The Song Dog by James McClure Page A

little to fat that gleamed like butter in cross-section. As for the face, it turned out there was no longer any, although the head itself was still intact, covered in wavy brown hair.
    Mackenzie cleared his throat. “If you’ve no objections, gentlemen, I’d better keep at it,” he said. “I’ve today’s floggings to supervise at the prison at four, and then some house calls to make to kiddies with this flu that’s going round, which doesn’t leave me—
    “You just carry on, Doc!” said Terblanche.
    “You’re actually
staying
, Hans?” said Mackenzie, showing great surprise. “But I thought you—”
    “No, no, the Lieutenant prefers to work this way, and I agree with him.” So saying, Terblanche moved over to stand beside Kramer at the postmortem table. “Erggggh!” he exclaimed, before hastening to add: “But highly interesting …”
    Mackenzie reached into Kritzinger and came out with what looked like a radiator hose plus attachments, until a second glance revealed it to be the windpipe and lungs. “Here we go again,” he murmured. “The characteristic signs visible to the naked eye even before I section it.”
    “Such as?” inquired Terblanche brightly.
    “When high explosives go off, there’s a peak of high pressure followed by a trough of low pressure, a sort of suction effect,” explained Mackenzie, obviously quoting from the blood-smudged text he had left propped open near the sink. “The violent compression-decompression strain stretches and tears tissue, disintegrates the capillary network and so forth.”
    “Blah, blah,” said Kramer, and went over to have a look at what he imagined would be Annika Gillets. But he’d hardly taken hold of the sheet when a hand gripped his elbow.
    “Tromp,” said Terblanche, now very whey-faced. “Er, I’ve just realized something: you can’t have had any lunch today, can you? How about if I nip up to one of the wards and get a nurse there to make you a sandwich?”
    “Hell, I don’t know how you can think of food at a time like this, Hans,” said Kramer. “But maybe a cheese and tomato, plenty of red pepper.”
    Terblanche turned and made a hasty exit, leaving Kramer to finish drawing back the crumpled sheet covering the other postmortem slab.
    At first what he saw lying there left him quite cold. The heaped collection of assorted bits and pieces seemed unrecognizable as anything, let alone a human. Then, very gradually, like recalling tantalizing snatches from some wet dream or other, Kramer found himself picking out various delights.There was a pretty foot with plump little toes, a chubby right ear pierced for a diamond stud, a sensuous right hand with burnished, long, unpainted nails, and a good solid flank with a delectable curve to it. God Almighty, Kramer thought, I’ve definitely missed out on something here.
    And his sense of loss, however irrational, made him suddenly very angry, the way wanting to relive a dream can sometimes do. For an intense moment, he wanted this young lady back, wanted to feel her warmth against him, and even to hear, perhaps, what she would cry out near his ear.
    “I suppose I could have tried to arrange that in some semblance of anatomical order,” remarked Mackenzie, glancing across at him. “But if I know the undertakers, they’ll just tip the whole lot straight in its coffin, and so …”
    Kramer took a moment to adjust. “Ach, I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “Done a dental check?”
    “First thing I thought of, Lieutenant. I had her card picked up this morning, and the teeth match perfectly.”
    “Oh, ja? I’ve not seen any …”
    “Niko’s popped the jaws in ajar in case they’re needed for the inquest.”
    “Careful you don’t leave it by your bedside,” said Kramer.
    Then he went back to examining the clammy jigsaw spread out before him. He tried to make sense of each and every part, flipping over the fleshy pieces to see if there was skin on the reverse that would yield a