husband, Mrs Eckhardt.'
'Have you found him?' she repeated, a harder edge to her voice this time.
'Mrs Eckhardt, at this stage all I'm trying to do is to eliminate names from a list of missing persons. A body was found in a railway tunnel and I'm trying to identify it. Could you tell me, was your husband circumcised?'
'Excuse me?'
'Your husband. Was he circumcised?'
She hesitated for several seconds. 'Oh, I see. Yes. Yes, he was.' She had obviously realised why he had asked the question, for which Wright was immediately grateful.
'Did he wear contact lenses?'
'Yes. Yes, he did.' 'And were there scars on his back? Old scars, small ones.'
'Oh my God,' she whispered.
'Mrs Eckhardt, did he have scars on his back?'
'Yes, he did. It's him, isn't it?'
'I really couldn't say, Mrs Eckhardt, but I would like you to come in and take a look at the body we have.'
'You think it's him, don't you?'
'It's a possibility,' Wright admitted.
'What about his wallet? He had a driving licence, his press card, his credit cards.'
'There were no personal effects on the body, Mrs Eckhardt.'
'But you said he was found in a tunnel. He was hit by a train, wasn't he?'
'No, he wasn't hit by a train. Look, Mrs Eckhardt, I really don't want to say any more until you've had the chance to identify the body.'
'When?'
'As soon as you can,' said Wright. He gave her the address of the mortuary and arranged to meet her there within the hour. Wright put his mobile phone into his jacket pocket. He drank the rest of his coffee, but the bad taste was still in his mouth. He hoped that the body wouldn't be that of May Eckhardt's husband, but he had a feeling that his search was over.
Wright arrived at the mortuary in St Thomas's Hospital fifteen minutes before he was due to meet Mrs Eckhardt. He wanted to check with Dr Littman that the corpse was in a fit state to be viewed. The last time Wright had seen it the face was cut to ribbons and smeared with blood. Dr Littman wasn't there but Robbie Ballantine was, washing up after yet another post mortem.
'What state's the tunnel body in after the post mortem?' Wright asked him. 'I've got a possible relative coming to identify him.'
'The face was pretty cut up,' said Ballantine. 'We've put it back together as best we can, but it's still a mess.'
'Recognisable?'
'I should think so. How close a relative?'
'Wife.'
'Poor cow,' said Ballantine sympathetically.
'If it's her,' said Wright. He looked across at the large clock on the wall over the sink. 'I'd better go along to reception. Can you get it ready?'
'Sure,' said Ballantine. 'Does she know about the injuries?'
'Not yet.'
'Because the body isn't . . . complete. If you see what I mean. His dick's in a specimen jar, to put it bluntly,' Ballantine said. 'So if she's any thoughts about checking up on other parts of his anatomy to confirm that it's him, I'd think twice before you let her pull the sheet back.'
Wright walked through to reception. There were two uncomfortable-looking orange plastic chairs to the left of the main entrance with a metal coffee table on which lay a few well-thumbed magazines. A bored receptionist was pecking away at a computer keyboard and she looked up as Wright walked up to the counter.
'I'm waiting for a Mrs Eckhardt,' he said. .'She's here to view a body. Can you point her in my direction when she gets here?'
The receptionist nodded but didn't say anything.
Wright went over to a window which overlooked the car park. Dark clouds rolled slowly overhead, threatening rain. A black VW Golf cabriolet nosed into the car park, driven by an Oriental girl. The top was down and as she parked she cast a nervous look at the sky. 'Yeah, it looks like rain,' Wright said out loud. 'Better safe than sorry.' He smiled to himself as she put the top up.
Wright picked up the magazines, wondering what sort of reading matter was thought suitable for a mortuary. Most of them were old copies of Hello!
He looked up as the Oriental girl walked
'Have you found him?' she repeated, a harder edge to her voice this time.
'Mrs Eckhardt, at this stage all I'm trying to do is to eliminate names from a list of missing persons. A body was found in a railway tunnel and I'm trying to identify it. Could you tell me, was your husband circumcised?'
'Excuse me?'
'Your husband. Was he circumcised?'
She hesitated for several seconds. 'Oh, I see. Yes. Yes, he was.' She had obviously realised why he had asked the question, for which Wright was immediately grateful.
'Did he wear contact lenses?'
'Yes. Yes, he did.' 'And were there scars on his back? Old scars, small ones.'
'Oh my God,' she whispered.
'Mrs Eckhardt, did he have scars on his back?'
'Yes, he did. It's him, isn't it?'
'I really couldn't say, Mrs Eckhardt, but I would like you to come in and take a look at the body we have.'
'You think it's him, don't you?'
'It's a possibility,' Wright admitted.
'What about his wallet? He had a driving licence, his press card, his credit cards.'
'There were no personal effects on the body, Mrs Eckhardt.'
'But you said he was found in a tunnel. He was hit by a train, wasn't he?'
'No, he wasn't hit by a train. Look, Mrs Eckhardt, I really don't want to say any more until you've had the chance to identify the body.'
'When?'
'As soon as you can,' said Wright. He gave her the address of the mortuary and arranged to meet her there within the hour. Wright put his mobile phone into his jacket pocket. He drank the rest of his coffee, but the bad taste was still in his mouth. He hoped that the body wouldn't be that of May Eckhardt's husband, but he had a feeling that his search was over.
Wright arrived at the mortuary in St Thomas's Hospital fifteen minutes before he was due to meet Mrs Eckhardt. He wanted to check with Dr Littman that the corpse was in a fit state to be viewed. The last time Wright had seen it the face was cut to ribbons and smeared with blood. Dr Littman wasn't there but Robbie Ballantine was, washing up after yet another post mortem.
'What state's the tunnel body in after the post mortem?' Wright asked him. 'I've got a possible relative coming to identify him.'
'The face was pretty cut up,' said Ballantine. 'We've put it back together as best we can, but it's still a mess.'
'Recognisable?'
'I should think so. How close a relative?'
'Wife.'
'Poor cow,' said Ballantine sympathetically.
'If it's her,' said Wright. He looked across at the large clock on the wall over the sink. 'I'd better go along to reception. Can you get it ready?'
'Sure,' said Ballantine. 'Does she know about the injuries?'
'Not yet.'
'Because the body isn't . . . complete. If you see what I mean. His dick's in a specimen jar, to put it bluntly,' Ballantine said. 'So if she's any thoughts about checking up on other parts of his anatomy to confirm that it's him, I'd think twice before you let her pull the sheet back.'
Wright walked through to reception. There were two uncomfortable-looking orange plastic chairs to the left of the main entrance with a metal coffee table on which lay a few well-thumbed magazines. A bored receptionist was pecking away at a computer keyboard and she looked up as Wright walked up to the counter.
'I'm waiting for a Mrs Eckhardt,' he said. .'She's here to view a body. Can you point her in my direction when she gets here?'
The receptionist nodded but didn't say anything.
Wright went over to a window which overlooked the car park. Dark clouds rolled slowly overhead, threatening rain. A black VW Golf cabriolet nosed into the car park, driven by an Oriental girl. The top was down and as she parked she cast a nervous look at the sky. 'Yeah, it looks like rain,' Wright said out loud. 'Better safe than sorry.' He smiled to himself as she put the top up.
Wright picked up the magazines, wondering what sort of reading matter was thought suitable for a mortuary. Most of them were old copies of Hello!
He looked up as the Oriental girl walked
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