Stephanie (14 page)

The suitcase clicked shut. Even that was not the cardboard thing so often seen.

‘And your other bag, sir, please.'

He handed over his small black bag. The customs officer seemed to take longer over this, as if there were something suspicious in it. In the background another official had been hovering with a dog on a leash. While the second bag was being searched he strolled round with the dog and they passed close to Nari, the dog sniffing, and then went off to the end of the room. The place was now empty, except for the officers and one newcomer who looked as if he might be Vietnamese or Cambodian. Two officers converged on him and began to ask him questions. Another spasm of pain racked Nari.

He was aware that the officer dealing with him had said something.

‘Pardon? I am not hearing what you say.'

The officer was holding out the bag. ‘ That's all, thank you.'

‘I – may go?'

‘Yes. Carry on.' The Englishman turned away to talk to another officer. Nari began to force his legs towards the exit.

This was the end of the nightmare. At every step he thought he must stumble and fall.

After a long time he came out into an area where a lot of people were standing behind a barrier, some with names held up on cardboard. Another plane had just come in, and, still waiting for the hard hand on his shoulder, Nari allowed himself to be carried along towards the exits. Outside all was bustle and noise and confusion, cars and taxis and buses arriving and driving off.

They had told him he might take a taxi. He opened his notecase to see the English notes were still there, then took his place in the queue.

A few days before this, an inquest on Stephanie Jane Locke, aged twenty-one, a third-year student at St Martin's College, Oxford, had been held at Oxford Crown Court before the coroner, Mr Charles Latham. Evidence of identity was given by the dead girl's father, Mr James Locke.

Sergeant Denton of the Thames Valley Police testified that on Monday the 30th April he received a 999 call and, accompanied by Constable Wavell, proceeded to number 17 Broomfield Road where they found a group of students standing in the hall of the first-floor flat, and on going into the bedroom they found the deceased girl lying on the bed. There was an almost empty bottle of pills on the bedside table and a broken glass on the floor. There was an empty bottle of gin under the bed and another in the kitchen. There was no one else living in the flat. She had been discovered by one of the students, a friend who had called to see her that morning. An ambulance was summoned, and the girl conveyed to the John Radcliffe Hospital where she was examined and found to have been dead for some hours.

Dr Felix Ehrmann, the police pathologist, was called. He said a post-mortem examination showed that death was due to asphyxia and respiratory failure caused by paralysis of the respiratory centre of the brain. The lungs had asphyxial spots on them and were very congested, and there were spots on the heart, and the stomach walls were stained. The blood showed a high level of alcohol together with a barbiturate mixture of about four milligrams per hundred millilitres. Death had occurred sometime in the early hours of Monday morning. There was no evidence of any other drugs having been taken and the deceased was a healthy young woman in a very good physical condition.

In response to the coroner, Dr Ehrmann said the normal maximum dose of Medanol sleeping tablets was two tablets, and the contents of the stomach suggested that the dead girl had taken at least twenty, in addition to about a third of a bottle of gin. The date on the bottle of tablets found by her bed was November of last year, the dispenser Messrs Boots at their Piccadilly Circus branch. There were no marks on the body suggesting foul play.

In answer to Mr Alan Webster, representing the family of the deceased, Dr Ehrmann said there was no evidence of sexual assault or recent sexual intercourse. The deceased was not pregnant and had never had a child.

Dr Jeremy Hillsborough, a local physician in practice in Burnham Road, was called and testified that in September of last year Miss Locke had come to see him complaining of sleeplessness and depression after sitting an exam. He had issued her with a prescription for ten Medanol, and presumably these had the desired effect. Two months later she had come to him again and he had written her a prescription for thirty tablets. He would like to make it clear, he said, that these were mild sleeping pills and could only be considered dangerous if taken in excess. Answering the coroner he said she had consulted him only one more time – in February of this year, for a relaxed throat.

