Ken McClure - Tangled Web

Gordon hadn’t met Sepp before. His first impression was that he was like every other middle-aged Pathologist he’d met. It wasn’t so much a matter of appearance, more a case of demeanour. They invariably seemed to be people for whom life had lost interest. Sepp outlined the course of the internal inquiry in his department in a dull monotone, the bottom line being that no one admitted to knowing anything about the mix-up.

‘Would anyone like to ask me anything?’

Mary Hallam asked about the biological waste disposal system.

‘The path lab is the central collection point for all such waste,’ explained Sepp. ‘Waste tissue from the theatres is brought here first by the porters and then taken together with our own waste to the boiler house incinerator in the evening.’

‘Every day?’

‘Usually except of course when there isn’t any.’

‘How often would that be?’

‘Maybe one day a week, depends on the surgical lists and what sort of operations they’re doing.’

‘So for four days out of the working five, biological waste is taken to the incinerator?’

‘Yes,’ replied Sepp, appearing vaguely puzzled at the line of questioning.

Mary said softly but quite clearly, ‘Then surely such a regular requirement merits an organised staff rota so that you’d actually know who was responsible on any given day?’

‘With hindsight, yes,’ agreed Sepp, deflecting her implied criticism with the unspoken suggestion that everyone sees clearly with the benefit of hindsight. ‘It just so happens that my people have always worked well together without the need for such bureaucracy. I don’t believe in unnecessary tiers of administration.’

Gordon and Mary exchanged another glance. He reflected on the fact that nothing was as secure as the stable door the day after the horse had bolted. The impression that Sepp ran a sloppy department was building inside him.

There was a slight lull in the questions before Christine Williams, looking vaguely uneasy and beginning by apologising for her lack of medical or scientific expertise, said, ‘I’m not quite clear about the child’s coffin.’

People waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. Eventually Sepp said, ‘What exactly is it that you don’t understand?’

‘Why was the child’s coffin lying about in your department in the first place?’

Good point thought Gordon. The others seemed interested too.

‘This happens from time to time,’ said Sepp, ‘usually when there has been some sort of delay, as was the case with the PM on Megan Griffiths. In the normal course of events the undertakers liaise with the mortuary attendants about the arrangements for uplift of a body. They then bring the coffin along, load it and take it away.’

‘So the undertakers are the ones responsible for putting the body in the coffin?’

‘Yes.’

‘But not in this instance, apparently?’

‘No, Megan Griffiths’ body was not ready for release when the undertakers arrived. Her PM had had to be re-scheduled at a later time for some administrative reason. I can’t remember what the reason was off-hand.’

‘So they left the coffin in the mortuary?’

‘That’s what normally happens in such cases.’

‘But surely it should still have been the job of the undertakers to put Megan’s body in the coffin when they came back for it?’

‘Apparently that didn’t happen this time,’ said Sepp. ‘The child’s body — or not the child’s body as it turned out — was already in the coffin and the lid had been screwed down when Prosser’s people came for it.’

‘Wouldn’t that have struck the undertakers as being unusual?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Sepp.

‘This kind of thing happens, does it?’

Sepp moved his feet a little uneasily. ‘As I explained earlier, the undertakers liaise with the mortuary attendants over... procedural details.’

‘Procedural details?’ repeated Liam Swanson, sensing a vulnerability about Sepp.

‘There’s nothing sinister about it,’ Sepp assured him. ‘For instance, it’s the undertakers’ responsibility to come and measure a body before supplying a coffin. In practice they often reach an accommodation with the attendants.’

‘You mean the attendants measure the body instead of the undertaker’s men?’

‘And then phone the undertakers with the figures, yes, it saves them sending someone all the way out here with a measuring tape.’

‘Presumably there’s something in it for the attendants?’

‘I think a small fee’s involved,’ agreed Sepp.

‘So are you telling us then that this understanding sometimes extends to putting bodies in coffins?’ asked Swanson.

‘On occasion,’ agreed Sepp.

‘What sort of occasion?’

‘If the undertakers were hard-pressed, say, with several funerals on the same morning for instance, they might seek the assistance of the mortuary attendants in speeding things up.’

‘You don’t think it lacks... dignity?’ asked Christine Williams.

‘I don’t think the corpses care too much about whether they’re put into coffins by men in black suits or men in white, wearing plastic aprons and Wellington boots,’ replied Sepp, betraying a waspish streak. Trool gave him a warning glance.

‘I presume you questioned the mortuary attendants about such an understanding in this instance?’ asked Swanson.

‘Of course. Neither was aware of any and both of them denied loading the coffin.’

‘And I really think that brings us to the starting point of your inquiry, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Trool interceding smoothly. ‘Perhaps Dr Sepp and I should now leave you to discuss details among yourselves. I’ve arranged with Mr Harcourt, our hospital manager, that this room will be kept free for you at all times.’

Trool and Sepp left the room. Swanson looked at his watch and said to the others, ‘I don’t see much point in our discussing things further this evening when we really don’t have anything to discuss as yet. I suggest we each take our files home and acquaint ourselves with the details and then meet again.’

‘When?’ asked Gordon.

People looked at each other.

‘Thursday lunchtime?’ suggested Swanson.

This suited everyone except Lady Arabella and Mary Hallam who would be on duty.

‘I suspected that this might be the case,’ said Swanson. ‘We’re all busy people; it’s going to be difficult to find times that are convenient for all of us.’

‘It’s an informal inquiry,’ Gordon reminded the others. ‘I suggest that we operate with a majority — or even as individuals should the occasion arise where one of us feels like pursuing a line of inquiry. We can then meet to pool our findings when we actually have something to discuss. Let those of us who can make it meet on Thursday and then we can play it be ear?’

This was agreed.

Gordon started to move towards Mary Hallam as she got up to leave, intending to introduce himself, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Liam Swanson. He said, ‘You must be Julie Rees’s partner. I don’t think we’ve met before.’

Gordon found himself shaking hands and making small talk as, over Swanson’s shoulder, he watched Mary smile and head out of the door.

‘Strange business,’ said Swanson.

‘Bizarre,’ agreed Gordon. ‘It strikes me it was a very odd mix-up to happen in the first place.’

‘How so?’

‘For a mix-up to have occurred between Megan Griffiths’ body and the biological waste bag would require that Megan herself was in a plastic bag when she was put into her coffin. How come?’

‘Good point,’ agreed Swanson. ‘Mind you, thinking back to my own days as a medical student, pathology departments were never places where you’d find much respect for the dead.’