Reaching out, John helped Jack out of the ditch. Nobody seemed to notice what they were up to as Jack reached the top of the loose pavement. Part of it gave way causing Jack to slip ever so slightly,
“Careful.” Warned John. Jack looked down to see where he had lost his footing. Noticing the broken bits of pavement underneath his shoes something struck him yet again,
“What’s this? Look at the stone. John the pavement-‘
“I can see, that stone, looks like the same that you picked up on Finnin’s floor.”
Jack bent down to pick up a small piece in his hand. The thing felt familiar, the touch, the weight, the texture. He had held this type of stone before,
“You know I think it is.” Was the reply.
Making their way back onto the pavement, Jack’s inner self was quietly glowing with positivity at the correctness of his hunch. Now certain Finnin’s killer was here, his attention turned yet again to the hospital,
“Now we turn to the scalpel. I remember what the lab technician said back at HQ about this place. Need to determine this is the source of the instrument.”
“Come on then, let’s go.” Said John,
“No, round here somewhere. Monitor these works and let’s see if anyone else is hanging around. And keep an eye on our friend over there with the machine, there’s more to him than meets the eye…and I don’t like it.” Jack clearly wanted to be alone right now,
“OK, if that’s what you want. I’ll be over there by the trees.” John wasn’t happy about this. He could see the practicality of splitting up, but why all the secrecy?
Jack crossed the road and re-entered the hospital yet again. It didn’t get any less busy, but that was good, better cover for him for this was now an undercover operation. Remembering what the doctor said, the mortuary was downstairs he casually walked down the nearest corridor. Trying his best not to look as if he was lost, which was clearly a very easy thing to do he avoided all eye contact with those who passed him for to do so might attract all sorts of unwanted attention.
Five minutes had passed going through the various wings of the building, passing members of the public and medical professionals alike, looking for signs indicating the location he was looking for. There were signs overhead as one would expect in a functioning hospital, some for radiotherapy, some for oncology, and others for the fracture clinic and the X-Ray departments. He turned right around another corridor, none too different to the others, patients in beds parked at the side waiting to be treated or transferred, complicated instruments on trolleys waiting to be employed in any emergency. Then he saw it; a sign overhead,
“Mortuary.” He said to himself, the right arrow indicating he was close. Following the sign he turned right yet again, ahead of him beside some kind of staffroom door was a couple of nurses chatting away, there was no going back now, doubling back may catch their unwanted attention. He carried on walking toward them, refusing to make eye contact, looking as inconspicuous as possible praying deep down that they wouldn’t stop him for entering some kind of “private” area. Almost drawing level with them he was now in earshot of their conversation; being a spy he was trained to overhear even the most sensitive of comments,
“…. Well Carey is out of control. They were thinking of suspending him…..” Said one nurse,
“He’s always struck me as unfriendly. Glad he was in the mortuary; can you imagine someone like him on the wards?”
West passed them in deep conversation, quickly turning left round the next corner and out of sight,
“Carey? Working in the mortuary? Very interesting.”
Now he had a lead. The man called Carey was clearly affiliated with the mortuary, perhaps he was one of the killers, perhaps he was the one who left the scalpel. It had to fit and he was only going to get answers amongst downstairs. He carried on with slight renewed vigour following the signs that were not more frequent. By now the decor of the walls had changed from a pale cream to a more dour lime green, carrying on until he came to a lift and a flight of stairs. The lift, the most direct route was only for the deceased during admittance. For now he would take the staircase downwards to the basement level, a dark and grey maze of corridors, lined with metal cages full of plastic waste bags awaiting incineration. The mood was compounded by a cool breeze wafting through the level from generators and air ventilation shafts humming in the background. This was clearly not a public area so he had to be extra careful. Peering round corners making sure nobody was around he scanned the local vicinity observing in front of him a pair of large black rubber type doors. Clearly it was the mortuary entrance, the scalpel and information about this Carey character must be in there. Gingerly he made his way forward but stopped suddenly, hearing the chit-chat of people, he quickly and silently doubled back to the corner again. Just in time as a couple of porters appeared down the corridor carrying blue bags, looking on as he saw them deposit their cargo into a large yellow plastic container. Thankfully they turned round and disappeared the way they came and this gave Jack his chance; a quick reassuring glance the other way signalled his opportunity. Swiftly moving forward he made his way to the rubber doors and squirmed through them silently.
He found himself in a deserted outer reception area. The decor was more medical than on the outside, tiled walls, various cabinets and the like. A set of doors to the right led through to the fridges, huge silver doors closed tightly to preserve the human remains stored within. He didn’t want to go in there but an open set of doors to the left led through to the main chamber, perhaps this would provide more fruitfulness in his investigations. Proceeding though, the main area was an autopsy room, the main silver metallic table complete with drainage apparatus dominated the centre. Surrounding it was tables, sinks, and cabinets, the walls were covered with health and safety information and anatomical diagrams. A pungent smell of disinfectant filled the air, stronger than the chlorine smell permeating through the wards and corridors, obviously this place had just been used recently. Looking around he carefully noted the layout of the room; in one corner was a coat rack. Upon lay three white coats, overalls for workers in the morgue. West approached them, he had no intention of stealing them but he just wanted to have a look around them. Shuffling them carefully as to not make them fall, he looked up at the hooks to notice small labels above each one. The middle one bore the name CAREY.
