’s stony expression show a
flicker of doubt. His wasn’t the studied calm of a man executing a cover-up; she sensed that Falco’s cross-examination had made him question what, until now, he had thought to be
certainties.

Gordon Kenyon wore a brown suit that hung limply off his bony frame, together with a brown-and-cream checked tie that almost matched. He was pale and balding with eyes permanently fixed in the
expression of someone who had spent a lifetime staring at a computer screen. What he lacked in charisma he made up for in precision, answering each question after a short, considered pause and with
the unadorned exactness of a robot.

Kenyon told the court that he had been a Home Office employee for twenty-seven years and a senior approvals officer at the Newport office of the Passport Service for the previous six. During
that period he had seen Daniel Burden rise from a minor role in data entry to the position he had held for the previous two years.

‘Mr Burden’s principal task was to process and approve passport applications, is that correct?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Kenyon answered.

‘Did he perform it well?’

‘His record was entirely satisfactory.’

‘His job, as I understand it, required him to perform personal interviews with passport applicants.’

‘Correct.’

‘And would it have been possible for him to have abused that position – to create passports using false identities?’

‘Difficult but not impossible,’ Kenyon replied perfunctorily. ‘For an adult to acquire a new UK passport it would require an identity already to have been established to a high
degree of authenticity. There is almost no way of achieving it from scratch.’

‘If not from scratch, how would you do it?’

‘The most obvious way is to collude with someone who is willing to give up a passport they already hold legitimately – a serving prisoner, for example. The passport is reported lost,
a replacement is sought but a new photograph substituted. Even so, every approval Mr Burden made would have been subject to random review. We now employ facial-recognition software that would
detect any change in personal appearance.’ He smiled. ‘It really is close to impossible to cheat the system without running a huge risk. If an officer were caught, it would mean years
in prison.’

‘Have any of Mr Burden’s approvals ever been questioned?’ Jenny asked.

‘No. I have never had cause to question his honesty or competence.’

‘I appreciate your assistance, Mr Kenyon.’ Jenny addressed Falco: ‘Do you have any questions for this witness?’

‘Only a couple,’ Falco said. ‘Mr Kenyon, did you socialize with Daniel Burden?’

‘I did not.’

‘You surprise me. Were you aware of his having friends amongst his colleagues?’

Kenyon frowned as he considered the question. Personal relationships seemed outside his area of expertise. ‘I would say that Mr Burden kept personal and professional life largely separate.
I was not aware of him socializing with colleagues.’

‘In other words, he kept a low profile?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you aware of him having another source of income besides his salary?’

‘No.’

‘So the man you knew was diligent, private, and socially disconnected from his colleagues.’

Kenyon thought about his answer. ‘Yes. That would seem a fair assessment.’

‘One last matter, Mr Kenyon – would you mind checking something for me when you’re back in the office? Did Mr Burden approve a replacement passport for a Mr Lech Weil some time
in December? That’s W-E-I-L.’

Kenyon’s eyes flitted to the lawyer, Clara Lawson, as if he had been caught out in some way. ‘Yes. Certainly. May I ask the significance?’

‘Weil was dead at the time his passport was issued,’ Falco said casually.

He offered no further questions, but had succeeded in raising issues Jenny would now struggle to ignore. Burden had had proven contact with a criminal, had been depositing unaccounted-for sums
of cash into his bank account and was in a position – albeit at substantial risk – to provide false passports. What’s more, he had a motive to behave dishonestly: he was seeking
specialist surgery that would cost tens of thousands of pounds.

Jenny asked Kenyon one final question of her own: ‘Have you reviewed Mr Burden’s caseload since his death, and if so, has it revealed anything irregular?’

‘Yes, we have, and no, it hasn’t,’ Kenyon answered at once. ‘In fact, if I may say so, I find the suggestion that he was behaving dishonestly laughable. It did not
happen.’

Coming from Kenyon these were strong words, and Jenny silently thanked him for them. A little of her uncertainty fell away.

