Where Death Delights

Where Death Delights by Bernard Knight Page B

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Authors: Bernard Knight
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analysis into bottles he carried in his capacious case, which had three large drawers stuffed with equipment. He had had it made to his own design in Singapore and the sight and feel of it made him aware again of how much life had changed in a few short months.
    Christie was busy with a sacking needle and twine, restoring both bodies to a remarkable degree of normality, given the primitive facilities. Richard was secretly amazed at how the officer did everything so calmly and efficiently in his tweed suit and hat, without getting a single drop of blood on himself. He seemed to be able to work from a distance, bending over and reaching far out with his long arms. His only concession to hygiene was the wearing of a thick pair of household rubber gloves.
    Pryor washed his hands under the trickle from the gas heater, using soap kept in a Player’s glass ashtray. There was a clean towel on the table, God knows from where, he thought. As he dried his hands, the busy officer asked about his report.
    â€˜How d’you want to do it, Doctor? I used to jot down a few notes for Doctor Saunders and he’d add a conclusion and sign it. The coroner seemed satisfied with that, just in longhand.’
    The new broom shook his head. ‘No, I’ll just make a few notes myself, then I’ll dictate a report back at the office and have it typed up, then post it to you.’
    He hoped Sian was up to the task, if they started getting more than a few cases at a time. As he leaned over the table to write some notes on a pad taken from his case, he heard John Christie dragging the second corpse on to a trolley.
    â€˜I’ll put them away when you’ve gone, Doc,’ he said.
    â€˜Business to be done now.’ He approached the table, pulling a wallet from his jacket and then laying four one-pound notes alongside Richard’s notebook.
    â€˜The going rate is two guineas a case, sir. I don’t know what happens in Singapore, but here there’s been a long tradition that the coroner’s officer gets the shillings off the guineas.’
    Pryor recalled that in the few coroner’s autopsies he had done before going to the Forces, the same regime had operated, though then he hadn’t got the pounds, they went to the senior pathologist!
    â€˜The coroner said he’d like you to call in on him, if you’ve the time, sir,’ said the officer, as he saw him to the outer door.
    Richard knew where his old college friend had his surgery, as he had called on him soon after he arrived at Garth House, unashamedly touting for any work that was going. Brian Meredith was almost exactly the same age, but had escaped being called up during the war, due to poor sight, which required him to wear spectacles with lenses like the bottom of milk bottles. He was a surgeon’s son from Cardiff and had been in general practice since soon after qualifying, most of it in Monmouth. Well connected, with one brother a barrister and the other a solicitor, he had been appointed a couple of years ago as the coroner for East Monmouthshire.
    Richard left the council yard and drove around the back of the small town, remembering that it was famous for being the birthplace of King Henry V and home of Charles Rolls of Rolls Royce, the first Briton to die in an aircraft crash.
    â€˜I wonder if he had a post-mortem?’ he murmured, as he looked for the cream-painted building that housed Meredith’s family practice. Spotting it in the road behind the ancient Monmouth School, he pulled into a paved space in front and went into the waiting room, causing a doorbell to jangle as if it was a shop.
    Morning surgery was over and the row of hard chairs around the walls was bereft of patients. An inner door opened and Brian’s moon face peered out, his heavy glasses giving him the appearance of a benign owl. When he saw who it was, he advanced with hand outstretched. He was as unlike the lean, tanned man from Singapore as could be

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