the mortuary as he and Gilham approached. ‘Business booming then, is it, gents?’ Fulton grunted as he stood to one side of the double doors to let them pass.
‘Never better,’ the older man chuckled. ‘A drowning and a drugs OD in the last four hours. Things are looking up.’
Gilham threw him a critical glance. ‘Wonderful,’ he replied as he followed his boss inside the building. ‘Long may your good luck continue.’
Fulton’s face wore a tight apprehensive frown as they crossed the small foyer to the inner doors. He had never got used to post-mortems, even though in his line of business he spent a fair amount of his duty time in mortuaries watching them, and he was keen to get the butchery over and done with as quickly as possible.
Abbey Lee looked up from the stainless steel examination table as her visitors walked in and gave a perfunctory nod. Her green overalls were spattered with dark stains and her gloved hands were carefully probing the chest cavity of the corpse in front of her. A number of bloody organs had already been removed from the cadaver and sliced into sections. The scalp had also been peeled back from the now opened skull to allow access to the brain, creating the horrific illusion that the face itself was just a mask, which could be removed and replaced with another whenever required, like some science fiction nightmare.
It had always struck Fulton that the most terrible thing a post-mortem did was to destroy the human identity. What had once been an individual human being, with virtually unique facial characteristics and personality, was reduced to just an object – an android, which had suddenly stopped working and was about to be consigned to the scrap heap.
‘There are no rights in death, Jack,’ Abbey said, as if reading his mind.
Acutely aware of the raw nauseating smell forcing itself up his nostrils and the dismembered organs littering the examination table, Fulton could not help thinking of his local butcher’s shop and his stomach heaved. ‘Started without us then, have you?’ he said in a strained voice, trying to shut his mind to what was going on.
Abbey removed her hands from inside the corpse and nodded to the attendant hovering nearby. ‘You happen to be late,’ she retorted, peeling off her bloodstained gloves and dropping them into a waste-bin.
‘Other things to sort out,’ Fulton retorted without apologizing.
She gave him a curious glance. ‘Been fighting with the cat, have you?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got some nice scratches on your face.’
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the sudden grin on Gilham’s face and his mouth tightened. ‘Just stick to business, will you, Ab.’
She sighed. ‘Well, we’re all done here now anyway. Coroner’s officer and forensic photographer have been and gone.’ She retrieved a pocket cassette recorder from the corner of the table and tapped it with her other hand. ‘You’ll get my report just as soon as I can get my observations typed up.’
Gilham watched the attendant unceremoniously dump bits of mutilated organs back into the cavity from which they had been removed and bend over the abdomen with a needle to begin the gruesome task of stitching it up. ‘Nice job, you lot have got,’ he observed, shaking his head in disgust.
‘ We like it,’ Abbey replied, with a brief smile. ‘Interesting examination, too.’
‘Oh?’
For reply she bent over the corpse and pointed to one of the arms. ‘See the pinch marks on the wrist? Dead giveaway.’
‘Yes, we saw them in the SOCO pics,’ Gilham said, missing her unintentional pun. ‘Ratchet handcuffs, we think.’
She nodded. ‘And very tightly applied. The state of both wrists suggests that the circulation must have been almost cut off. There are also marks on both ankles, suggesting these were bound with some form of sticky tape – and then there’s this….’
She went to the other end of the examination table, waiting a moment while the
‘Never better,’ the older man chuckled. ‘A drowning and a drugs OD in the last four hours. Things are looking up.’
Gilham threw him a critical glance. ‘Wonderful,’ he replied as he followed his boss inside the building. ‘Long may your good luck continue.’
Fulton’s face wore a tight apprehensive frown as they crossed the small foyer to the inner doors. He had never got used to post-mortems, even though in his line of business he spent a fair amount of his duty time in mortuaries watching them, and he was keen to get the butchery over and done with as quickly as possible.
Abbey Lee looked up from the stainless steel examination table as her visitors walked in and gave a perfunctory nod. Her green overalls were spattered with dark stains and her gloved hands were carefully probing the chest cavity of the corpse in front of her. A number of bloody organs had already been removed from the cadaver and sliced into sections. The scalp had also been peeled back from the now opened skull to allow access to the brain, creating the horrific illusion that the face itself was just a mask, which could be removed and replaced with another whenever required, like some science fiction nightmare.
It had always struck Fulton that the most terrible thing a post-mortem did was to destroy the human identity. What had once been an individual human being, with virtually unique facial characteristics and personality, was reduced to just an object – an android, which had suddenly stopped working and was about to be consigned to the scrap heap.
‘There are no rights in death, Jack,’ Abbey said, as if reading his mind.
Acutely aware of the raw nauseating smell forcing itself up his nostrils and the dismembered organs littering the examination table, Fulton could not help thinking of his local butcher’s shop and his stomach heaved. ‘Started without us then, have you?’ he said in a strained voice, trying to shut his mind to what was going on.
Abbey removed her hands from inside the corpse and nodded to the attendant hovering nearby. ‘You happen to be late,’ she retorted, peeling off her bloodstained gloves and dropping them into a waste-bin.
‘Other things to sort out,’ Fulton retorted without apologizing.
She gave him a curious glance. ‘Been fighting with the cat, have you?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got some nice scratches on your face.’
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the sudden grin on Gilham’s face and his mouth tightened. ‘Just stick to business, will you, Ab.’
She sighed. ‘Well, we’re all done here now anyway. Coroner’s officer and forensic photographer have been and gone.’ She retrieved a pocket cassette recorder from the corner of the table and tapped it with her other hand. ‘You’ll get my report just as soon as I can get my observations typed up.’
Gilham watched the attendant unceremoniously dump bits of mutilated organs back into the cavity from which they had been removed and bend over the abdomen with a needle to begin the gruesome task of stitching it up. ‘Nice job, you lot have got,’ he observed, shaking his head in disgust.
‘ We like it,’ Abbey replied, with a brief smile. ‘Interesting examination, too.’
‘Oh?’
For reply she bent over the corpse and pointed to one of the arms. ‘See the pinch marks on the wrist? Dead giveaway.’
‘Yes, we saw them in the SOCO pics,’ Gilham said, missing her unintentional pun. ‘Ratchet handcuffs, we think.’
She nodded. ‘And very tightly applied. The state of both wrists suggests that the circulation must have been almost cut off. There are also marks on both ankles, suggesting these were bound with some form of sticky tape – and then there’s this….’
She went to the other end of the examination table, waiting a moment while the
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