A Fatal Truth - Faith Martin Ryder and Loveday

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was a well-nourished male, seventy-one years of age, in reasonable health. That is, I found no signs of advanced heart or liver disease, or anything of a serious nature, that would normally have been causing him distress. He showed the usual signs of wear-and-tear as it were, for a man of his age – the first indications of arthritis in his wrist and elbow joints, for instance, and he had probably been diabetic, but had not been taking medication for this disease.’

      ‘I see. In other words, you found no evidence that he had suffered a heart attack or a stroke of anything of the kind that might account for his death?’ Clement clarified smoothly.

      ‘Quite so.’

      Clement nodded and indicated him to continue.

      ‘Naturally, the body had been very badly burned indeed – not to say blackened – and had adopted what we term ‘a pugilist pose’; that is, his arms seemed to have been drawn up and his hands were fisted, as if he were about to start a boxing match. This, as you know, is due to the heat tightening the tendons in his arms.’

      Clement nodded and turned briefly to explain – and demonstrate – the pose to the jury. ‘And what else did your autopsy discover?’ he prompted.

      ‘We found traces of scorching and evidence of smoke damage in both Mr Hughes’s throat and lungs. Also in his blood samples …’ The medical man proceeded to give a technical but clear account of a man who had died, most probably, from smoke inhalation.

      ‘You think then, that he was probably unconscious before he would have felt any pain as a result of his burns?’ Clement said, with one eye on the victim’s family, who were now sitting extremely pale-faced in their seats.

      He caught the pathologist’s eye, who then gave a slow nod. If, privately, he wasn’t so sure that the victim wouldn’t have felt anything, he, like Clement, was in no hurry to cause pointless distress by lingering on the fact.

      ‘And was there anything else that caught your attention?’ Clement asked next.

      ‘Yes. I found a head wound on the back and to one side of Mr Hughes’s skull.’

      At this, there was a quick stirring in the court, as Clement had expected there would be, when this particular snippet was announced. It was always the so-called ‘dramatic moments’ that people responded to most readily, but he (who’d already seen the doctor’s report) wasn’t taken by surprise.

      ‘Can you tell us more about this injury please?’ he asked, almost placidly, his matter-of-fact tone doing a lot to settle the mood in the room.

      But he noticed that one of the journalists in particular was fascinated by the medical man’s testimony, and had been taking down every word verbatim, with an intense look of concentration on his face. He was a handsome young man who looked to be in his late twenties, with a thick head of black hair and pale eyes that Clement thought would, on closer inspection, probably turn out to be pale blue or grey. Perhaps he was less experienced than his more grizzled and world-weary colleagues, Clement mused. Or perhaps this was his first big story and he was keen to make a splash?

      His attention quickly turned from the reporter to his witness as Dr Borringer began to speak once more.

      ‘Yes, the wound was fairy long but narrow, and angled along the right-hand side of his temple.’

      ‘Would it have been enough to kill him?’ Clement asked flatly.

      ‘Oh no. There was no actual fracture of the skull – or to be more precise, no fracture of the skull due to impact. As you know, the results of a fire can sometimes cause fractures in bones after death,’ the pathologist emphasised carefully. ‘I would say the blow would certainly have stunned him – and quite possibly have rendered him unconscious for a short period of time.’

      ‘I see. And do you have any evidence as to what might have caused this blow?’

      ‘I’m afraid not – there was too much damage done to the body.’

      At this, there was a general sigh of disappointment from the onlookers, who probably felt cheated. People liked to have their facts dished up to them on a silver platter, but the coroner was far too experienced to expect things to always be cut-and-dried.

      Clement nodded, but not without some sympathy for the pathologist, the police and the fire investigators. What with the near-total destruction of the shed, and the badly burned condition of the body, they were struggling to come up with any physical evidence at all.

      ‘It has been suggested,’ Clement began carefully, ‘that the deceased was in the shed when fireworks were going off in very close proximity to him. Is it possible that the long thin narrow wound you describe could have been caused by a firework – a rocket, for instance – grazing his head?’

      Dr Borringer didn’t answer right away but clearly thought about it. He frowned slightly. ‘Well, it’s certainly possible,’ he said, a little uncertainly. ‘I’m not an expert on fireworks, naturally, nor am I overly familiar with the science of propulsion. But I imagine something like a rocket would be designed to exude considerable force, in order to lift it off the ground and high into the sky. So I imagine, if it hit someone a glancing blow, it might be powerful enough to cause significant injury.’

      ‘Did you find any foreign bodies or material in the wound?’ Clement asked.

      ‘No, I’m afraid not – the burns went too deep. Although we did find tiny fragments of burnt wood – but given that the man died in a wooden shed, that was only to be expected. I understand that there was not only firewood stored inside, but roughly constructed shelves of wood also.’

      Clement knew when to take a hint. He smiled slightly.

      ‘Are you saying the blow might more likely have been caused by the victim hitting his head on such an object?’

      ‘It’s certainly possible,’ the pathologist said, ‘and in my opinion, rather more probable. If the deceased had heard a fizzing sound and seen a firework explode, he would very likely rear back or duck instinctively, and thus could have hit his head on something wooden inside the shed. But that is pure speculation on my part.’

      ‘I see.’ Clement glanced at the jury and saw one or two of them nodding their heads. The pathologist finished giving his medical report, but nothing of any further sensational nature was forthcoming, and Clement dismissed him with a word or two of thanks.

      Next, he called the local police officer, a sergeant at the Headington Police Station, to give his evidence. But since he spoke of little more than the routine aspects of any investigation following an unexpected death, there was now a distinct sense of anticlimax settling over the court.

      The officer reported on the removal of the body by ambulance and touched on the witness statements. However, as none of the dead man’s family had taken particular notice of the dead man’s movements, they could add little to the proceedings.

      By the end of the day, all that was left was for Clement to sum up by giving the usual warnings that people should take sensible precautions with fireworks, and encourage people to store such dangerous objects in fire-proof tins, before asking the jury to retire to give their verdict.

      It didn’t take them more than five minutes to return a verdict of death by misadventure. The police looked satisfied, the family looked relieved and the usher looked happy to be able to bring the proceedings to a halt well in time for him to get home for his tea.

      Clement gave his brief but sincere commiserations to the Hughes family for their misfortune, and there the matter ended.

      Or so he thought at the time.

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