Whispers of the Dead (10 page)

'Right now I'm more worried about Kyle himself.'
'Pity you didn't think of that before. You better pray that needle
wasn't infected, because if it was I swear this is going to be on your
head!'
Tom looked down. He didn't seem to have either the will or the
energy to argue.
'It already is.'
Hicks was about to launch into another attack when he became
aware of me watching. He glared at me angrily.
'Got something to say?'
I knew Tom wouldn't thank me for interfering. Bite your tongue. Don't say anything.
'You've got gravy on your tie,' I said, before I could stop myself.
His eyes narrowed. Until then I think I'd barely registered with
him, other than as an extension of Tom. Now I knew I'd put myself
in his sights as well, but I didn't care. The Hickses of this world look
11

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.

'This came from the body you exhumed this morning?'
'That's right.'
He whistled, taking the jar from me. 'Now how the hell did that
get there?'
I'd been wondering that myself. Blowflies were ubiquitous in our
line of work, laying their eggs in any bodily opening. They could find
their way into most places, indoors or out.
But I'd never heard of any laying their eggs six feet underground.
I screwed the lid on to the jar. 'The only thing I can think of is
that the body must have been left on the surface before it was buried.
Did Tom tell you about the decomposition?'
'That it was worse than it should have been after six months?' He
nodded. 'The casing's empty, so the body must have been left out for
at least ten or eleven days for the fly to hatch. And six months ago
puts the time of death sometime last fall. Warm and wet, so the body
wouldn't mummify like it would in summer.'
It was starting to make sense. Either by accident or design, the
body had been left to rot before it was put into the casket, which
would explain why it was so badly decomposed. Paul was silent for
a moment. I knew what he was thinking, and when he turned to me
I saw that his excitement matched my own.
'Is the casket still here?'
We left the autopsy suite and went to the storeroom where the
casket and aluminium container were awaiting collection by forensic
agents. When we opened it the smell of putrefaction was as bad as
ever. The shroud was crumpled inside, clotted and rank.
Using a pair of forceps, Paul drew it open.
Until now it had been the body itself that had commanded everyone's
attention, not what it had been wrapped in. Now we knew
what to look for, though, they weren't hard to find. More pupal cases
lay in the cotton sheet, camouflaged by the viscous black slurry from
the corpse. Some were broken and empty, already hatched like the
one I'd found, but others were still whole. There were no larvae, but
after six months their softer bodies would have long since
disintegrated.
'Well, that settles it,' Paul said. 'You might explain away one, but
not this many. The body must have been pretty badly decomposed
before it was sealed in here.'
He reached for the casket lid, but I stopped him. 'What's that?'
Something else was half hidden in the folds of cotton. Taking the
forceps from Paul, I gently teased it free.
'What is it, some kind of cricket?' he asked.
'I don't think so.'
It was an insect of some kind, that much was obvious. Well over
an inch in length, it was slender with a long, segmented carapace. It
had been partially crushed, and its legs had curled in death,
emphasizing the elongated teardrop shape of its body.
I set it down on the sheet. Against the white background, the insect looked even more out of place and alien.
Paul leaned forward for a closer look. 'Never seen anything like
that before. How about you?'
I shook my head. I'd no idea what it was either.
Only that it had no right to be there.

I worked for another two hours after Paul left. Finding the unknown
insect had blown away any vestiges of my earlier tiredness, so I'd
carried on until I'd got all the exhumed remains soaking in vats of
detergent. I was still buzzing with adrenalin as I left the morgue. Paul
and I had decided not to bother Tom with our discovery that night,
but I felt convinced that it was a breakthrough. I didn't know how
or why, not yet. But my instincts told me the insect was important.
It was a good feeling.
Still preoccupied, I made my way across the car park. It was late
and this part of the hospital was deserted. My car was almost the only
one there. Streetlights ran round the edges of the car park, but its
interior was in almost total darkness. I was halfway across, starting to
reach in my pocket for my car keys, when suddenly the hairs on the
back of my neck stood up.
I knew I wasn't alone.
I turned quickly, but there was nothing to see. The car park was a
field of darkness, the few other cars there solid blocks of shadow.
Nothing moved, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something
- someone - nearby.
You're just tired.You're imagining things. I set off for my car again. My footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the gravelled surface.
And then I heard a stone skitter behind me.
I spun round and was blinded by a bright stab of light. Shielding
my eyes, I squinted past it as a dark figure with a torch emerged from
behind the tank-like shape of a pick-up truck.
It stopped a few feet away, the torch still directed on to my face. 'Mind tellin' me what you're doing here?'
The voice was gruff and threateningly civil, the accent a heavy
twang. I made out epaulettes beyond the torch beam, and relaxed as
I realized it was only a security guard.
'I'm going home,' I said. He didn't move the light from my face.
Its brightness prevented me from making out anything apart from
the uniform.
'Got some ID?'
I fished out the pass I'd been given for the morgue and showed it
to him. He didn't take it, just dipped the torch beam on to the plastic
card before raising it to my face again.
'Could you shine that somewhere else?' I said, blinking.
He lowered the torch a little. 'Workin' late, huh?'
'That's right.' Blotches of light danced in my vision as my eyes
tried to adjust.
There was a throaty chuckle.'Graveyard shift's a bitch, ain't it?'
The torch beam was switched off. I couldn't see anything, but
heard his footsteps crunch away across the gravel. His voice floated
back to me from the darkness.
'Y'all drive carefully, now.'

