Page 47 of The Mercy Chair

Poe told her about his visit to the Children of Job, his meeting with Joshua Meade and the strange note that had been left under his windscreen wiper.

‘You can brief me when you get here,’ Nightingale said.

‘Where’s “here”?’

‘The RVI. Your missus had a sudden gap in her schedule and she was able to get Cornelius Green on the slab today. The body’s arrived from Carlisle. How long will it take you to get to Newcastle?’

‘Couple of hours,’ Poe said, ignoring the ‘missus’ comment. He’d get this a lot now, he suspected. Cops loved things like that.

‘You OK if we make a start?’

‘It’s your case, ma’am. And we’re not expecting anything helpful. I’m sure Estelle will have a medical way of saying this, but he died because his head was bashed in with rocks.’

‘See you soon.’ She rang off.

While Poe had been on the phone, their meals had arrived. Poe’s plate was as big as a wheel cap and overloaded with thick-cut chips and honey-glazed parsnips. The steam rising from the steak and kidney pudding smelled of beef and gravy and childhood.

‘We’d better get these to go,’ he sighed.

Chapter 43

The journey from Keswick was a caravan of caravans. They were mainly headingintoCumbria, but there were so many of the bloated white carbuncles it had made overtaking impossible. It wasn’t until Poe reached the dual carriageway section of the A69 that he’d been able to put his foot down and get above fifty miles an hour. It was close to two and a half hours before they finally pulled into the car park at Newcastle’s Royal Victoria Infirmary.

He found a parking space and they hurried to the mortuary and Estelle Doyle’s new post-mortem suite. An attendant was waiting to take them straight through. A few years ago, they would have had to suit up and get in the same room as the pathologist; now they had a suite with negative air pressure and a purpose-built viewing area. Superintendent Nightingale was sitting down, a notebook on her lap and a phone glued to her ear. She gave them a reverse head nod and the two-minute sign, then went back to her call.

‘Ah, you’re here,’ Doyle said. ‘Living together doesn’t mean you get special treatment, Poe.’ She winked at Bradshaw. ‘Not unless he’s been extra naughty, Tilly. Please try to be punctual next time.’

Poe could see Doyle’s lips moving, although her voice came through the speakers in the suite. Some posh new microphone system. Previously she’d had to stand on a pedal when she wanted to be recorded; now it picked her up wherever she was in the room. Cornelius Green’s cadaver was on an inspection table, naked and, apart from his tattoos, colourless under the harsh halogen lights. The Y-shaped incision had been made and closed with the usual ‘baseball stitch’. The top of his skull had been sawn off and sewn back on. Standard post-mortem cuts. Doyle had finished the internal examination. Poe glanced at Linus. The spook had turned green.

‘First dead body, Snoopy?’ Poe asked.

Linus nodded but said nothing. Poe figured his mouth was flooded with saliva and any attempt to speak would result in vomiting. That was how he’d felt at his first PM.

‘Have a seat next to Tilly,’ Poe continued. ‘And if you’re going to spew, go outside. The viewing room’s negative air pressure means that while we might not smell it, Estelle certainly will. And you really don’t want that to happen.’

‘That counts for you too, Poe,’ Doyle said without looking up.

‘Why would I be sick? I’ve been to hundreds of these things.’

‘I’m talking about your dinner – you’re not eating it here.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

‘He’s fibbing, Estelle,’ Bradshaw said. ‘He asked the man who showed us in if he could bring in some knives and forks.’

‘Take your food outside please,’ Doyle said.

Poe rolled his eyes but did as he was asked. While he was in her post-mortem suite, he wasn’t the man she lived with; he was just another idiot cop. He either did what he was told or he waited in reception. There was no third option. So instead of protesting, he said, ‘Snoopy, make yourself useful and find somewhere safe for all this.’

Linus looked at him gratefully. Any excuse to leave the viewing area.

‘Still picking on your intern, Poe?’ Nightingale said, putting her phone in her pocket.

‘He shouldn’t have lied to me.’

‘I don’t imagine he was given any choice.’

‘Not my problem.’

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