angle of the whole interior.
Jenny studied it, aware of something feeling out of place. ‘There was an object hanging from the rear-view mirror – it was there on the police photographs.’
Alison scrolled back through her pictures. ‘Was there? I didn’t see anything.’
‘Hold on.’
Jenny walked back into her office and called up the email from Gloucester CID. She opened the pictures taken by the police photographer, time-coded at 9.48 a.m. Hanging from the rear-view mirror was a wooden figurine. ‘Look – here it is.’
Joining her, Alison peered at the monitor. ‘No, I didn’t see anything like that. Perhaps the police took it? It’s possible.’
Before Alison could come up with an alternative explanation, the phone rang on her desk. While she hurried out to reception to answer it, Jenny zoomed in further on the figurine until, blurring at the edges, it filled half her screen. Close up it looked crude, something whittled at the fireside rather than a precious object. It hung from a rough leather thong attached to a small metal loop screwed into the crown of the skull.
‘It’s Mrs Jordan, for you,’ Alison called through. ‘She sounds a bit fraught. Shall I deal with her?’
‘I’ll take it.’ Jenny picked up the handset on her desk. ‘Mrs Jordan?’
Karen Jordan responded in a dull yet determined, heavily medicated voice. ‘I want to see my husband.’
‘There’s no hurry. An identification can wait until tomorrow. Or perhaps he has another close relative—’
‘I want to see him now,’ Mrs Jordan said. ‘I have a right.’
Jenny was in no position to dispute that.
‘Where are you now?’
‘At the hospital. Where else would I be?’
‘I can you meet you at the mortuary at two o’clock.’
‘Fine.’ She rang off.
Jenny put down the phone to see Alison at the doorway. ‘You don’t have to do that, Mrs Cooper. I’ll go.’
‘I’d like to speak to her anyway.’
‘You’ve got more than enough to see to.’ Alison nodded at the untidy heap on Jenny’s desk. There was a hint of desperation in her offer, as if she couldn’t bear to be left in the office alone.
‘She’s expecting me. She’s very fragile.’
Alison nodded, smiling so widely it threatened to crack her face, and turned back to her desk.
‘Is everything all right?’ Jenny asked.
She glanced back. ‘Perfectly, thank you, Mrs Cooper.’
They both knew it wasn’t true.
Karen Jordan was waiting alone outside the entrance to the mortuary, her pretty face as grey as winter. Jenny drove past in the Land Rover and parked behind the building, out of sight. She knocked at the service entrance that was used largely by undertakers and was shielded from the hospital car park by a pair of painted metal screens. It was a tawdry spot, littered with broken plastic cups and cigarette ends that the caretakers and cleaners seemed to have forgotten existed. The junior technician who opened the door looked surprised to see her there.
She skipped the explanation. ‘I need to see Dr Kerr.’
‘He’s in his office.’
Jenny stepped through into the loading bay, passing several bagged bodies stacked on the floor awaiting collection, and continued on into the main corridor. Andy Kerr came to the door of his office wiping crumbs from his mouth. How he could eat lunch at his desk with cadavers lying on the other side of the door was beyond her understanding.
‘Ah, Mrs Cooper. I was just about to call you.’
She closed the door behind her, shutting out the worst of the mortuary’s nauseating aroma.
‘Did you find anything? His wife’s outside – I wanted to check.’
‘Nothing. That’s the oddity. No alcohol in the blood, no sign of drugs in the stomach. I got hold of his medical records, but apart from some harmless anti-malarials, he’s had nothing prescribed in five years. No depression either, as far as I can tell.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Massive crushing injuries, and multiple haemorrhages. I’d
Jenny studied it, aware of something feeling out of place. ‘There was an object hanging from the rear-view mirror – it was there on the police photographs.’
Alison scrolled back through her pictures. ‘Was there? I didn’t see anything.’
‘Hold on.’
Jenny walked back into her office and called up the email from Gloucester CID. She opened the pictures taken by the police photographer, time-coded at 9.48 a.m. Hanging from the rear-view mirror was a wooden figurine. ‘Look – here it is.’
Joining her, Alison peered at the monitor. ‘No, I didn’t see anything like that. Perhaps the police took it? It’s possible.’
Before Alison could come up with an alternative explanation, the phone rang on her desk. While she hurried out to reception to answer it, Jenny zoomed in further on the figurine until, blurring at the edges, it filled half her screen. Close up it looked crude, something whittled at the fireside rather than a precious object. It hung from a rough leather thong attached to a small metal loop screwed into the crown of the skull.
‘It’s Mrs Jordan, for you,’ Alison called through. ‘She sounds a bit fraught. Shall I deal with her?’
‘I’ll take it.’ Jenny picked up the handset on her desk. ‘Mrs Jordan?’
Karen Jordan responded in a dull yet determined, heavily medicated voice. ‘I want to see my husband.’
‘There’s no hurry. An identification can wait until tomorrow. Or perhaps he has another close relative—’
‘I want to see him now,’ Mrs Jordan said. ‘I have a right.’
Jenny was in no position to dispute that.
‘Where are you now?’
‘At the hospital. Where else would I be?’
‘I can you meet you at the mortuary at two o’clock.’
‘Fine.’ She rang off.
Jenny put down the phone to see Alison at the doorway. ‘You don’t have to do that, Mrs Cooper. I’ll go.’
‘I’d like to speak to her anyway.’
‘You’ve got more than enough to see to.’ Alison nodded at the untidy heap on Jenny’s desk. There was a hint of desperation in her offer, as if she couldn’t bear to be left in the office alone.
‘She’s expecting me. She’s very fragile.’
Alison nodded, smiling so widely it threatened to crack her face, and turned back to her desk.
‘Is everything all right?’ Jenny asked.
She glanced back. ‘Perfectly, thank you, Mrs Cooper.’
They both knew it wasn’t true.
Karen Jordan was waiting alone outside the entrance to the mortuary, her pretty face as grey as winter. Jenny drove past in the Land Rover and parked behind the building, out of sight. She knocked at the service entrance that was used largely by undertakers and was shielded from the hospital car park by a pair of painted metal screens. It was a tawdry spot, littered with broken plastic cups and cigarette ends that the caretakers and cleaners seemed to have forgotten existed. The junior technician who opened the door looked surprised to see her there.
She skipped the explanation. ‘I need to see Dr Kerr.’
‘He’s in his office.’
Jenny stepped through into the loading bay, passing several bagged bodies stacked on the floor awaiting collection, and continued on into the main corridor. Andy Kerr came to the door of his office wiping crumbs from his mouth. How he could eat lunch at his desk with cadavers lying on the other side of the door was beyond her understanding.
‘Ah, Mrs Cooper. I was just about to call you.’
She closed the door behind her, shutting out the worst of the mortuary’s nauseating aroma.
‘Did you find anything? His wife’s outside – I wanted to check.’
‘Nothing. That’s the oddity. No alcohol in the blood, no sign of drugs in the stomach. I got hold of his medical records, but apart from some harmless anti-malarials, he’s had nothing prescribed in five years. No depression either, as far as I can tell.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Massive crushing injuries, and multiple haemorrhages. I’d
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