“Well, well,” He thought to himself, “Looks like Mr Carey’s lab coat.”
He carefully pulled it away slightly, just enough to see the name tag inside to confirm it was the same coat. Checking to see that he really was alone he began to rifle through the pockets, nothing in the two outer ones so he moved onto the inside. His fingers were working overtime in desperate grasping to anything that may be stored. Suddenly he felt a piece of paper, pulling it out he unfolded the cream piece to reveal a map of the Lewisham in the local area. On it was both the hospital and the park opposite, marked here was a tiny red ink dot which immediately caught West attention. Puzzled he knew this was something significant, re-folding it to take with him. He put his hand back in again as he was sure there was something else. Jackpot, there was something else, something small and metallic, pulling it out he saw it was a key. Why was there a key with the map? The two had to be linked. Taking that as well he turned his attention away from the coat and back to the real reason he was here, the scalpel.
Recalling the furniture around the room he approached another brown wooden cabinet where instruments were stored. Opening a drawer he was presented with an array of medical instruments, clamps, large knifes, screws, rib cutters, all very Victorian, all authorised for use, but looking like something out of a horror movie. He closed the drawer and moved over to a smaller white chest. Opening it he saw a red interior, with scalpels embedded carefully in a row. Each one, slightly different sizes and sorted left to right smallest first were carefully logged with a unique reference number. East was present except for one approximately one-third of the way across from the left. T
he missing slot bore the number 774459. West pulled the missing scalpel from his pocket; it fitted perfectly into the slot confirming that this was where the murder instrument came from.
Knowing now what he came to find out, there was no other reason to be here. The priority now was a possible link to these murders and the bombing a few days ago. The matter of catching Finnin’s killers can be left to the police. Making his exfiltration he noticed the list on a computer screen lit up on a nearby desk, pausing just briefly he could see it was an inventory of admitted bodies. This list though, as West scrolled down the names caught his eye with somewhat surprise. There was one name he did not expect to see,
“Stephen Carey…Carey?!” He said to himself. Looking upwards he suddenly realised what this meant. The man who West was now looking into was dead. He carried on; beside each name were two dates, date admitted into hospital and date of death. The date beside Carey’s name was yesterday. Still bent over the computer screen, he glanced over to the refrigeration units knowing that his man was in there. Suddenly the ominous sound of whirring came from out in the corridor, someone was coming down the lift! West fled, through the rubber doors and out into the corridor, the lift had stopped, the doors began to open, the West could see the shadow of two, perhaps three individuals inside. They were about to step out as Jack made for the corner near the stairs. Hoping, praying that nobody was coming down it. Just as hit the wall and made it round passenger stepped out into the corridor. West had got away with it, he wasn’t spotted. Hugging the wall, catching his breath he could hear two people make their way to the morgue. He eavesdropped in,
“Got to get this body ready for this lecture he’s giving.” Said one porter,
“Is that the guy who used to work here?” Replied another
“Yeah, the one that was found dead. The police want a pathology report on the cause of death.”
“What was his name?”
“Carey, I think. Come on let’s get him on that table, the prof and his students will be arriving soon.”
This was very interesting. West though about this for a second,
“So Carey’s body will be used in an autopsy. Time to infiltrate and get involved.”
He decided he would just have enough time to go and see John. He had to give him the map and the key to try and find whatever was at that location while he himself was here with Carey. He made his way out, completing his exfiltration by backtracking the way he came in.
Outside John was loitering around some trees, just further down the street from the works opposite the main entrance. Jack appeared and crossed the road to join his partner,
“Did you find anything?” John asked,
“Yes. Someone called Carey.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing, he’s dead. Apparently he worked in the mortuary here, his coat was hung up. And yes the scalpel we found did come from here.”
John understood what Jack was saying, “So what now?”
“Now you need to take this key I found along with this map. Look for the red dot and try to find it. It’s probably in those works we looked at. Ideal place if you want to hide something.”
He handed John both objects, “What about you?” He asked,
“I’m going back in there. Carey is due to have an autopsy, so I’m going in undercover to see if there’s anything else we have missed.”
