Midnight Runner - Jack Higgins [55]
"It's all there, Senator," she told him quietly.
"Show the Senator into my study," Ferguson told her. "He can read the file in peace."
She led Quinn out. Dillon said, "What a sod."
"I agree, and I'm not looking forward to when he's done. You'd better pour me one of those, too."
Twenty minutes later, Quinn came back into the room. His face was very pale and the right hand shook slightly as he raised the file.
"Can I keep this?"
"Of course," Ferguson said.
Quinn said, "Right, I'll go along to the mortuary now. I'll need to identify her."
"Then drink this." Dillon poured another Bushmills. "Get it down. You're going to need it. In fact, I'll come with you."
"That's kind of you." Quinn turned to Hannah. "What about the inquest?"
"It's tomorrow morning. We managed to get them to bring it forward."
"Good. The sooner the better." He drank the Bushmills and said to Dillon, "Let's get it done."
Rupert had sat patiently in his Mercedes just down the street from the apartment. Finally, Quinn and Dillon came out, got into the limousine, and were driven away.
"Dillon," Rupert said softly, "now, that's interesting." A moment later, he was following them.
T he mortuary was the sort of aging building that, from the outside, looked more like a warehouse than anything else. Inside, it was different. There was a pleasant reception area, well decorated with fitted carpets. A young woman at a desk looked up and smiled.
"Can I help you?"
"My name is Quinn. I believe you have my daughter here?"
She stopped smiling. "Oh, I'm so sorry. We had a call a short while ago saying you were coming to identify the body. I've notified the local police station. It's only five minutes away."
"Thank you."
"And I've notified Professor George Langley. He's our regular forensic pathologist, and fortunately he's in the building right now. I thought you'd want to speak with him."
"Thank you. We'll wait."
He and Dillon sat down, but only moments later, a small gray-haired, energetic man entered. The girl whispered and he came over.
"George Langley."
"Daniel Quinn, and this is Sean Dillon, a friend."
"You have my deepest sympathy."
"May I see my daughter?"
"Of course." He said to the woman, "Send in the police officer when he arrives."
The room into which he led them was walled with white tiles, with fluorescent lighting and a line of modern-looking steel operating tables. Two bodies were covered with some sort of white rubber sheets.
"Are you ready?" Langley asked.
"As I ever will be."
Helen Quinn looked very calm, her eyes closed. A kind of plastic hood was on her head and a little blood seeped through. Quinn leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
"Thank you."
Langley replaced the sheet and Quinn said, "I've seen your report to the coroner. The alcohol, the drug? There's absolutely no doubt?"
"I'm afraid not."
"It's so unlike her. That's just not the girl I knew."
"That's sometimes the way of it," Langley said gently.
"And the boy? Is that him?" He nodded to the other body. "I didn't even know he existed."
"Well, yes, that is Alan Grant." Langley hesitated, then said, "I shouldn't do this, but it's an unusual business."
He lifted the sheet and Quinn looked down at Grant, who seemed even younger in death. "Thank you." Langley replaced the sheet. "And do you think he committed suicide, the way the police are hinting?"
"I only deal in certainties, sir. He had consumed a vast amount of vodka, but there was no trace of Ecstasy. No sign of any kind of bruising. Did he fall by accident off that wharf, did he jump? I can't help you there."
There was a knock at the door and a uniformed police officer appeared. "Ah, there you are, Professor."
The Sergeant had a form on a clipboard. "I regret the circumstances, Senator, but would you please formally identify the deceased?"
"She is my daughter, Helen Quinn."
"Thank you, sir. If you'd sign the form," and he nodded to Dillon. "Perhaps you'd be kind enough to witness it."
They did as they were asked and he withdrew. Langley said, "I'll see you at the inquest."
"Of course. Many