Pestilence by Ken McClure Page A

certify Sister?”
    “There’s not much to say. The patient was one Leonard Cohen a sixty-four year old man, retired, living alone. He had been dead for a good few hours.”
    “I take it the body is in the mortuary?”
    “Yes, or rather, no. I mean I’m not sure.”
    Saracen waited for her to explain.
    “Dr Garten said something about the refrigeration system playing up again. He said he was going to contact a firm of undertakers to see if they could help out. I’m not sure if he did in all the commotion or whether the body is still there. You could ask the porter.”
    Saracen found the duty porter tidying up a clutter of wheel chairs in the corridor outside X-Ray. He asked him about the dead man.
    “The undertakers took him away about thirty minutes ago Doc. Was it something important?”
    “I suppose not. Do you happen to know which firm it was?”
    “Maurice Dolman and sons, Ventnor Lane.”
    “Thanks. What’s wrong with the refrigeration anyway?”
    Dr Garten said that the compressor was losing gas and the temperature was rising.”
    Saracen nodded and turned away. He walked back along the corridor without seeing anything for his mind was working. It was happening again! Garten, Chenhui, a dead patient. What the hell was going on? He turned into A&E to say good night to the nurses but found it deserted. He could hear voices coming from the duty room where they were having tea.
    Saracen was about to walk over when his gaze fell on the small wooden cupboard that held the mortuary key for the night porter. A moment’s hesitation then he gave in to the impulse to tip toe towards it and take it silently from its hook. He sidled out of the room again, holding his breath and grimacing with the concentration of moving soundlessly.
    It had started to rain outside but that did not diminish Saracen’s relief at being safely out in the dark. He kept to the shadows and hurried down the hill to the mortuary to unlock the tall wooden doors and step inside.
    Everything was still and silent. He felt for the light switch on the wall with his flattened palm and found it at the second attempt. It was loose in its mounting and a slight trickle of plaster fell to the floor when he pressed it. At first glance nothing appeared to be amiss but Saracen had to admit that he had no real idea of what he was looking for. He crossed the floor and examined the temperature gauge; the needle was reading high, just as it would if the compressor had failed. Saracen pulled back the heavy metal clamp on one of the body vaults and swung the door open to reveal the empty interior. He absent mindedly slid out one of the three trays and pushed it back with the heel of his hand before closing the vault and moving on to the next one. It was empty too, as was the third but the fourth and last one was not. There were two bodies inside.
    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