Ken McClure - Pestilence

Saracen stared at the white linen covered heads, unable to think why they should still be there. Why, if the compressor had really failed, had not all the bodies been removed? He pulled out each tray in turn and read the labels. Anne Hartman, Maud Finnegan. The shrouds were still cold but had started to feel damp with the rising temperature. Maybe there had been a number of bodies in the vaults thought Saracen and they were being transferred in relays. He found the mortuary register and checked on the idea. It proved wrong. There were only two bodies listed for the vaults, Hartman and Finnegan and they were still there so only one body could have been taken away by the undertakers, that of Leonard Cohen, Chenhui’s dead on arrival case. It was beginning to look as if the story of a compressor failure had been a subterfuge for the quick removal of Cohen’s body from the hospital. On the other hand the refrigeration unit did seem to be out of action.

Saracen examined the small door in the housing that covered the machinery and saw that it was secured by three screws. He fetched a screwdriver from the tool drawer and undid them. There was no smell of burning or any sign of damaged wiring so he began a systematic check. He traced the path of the main cable to the motor and then all the lines to subsidiary units and switches, finding nothing amiss until he looked at the mounting panel. There was a hole in it.

Saracen took a closer look and saw that the hole should have held a circuit breaker fuse. It had been removed. Could that be all that was wrong with the unit? he wondered, excited at the thought of having discovered deliberate sabotage. He searched through the tool drawer again and found a replacement fuse and holder but fitting it was going to be awkward for the panel was tucked up behind the wiring loom of the motor. He tried first from the right hand side but found that he could not reach so he changed his position on the floor and reached in with his left hand. He could almost reach the panel; just another few centimetres would be enough. He altered position slightly again and pressed his cheek up against the side of the unit to give himself the extra distance but, as he did so, he caught sight of something black on the floor. It was the toe of a shoe. Someone was standing behind him!

The shock of the discovery made Saracen jerk his hand back and in doing so he touched the live wiring on the side of the motor. The mains voltage shot through him like a shower of arrows flinging him backwards across the floor to land in an ungainly heap.

Fear took precedence over pain in Saracen’s head. He looked up and saw Nigel Garten looking down at him as if he were a stain on the ground.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” demanded Garten.

“I thought I could fix the fridge,” replied Saracen weakly.

“We have engineers for that sort of thing,” said Garten coldly, “Unless this is a particular hobby of yours?”

Saracen felt foolish and it made him aggressive. “I think someone removed the circuit breaker,” he said, staring Garten straight in the eye.

“I did,” said Garten calmly. “The compressor was leaking gas. I didn’t want anyone switching the unit back on and ruining it.”

“I see,” said Saracen, feeling more foolish than ever. “Perhaps you can also tell me why only one body was removed and why two were left behind?”

Garten stared down at Saracen in silence then he said slowly, “I beg your pardon?”

“I asked why only one body had been removed and two left behind,” said Saracen, feeling intimidated.

“Could it be that the undertakers’ vehicle can only accommodate two bodies at the one time? Three bodies equals…two trips?”

“Could be,” agreed Saracen quietly and now feeling absolutely ridiculous. He got to his feet and started to brush himself down for his clothes were in a mess. Garten looked at him distastefully and said curtly, “I’ll bid you good-night. Lock up before you go.”

Saracen went back to the locker room in A amp;E to change his clothes for he kept a spare set there as necessary insurance against periodic dousing with blood, vomit or whatever. Mercifully he met no one and was able to leave again without having to offer an explanation to anyone. As he left the building a posse of policemen were escorting four drunken men through the swing doors. They had been involved in some kind of violent confrontation by the look of them and two were still trying to get at each other. “All the best Nigel,” said Saracen under his breath as he got into his car and started the engine.

When he had got over the burning embarrassment of having been discovered in the mortuary by Garten, Saracen saw that he could still be right. The removal of the circuit breaker might still have been the only thing wrong with the refrigeration unit. Garten’s glib explanation might have been nothing more than a lie. It could still all have been an excuse for the quick removal of Cohen’s body. But why? Unlike Myra Archer Cohen was definitely dead when he arrived at Skelmore General so there was no question of any mistake having been made or any delay being involved this time. What was Garten afraid of? Saracen decided that there was now a second post-mortem report he would have to take a look at.

Sudden death demanded an inquest unless the victim’s general practitioner felt able to sign the death certificate. A hospital doctor could also sign but would not in the case of a patient who was dead on arrival. In that instance a post-mortem would be a sine qua non for establishing the cause of death and the subsequent issuing of a death certificate. With luck Dave Moss would get a look at the PM report on Myra Archer in the morning and let him know what it said. Maybe that would shed some light on things.

Saracen had an idea. If he got a move on in the morning he could contact the undertakers, Maurice Dolman and Sons, and arrange to examine Leonard Cohen’s body himself! That would be better then just waiting for the report on the autopsy. To hell with Garten and to hell with the consequences. He had to know what was going on.

Saracen phoned Dolman’s at nine in the morning. “This is Dr Saracen at Skelmore General. I understand you have custody of the body of Leonard Cohen?”

“That is correct,” said the sombre voice, “We were asked to assist when your refrigeration system broke down.”

“I’d like to see the body,” said Saracen.

There was a pause then Dolman said, “Of course Doctor. When would you like to come?”

Saracen looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes?”

“I’ll expect you.”

Saracen put down the phone and felt deflated for the man had shown no surprise at all. It was almost as if he had been expecting the call. Was that a possibility? he wondered. Could Garten have warned him? Saracen picked up the phone again and contacted the hospital switchboard. He asked for the number of the contract engineer for refrigeration equipment in the hospital and jotted it down on the pad in front of him. He called it.

“I take it you have been informed of the compressor failure in the mortuary at Skelmore General last night?” he asked.

“No,” replied the puzzled voice. “This is the first we have heard of it.”

“My mistake,” said Saracen and put the phone down. At least he had been right about one thing.

“Is that you phoning your stockbroker again?” joked Alan Tremaine who was passing.

“I have to go out for about half an hour,” said Saracen. “Look after the shop will you.”

“Sure. Are you going up to see Chenhui?”

Saracen told Tremaine that he was going up to Dolman’s to have a look at the body Chenhui was asked to certify.

“He was a DOA wasn’t he?”

Saracen nodded.