Jenny hadn’t planned on calling Anthony Burden to give evidence unless having heard the evidence he wished to add something to the written statement he had already given. Falco consulted
with him and informed Jenny that he had nothing further to contribute. In Burden’s confused expression Jenny saw that he still knew as much and as little about his sister-turned-brother as he
had done before his untimely death.

‘Well, Mr Falco, I now have all the evidence I wished to call. Are you still proposing to ask me to hear another witness?’

Jenny saw DI Ballantyne crane forward to hear Falco’s response. He didn’t want to miss a word.

‘Ma’am, might I address you in chambers?’

Jenny was in two minds. Although she had earlier extended the offer of a private meeting, she had an instinctive dislike of off-the-record conversations with lawyers. But on the other hand, she
suspected that Falco was pushing at a door that she ought, if possible, to look behind. This was the very last opportunity to uncover the whole truth. If she were simply to call a halt now and
return an open verdict, the file on Daniel Burden’s death would remain closed forever.

She avoided looking at Anthony Burden, not wanting her decision to be an emotional one. The coroner’s duty was not to the family of the deceased but to the truth, no matter how
uncomfortable or distressing that might be. It was Ryan’s words that she heard repeating in her mind, or rather a phrase: ‘the Polish mafia’. She had no doubt that Falco was
plugged into its heart, and that he would not have gone to all the trouble of contacting Anthony Burden and appearing at an inquest (without a fee, Jenny presumed) unless he had a very good
reason.

‘Very well, Mr Falco, as long as you’re brief.’

Clara Lawson stirred from her silence and rose timidly to her feet. ‘Ma’am – will I be permitted to be present?’

‘Your client is not a party to these proceedings, Miss Lawson,’ Jenny explained, forgiving her inexperience, ‘so no, you are not permitted to be present.’

Jenny stood. As she had predicted, the elderly usher had fallen into a doze and failed to notice. It was Alison’s voice that sounded around the court: ‘All rise.’

Falco took several minutes to arrive. When he did, he tugged nervously at his cuffs as he took a seat opposite Jenny in the small, functional office that had been allocated to her in the
corridor behind the court.

‘Well, Mr Falco?’

‘I mentioned a potential witness, ma’am. I’ve just been making some inquiries. It seems that during the last hour Bristol CID have persuaded magistrates to issue a warrant for
his arrest.’

‘On what charge?’

‘Living on the proceeds of immoral earnings. That’s what I’ve heard. It does seem rather convenient.’

‘And his relationship to this case?’

‘He has information about the activities of certain individuals he believes to be undercover police officers.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Mr Falco,’ Jenny said.

‘You may find this a little shocking, ma’am, but he suggests that two men – formerly Polish police officers, now members of our local constabulary – have been operating
in the city undercover for some years, posing as drug dealers and pimps. He suggests they may have “gone native”. In fact, he claims they have disappeared and killed people.’

‘Including Mr Burden?’

‘Yes.’ Falco fidgeted with his gold cufflinks. ‘And Mr Rozek’.

Jenny realized now that Falco was frightened. Sitting close to him in the confined space, she felt some of his apprehension transferring to her.

‘I’m prepared to hear his evidence, but I can’t prevent him from being arrested if there’s a warrant.’

Falco rubbed the heels of his palms together as he tried to think of a way through. ‘Ma’am, may I assume that if he were to give evidence in court, you would agree to him doing so
in camera
? – on the basis that you would have to protect the identities of any undercover officers he might name.’

‘In those circumstances, I probably would.’

‘Then would it make any difference if his testimony were also to be given via a video link?’

‘This is a man knowingly evading arrest, and you want me to hear his evidence in an empty courtroom and over a video link, without his disclosing his whereabouts? That’s an
interesting proposition, Mr Falco. Exactly how much weight do you think any evidence he gives under those conditions might carry?’

‘You have to consider the interests of justice, ma’am. Would they be better served by
not
hearing him?’

‘If those were the terms, yes.’

Falco fell into a troubled silence, as if he were wrestling with a dilemma.

‘Ma’am, what if I were to tell you that this witness is called Tomasz Zaleski, and that he works at Fairmeadows Farm? I believe that, by unhappy coincidence, he was a colleague of
one Edward Morgan.’