The Coroner (50 page)

    On
the two occasions she'd been inside there'd been only Peterson and a couple of
technicians in the building. She fetched out her phone and scrolled through its
address book, looking for his number.

    Tara
said, 'What are you thinking?'

    'Give
me a moment.'

    Peterson's
phone rang five times before the answer machine clicked in. She glanced at her
watch - it was just gone two.

    She
rang off. 'Right. I've got an idea. We'll go straight to Peterson's office -
he's not in there now and there's a good chance he'll be in the autopsy room
for the rest of the afternoon. I'll go in with Tony and cover for him, pretend
I'm there to speak to Peterson personally if anyone asks questions.'

    Tara
said, 'Wouldn't it less risky if he went in by himself?'

    Jenny
said, 'I'm taking full responsibility. And besides, I'd like to have a root
around.'

    Tara
moved her car to a space close to the mortuary entrance, facing out so she
could keep watch while Jenny and Tony went to the door. Tony pressed the
intercom but there was no answer. Jenny guessed it meant Peterson and his
technicians were busy. They waited a while before buzzing again - still no
response. Tony wondered about trying some of the windows around the back. Jenny
said no, too risky, but when they'd been standing there ten minutes she started
to flirt with the idea. Tony was all set with a thin plastic blade he said
could slip most window catches and Yale locks when Jenny saw the Filipina
cleaner she'd met on her first visit, pushing a steel janitor's trolley across
the car park.

    She
hurried over and, in a mixture of sign language and pidgin, indicated that she
needed to get through the door. The woman took a moment to place her, but when
she had she gave her a tired but friendly smile and took a detour with her
trolley, pulling a heavy bunch of keys out of her overalls. She unlocked the
door and Jenny gave her a warm thank-you.

    She
walked a few paces ahead of Tony, telling him to act as if they were here on
separate business, at least until they got into Peterson's office. The entrance
hall was empty, as was the small lobby and the two offices which led off it.
Jenny noticed they were signed 'Technicians' and 'Reception'. She glanced
through the safety glass and saw that reception had become an ad hoc storeroom
housing boxes of files. The technician's office looked more like a common room;
there was a computer terminal inside but the door was locked. She gestured Tony
to follow her to the slap doors, warning him that he might see some dead bodies.

    Tony
was unimpressed. 'You should see rotten.com.'

    She
nudged through the doors into the main corridor. Corpses stretched along the
wall in an unbroken line, parked two deep at one point: the result of her no
report no release policy. The shrill whine of a buzz saw came from the autopsy
room and up around the corner, out of sight, she could hear a gurney clattering
and a drawer being slid out of the fridge. She moved quickly and quietly over
to Peterson's office, Tony following, and pushed down the door handle. She
walked straight in, ready with her lines in case he was in there, but he
wasn't. She motioned Tony to follow and took a breath. Despite an extra beta
blocker her heart was pounding; her shirt was sticking to her back.

    Tony
got straight to work. Having checked that Peterson hadn't left his machine on
and logged in - no such luck - he started to unplug leads and reroute them
through his laptop. He set up an external modem and stuck an array of flash
drives into both Peterson's machine and his own box of tricks. Pulling up a
chair, he said, 'Ever heard of Crack 5 or John the Ripper?'

    'No.
Should I have?'

    'Password-cracking
programs, meant to be the best, but the one I've got, they wouldn't see it for
dust.' He started tapping on the laptop, his eyes flicking between it and the
desktop's screen. 'Does this look suspicious?'

    'I'd
have to say so, even with the waistcoat.'

    'Then
you'd better try doing something with the door and open the window.'

    Fighting
a sensation of panic which was rising despite the heavy wall of medication,
Jenny tried to keep her breathing even and shallow as she dragged over the
spare chair and wedged it tightly under the door handle. The window was more of
a problem: it had a simple pull-down catch and a side hinge but wouldn't open
more than a few inches.

    Tony
said, 'There's a lock on the bottom. There'll be a key around here somewhere.'

    She
scoured the windowsills and shelves but couldn't find it.

    Tony
said, 'Guess there's only one way out.'

    She
flapped the front of her blouse. 'How long's this going to take?'

    'A
while.'

    He
was crouched over the laptop, the peak of his cap pulled down over his face.
Jenny didn't know what he was doing or how he was doing it, she just wanted it
to happen fast, before her nerves gave way.

    She
tried to distract herself by nosing around Peterson's things. She got the
impression his office was somewhere he didn't spend much time. He had five
shelves of textbooks and journals, mostly covered in a thick layer of dust, and
the same again of box files filled with copy post-mortem reports, but they
seemed to peter out two years ago: probably when the hospital intranet went in.
His desktop printer was only a small inkjet which wouldn't have coped with more
than a few pages.

    She
guessed the system was designed to keep things paperless and centralized.

    On
the wall behind his desk was a noticeboard with all the usual corporate regs
and a dull calendar from a medical supply company. A couple of snapshots of his
daughter's birthday party had been added since her last visit. The way he'd
tacked up the birthday photos, at the bottom of the board, felt uncomfortable,
like he didn't know if his children's images should share the same space as a
lot of dead people. She repeated the thought to herself, dead
people . . .

