A Poisoned Mind by Natasha Cooper Page A

knowing answers.’
    Hiding a smile at the reminder of one of the first rules any baby barrister learned, Trish looked at the witness once more.
    ‘Did you believe him, Doctor?’ she said again.
    ‘Not entirely.’
    ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because Angela Fortwell was entirely capable of consulting me if she had those feelings, and she had never mentioned them.’
    ‘To what extent do you believe he could have been describing his own feelings?’ Trish was careful not to let her voice betray how much she cared what his answer would be.
    ‘I have to say quite a great extent. It definitely did seem the likeliest explanation for his coming to see me.’ The doctor’s reluctance was as clear as the apology in his expression. He no longer looked at Angie Fortwell.
    Trish paused for a moment, then smiled at him. ‘Would it
be true to say that among the commonest symptoms of depression are forgetfulness, an inability to complete planned tasks, lying about the consequences of that, and …’ She paused for emphasis: ‘And suicidal thoughts?’
    ‘It would.’
    ‘Did Mr Fortwell mention those, either in connection with his wife or with himself?’
    ‘No.’ Doctor Jenkins was firm. ‘Absolutely not. Never.’
    ‘And did he make any further appointments to return to your surgery?’
    ‘He did make one more, which he failed to keep. When my receptionist phoned him, he said he had forgotten.’
    ‘What inference did you make then?’
    The doctor glared at Trish, then looked more politely towards the judge: ‘That he had forgotten.’
    The judge didn’t bother to hide a smile.
    ‘Thank you, doctor.’ Having got exactly what she wanted, Trish sat and left him to be re-examined by Angie Fortwell.
    She had just risen to her feet for her next stint when the judge said he thought this would be a good moment to adjourn, inviting them all to return to court at two o’clock. Angie looked puzzled, then made to sit down again. The bearded man with the worryingly loose red lips shook his head and stood up beside her, pulling down the cuffs of his hand-knitted sludge-green jersey.
    The judge also got to his feet, everyone else followed suit and bowed. He left by the door behind the bench and the others collected their bags. Trish overheard Angie muttering, but couldn’t distinguish any words.
    She felt Robert twitching her gown and turned her head, leaning back to hear him hiss:
    ‘If you were my pupil, I’d take you behind the nearest bike sheds and give you the thrashing of your life. What did you think you were doing just then?’
    Trish giggled. Robert’s exaggeration was too absurd to take seriously. She couldn’t even remind him that he ought to have a bit more faith in her experience – and at least fake some respect for his leader. Still laughing, she straightened up and found herself only inches from Angie Fortwell, whose weather-beaten face looked even more accusing than it had done in the newspaper.
    ‘It’s just a game to you, isn’t it?’ A film of tears looked like an extra lens plastered over each eyeball. ‘You think it’s funny. ’
    Trish sobered at once.
    ‘How can you?’ Angie stopped to take a deep breath. ‘If you had any idea of the kind of man my husband was—’ A few tears fell. She had to breathe in again, across a sobbing exhalation, and nearly choked. She clutched her hands around her stomach as though to hold in unbearable pain.
    The scruffy man with her tugged at her elbow, trying to make her stand up straight. At last Angie swallowed hard and stopped hugging her stomach.
    ‘You shouldn’t be able to laugh,’ she said. ‘There are people involved here, real people in real pain. It’s not so funny when you think of it like that, is it?’
    ‘You and I can’t discuss the progress of the case.’ Trish tried to ignore all the sympathy that was making her feel so queasy.
    Angie coughed with a harsh sound that must have rasped her already tight throat.
    ‘You’re trying to suggest he