Pestilence by Ken McClure Page B

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&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