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Authors: Simon Beckett
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waffles and pancakes and opted for
toast and scrambled eggs. I'd been hungry when I went in, but even
that seemed too much for me, and I managed less than half. My
stomach was knotted, though I didn't know why it should be. I'd
only be helping Tom with something I'd done myself countless times
before, and in far worse circumstances than this.
But telling myself that didn't make any difference.
By the time I went outside the sun was coming up. Although the
car park was still in shadow, the deep blue of the sky was paling, shot
through with dazzling gold on the horizon.
The hire car was a Ford, the subtle differences in style and automatic
transmission a further reminder that I was in another country.
Although it was still early, the roads were already busy. It was a
beautiful morning. Built-up as Knoxville was, this part of East
Tennessee was still lush and verdant. The spring sun hadn't yet
developed the shirt-sticking heat and humidity of high summer, and
at this time of day the air held an early morning freshness, unsullied
by traffic fumes.
It was an easy twenty-minute drive to UT Medical Center. The
morgue was located in a different part of the campus from the
facility, but I knew my way there from previous trips.
The man on the morgue reception was so huge he made the desk
look like a child's toy. He was quilted with so much flesh that he
seemed virtually boneless, the strap of his watch digging into the
dimpled wrist like cheese wire into dough. His breath came in a
faintly adenoidal wheeze as I explained who I was.
'Autopsy suite five.Through the door and down the corridor.' His
voice was incongruously high-pitched for such a big frame. He gave
a cherubic smile as he handed me an electronic pass card.'Cain't miss
it.'
I swiped the card on the door and went into the morgue itself.The
familiar olfactory punch of formaldehyde, bleach and disinfectant
greeted me. Tom was already in the tiled autopsy suite, dressed in
surgical scrubs and a rubber apron. A portable CD player stood on a
bench nearby, quietly playing a rhythmic drum track I didn't recognize.
Another, similarly dressed man was with him, hosing down the
body that lay on the aluminium table to sluice off the insects and
blowfly larvae.
'Morning,' Tom said brightly as the door swung shut behind me.
I tipped my head towards the CD player. 'Buddy Rich?'
'Not even close. Louie Belson.' Tom straightened from the
dripping wet chest cavity. 'You're early'
'Not as early as you.'
'I wanted to get the body X-rayed and send the dental plates over
to the TBI.' He gestured to the younger man who was still hosing
down the body.'David, this is Kyle, one of the morgue assistants. I've
had him helping out till you got here, but don't tell Hicks.'
Morgue assistants were employed by the Medical Examiner's
office, which meant that Hicks was technically Kyle's boss. I'd forgotten
that the pathologist was based here, and I didn't envy anyone
working for him. Not that it seemed to bother Kyle. He was tall, with
a heavy-boned build that was just on the right side of plump. His
pleasant moon face beamed from under an untidy mop of hair.
'Hi,' he said, raising a gloved hand.
'One of my students is going to be lending a hand, as well,' Tom
went on. 'It doesn't really need three of us, but I promised I'd let her
help out on my next examination.'
'If you don't need me here . . .'
'There's going to be plenty to do. It just means we'll finish sooner.'
Tom's smile said I wasn't getting away that easily. 'Scrubs and the rest
are in the locker room down the corridor.'
I had the changing room to myself. Putting my own clothes in a
locker, I pulled on surgical scrubs and a rubber apron. What we were
about to do was perhaps the grimmest part of our work, and
certainly one of the messiest. DNA tests could take up to eight weeks, and fingerprints only provided an identity match if the
victim's were already on record. But even with badly
toast and scrambled eggs. I'd been hungry when I went in, but even
that seemed too much for me, and I managed less than half. My
stomach was knotted, though I didn't know why it should be. I'd
only be helping Tom with something I'd done myself countless times
before, and in far worse circumstances than this.
But telling myself that didn't make any difference.
By the time I went outside the sun was coming up. Although the
car park was still in shadow, the deep blue of the sky was paling, shot
through with dazzling gold on the horizon.
The hire car was a Ford, the subtle differences in style and automatic
transmission a further reminder that I was in another country.
Although it was still early, the roads were already busy. It was a
beautiful morning. Built-up as Knoxville was, this part of East
Tennessee was still lush and verdant. The spring sun hadn't yet
developed the shirt-sticking heat and humidity of high summer, and
at this time of day the air held an early morning freshness, unsullied
by traffic fumes.
It was an easy twenty-minute drive to UT Medical Center. The
morgue was located in a different part of the campus from the
facility, but I knew my way there from previous trips.
The man on the morgue reception was so huge he made the desk
look like a child's toy. He was quilted with so much flesh that he
seemed virtually boneless, the strap of his watch digging into the
dimpled wrist like cheese wire into dough. His breath came in a
faintly adenoidal wheeze as I explained who I was.
'Autopsy suite five.Through the door and down the corridor.' His
voice was incongruously high-pitched for such a big frame. He gave
a cherubic smile as he handed me an electronic pass card.'Cain't miss
it.'
I swiped the card on the door and went into the morgue itself.The
familiar olfactory punch of formaldehyde, bleach and disinfectant
greeted me. Tom was already in the tiled autopsy suite, dressed in
surgical scrubs and a rubber apron. A portable CD player stood on a
bench nearby, quietly playing a rhythmic drum track I didn't recognize.
Another, similarly dressed man was with him, hosing down the
body that lay on the aluminium table to sluice off the insects and
blowfly larvae.
'Morning,' Tom said brightly as the door swung shut behind me.
I tipped my head towards the CD player. 'Buddy Rich?'
'Not even close. Louie Belson.' Tom straightened from the
dripping wet chest cavity. 'You're early'
'Not as early as you.'
'I wanted to get the body X-rayed and send the dental plates over
to the TBI.' He gestured to the younger man who was still hosing
down the body.'David, this is Kyle, one of the morgue assistants. I've
had him helping out till you got here, but don't tell Hicks.'
Morgue assistants were employed by the Medical Examiner's
office, which meant that Hicks was technically Kyle's boss. I'd forgotten
that the pathologist was based here, and I didn't envy anyone
working for him. Not that it seemed to bother Kyle. He was tall, with
a heavy-boned build that was just on the right side of plump. His
pleasant moon face beamed from under an untidy mop of hair.
'Hi,' he said, raising a gloved hand.
'One of my students is going to be lending a hand, as well,' Tom
went on. 'It doesn't really need three of us, but I promised I'd let her
help out on my next examination.'
'If you don't need me here . . .'
'There's going to be plenty to do. It just means we'll finish sooner.'
Tom's smile said I wasn't getting away that easily. 'Scrubs and the rest
are in the locker room down the corridor.'
I had the changing room to myself. Putting my own clothes in a
locker, I pulled on surgical scrubs and a rubber apron. What we were
about to do was perhaps the grimmest part of our work, and
certainly one of the messiest. DNA tests could take up to eight weeks, and fingerprints only provided an identity match if the
victim's were already on record. But even with badly
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