Mourn not your Dead

the territory.” The breakfast had been good, though—the man could still cook even when his social skills were not at their best—and Gemma had forced herself to eat, knowing she’d need the sustenance to get through the day.
    “The chief inspector should have been here before us,” said Darling, scanning the pared cars as he pulled the car around to the back of the hospital and stopped it in a space near the mortuary doors. “I’m sure he’ll be along in a minute.”
    “Thanks, Will.” Kincaid stretched as he emerged from the cramped backseat. “At least we get to enjoy the view while we wait, unlike the clientele.” He nodded towards the unremarkable glass doors.
    Gemma slid from the car and moved a few steps away, considering the prospect. Perhaps if you were inside the building looking out, it wasn’t such a bad place after all. The hospital was high on the hill rising to the west of Guildford, and below, the red-bricked town hugged the curve of the River Wey. Pockets of mist still hovered over the valley, muting trees ablaze with autumn. To the north, higher still, the tower of the cathedral rose against a flat gray sky.
    “It’s a new cathedral, did you know that?” asked Darling, coming to stand beside her. “Begun during the war and consecrated in nineteen sixty-one. You don’t often have a chance to see a cathedral built in our lifetime.” Glancing at Gemma, he amended with a smile, “Well, perhaps not yours. But it’s lovely, all the same, and well worth a visit.”
    “You sound very proud of it,” said Gemma. “Have you always lived here?” Then she added, with the frankness he seemed to inspire, “And you can’t be old enough to have seen it built, either.”
    Chuckling, he said, “Got me to rights, there. I was bom on consecration day, as a matter of fact. May seventeenth, nineteen sixty-one. So the cathedral always had a special significance for us—” He broke off as a car pulled up beside theirs. “Here’s the chief, now.”
    Suddenly aware that Kincaid had been standing quietly against the car, listening to their conversation, Gemma flushed with embarrassment and turned away.
    The few hours sleep seemed to have rejuvenated Nick Deveney. He hopped out of the battered Vauxhall and came over to them with a quick apology. “Sorry about that. I live south of here, in Godalming, and there was a bit of a holdup on the Guildford road.” His breath formed a cloud of condensation as he rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “Heater’s out in the bloody car.” He gestured towards the doors. “Shall we see what Dr. Ling has in store for us this morning?” Smiling at Gemma, he added, “Not to mention getting warm.”
    They trailed Deveney through the maze of identical white-tiled corridors, passing no one, until they reached another set of double doors. A very official-looking sign above them read AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY—RING BELL FOR ADMITTANCE, but the doors stood slightly ajar and Deveney pushed on through them. A faint smell of formalin tickled Gemma’s nose, and then she heard the murmur of a voice. Following the sound to the autopsy room, they found Kate Ling sitting on a stool with a clipboard on her lap, drinking coffee from a large thermal mug. “Sorry, my assistant’s out with flu, and I couldn’t be bothered manning the portals. And it’s not as if anyone’s dying to get in here,” she added, looking at Deveney as if waiting for his groan.
    Deveney shook his head in mock amazement, then turned to the others, who had squeezed into the small room behind him, none of them venturing too close, to the white-sheeted form on the table. “Did you know that all pathologists have to undergo a special initiation into the Order of Bad Puns? Won’t let ’em practice without it. The doc here is a Grand Master and loves to show off.” He and Kate Ling grinned at each other, completing what was obviously a practiced and much-enjoyed routine.
    “Just finishing up my notes on the external,” Ling said, scribbling a few more words, then setting her pad aside.
    “Anything interesting?” Deveney asked. He studied the pad as if he might decipher it upside down, although Gemma thought it unlikely that the doctor’s scrawl was legible even right-side-up.
    “Lividity corresponds perfectly with the position of the body, so I’d say he wasn’t moved. Of course, we expected that from the blood spatter, but they pay me to be thorough.” She gave them a wry