Cold Vengeance - Lincoln Child [19]
His mind was occupied with these thoughts while a string of minor witnesses cycled through. He glanced at Esterhazy. The man had taken great pains to come across as ingenuous, frank, simple to a fault—the typical bumbling American. But he wasn’t bumbling, and he clearly wasn’t stupid. He had both a medical degree and a doctorate—Balfour had checked.
Ainslie’s dry voice went on. “As I mentioned earlier, the purpose of this inquest is to establish if there was a death. The evidence is as follows. It is the testimony of Dr. Esterhazy that he accidentally shot Aloysius Pendergast; that in his medical opinion the wound was mortal; and that he witnessed, with his own eyes, Pendergast’s submergence in the mire. It is the testimony of Inspector Balfour and others that the scene of the accident was fully investigated, and that the scant evidence found on the site was consistent with Dr. Esterhazy’s testimony. The inspector also testified that no body or effects were recovered either from the mire or from the surrounding moorlands. It is Inspector Balfour’s further testimony that, despite an exhaustive search of the neighboring villages, no trace of Mr. Pendergast has been found, and no witnesses to either his living or dead person have come to light.”
He glanced around the common room. “Under the circumstances, there are two possible verdicts that could be delivered consistent with the facts presented: involuntary culpable homicide, or an open verdict. Involuntary culpable homicide is adjudged to be homicide, save for the fact that the mens rea for murder is not present. An open verdict is a verdict in which the cause and circumstances of death, or in this case even the fact of death, cannot be established at the present time.”
He paused and scoured the courtroom again with a pair of cynical eyes. “Based on the testimony and evidence presented here today, I declare an open verdict in this case.”
“Excuse me, sir!” Balfour found that he was suddenly on his feet. “I must protest that verdict.”
Ainslie looked toward him, frowning. “Inspector?”
“While—” Balfour hesitated, tried to collect himself. “While the act in question may not have been murder, it was nevertheless caused by improper conduct. That argues strongly for a verdict of involuntary culpable homicide. We have Dr. Esterhazy’s own testimony to support that verdict. Negligence was clearly the overwhelming factor in this death. There isn’t a scrap of evidence the victim survived the shooting and overwhelming evidence he did not.”
“We do have that testimony,” Ainslie said. “But let me remind you, Inspector: we have no body. We have no corroborative evidence. All we have is the statement of a single eyewitness. And thus we have no independent evidence that anyone was actually killed. Therefore, this inquest has no choice but to render an open verdict.”
Balfour remained standing. “If there’s an open verdict, I have no legal recourse for keeping Dr. Esterhazy in Scotland.”
“If there is an objection,” the coroner went on, “you can always request a judicial review in divisional court.”
A low muttering began to rise from the assembly. Balfour shot another glance at Esterhazy. There was nothing he could do.
“If that is all,” Ainslie said, looking around sternly, “I declare this inquest to be concluded.”
CHAPTER 11
Inverkirkton, Scotland
THE LONE BICYCLIST PEDALED WITH EVIDENT effort up the narrow, winding road. The black three-speed was fitted with a special rack over the rear fender, and it currently held leather panniers, kept in place with bungee cords. The rider was dressed in a dark gray windcheater and dove-colored corduroy trousers, and together with the black bicycle he formed a curiously monochromatic figure, set against the gorse and heather of the Scottish hills.
At the top of the hill, where a series of weathered boulders reared fang-like from the green furze, the road divided at a T-intersection.