    Tony
glanced up from his keyboard. 'There's eighty-five machines working on the
password. I'd like more but America's only just waking up.'

    'No
clue how long it's going to take?'

    They
both froze at the sound of footsteps on the tiles outside the door. The door
handle rattled, then rattled again. A voice that wasn't Peterson's said,
'He-llo?'

    Jenny
shot Tony an urgent glance. He twitched his shoulders, passing the problem back
to her. She stepped over to the door, tiptoeing on the carpet, and held the
chair steady as the handle jiggled a third time. 'Dr Peterson?' It was a local
accent, maybe one of the technicians. Jenny felt the sweat drip down her back,
gather at her waistband and trickle round towards her stomach. Whoever it was
grunted, sounding puzzled, and moved off to the right towards the autopsy room.

    Jenny
said, 'How long?'

    Tony
said, 'Ask the machine.'

    She
scanned the room and started searching - what for, she didn't know. She rifled
through each of the drawers in the filing cabinet, checked the two drawers in
Peterson's desk, then started on the box files she hadn't already checked.
There were invoices from undertakers, supplies contracts, receipts and service
agreements for technical equipment and bulletins from the Royal College of
Pathologists. Many of the files weren't marked and it looked as if Peterson had
stuffed them away without any thought to finding the contents again. A busy man
with no assistant to do his legwork.

    The
door handle rattled again. This time the voice was firmer. 'Hello? Anybody in
there?'

    Jenny
stood still but a file on the end of the row chose that moment to tumble
sideways and spill its contents on the floor.

    'Open
the door. You've got no permission to be in there.'

    The
rattling became more determined. Jenny rammed the chair harder up against the
handle. The man on the other side said, 'I'm calling security.' Jenny heard him
hurry across the corridor to the internal phone, shouting through to the
autopsy room, 'There's someone in there.'

    'Can't
you hurry up?'

    Tony
hit some more keys. 'I think we're getting somewhere.'

    Jenny
pulled down another two files and tipped the contents on the floor. More invoices,
minutes of meetings. She reached up to the shelf again and in the line of dust
saw a small Allen key. She picked it up and took it the window. It opened the
lock, the window swung open.

    
'Yes.
Got it.'

    Jenny
spun round. 'What?'

    Tony's
fingers were flying over the laptop. 'Angelz. Romantic.'

    'I
want all his documents created in April and May this year.'

    Tony
hit some more keys and scanned the screen. 'Everything's in the one file.'

    'Take
it all.'

    He
yanked out a couple of flash drives, stuck another into the laptop.

    More
footsteps approached the door, several sets. It was Peterson's voice this time.
'Who's in there? Open up.'

    Tony
said, 'I've got it,' and started pulling out leads and stuffing them in his
pocket. 'Get my machine in the bag.'

    Peterson
was alternately wrenching at the handle and pounding on the door, the chair
legs starting to slip.

    Jenny
shoved the laptop into its case as Tony grabbed the last of the trailing leads.

    'Now
what?'

    'Out
the window.'

    Peterson
bellowed through, 'OK, this door's coming in.'

    Jenny
got a foot up on to the sill as the plywood door buckled with the force of a
determined shove. Tony stuck a hand against her rear and pushed her. She
clattered out on to the tarmac and ran towards Tara's waiting car, Tony chasing
after her. Tara pulled out of the space and pushed open the passenger door.
Jenny dived in. They were already moving when Tony sprawled into the back seat.
Tara moved off at a steady pace, no dramatics.

    Jenny
glanced in the side mirror and saw Peterson arrive at the window, stick out his
head, look left and right, and home in on a black guy unlocking his car
opposite.

    Lying
across the back seat, Tony said, 'I think we'd better call it one-fifty.'

    They
dropped Jenny off around the corner, where she picked up her Golf, arranging to
rendezvous in Patchway McDonald's - Tony's choice. She stopped off at a petrol
station to draw out some cash and drove over to their meeting place, the restaurant
part of the giant sprawl of American style malls on the north-west fringe of
the city.

    Alison
called as she drew up outside.

    'Mrs
Cooper?' She sounded worried.

    'How
are you?'

    'Not
too good. We've had a visit.'

    'The
police?'

    'No,
the local authority. Someone from the legal department called, telling me I'd
have to leave the building. They sent two men down to see me out and change the
locks. I managed to get a few files into the car but I had to sign a document
saying I had no official papers in my possession. I get the feeling I might be
out of a job.'

    Trying
to lift the mood, Jenny said, 'It nearly killed me, but we've got Peterson's
files.'

    'What
do they say?'

    'Just
about to find out. I'm with Tara and the hacker over at Patchway. Why don't you
join us?'

    Alison
thought about it, then said, 'It's not like I've got anything to lose.'

    'What
about the package?'

    'I
called the sorting office - Harry didn't fill out a sender's address, so it's
still there. I'll pick it up on the way over.'

    Sitting
on a plastic chair bolted to the floor, Tony counted out the money, all one
hundred and fifty pounds, and said, 'Sweet.'

    Tara,
sucking milkshake through a straw, smiled across at Jenny, both of them letting
him believe he'd hit the big time.