A young woman came through the swing door at the end of a long corridor and walked up to the two women. She was wearing a surgical gown. ‘You’re here to see Colin Young?’ she said.
‘Sergeant Wendy Gladstone, Christine Mason,’ Wendy said.
‘We’ve prepared him for viewing. Are you up to this, Mrs Mason?’
A pause before replying. ‘Yes, I think so.’
The badge pinned to the young woman’s gown said Siobhan O’Riley, although her accent was not Irish, but London cockney.
Inside, the viewing room was bare apart from the table where the body lay, a sheet covering it.
‘I’ll uncover the face,’ Siobhan O’Riley said. Slowly she drew the sheet back, revealing the face of the dead man.
‘Oh my God,’ Christine said, her legs going weak. Wendy put her arm around the woman to steady her.
‘Do you want a chair?’ the young pathologist asked.
‘No. It came as a shock,’ Christine said. ‘He was always so tanned, so fit, so alive.’
‘But now he’s pale, is that it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yours is a normal reaction. You’ve handled it well.’
‘Can I see more?’
‘Only the face, I’m afraid. Standard procedure.’
Wendy knew that if the sheet had been pulled further back, it would have revealed the mutilated body where it had been sliced open. Even so, the man lying there seemed peaceful, inert, and Christine Mason had not vomited or shed a tear. The woman was transfixed, focussing on the face, not wanting to go, not wanting to stay.
In the end, Wendy took hold of her arm and led her out of the room. ‘A good cup of tea is what you need,’ she said.
The English answer to everything, Wendy thought. A cup of tea. Her mother had sworn by the remedy.
***
Thankfully, Larry Hill didn’t have to deal with the acerbic Picket on arrival at the viewing room. As Wendy was leaving, Larry was coming in – a cursory acknowledgement of each other.
Larry could see that Wendy had the bit between her teeth and that the woman she was with – it could only be Christine Mason – was in tears. And besides, he had his own problems. Roy Eardley was holding up, although Adrian Clark was looking green around the gills. Larry could see him throwing up.
‘Busy today,’ Siobhan O’Riley said when she introduced herself to the three of them.
‘Mr Eardley and Mr Clark may be able to help to put the pieces together,’ Larry said. ‘Anything else you can tell us about the body?’
‘You’d need Mr Picket for that.’
‘Good or bad mood?’
‘The usual,’ Siobhan said with a grimace.
‘Bad, then.’
‘Your friend, is he going to be alright?’ Siobhan asked, looking over in the direction of Adrian Clark.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Clark said. ‘It’s like a hospital in here, and I’ve never liked them.’
‘You’ll not be the first,’ the young woman said as she gave him a bag to hold. ‘It’ll be me cleaning up afterwards.’
A mouthed ‘thank you’ from Adrian Clark.
‘A hot drink may steady him,’ Larry said to Siobhan.
‘Unfortunately, it won’t. Get him out as soon as you can, then a walk around the block.’
She handed Clark a mint. ‘Suck on this, it’ll help.’
The four moved through to the viewing room, the sheet pulled back. Clark moved back, managing to get his bag in place in time.
‘It would have been a hot drink as well,’ the young woman said.
‘I’ve made a fool of myself,’ Clark said after he rejoined the group. The bag was left on the floor behind them. A faint odour from it pervaded the air. Nobody in the room looked well, not even Siobhan.
‘You never get used to it totally,’ she said.
‘It’s causing me some problems,’ Larry said. ‘Too much misery, too many unpleasant sights.’
‘We get counselling if it becomes too much of an issue. Have you considered it?’
‘Not yet. We’re meant to be strong, to rise above it, to be professional.’
‘We’re still human. Even Mr Picket gets upset sometimes, especially if it’s a child killed by the parent.’
‘Give me the name of the person you use. I’ll consider following your advice.’
‘Don’t consider, do.’
Larry could see that the woman could hold her own with Graham Picket, though he couldn’t. He was pleased that the man had not shown his face.
Roy Eardley looked at the face of Colin Young, studied it for a while. ‘I can’t recognise him. As we said, glasses and a cap, and the man’s unrecognisable.’
Adrian Clark swallowed, taking down the taste of his vomit. He approached the body and looked at the face. He said nothing for twenty seconds, before taking two steps back. He then rushed to the toilet, grabbing the bag from the floor.
‘Thanks,’ Larry said. ‘I believe that we’ve taken enough of your time.’
‘My pleasure, do come again,’ Siobhan said. ‘And remember, talk to the counsellor. No point allowing it to get to you.’
‘I’ll take your advice, but for now, I’d better look after Mr Clark.’
Outside the building, a cold nip in the air. The three men walked along for ten to fifteen minutes, the colour in Clark’s face returning. ‘I could do with a drink and something to eat now,’ he eventually said.
‘We need to talk,’ Larry said. ‘Are you sure you didn’t recognise him?’
‘Not him, but her.’
‘Whom?’
‘One of the two women coming out as we were going in. The blonde-haired one.’
‘The other one was Sergeant Wendy Gladstone.’
‘I’ve never seen her, but I’ve seen the other one.’
‘When, where?’ Larry said excitedly.
‘Some food first, and I’ll tell you.’
‘You didn’t mention it at the time.’
‘At the time, I wasn’t speaking. I was trying to keep my breakfast down, waste of time that was.’
McDonald’s was not a favourite of the serious jogger, but it was what
