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apparently, was every bit as important as the much more impressive Death Certificate. ‘Give this to the funeral director,’ the Registrar instructed. ‘It means you can proceed with the arrangements without any hitches.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Monica made her escape, squeezing past prams and buggies overflowing into the corridor, smiling apologetically at the waiting crowd. What a system , she thought . And how spinelessly we all queue up to do its bidding .
     
    It was about ten when Drew found himself alone in the mortuary, with fifteen minutes to spare before Sid returned. Lapsford’s body lay undisturbed in the fridge. It occurred to Drewthat Mrs Lapsford could show up to arrange the funeral as soon as she’d registered the death – and there was a chance that she would want to view the body. If that happened, Sid would have to glue or stitch the lips together, and Drew’s task would be impossible. The dual pressure of time made his insides shaky.
    Nervously, he opened the fridge door, and slid out the tray bearing the body. In order to see it properly, he would have to bring it out altogether and lower it on the hydraulic trolley. He hoped earnestly that his precautionary words with Vince would be enough to explain his behaviour if anybody walked in now and caught him. He had no genuine justification for what he was doing. It was well beyond the scope of his job description, and potentially an invasion of Lapsford’s privacy. Anxiously he ran through his plan of action.
    The only logical cause of death, apart from a heart attack or aneurism, must surely be poisoning. Although it was conceivable that someone had injected him with a toxic substance, the likelier method was giving it to him in food or drink. Therefore his stomach had to be the source of any evidence. And getting at the contents of a dead body’s stomach was not a straightforward business.
    At the sink there were the usual jars ofvivid pink embalming fluid, with their rubber and plastic tubing and assorted attachments. Trembling, Drew went to the sink and grabbed a piece of tubing – the most rigid he could find. There was no other way to get what he wanted, without leaving obvious wounds on the body. This would also be quicker. But he would have to be extremely careful.
    The body was stiff now and too cold to work with easily. Forcing the tube down its throat was an act of real violence, and Drew was afraid that he was tearing the gullet as he went. If so, and if the case did come to the Coroner’s attention for some reason, the evidence of his intervention would be impossible to conceal from a pathologist. He was burning bridges in a major way.
    Gritting his teeth and closing his mind against the implications, he worked on. Outside the door, footsteps came closer, and his heart swelled and then stopped. He hadn’t known it was possible to be so afraid. Under his breath he cursed himself for being a complete fool. Not only was he about to lose his job, but there would doubtless be a police investigation. Violating a dead body was a criminal offence. But the steps continued past the door, and he managed a wobbly breath, before his heart resumed something closer to its normal rhythm.
    Returning to his task, he gazed into the dead man’s face. Lapsford was still looking healthy. Any lines on his face had been cheerful ones, and the thick hair gave him a handsome appearance. Only the gaping mouth looked wrong. The protruding plastic pipe gave a grotesque aspect to the picture, turning a man into a thing, inert and helpless. Drew felt sorry for what he was doing, and muttered an apology. ‘But it’s for your own good,’ he added. ‘You wouldn’t want them to get away with it, now would you?’ Holding the idea firmly in mind that this could so easily be an unacknowledged murder victim was the only way he could proceed with the next stage in the process.
    Once he was sure that the tube had reached the stomach, he had to perform the worst part. He