The next witness was Miss Anne Vincent, a first-year student at St Martin's. She was a great friend of the deceased, she said, and the previous Sunday night she had been with her at a party, a 21st birthday party held for Sir Anthony Maidment, an undergraduate of Christ Church, at his family home at Sutton David, which was about ten miles north of Oxford. Stephanie Locke had left the party about midnight, saying she was going home to do some work. She, Anne Vincent, had stayed until the party was over at four, and as a consequence had slept until ten the next morning. About eleven she had rung Stephanie but there was no reply, so, as soon as she was dressed etc., she went round to see her. No, this was not a regular thing, but she thought she would go and discuss the party. Stephanie had been living alone since her flatmate went back to Australia at Christmas, and she, Anne, had been expecting to move in with Stephanie very soon.

The flat was the middle one of three flats one above the other, and had its own front door. You went up an outside staircase. When she got there she rang but there was no reply. The door was locked but she knew Stephanie had a habit of leaving the key attached by a string through the letterbox, so she pulled on the string and the key was there and she let herself in …

‘Take your time, Miss–er Vincent,' said the coroner.

Anne put away her handkerchief.

‘When I went in the – the bedroom I found her. There she was, face downwards on the bed. There was this – this pill bottle on the table by the bed and – and a broken glass on the floor. I touched her – just the once – then I don't mind telling you I screamed and ran … The people in the ground-floor flat were away but the people in the top flat heard me shouting and came down. Then there were two students passing in the street, and they came in, and someone – well, someone dialled nine-nine-nine. I was too shaking, too upset, I nearly passed out.'

‘Did you touch anything in the flat?' the coroner asked.

‘No, sir. Only the one thing. Her face. That was enough.'

‘Did you know that the deceased suffered from sleeplessness and depression?'

‘Not at all! She was always full of life.'

‘She had many friends? I mean, apart from yourself?'

‘Oh, yes, lots. She was a very popular person – outgoing, you know, generous.'

‘Did she say she was worried about her Finals or give the impression that she was upset about anything else?'

Anne's big eyes roamed around the court.

‘Not about her Finals.'

‘About something else?'

The handkerchief came out again. ‘Well, there was just this – this one thing which I suppose may have upset her a lot. She'd been having this affair with a married man and it was breaking up. She denied that it was, but you could see the signs … Then the man turned up at the Maidment party. He and Stephanie talked together at the beginning of the evening and it looked as if they had a final quarrel because after that they avoided each other, and Stephanie left early and on her own, as I said.'

‘Did she confide in you about her love affair and being upset because of it?'

‘Oh, no. Oh, no. She wasn't the sort to – to weep on anyone's shoulder.'

Mr Webster asked: ‘Did she ever mention that she might take her own life?'

Anne Vincent hesitated a moment. ‘Heavens, no! The last thing.'

‘D'you mean it was the last thing you would expect her to do?'

‘Oh, absolutely. She was highly strung but not that sort.'

‘Not even in the wake of a broken love affair?'

‘I would never have thought it could happen. Ever!'

Sir Anthony Maidment was called, and two others of Stephanie's friends, who all agreed about Miss Locke as being a cheerful, highly charged, exuberant person whom they had never imagined was a prey to depression.

The coroner said to Maidment: ‘ Did the deceased in your opinion drink too much?'

‘She – enjoyed drink – as many of us do.'

‘And on Sunday night did you think she was drinking too much?'

‘I didn't have a lot of time to look at my friends individually, y'know. I was the host, and there were over a hundred of us.'

‘And drugs?'

The young man hesitated. ‘Well no, sir, as it happened. You see, my mother was there, and I'd put in a special request to my friends – those who were fond of a – a snort or a drag. So I certainly didn't see any of that about. Anyway, I never saw Stephanie take anything, even at college parties.'

The coroner put much the same questions to Count Marcus Scanderbeg (Zog to his friends) who replied in much the same way.

‘As Sir Anthony says, it is a party at which there is a good deal of laughter and high spirits and drink. Stephanie is a little high, yes. As I have seen her so before, no more and no less. She drinks gin and tonic, and sometimes beer and gin. They have a name for it. I forget.'

‘Rat's tail,' said someone in the court.

