Whispers of the Dead

by Simon Beckett

  for excuses to be outraged. Sometimes it's easier just to let them get on with it. He nodded thoughtfully, as though promising something to himself. 'This isn't over, Lieberman,' he said, giving Tom a final glare before going out. Tom waited until the door had shut behind him. 'David . . .' He sighed. 'I know, I'm sorry.' He gave a chuckle. 'Actually, I think it was tomato soup. But in future--' He broke off with a gasp, his hand going to his chest. I started towards him but he waved me away. 'I'm all right.' But it was obvious he wasn't. Fumbling off his gloves, he took a small pill case from his pocket and slipped a small tablet under his tongue. After a moment the tension began to go out of him. 'Nitroglycerin?' I asked. Tom nodded, his breathing gradually becoming less strained. It was a standard treatment for angina, dilating the blood vessels to allow blood to flow more easily to the heart. His colour was already better, but under the harsh lights of the morgue he looked exhausted as he put the pills away. 'OK, where were we?' 'You were just about to go home,' I told him. 'No need. I'm fine now.' I just looked at him. 'You're as bad as Mary,' he muttered. 'All right. I'll just clear up . . ..' 'I can do it. Go on home.This'll still be here tomorrow.' It was a sign of how exhausted he was that he didn't argue. I felt a pang of concern as I watched him go out. He looked stooped and frail, but it had been a stressful day. He'll be better after some food and a good night's sleep. I almost made myself believe it. There wasn't much clearing away to be done in Tom's autopsy suite. After I'd finished I went back to my own, where I'd been working on the remains from the exhumed casket. I wanted to finish denuding them of soft tissue and get them into detergent overnight, but as I was about to start I was overcome by a jaw-cracking yawn. I'd not realized till then how tired I was myself. The wall clock said it was after seven, and I'd been on the go since before dawn. Another hour. You can manage that. I turned to the remains on the examination table. Tissue samples had been sent off to the lab to provide a more accurate time since death, but I didn't need the results of the VFA and amino acid analysis to know that something here didn't add up. Two bodies, both more decomposed than they should be. There was a pattern there, I'd agree with Irving about that much. Just not one I could make any sense of. The bright overhead light shone dully on the scratched aluminium of the table as I picked up the scalpel. Partially stripped of its flesh, the body lying in front of me resembled a badly carved joint. I bent to start work, and as I did something registered at the edge of my vision. Something was snagged in the ear cavity. It was a brown half-oval, no bigger than a grain of rice. Setting down the scalpel, I picked up a pair of small forceps and gently teased it free from the whorl of cartilaginous tissue. I raised it up to examine it, my surprise growing as I saw what it was. What on earth . . .. ? It took me a few seconds to realize that the racing in my chest was excitement. I started searching round for a specimen jar, and gave a start when there was a rap on the door. I looked round as Paul entered. 'Not disturbing you, am I?' 'Not at all.' He came over and looked down at the body, eyes professionally assessing its tissue-stripped form. He'd have seen worse, just as I had. Sometimes it's only when you see someone else's reaction -- or lack of it - that you realize how we become accustomed to even the most grotesque sights. 'I just saw Tom. He said you were still working, so I thought I'd see how you were getting on.' 'Still behind schedule. You don't happen to know where the specimen jars are, do you?' 'Sure.' He went to a cupboard.'Tom wasn't looking so good. Was he OK?' I wasn't sure how much to say, unsure if Paul knew about Tom's condition. But he must have read my hesitation. 'Don't worry, I know about the angina. Did he have another attack?' 'Not a bad one, but I persuaded him to go home,' I said, relieved I didn't have to pretend. 'I'm glad he pays attention to someone. Usually you can't beat him away with a stick.' Paul handed me a specimen jar. 'What's that?' I put the small brown object into it and held it up for him to see. 'An empty pupal case. Blowfly, by the look of it. It must have lodged in the ear cavity when we hosed down the body' Paul looked at it incuriously at first; then I saw the realization hit him. He stared from the specimen jar to the body.