You watch the lights from the car recede, waiting until they've disappeared
before you step out from behind the pick-up.Your throat is sore from deepening
your voice, and your pulse is racing, either from excitement or frustration,
you can't be sure.
The idiot never realized how close he came.
You know you took a chance confronting him like that, but you couldn't
help it. When you saw him coming across the car park it seemed a God-given
opportunity. There was no one else around, and chances were no one would
have missed him till the next day. Without even thinking about it, you dogged
his steps from the shadows, dosing the distance between you.
But quiet as you were, he must have heard something. He stopped and
turned round, and although you could still have taken him if you'd wanted,
it made you think again. Even if your foot hadn't stubbed that damn stone,
you'd already decided to let him go. Lord knows, you're not afraid to take
chances, but some Brit no one's ever heard of wasn't worth the risk. Not now,
not when the stakes are so high. Still, you'd been sorely tempted.
If it hadn't been for what you've got planned for tomorrow you might have
gone ahead anyway.
You smile as you think of it, anticipation bubbling up inside you. It's going
to be dangerous, but no one wins any prizes by playing safe. Shock and awe,
that's what you want. You've hidden your light under a bushel for long
enough, watched your lessers take all the glory. High time you got the
recognition you deserve. And after tomorrow no one's going to be in any doubt
what you're capable of.They think they know what they're dealing with, but
they've no idea.
You're just getting started.
You take a deep breath of the warm spring night, savouring the sweetness
of blossom and the faintly treacly smell of asphalt. Feeling strong and confident, you climb into the pick-up. Time to go home.
You've got a busy day ahead.

Ill
The last remnants of an early morning mist still hung between the
trees bordering the woodland path. Shafts of low sunlight broke
through the canopy of new leaves and branches, dappling the ground
with a cathedral light.
A lone figure sat reading a newspaper at a picnic bench made from
rough-cut pine. The only sound came from the rustle of the pages,
and the hollow rattle of a woodpecker in the trees nearby.
The newspaper reader glanced up, idly, as a piercing whistle came
from the trail off to the left, where it curved out of sight. A moment
later a man appeared. He wore an irritated expression, and was looking
into the undergrowth at either side as he walked. He had a dog
lead in one hand, the empty chain swinging in rhythm with his brisk
steps.
'Jackson! Here, boy! Jackson!'
His calls were interspersed with more whistles. After a single
incurious glance, the reader went back to the news headlines. The
dog walker paused as he drew level, then came across.
'Haven't seen a dog, have you? A black Labrador?'
The reader glanced up, surprised to have been addressed. 'No, I
don't think so.'
The dog walker gave a snort of annoyance. 'Damn dog. Probably
off chasing squirrels.'
The reader gave a polite smile before going back to the newspaper.
The man with the dog chain chewed his lip as he stared up the
trail.
'I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an eye open for him,' he said. 'You
see him, don't let him get away. He's friendly, he won't bite.'
'Sure.' It was said without enthusiasm. But as the dog walker
looked forlornly around the reader reluctantly lowered the newspaper
again.
'There was something making a noise in the bushes a while ago. I
didn't see what was making it, but it could have been a dog.'
The dog walker was craning his head to see. 'Where?'
'Over there.' The reader gestured vaguely towards the undergrowth.
The dog owner peered in that direction, chain swinging
loosely in his hand.
'By the trail? I can't see anything.'
With a sigh of resignation, the reader closed the newspaper. 'I
suppose it's easier to show you.'
'I appreciate this,' the dog walker said with a smile, as they entered
the trees.'I haven't had him long.Thought I'd gotten him trained, but
every now and again he'll just take off.'