Down Among the Dead Men_ A Year in the Life of a Mortuary Technician - Michelle Williams [85]
We all thought that we would hear no more of Dr Zaitoun, but we were to be proved wrong. One day Bill Baxford came to call at the mortuary. He looked worried: the inquest into the death of John Lester had been called and, at the last moment, Dr Zaitoun was unavailable. ‘He’s working in Coventry now,’ he said. ‘He claims that his secretary OKed the date with us without telling him, and now he’s gone and booked a holiday in France for the same time.’
Clive looked sour. ‘Has he really? Very convenient,’ he said sarcastically.
Bill shrugged. ‘Of course, ideally we’d like him there, but the Coroner wondered if you wouldn’t mind stepping in . . .’
Clive erupted. ‘You must be joking! Me? Why should I have to do the work of that idiot all the time? The guy was a total womble. Are you going to pay me the same expenses as you’d pay him?’
Bill, looking suitably embarrassed, mumbled something about making sure that Clive would be treated ‘properly’.
After Bill had gone, Clive went for a walk around the car park, a sure sign that he was stressed, then went up to see Ed, who had bad news for him. ‘Unfortunately, the Coroner’s court is like any other court. If the Coroner requests your attendance and you don’t comply, he can summons you and then fine you; I think he can even imprison you.’
After which, Clive went for another, longer walk around the car park. Maddie and I were feeling pretty unsettled at this point. Our relaxed atmosphere had turned into one of anger and uncertainty; we decided to busy ourselves so as not to cause too much more stress, and to stay out of the way.
In the end it was a big inquest, the court room packed out with barristers, solicitors, doctors, pharmacological experts and substance abuse experts. Clive went on his own, strikingly kitted out in his customary bright waistcoat, tweed jacket and dark trousers. He claimed not to be nervous, but I knew him well enough by then to see the lie in that. Maddie and I waited in the office for him to return and, when he did, were relieved to see that he appeared to have come through the ordeal with his customary swagger. It had been an open verdict, the Coroner unable to decide on the available evidence the precise circumstances that had led to poor John Lester’s death. The GMC were continuing to investigate the clinic that inserted the implant, and further proceedings might well follow.
‘Nothing to it, really,’ Clive told us. Ed had come down and was also interested to hear how it gone. Clive said to him, ‘He’s a nice chap, the Coroner, isn’t he? Looks after you when you’re in the box.’
‘Oh, yes. Very fair.’
‘Doesn’t take any prisoners, though,’ he told us. ‘The younger brother of the deceased was in court and he was chewing gum. When the Coroner spotted it, he stopped proceedings straight away. “Excuse me,” he said, looking straight at him. “Are you chewing?” Should have seen the look on the poor bugger’s face! He stopped chewing, went bright red, and nodded sheepishly. “Well, don’t, young man. This is a court of law, not a football match.”’ Clive sighed. ‘Excellent.’
FORTY-SIX
I hope you don’t think that Clive, Graham, Maddie and I are horrible people because we have a laugh and joke as we go about our work. Some might think that it’s wrong to listen to Radio 2 while you are pulling the organs out of a body, or do the morning Pop Master quiz (Maddie never knows any of the answers, much to Clive’s and Ed’s delight) while opening up a skull, but it doesn’t mean that we don’t respect the people we are dealing with, or the people who have been left behind by their deaths. I honestly think that we are more respectful and more concerned about both the living and the dead than anyone else, certainly as much as the chaplains and priests and rabbis and imams are.
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