furiously behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
‘You can. I want to see every body that was
brought in last weekend. The ones you still have, anyway.’
‘Did you ring and ask about this in advance?’ he asked nervously.
‘Look,’ Foster stopped himself. ‘What’s your
name, son?’
‘Luke.’
‘Luke, I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.
It is extremely important that I see those bodies and that I see them immediately. Now I’m going to walk in there and have a look. I think it’s best you don’t try and stop me. Agreed?’
Luke nodded slowly.
‘Good man.’
Foster left him at his desk and barged through a set of double doors that led downstairs to the cold store. He could feel the temperature fall as he went further into the depths. At the bottom was another door. Locked.
‘Luke!’ he shouted. He could feel a draught coming from somewhere, he guessed the hidden approach where hearses and ambulances came to load and
unload.
The young man scurried downstairs and punched
a code into a keypad to one side of the door. There was a click and Foster pushed. He was inside. The air was chilly, though not freezing. He exhaled and caught a fleeting glimpse of his breath in front of him. Rows of cabins filled either side of the room, leaving a wide central area in the middle where a few tables stood. Only one was in use; Foster saw a black body bag. It wasn’t empty.
‘That one’s waiting to be prepared for the
tray,’ Luke said, noticing where Foster’s eyes were straying. ‘Alcoholic,’ he added, as if that explained the delay.
At the far end of the room was a chrome mechanism, a lift, a sort of dumb waiter that delivered the body to the autopsy room upstairs. Next to it Foster saw a large whiteboard. On it were the numbers of each cabin, written beside the surname of the deceased.
‘Do you have any record of when these people
died, or when their bodies were brought in?’
‘It’s in the register.’
‘Get it, please.’
Luke departed while Foster went to a dispenser
and put on a pair of latex gloves. By the time he’d worked them on, Luke had returned, his breathing slightly heavier, with a large black book in his hands.
‘What dates interest you?’
‘For a start, I want to have a look at everyone who was brought in late last Saturday night or on Sunday, regardless of when they actually died.’
Luke put the book down on one of the unoccupied metal tables, running down the page with his finger, then flicking it over. Foster wanted to grab it and look himself but, as he was about to, the technician spoke.
‘Right, we have Fahey.’
Foster looked at the whiteboard. Couldn’t see
the name.
‘Released to the funeral parlour on Thursday,’
Luke added. ‘Road traffic accident.’
Foster made a note of which funeral parlour.
‘Gordon.’
This one was on the wall. Cabin 13. Foster went over himself and pulled hard on the handle and the drawTer slid out. He unzipped the bag to reveal a man, slightly overweight, in his early fifties, he guessed.
His colour was pale blue and his jaw hung open.
Foster looked closely at his chest and torso, then lifted both arms. When he found nothing, he summoned Luke and asked him to help sit the body up.
With much effort, Foster carefully inspected his back.
There wasn’t a blemish on the whole body.
‘Heart attack?’ he asked Luke, who nodded.
‘At home on Saturday night.’
‘Perhaps he won the lottery,’ Foster said, zipping up the bag and shunting the cabin back into its home.
The next name on the list was Ibrahim.
‘This one’s in the deep freeze. Number 30,’ Luke said.
Great, Foster thought, just what I need. There was always at least one cabin where the temperature was 200 below. It stored bodies that required freezing to prevent decomposition. Then, when they were needed, for a second autopsy perhaps, they were thawed out with hot water from the boiler.
‘Is this a keeper?’ he asked.
Luke shook
‘You can. I want to see every body that was
brought in last weekend. The ones you still have, anyway.’
‘Did you ring and ask about this in advance?’ he asked nervously.
‘Look,’ Foster stopped himself. ‘What’s your
name, son?’
‘Luke.’
‘Luke, I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.
It is extremely important that I see those bodies and that I see them immediately. Now I’m going to walk in there and have a look. I think it’s best you don’t try and stop me. Agreed?’
Luke nodded slowly.
‘Good man.’
Foster left him at his desk and barged through a set of double doors that led downstairs to the cold store. He could feel the temperature fall as he went further into the depths. At the bottom was another door. Locked.
‘Luke!’ he shouted. He could feel a draught coming from somewhere, he guessed the hidden approach where hearses and ambulances came to load and
unload.
The young man scurried downstairs and punched
a code into a keypad to one side of the door. There was a click and Foster pushed. He was inside. The air was chilly, though not freezing. He exhaled and caught a fleeting glimpse of his breath in front of him. Rows of cabins filled either side of the room, leaving a wide central area in the middle where a few tables stood. Only one was in use; Foster saw a black body bag. It wasn’t empty.
‘That one’s waiting to be prepared for the
tray,’ Luke said, noticing where Foster’s eyes were straying. ‘Alcoholic,’ he added, as if that explained the delay.
At the far end of the room was a chrome mechanism, a lift, a sort of dumb waiter that delivered the body to the autopsy room upstairs. Next to it Foster saw a large whiteboard. On it were the numbers of each cabin, written beside the surname of the deceased.
‘Do you have any record of when these people
died, or when their bodies were brought in?’
‘It’s in the register.’
‘Get it, please.’
Luke departed while Foster went to a dispenser
and put on a pair of latex gloves. By the time he’d worked them on, Luke had returned, his breathing slightly heavier, with a large black book in his hands.
‘What dates interest you?’
‘For a start, I want to have a look at everyone who was brought in late last Saturday night or on Sunday, regardless of when they actually died.’
Luke put the book down on one of the unoccupied metal tables, running down the page with his finger, then flicking it over. Foster wanted to grab it and look himself but, as he was about to, the technician spoke.
‘Right, we have Fahey.’
Foster looked at the whiteboard. Couldn’t see
the name.
‘Released to the funeral parlour on Thursday,’
Luke added. ‘Road traffic accident.’
Foster made a note of which funeral parlour.
‘Gordon.’
This one was on the wall. Cabin 13. Foster went over himself and pulled hard on the handle and the drawTer slid out. He unzipped the bag to reveal a man, slightly overweight, in his early fifties, he guessed.
His colour was pale blue and his jaw hung open.
Foster looked closely at his chest and torso, then lifted both arms. When he found nothing, he summoned Luke and asked him to help sit the body up.
With much effort, Foster carefully inspected his back.
There wasn’t a blemish on the whole body.
‘Heart attack?’ he asked Luke, who nodded.
‘At home on Saturday night.’
‘Perhaps he won the lottery,’ Foster said, zipping up the bag and shunting the cabin back into its home.
The next name on the list was Ibrahim.
‘This one’s in the deep freeze. Number 30,’ Luke said.
Great, Foster thought, just what I need. There was always at least one cabin where the temperature was 200 below. It stored bodies that required freezing to prevent decomposition. Then, when they were needed, for a second autopsy perhaps, they were thawed out with hot water from the boiler.
‘Is this a keeper?’ he asked.
Luke shook
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