The coroner frowned. ‘Would you say she was in a fit condition to drive herself home?'

Scanderbeg shrugged. ‘She is not perhaps fit to pass the breathalyser. But then she did not have to, did she?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I believe Arun drove her home. Is it not so?'

The coroner frowned again, and bent to speak to Inspector Summers, who confirmed that he knew all about this.

‘Call Dr Arun Jiva.'

A tall, fair-skinned Indian of thirty-odd went into the box. He had an austere expression and wore a deep white collar and pince-nez, which gave him an Edwardian look.

‘You are Dr Arun Jiva, of twenty-one Caxton Street, Oxford.'

‘That is correct, sir. Except …'

‘Except?'

‘I am from Delhi, sir. I am qualified to practise in India, but not in England. I am a postgraduate student at St Martin's College, and am at present studying for a doctorate in pathology at the Sir William Dunn School.'

‘Is it true that you gave the deceased a lift home last Sunday evening?'

‘Yes, sir. I was myself leaving Sir Anthony's party at round about midnight, for I had much work to do, when I saw Miss Locke bending over her car and went up to her. She said – if I may quote her – she said, “The flaming battery is flat.” So I offered her a lift in my car.'

‘Did you know Miss Locke?'

‘Oh, yes, sir. I have been in Oxford nearly three years and I have known her most of that time.'

‘What happened?'

‘I drove her home, that is what happened. Broomfield Road, where she lives – lived – is not very far from my house. It was no trouble at all.'

‘Did she seem in any way distressed?'

‘She did not seem happy. We had very little conversation on the way. I thought she was angry about her car. When we got to her flat she thanked me and got out. I sat there until I saw a light go on in her flat – then I drove off.'

‘And you saw nothing more of her?'

‘No, sir.'

‘Did you think her the worse for drink?'

Dr Arun Jiva adjusted his pince-nez. ‘I think she is a little. I saw her stumble once on the way up to her flat. I have, of course … It is not the first time I have seen her so. But usually she was jolly with it.'

‘And this time?'

‘Well, angry, as I have said. And depressed.'

‘Thank you.'

After the luncheon break the first witness was Errol Colton.

It was James's first sight of Stephanie's lover. Taller than imagined. Bony, with high forehead, darkly wiry hair, sensual mouth, eccentric Jack Nicholson eyebrows, intent eyes, fingers that wanted to drum on the edge of the box.

‘You are Mr Errol Colton of Partridge Manor, Upper Kimble, Buckinghamshire? … Will you please tell the court anything you think will help me in this case.'

‘I don't know that I can help you very much, sir, but I felt it was my duty to come forward and offer what evidence I can.' He cleared his throat and stumbled over a word or two. ‘Stephanie Locke and I were lovers … We – we met at a house party before Christmas – and … you know. We met regularly through February and March, and in April, as I had to go to India on business, I invited her to go with me. This she did. When I came home I had what I suppose might be termed a crisis of conscience. My wife had rightly taken exception to my going on like this, and I wasn't anxious for her to divorce me. I also have a daughter to consider. My own home life is important to me.' He coughed carefully into his fist. ‘Also, although
she
certainly didn't want our affair to end – I mean Stephanie didn't – I thought it would be much better for her if we broke up. She was still very young. To get permanently involved with me – or any man like me – sixteen or seventeen years older and married – would be a mistake. She needed someone of her own age.'

The coroner said drily: ‘It might have been better if you had considered these matters before you entered on this affair, Mr er–Colton.'

Errol nodded slowly. ‘ I have thought so since. I believe I thought so at the time; but Miss Locke was a very attractive young woman – and a very determined one. She was – how shall I put it? – set on a course, and she was almost impossible to resist.'

‘So then?'

‘When we came home I told her our affair had to come to an end. She refused to believe me, told me I couldn't leave her, we meant too much to each other, et cetera. When I didn't go to see her she bombarded me with letters and telephone calls. I went to see her twice. On the second occasion, on the – on the Wednesday before her death she became hysterical, threatened …'