Jack turned round to leave for the hospital yet again, “Rather you than me.” Quietly he said to himself. Turning toward the park he unfolded the map to get his bearings, he was facing East and by working out where he was in relation to the map he worked out the mark was due north by only a few metres, right in the middle of the works they had been searching a few minutes earlier. The worker on the tar laying machine with the dust mask had moved further down the street now, if John acted fast he may have time to investigate further without drawing his attention. Pulling out his mobile, he used the maps app to enter a location in an attempt to triangulate the exact location of the dot marked on the map. Using both this and the paper map given to him he made his way over to the ditch and started digging. The soil, cold and damp go on his hands as he clawed at the earth beneath him. Fortunately he did not have to dig deep, a few centimetres at best,
“What’s this?” He asked himself as he pulled out a hastily buried strongbox. Pulling the key Jack had given him out of his pocket he inserted in the lock and started turning. Opening it once the lid came loose; the contents shocked John because he did not expect this. Inside was another key and hammer, nothing special, just an ordinary workman’s tool, but this one was covered in blood. Not touching the hammer, he took the key only, leaving the hammer in place. Shutting the lid and re-locking it he placed it back in situ and covered it up as best he could. It was good timing as well, standing up and climbing out of the trench John noticed a small gathering outside the entrance to the hospital. A car had pulled up and a small gathering of media suddenly descended on it. John decided to investigate further; crossing the road he approached the crowd in a place where he could just see the vehicle. Some suited officials got out before the rear left passenger door opened, a figure emerged, dressed in smart business suit, a tall slightly grey haired looking man, confident in stature walking up to the entrance greeting some kind of manager from inside. He looked familiar, John had seen him on TV before, it was a minister, the Health Secretary coming for a visit. Surrounded by his advisors and media it wasn’t easy but it definitely was him. Looking on another figure, acting rather autonomously was amongst the political procession, again another figure he recognised. He had to adjust his position from the back and he didn’t really get a good luck until they began to move inside, then he got a clear view, it was Inspector Waterson. John kept in the background out of sight.
Jack meanwhile, back inside the hospital kept well back from the reception where by now the minister surrounded by media and staff had gathered. He made his way down the corridor he once came from, the layout now familiar to him from before. It only took a few minutes and he was already at the locker room where he overheard the two nurses chatting earlier, this time he paused, looked around to check that the coast was clear then gingerly, almost fearfully opened the door. If there was anyone inside he prepared himself by making an excuse that he was lost; peeking his head round the door, he was confronted by a deserted room. Blue metallic lockers covered the walls with coat hooks as West slipped inside; closing the door behind him he began to check the lockers tugging at all the handles to find one that was hopefully open. There wasn’t, everyone seemed to be very security conscious. Pausing he looked frustrated, but observing around the room and spotting a white coat on a hook as he did so suddenly gave him a glimmer of hope. Grabbing it without a care for the fit or owner he put it on. It looked like he could get away with it, so he made his way to the exit. Now disguised as a medical professional he made his way down the stairs to the basement corridor, he could hear people inside the mortuary as he approached the rubber doors once more suddenly changing from muffled chatter to comprehensible conversation once inside. There seemed to be a gathering of people in the autopsy room where he had placed the scalpel, all dressed in their white coats West slipped in unnoticed behind them.
Closed in around the mortuary table West could clearly see a body laid out on the silver metallic surface. Completely naked except for a modesty cloth covering the genitalia, he was presented with a slightly overweight man, in his early forties, bald head and bulky in appearance thanks largely to the weight the corpse was carrying. By now the corpse was rather discoloured, the skin was a dead pinkish-white with the occasional maroon blotches where blood had drained from the veins but not from the capillaries. Pallor Mortis was accompanied by disturbing slight shades of green was beginning to show around the belly button and gut area where the signs of initial decomposition phase of putrefaction had begun. The students either encapsulated or simply used to this sight a stood in a line with West in the back along the side of the tabl
e. At the other side was an autopsy assistant with another dominant figure, obviously the senior pathologist, and the one conducting this autopsy,
“Good morning everyone,” Opened up the professor, “Today we shall be conducting an internal investigation of the body. We shall be opening up the body cavity to determine the primary cause of death. I want to concentrate on the trunk and torso before we open the skull to remove the brain prior to closer scrutiny.” The pathologist checked to see if his students understood before continuing,
“Now I must stress our body is a murder victim. He was found one day ago and as we can see an external examination reveals skin traumas of various kinds. We see cuts here, here and here. Note the obvious tear of skin tissue on the forearm, deep enough to expose superficial muscle tissue.”
West immediately, if not quietly picked up. He knew Finnin’s attacker must have been bitten in the violent death throes, was he the man? Was the skin tissue found in Finnin’s mouth from this man? Seems like it, but his thoughts were interrupted by the continuing of the professor’s lecture,
“When dealing with victims of murder it is not unusual to find foreign objects within the body cavities or organs. The stomach is an obvious and common place to find anything, but the lungs and the anus are other possible locations. Now we shall make an internal examination. We shall make a deep Y-shaped incision across each collar bone at the base of the neck; we then make a secondary incision from between the clavicle to the navel.”
West and the rest of the students observed as the pathologist took a large knife from a tray pre-prepared and managed by his assistant. Without hesitation they looked on as the knife went in at the left clavicle and cut through the skin with ease as the pathologist made the cut. Drawing the knife though and across the upper chest he stopped at the right hand collar bone. The knife came out,
“Now we shall incise down from the sternum to the navel.”
Three Faces of West (2013) Page 14
