Линда Ла Плант - Unholy Murder

Arriving home, the first thing she did was phone DI Stanley.

‘Where are you?’ he asked.

Jane said she was at home, then recounted how Boon had knocked her over at the building site and being covered in mud she needed to change her clothes.

Stanley laughed. ‘I wish I’d been there to see that.’

‘Yeah, well, it wasn’t funny for me. Boon’s a walking disaster zone,’ she replied before telling Stanley about the coffin being taken to the mortuary.

‘If the coffin’s empty, you’ve wasted ‘job’ money by calling out the undertakers and arranging a post-mortem. You could have opened it at the site to save time and money.’

‘I didn’t feel it was appropriate to look inside it on the site,’ she countered. ‘What do I do if there is a body in it?’

‘Under the coroner’s rules, a pathologist has to do a routine examination before it can be released for burial, and they won’t do it for free!’ he told her.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that would be the case.’

‘What time are they opening the coffin?’

‘One o’clock. I was going to go to Queen Mary’s straight from here. Will you be attending the mortuary?’

‘No, I won’t. I’ve better things to do,’ he said dismissively.

‘I spoke with the local priest, Father Christopher Floridia. He’s helping me regarding the correct religious procedure, and he said—’

‘I’m not interested in what he has to say! Body or no body in that coffin, hand the bloody case over to the coroner’s officer and he can deal with it,’ Stanley barked before putting the phone down.

Jane was annoyed at how disrespectful Stanley had been — not just to her but also to Father Chris, who was only trying to help. She went to her bedroom to change her clothes and looking in her dressing-table mirror noticed a smear of mud on her face. She felt mortified realising it must have been there when she met Father Chris and he hadn’t said anything so as not to embarrass her. She also knew Boon must have seen the mud and deliberately failed to mention it just because she’d told him to stay at the building site.

Having washed and changed, Jane made a cheese and tomato sandwich, which she ate with a packet of crisps and a mug of hot chocolate. Sitting at her breakfast bar, she looked up the phone number for St Mary’s Church in the phone book and jotted it down in her notebook. She looked forward to meeting Father Chris again and wondered if she should call him and let him know that her DI wanted a coroner’s officer to deal with the case and not her. She picked up the phone, started to dial, then put it down, deciding she would visit him at the church and tell him personally after the coffin was opened.

Arriving at Queen Mary’s Hospital Jane went to the coroner’s staff office, next to the mortuary. The cramped, rundown office had two desks facing each other and a chalkboard on the wall. On the board was a list of deceased people, cause and date of death and their fridge numbers. Jane noticed some blood-stained mortuary overalls on a coat stand and white mortuary boots next to it, which made the room smell like a mixture of death and disinfectant. A swarthy, chubby man in his late forties was sitting at a desk typing, whilst puffing on a cigarette that was hanging out of his mouth. His brown two-piece suit was badly creased and ill-fitting. A black tie hung loosely round his neck and the top button of his white shirt was undone.

Jane introduced herself and said she was dealing with the coffin discovered on the old convent grounds.

‘I’m PC Roger Rogers, the coroner’s officer,’ he said with the cigarette still in his mouth. A lump of ash fell onto his desk. He brushed it off and onto the floor.

‘My DI has asked that the case be handed over to a coroner’s officer as it’s not really a CID matter,’ Jane said.

Rogers raised his eyes in disapproval. ‘It’s not for a DI to decide what happens next, it’s up to the coroner after I’ve appraised him of the results of the coffin examination.’

‘I’ve got the details of the local priest who’s happy to speak with his bishop and assist regarding any reburial and restoration of the coffin to the church,’ Jane told him.

‘Having been a coroner’s officer for many years, I am aware of the necessary procedures in cases like this,’ he said tartly.

Jane decided to ignore his confrontational tone. ‘Has the coffin arrived?’ she asked.

He continued typing. ‘It’s in the mortuary examination room, as is your colleague DC Boon.’

What a pompous little man , Jane thought, turning to walk out the door.

‘No need to rush,’ he said. ‘The pathologist is running late.’

‘Is it Professor Martin?’ Jane asked, having worked with him on previous murder investigations.

Rogers sighed. ‘No, it’s Dr Pullen.’

She picked up on his uneasiness. ‘I’ve not met him before. Is there a problem?’

Rogers frowned. ‘She’s a woman, and about to be fully registered as London’s first female forensic pathologist. Personally, I think it’s a bit early to let her go solo.’

Jane could tell by his tone he was a chauvinist. ‘Well, there’s a first time for everything. If Dr Pullen was trained by the renowned Professor Martin, I’ve no doubt she will be as good at the job as her male counterparts,’ she said.

‘That remains to be seen, love,’ he smirked.

Jane had had enough of Rogers’ attitude. ‘I’m not your “love”, PC Rogers, I’m a sergeant and that makes me your superior officer... and as such I prefer to be addressed as sergeant.’

‘Yes, sarge,’ Rogers said, with a mock salute and look of disdain, before going back to his typing.

At that moment a woman appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily and wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with a tissue. ‘Sorry I’m late, PC Rogers. I’ve just run all the way up the hill from Sidcup railway station.’ She paused for breath. ‘Bloody hell, I’m knackered... and there was me thinking I was reasonably fit.’ She turned to Jane. ‘I’m Dr Samantha Pullen, but everyone calls me Sam or Sammy.’ Pullen was in her late thirties, about five foot seven, thickset, with dark collar-length bob and a straight fringe. She had green eyes, a round face and wore red lipstick, which accentuated her rosy cheeks and broad smile.

Jane thought Pullen looked rather trendy in her burgundy raincoat and matching Baker Boy hat.

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Detective Sergeant Jane Tennison from Bromley CID. Congratulations on your forthcoming appointment as a Home Office forensic pathologist.’

‘Thank you, Jane. I’ve a couple of weeks to go yet... hopefully I won’t screw up before then,’ she added with a big smile.

Rogers stood up, took two stained mortuary gowns from the coat stand and handed one to Jane. ‘Right, let’s get this coffin open.’

‘I’m fine without the gown, thank you,’ Jane replied, putting the gown back and wiping her hand on the side of her skirt.

He shrugged. ‘Please yourself.’

‘I’ll just nip to the mortuary technician’s locker room to get changed, then we’re good to go,’ Pullen said.

Jane followed Rogers to the examination room where Boon was leaning on a work surface, reading a newspaper while eating a Mars Bar.

‘Food is not supposed to be eaten in here, DC Boon,’ Rogers barked, scowling at the resident mortuary technician, Jack, for allowing it to happen.

Jane thought this rather rich coming from someone who was wearing a dirty blood-stained gown that he kept in his office.

The coffin was on an adjustable examination table and Jane went and stood beside Boon. I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Boony.’

He looked alarmed. ‘What have I done now?’