Stupidly early Sunday morning, mist still shrouding the canal, Cassie strode along the towpath, a new sense of purpose lengthening her stride. What she had to do at the mortuary couldn’t wait till Monday.
Cold, so cold.
After coming home from her gran’s, she’d barely slept, unable to quiet her buzzing brain, consumed by her sudden intuition of what Green-Eyes’ words might mean.
The sun was breaking through and for the first time in ages she was aware of the sights and sounds of the early morning canal – a pair of squabbling moorhens, the breeze ruffling the water, and the cheerful whistling of a fellow boat dweller.
Macavity had to go at a trot to keep up with her. It was his usual routine to accompany her as far as the stairway up to the street, which always made her feel like a drunk being escorted off the premises by a bouncer – an image cemented by his black coat and laconic gaze.
*
In the silent mortuary, she pulled on full scrubs and gloves before making a beeline for the body store.
Ignoring the waft of putrefaction that billowed from Green-Eyes’ drawer, she unzipped the body bag over his face and leaned in. ‘Listen, I have an idea what happened to you and I need to take a tiny sample of tissue to confirm it. It’ll only be the size of a fingernail. If it turns out I’m wrong, I’m really sorry, but if we’re going to find out who you are and how you died, it’s a risk I have to take.’
And what a risk. It made the mixing up of viscera from two bodies seem like a minor oversight. Taking an unauthorised sample, however minute, was in direct contravention of HTA rules, and if it was discovered she would never work in a mortuary again – might even end up in court.
But Cassie was in no mood to be dissuaded. Green-Eyes had spoken to her and if she didn’t follow her hunch, his fate would be a local authority funeral – and the people who loved him would be left forever wondering why he had disappeared from their lives.
After unzipping the body bag, Cassie took up a scalpel.
‘Alea iacta est,’ she murmured. The die is cast. It wasn’t the first time she’d invoked Julius Caesar’s do-or-die crossing of the Rubicon. Hopefully his ultimate fate wouldn’t prove to be a bad omen.
*
It had been difficult calling Archie, obviously, but there really wasn’t anyone else she could ask. She had kept her tone friendly but brisk – making it clear that the ‘favour’ she needed doing was professional in nature. They met in a bar in Waterloo station, on his way to a rugby match: him in his full posh-boy gear – Barbour jacket, cords and rugby shirt.
‘Hello, you,’ he said, his deep-grey long-lashed eyes searching hers.
Trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach, she said, ‘I wanted to ask you something.’ Adding swiftly, ‘It’s a work thing.’
She passed a Jiffy bag across the table. ‘I need you to take a look at a tissue sample. Microscopically.’
He blinked at the bag before staring at her. ‘Is this an official request for histo?’
She pulled an apologetic smile. ‘Curzon did the PM on this chap and put the COD down as a straight drowning so . . . there was no request for further investigation.’
Leaning back in his chair, Archie rolled his eyes.
‘Look, Archie, I know it’s a big ask, but it’s all in a good cause. I just know there’s more to this case than meets the eye.’
He stared at the package as if it were radioactive. ‘Cassie, look, this is off the scale in HTA terms. This could get both of us in really serious trouble.’
But when he lifted his eyes to meet hers she knew he couldn’t say no to her. She quelled her pangs of conscience by imagining Green-Eyes’ loved ones, desperate for news of him. ‘If it ever comes out – which it won’t – I’ll say that I gave you the sample and a histo form, and told you it was an official request.’
‘And if I find some evidence of foul play? Then what?’ He ran a hand through his copper-coloured mop. ‘I can’t inform the coroner this chap needs a forensic without dropping us both in it up to our armpits.’
‘Don’t worry about that for now. The less you know the better, but I’ve got a plan.’
She pictured Flyte’s face bent over Green-Eyes’ body, an intent expression on her severely beautiful face: she clearly had her own doubts about Curzon’s verdict of a bog-standard accidental drowning.
‘Please?’ She pushed the package across the table to Archie. ‘Could you do it today?’
With a gloomy nod, he took it, his fingers brushing hers. A blush flooded his cheeks and he cleared his throat. ‘So what exactly am I looking for?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to sway you either way. Just tell me what you see ASAP, would you?’
He nodded.
‘I owe you drinks,’ she said lightly.
‘You owe me a bit more than a drink,’ he said, just as lightly.
Their eyes met before skittering apart. She’d found it tough, seeing him without being able to touch him, but she had to stay strong.
*
It was evening by the time Archie got back to her. On seeing the incoming call, Cassie felt her mouth go dry, suddenly fearful that she might have desecrated a body for nothing.
‘Well? What did you find?’ she asked.
‘I think you know exactly what I found.’ He didn’t sound very happy.