Saithe adopted his frown again. Grimshaw pulled out an exceedingly large handkerchief and blew loudly into it causing Garten to pause before continuing. “Dr Tang, who was the medical officer on board, came and told me that she suspected the patient might be suffering from an infectious disease. Under the circumstances I thought it wiser that she be taken on to the County Hospital.”
“What infectious disease?”
“A Salmonella Infection.”
“How did Chenhui diagnose that?” asked Saracen.
“From her initial interview with the patient.” replied Garten.
“But she was unconscious when Medic Alpha got to her,” protested Saracen.
“Dr Tang says different and she was there,” said Garten with a cutting edge to his voice.
“What happened next?” asked Saithe.
“The patient died shortly after leaving the grounds of the hospital. Dr Tang radioed for advice and I told her to return here whereupon Mrs Archer was then classified dead on arrival.”
“Why did you bring her back?” asked Saithe.
Garten smiled conspiratorially at Saithe and said, “I’m sure you are only too well aware Martin that the County believes we send them too many of our cases already. I thought it wiser to re-call Medic Alpha and do the paper work myself.”
Saracen glanced up at the ceiling in frustration. Not only was Garten sounding plausible he was beginning to sound like a Saint.
Saithe grunted his approval. Saracen parked his tongue in the side of his cheek.
“Any more ‘irregularities’?” asked Saithe, his voice tinged with distaste.
“Lots,” replied Saracen, making the word sound like an expletive. “When Myra Archer’s husband arrived at A amp;E he was told that his wife had been taken to the County Hospital.”
“A regrettable misunderstanding,” said Garten smoothly.
“Then he was refused permission to see his wife’s body.”
“I thought it wiser in view of the Post Mortem that the request be denied,” said Garten.
“What Post Mortem?” asked Saracen, playing his ace. It failed to have the effect he had anticipated. Garten exchanged an exasperated glance with Saithe then he looked at Saracen and shook his head. Saracen felt his stomach go hollow. Something was wrong. He had played his trump card and Garten hadn’t even flinched.
“Surely you know that there has to be a PM on all sudden deaths Doctor?” said Garten. “Why should Mrs Archer be an exception?”
“I would like to see the report,” said Saracen feeling like an automaton and fearing the worst.
Garten remained motionless for a moment like a spider surveying a fly caught in its web then he delivered the coup de grace. He picked up his briefcase from the floor and took out a document. He slid it over the desk to Saracen.
Saracen read the heading on the paper. ‘Findings of the Post Mortem Examination on Myra Louise Archer’. His heart sank as he leafed through the preliminaries to look for the pathologist’s signature. His eyes followed every curl in the ink as he read, Cyril A. Wylie. Cause of death was given as myocardial infarction. Listed as a complicating condition was Salmonella otangii type IV. Saracen looked up to meet Garten’s eyes.
“How else could I have signed the death certificate?” said Garten with such quiet menace that Saracen felt transparent.
“Can I ask a question?” asked Grimshaw.
“Of course,” replied Saithe.
“What exactly is this infection that was mentioned?”
“Salmonella? It’s a serious form of food poisoning. It’s related to the bacterium that causes typhoid.” said Saithe.
Garten added, “Dr Tang was quite right in her suspicions and just as well as it happens. On the strength of her diagnosis we requested British Airways to contact Mrs Archer’s fellow passengers on the flight from Zimbabwe and arranged for them to have some covering therapy.”
“So you think that it was something she caught on the plane?” asked Grimshaw.
“It was a possibility I could not overlook,” replied Garten.
“Of course not,” Grimshaw concurred.
Saracen found himself with a grudging admiration for Garten. The man had had a busy night, preparing a line of defence for every conceivable line of attack.
Saithe looked at his watch pointedly and said, “We are all busy men. Unless you have something sensible to say Dr Saracen I suggest we terminate these proceedings.”
“Where is Leonard Cohen’s body?” said Saracen.
“I beg your pardon,” said Garten.
“I think you heard,” said Saracen. “I asked where Leonard Cohen’s body was.”
“You know very well that Mr Cohen’s body was taken to the premises of a local undertaker when our refrigeration system failed,” replied Garten. You went there yourself this morning to examine the body though for what reason I cannot imagine.”
So Dolman had been in touch with Garten, thought Saracen. He took comfort from a slight look of unease that had appeared in Garten’s eyes as he failed to follow Saracen’s line of questioning. It was something he had not been prepared for. “I did go there this morning,” he said,” and I did examine a body but it was not that of Leonard Cohen.”
“What are you saying Doctor?” asked Saithe.
I am saying that I went to the premises of Maurice Dolman and Sons this morning to examine the body of the patient Leonard Cohen whom Dr Garten had transferred immediately after his death. The undertakers showed me a body but it was not that of Leonard Cohen.”
“What do you mean it wasn’t Leonard Cohen?” snapped Garten.
Saracen told him his reasons and saw a first hint of fear on Garten’s face.
“I’m sure there must be a perfectly rational explanation if what you say is true,” said Garten. “Perhaps the attendant showed you the wrong body.”
“He showed me the only male corpse they had,” said Saracen, driving home his advantage.
“What time was this?” asked Garten.
Saracen got the impression that Garten was stalling. He told him what time it was when he went to Dolman’s.
“Ah, that explains it,” said Garten with feigned relief. “Cohen’s body would have been away for autopsy by that time.”
“And you have the report,” said Saracen quietly, seeing that Garten had recovered the initiative. The man had had a busy morning.
“Of course,” replied Garten, pulling out another document from his case.
Again Saracen saw Cyril Wylie’s signature on the report. He handed it back and said, “I’d still like to see the body.”
“Really Dr Saracen this is all becoming too much,” protested Saithe.
Garten gave an apologetic smile and added, “And rather academic I’m afraid. In the absence of any next of kin Leonard Cohen’s remains were sent for cremation after the Post Mortem this morning.”
Saracen felt the numbness of defeat. Liquid lead flowed in his veins. Saithe got to his feet and said to Saracen, “Doctor I must remind you that you are suspended from duty until further notice.”
Saracen returned to the flat feeling angry and impotent. His worst fears were becoming reality. This was no minor skirmish with authority; this was his exit from medicine unless somehow he could turn the tables on Garten. He called Moss at the County Hospital and told him what had happened. Moss agreed to meet him for lunch in Skelmore rather than talk further on the phone. They met, as arranged outside The Green Man pub at twelve thirty.
“I thought you said that there was definitely no Post Mortem done on Myra Archer,” said Saracen, unable to keep the accusation out of his voice.
“That’s right. There wasn’t.”
“Garten had a PM report on her signed by Cyril Wylie. He’s just crucified me with it.”
“Has he now?” said Moss quietly. “What date?”
“The thirteenth.”
“I checked Wylie’s schedule from the twelfth right through to the fifteenth. Myra Archer wasn’t on it. He simply didn’t do it, unless of course he took his work home with him.”
Saracen did not feel like laughing. “Can you prove that Wylie did not carry out a PM on Myra Archer?” he asked Moss.