Doctor Who_ Just War - Lance Parkin [79]
‘Is he dead?’ Kitzel winced.
‘Well, he’s come to the right place if he is,’ Summerfield said dismissively. Kitzel bent over. The attendant was still breathing. The nurse made him comfortable, examined his cut wrist and then glanced up at Summerfield, who was opening up one of the large army lockers. She dug around in the contents for a moment then pulled out a shapeless dark blue piece of cloth.
‘It’s my coat,’ Summerfield explained, dusting off some of the dried mud. As she was doing that, something else in the locker caught her eye and she glanced back. Summerfield swallowed, and reached inside, pulling out a long black umbrella. Its handle was red bakelite, shaped to resemble a fragezeichen.
Summerfield was examining something sewn to the material. ‘It’s a little name-tag. It says “This is the property of Doctor — ” — I can’t read the name, it’s covered by a patch of oil — “if lost please return to Portland Street Library, Paddington,
London”.’
‘This is your friend’s umbrella?’
‘Yup,’ said Summerfield absentmindedly, as she flicked through a set of notes on the clipboard. ‘There are only two bodies here. Drawer 3 and Drawer 7. It doesn’t say what date they arrived, it only says “March”. One of them might be the Doctor. You’ll have to help me.’
Summerfield moved over to Drawer 3, and tried to pull it open. Kitzel joined her. The drawer still wouldn’t budge. They tried again, and Summerfield grunted some curse. Kitzel tapped the keyhole.
‘There’s a lock,’ she said lightly. They caught each other’s eye and smiled. Kitzel regained her composure as she realized what she was doing, but this only made Summerfield chuckle again. The older woman had already found the key on the floor by the attendant, and was slotting it into the lock. This time the drawer opened without resistance, sliding out and locking rigidly into place.
The body was that of a boy, about Kitzel’s own age.
Naked, with a shaved scalp, the corpse was pale and virtually hairless, except for a patch of light brown pubic hair. There was a large entry wound in his abdomen that had been cleaned up. The boy had been shot at point-blank range. His eyes had been closed. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before; a lot of young men had died in this war, but it shocked her anyway. Summerfield was sitting down on the autopsy table.
‘I’d forgotten. I forgot all about him.’
‘This is your friend?’ Kitzel had expected someone older.
‘No, this is the man I killed. Gerhard.’
‘You are feeling guilty, now?’ she said reprovingly.
‘I felt pretty damn guilty when I did it,’ Summerfield snapped. Abruptly she stood, and pushed her hip against the drawer until it slammed shut. Gerhard vanished. Kitzel moved to Drawer 7 and unlocked it. Summerfield pulled it open.
Together, they peered in.
The contents were twisted, blackened. So much so that it took Kitzel a moment to realize that the object had once been human, and wasn’t some sculpture or tree trunk. It must have happened quickly: the skin had been carbonized. She glanced at the face. It was grinning, with pearl-white teeth. Its dark eyes were open. It smelt of roast pork. Kitzel was sick over it.
‘It’s no improvement, Kitzel, he still looks a mess.’ Kitzel shot Summerfield a glance, and it was enough to make her blush and apologize.
‘Is this your friend?’ Kitzel asked, wiping her mouth.
Summerfield shook her head, but checked the name-tag tied to what remained of the corpse’s left foot.
‘No,’ she confirmed. ‘Could you close it up?’ Kitzel did as she asked, grateful that the burnt body was no longer in sight. As she did this, she heard Summerfield opening up a third drawer. The tall woman grasped Kitzel’s shoulder.
‘How tall are you, nurse?’
‘Five feet, four inches.’
‘Nearly six inches,’ Summerfield cursed.
‘What do you mean?’
The knife was suddenly jabbed between her ribs. ‘I mean you’re six inches too short. Where I come from, women are taller than they are here. You’ll have to do. Strip.’
Kitzel hesitated, but not for very long. She had to step back to take off her jacket That done, she began unbuttoning