immediately.’
There were gasps. He tried not to think about Dot watching him from one end of the front row, or Nuala and her sister from the other.
‘Why not?’
‘I believed him when he said there was no time and I saw he truly wished to end his life and … I believe he had a right to.’
‘So, let me get this right for the record, Mr Johnson. Knowing Lenny Barnes to be dying, you did nothing to help him?’
‘No. I helped him.’
‘How?’
‘By prayer. He asked me to pray for him. And I realized that was why he wanted me to be there at the end. For prayer. I administered Extreme Unction.’
‘Could you explain?’
‘I anointed him with chrism – holy oil – from this.’ He held up his little oil bottle for her to see.
‘You happened to have that with you although you didn’t know his intentions?’
‘I have it with me at all times, as I do my communion set. I never know when it might be needed. I am a priest, not a paramedic or a doctor. I have few skills. I’ve been on a first aid at work course – everyone on our parish team has – but I’m not confident I could give CPR correctly. But I do know I can pray for a dying man’s eternal soul and I am confident that prayer will offer comfort to the dying and will be heard with kindness by God.’
The room was utterly quiet now except for seagulls briefly squabbling on one of its high-up windowsills and the crystalline patter of computer keys as the clerk took rapid notes on his laptop. It seemed to Barnaby that the space was shrinking about him until it was unbearably full of people breathing and listening and waiting. He made himself take another sip of water because nerves were making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He looked up and found the coroner’s face turned full upon him. She no longer looked like a sympathetic royal.
‘He lost consciousness before I reached the end of the prayer, I think,’ he continued. ‘He slipped sideways in his chair.’
‘Please go on,’ she said.
‘Lenny had written letters to his mother and fiancée. I’d promised I’d see they were delivered and I was anxious that should happen and that they shouldn’t be taken by the police.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was his dying wish and they were private letters, not evidence. So I rang Mrs Barnes. She wasn’t answering, unfortunately, so I had to leave a message.’
Without thinking he let his eyes stray to Nuala as he spoke, and found her staring back at him, her eyes stricken. He looked back at the coroner and her face of judgement.
‘I didn’t go into details,’ he told her, ‘but I said it was bad, that she should ask a friend to drive her. Then I asked a neighbour I had spoken to earlier – Kitty Arnold – to hang onto the letters until Mrs Barnes arrived. Then I dialled 999 and called for police and an ambulance.’
‘And you gave yourself up for arrest?’
‘I knew the circumstances were ambiguous. I thought it more honest to be arrested and trust in justice than just to slip away. I knew that as an attender of the suicide I might be thought to have assisted it.’
‘And as we have seen,’ the coroner said, with a severe glance at the public seats, ‘that is precisely what some people have chosen to believe. However your honesty in the case was respected and the Crown Prosecution Service decided on the Monday following that there was no case to be made against you and the charge of assisted suicide was dropped. Thank you, Mr Johnson. That will be all.’
She waited, consulting her notes, while Barnaby returned to his seat. ‘Mrs Barnes,’ she then said. ‘There’s no need to come up here as my question to you is very brief. Did you receive this letter from your son?’ There was no answer. ‘Mrs Barnes?’
‘Yes.’ Nuala’s voice sounded high and strained, not like herself at all.
‘I know this is very hard for you, therefore I’ll word my sentence so a simple yes or no answer will be all you need give.
There were gasps. He tried not to think about Dot watching him from one end of the front row, or Nuala and her sister from the other.
‘Why not?’
‘I believed him when he said there was no time and I saw he truly wished to end his life and … I believe he had a right to.’
‘So, let me get this right for the record, Mr Johnson. Knowing Lenny Barnes to be dying, you did nothing to help him?’
‘No. I helped him.’
‘How?’
‘By prayer. He asked me to pray for him. And I realized that was why he wanted me to be there at the end. For prayer. I administered Extreme Unction.’
‘Could you explain?’
‘I anointed him with chrism – holy oil – from this.’ He held up his little oil bottle for her to see.
‘You happened to have that with you although you didn’t know his intentions?’
‘I have it with me at all times, as I do my communion set. I never know when it might be needed. I am a priest, not a paramedic or a doctor. I have few skills. I’ve been on a first aid at work course – everyone on our parish team has – but I’m not confident I could give CPR correctly. But I do know I can pray for a dying man’s eternal soul and I am confident that prayer will offer comfort to the dying and will be heard with kindness by God.’
The room was utterly quiet now except for seagulls briefly squabbling on one of its high-up windowsills and the crystalline patter of computer keys as the clerk took rapid notes on his laptop. It seemed to Barnaby that the space was shrinking about him until it was unbearably full of people breathing and listening and waiting. He made himself take another sip of water because nerves were making his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He looked up and found the coroner’s face turned full upon him. She no longer looked like a sympathetic royal.
‘He lost consciousness before I reached the end of the prayer, I think,’ he continued. ‘He slipped sideways in his chair.’
‘Please go on,’ she said.
‘Lenny had written letters to his mother and fiancée. I’d promised I’d see they were delivered and I was anxious that should happen and that they shouldn’t be taken by the police.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it was his dying wish and they were private letters, not evidence. So I rang Mrs Barnes. She wasn’t answering, unfortunately, so I had to leave a message.’
Without thinking he let his eyes stray to Nuala as he spoke, and found her staring back at him, her eyes stricken. He looked back at the coroner and her face of judgement.
‘I didn’t go into details,’ he told her, ‘but I said it was bad, that she should ask a friend to drive her. Then I asked a neighbour I had spoken to earlier – Kitty Arnold – to hang onto the letters until Mrs Barnes arrived. Then I dialled 999 and called for police and an ambulance.’
‘And you gave yourself up for arrest?’
‘I knew the circumstances were ambiguous. I thought it more honest to be arrested and trust in justice than just to slip away. I knew that as an attender of the suicide I might be thought to have assisted it.’
‘And as we have seen,’ the coroner said, with a severe glance at the public seats, ‘that is precisely what some people have chosen to believe. However your honesty in the case was respected and the Crown Prosecution Service decided on the Monday following that there was no case to be made against you and the charge of assisted suicide was dropped. Thank you, Mr Johnson. That will be all.’
She waited, consulting her notes, while Barnaby returned to his seat. ‘Mrs Barnes,’ she then said. ‘There’s no need to come up here as my question to you is very brief. Did you receive this letter from your son?’ There was no answer. ‘Mrs Barnes?’
‘Yes.’ Nuala’s voice sounded high and strained, not like herself at all.
‘I know this is very hard for you, therefore I’ll word my sentence so a simple yes or no answer will be all you need give.
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