I wasn’t looking forward to the job either, but I didn’t say so. My shirt clung to my back and chest and my head throbbed.
As the light changed Reg started the car rolling again. “Anyway,” he said, “it’ll be cold in the morgue. We might even freeze to death.”
“I hope to God we can get in without making a noise,” I said. “I don’t want any trouble with this Johnson guy. Even if he is a little guy it’s too, hot for fighting.”
“He won’t fight,” Reg said with a laugh. “He’d fall over if you spit in his eye.”
We turned right at the next corner and Reg parked the car under a street lamp.
“It’s only a hundred yards or so down the street,” he said, taking out his camera outfit and tucking it under his arm. “Better walk, huh?”
I stood on the sidewalk, feeling the heat of the brick pavement through my shoes. “Jeese!” I said. “It’s hot!”
We went down the street together, not saying anything and not hurrying. Reg paused after we had walked a while and nodded to a narrow alley, wide enough to take a car. “This is it,” he said, lowering his voice.
I glanced up and down the deserted street and then together we ducked down the alley. It was dark. There was a curious smell about the air: sweet, musty, sickish; a smell of slow decay.
“You could use this air as a bed,” I whispered to Reg. “I’ll come here for my next vacation.”
He giggled a little hysterically. “If you mean your last vacation,” he said, “you’ll come here whether you like it or not.”
We walked softly, keeping to the middle of the alley. The blackness around us was like an enveloping blanket and we couldn’t see anything, not even the sky.
“Creepy, isn’t it?” I said, feeling spooked. “It only wants someone to spring out on me and I’ll cry like a child.”
“Yeah? I’ll run,” Reg said with conviction. “Can’t you stop talking? You’re giving me the heebies.”
Then without warning a sudden high-pitched scream came to us out of the darkness. It swelled, cut through the thick stifling air like the sweep of a sickle, and died away in a horrible, slobbering gurgle.
We stood still and clutched each other.
“What in hell’s that?” I said, feeling the hair stiffen on the nape of my neck.
I heard Reg breathing like a badly winded horse. My own heart was going thump, thump, thump.
“There’s a psychopathic hospital over that way,” he said in a breathless, uneven voice. “Maybe it’s one of the nuts letting off a little steam.”
I took off my hat and wiped my face and the back of my neck with a damp handkerchief. “I hope to God she doesn’t let off another like that,” I said fervently. “That nearly ruined me.”
We stood listening and then, hearing nothing except the faint roar of distant traffic, we walked on. The alley curved to our right and turning the bend we saw ahead a red light burning faintly over a double door.
“That’s where we go in,” Reg whispered, pointing. “Inside is the receiving room.”
“Maybe I’d better go first and take a look around,” I said. “Then I’ll come back for you.”
“Leave me alone?” Reg said. “Not damn likely! My legs wouldn’t let me stay here a second after you’ve gone.”
I considered this. “Okay,” I said, understanding how he was feeling, “but for the love of Mike don’t make a noise.”
We went forward together until we reached the double door. There was a cement runway, instead of step, leading up to the door for the wheeled hospital tables to run up.
“Take it easy,” I said, and turned the doorknob. The door was locked.
I took out my flashlight and examined the lock. “It’s easy,” I said. “Hold the light while I fix it.”
I took out my penknife, inserted one of the hickies and levered. The lock snicked back and I pushed the door open.
“I’ll get you to open my kid sister’s money-box,” Reg said. “You’re good.”
I waved him to silence and stood in the half-open doorway, listening. There was no sound of activity, so I put on the flashlight and let the beam run around. The room was chill and very clean. Hospital tables stood in a line against the wall and two white cupboards completed the furnishing.
We entered the room, closed the double door softly and went on to another door opposite us. Again we listened and heard nothing. The silence was oppressive, but the room was refreshingly cool after the stifling alley.
I opened the door and again looked into a darkened room, which smelt strongly of antiseptics. I put on my flashlight.
Reg said, “This is the post-mortem room,” and peered curiously over my shoulder.
The room was bare. An operating table under a battery of lights stood in the centre of the room and two cases filled with stainless steel instruments were near the table.
“Where do we go now?” I asked, switching on the lights.
Reg blinked around. “There’s a passage somewhere that leads to the morgue,” he said. “It’s some time since I’ve been here.” He crossed the room to another door and peeped round it. Then he jerked his head. “Here we are,” he said.
I followed him into a passage lit by dim blue lights. It was much colder in the passage and my teeth began to chatter with nerves.
At the end of the passage was a flight of stairs leading down to the basement and leading up to the next floor.
Keeping his voice to a murmur, Reg said, “Johnson’s got an office up there,” and jerked his thumb to the stairs.
“We go down?”
He nodded. “Spooky, ain’t it?”
We descended the stairs. The air became moist as we neared the bottom and there was a musty smell of decomposition.
“Like the breath of a crocodile,” Reg whispered.
I pressed against a heavy steel door which swung open. A sharp, sweet antiseptic smell of formaldehyde stung the back of my throat and icy air turned my shirt into a clammy cold plaster. I pushed a row of electric-light buttons on the cement wall and the steel door shut with a muffled thud.
“We’re in,” I said, staring round at the two long rows of black metal cabinets where the bodies were stored.
Reg stood looking around too. His face was the colour of a fish’s underbelly and his knees were visibly trembling.
“The sooner we get out of this, the better I’ll like it,” he said, setting his camera down on a nearby bench. “Suppose you dig around for Stonewall Dixon?”
I looked at the row of cabinets. “I can’t think of anything nicer than wading through a pile of stiffs on a night like this,” I said, with a grimace.
“Call him,” Reg said sarcastically, sitting on the bench and pressing his trembling knees together. “Maybe he’ll push open his box and wave to you.”
“You’re getting hysterical,” I said, feeling in my hip pocket for my flask.
His eyes brightened. “I am hysterical,” he said, reaching out an eager hand as I took out a half-pint flask of whisky.
“You wait a second,” I said, unscrewing the cap. I was surprised to see that my own hand was unsteady. “Maybe I need this more than you.” As I put the flask to my lips the gurgling scream came again. It sounded even more spooky in this room than it did in the alley. I spluttered, losing some of the whisky.
“Don’t give it all to your shirt,” Reg said, his face now blue-white and his eyes popping.
I steadied myself, belted the whisky again and then gave it to him. The way he anchored his mouth to the flask was something to see.
While he was working on the whisky I examined the cabinets. Each had a small label attached to it bearing a name. After a while I located Dixon’s cabinet.