Martin and Jack had assumed discrete stand-off positions,
surveying each other disdainfully as the inquest proceedings began. As Sam and
Jim flew into the hall the whole room, including the Coroner, Martin and Jack,
turned to see what the commotion was. The constable who had intervened several
minutes earlier rolled his eyes as he realised he probably had another
situation to calm down.
The Coroner, half sat as the door swung open, paused and
waited for the two men to stop moving, his eyes trained on the same point as
everyone else’s. Sam and Jim stopped, sweeping around to see thirty five pairs
of eyes looking at them.
‘I would appreciate it if you would sit down and keep
quiet, gentlemen,’ said Alfred Makeson, nodding to the querulous look from the
constable. Muttering apologies, they slipped back into their seats where Martin
sat, his face like thunder. As they settled down, both the Coroner and Martin
spoke together, the former into a microphone, the other into Sam’s ear. The
Coroner halted his delivery and stared at the late arrivals again, showing his
displeasure. Martin, chastened, offered his apology and started to consider
exit strategies.
As the Coroner resumed his opening phrases he was further
disturbed by the hall door opening. He sighed deeply.
‘Please enter and sit down, Mr Parkinson, hopefully you are
the last person to enter this inquest late,’ he said, his teeth bared as he
spoke. Again he paused to allow Alan time to find his seat and was about to
resume speaking when the hall door opened again. For the third time the entire
congregation of the hall turned to the door and watched as Karen slipped
quietly into her seat.
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Copyright Ray Sullivan 2011
The characters, places and events described in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, places or events, past or present, is coincidence. All rights reserved
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