Down Among the Dead Men Read Online Free PDF

much as we could for the time being; I wasn’t
looking forward to Monday morning, though.
    After finishing with Mr P on Friday evening, I went straight home, threw some clothes in a bag, grabbed some money, put the dogs on the leads and then the three of us walked
the two and a half miles to my parents’ house; by six thirty that evening I was raiding Dad’s wine cabinet and informing them both that we were all staying the weekend and that Luke
would be joining us as well a bit later.
    What had stuck in my mind the most from the first couple of weeks in the mortuary was the huge confidentiality thing that went with working for the hospital. It was massive and really important
to the Trust, as I knew from my previous job, but it seemed more real now and I felt protective of the patients in the mortuary, almost as if they demanded it now that they were deceased. It was a
matter of respect. I wasn’t going to gossip about them; that was not my style, and I had not heard any of my colleagues do this. The dead had little left except dignity and some things needed
to be left within the mortuary.
    Another thing I had realized was that Luke was not fazed by what I had chosen to do with my life. I had fully explained my job role to him, expecting some sort of reaction – OK, to be
honest, expecting him to look at me like I had two heads – but no, nothing apart from support. He did not pry, question or treat me any differently from the way he had before. Luke has a job
as an engineer, requiring a lot of concentration, time and effort. We have been together a year or so, and I have yet to see him get stressed about anything professionally or personally (apart from
bad drivers, that is). He just has this amazing ability to leave work at work and very rarely discusses it.
    As the evening drew to a close, though, Mr Patterson started to enter my thoughts and I couldn’t help worrying about what I was going to walk into on the following Monday morning.
     
    SEVEN
    When I arrived in the gloom of an early spring morning after the weekend, if I hadn’t already had Mr Patterson on my mind the faint smell that came to me as soon as the
door was opened would have reminded me swiftly. It was still relatively new to me in those days, but we had already had a body through the mortuary that was starting to go off, so it wasn’t
completely unknown to me. It was still faint, but it is like nothing else on earth and, no matter how many times you breathe it in, you don’t ever get used to it. I murmured a few silent
swear words and went quickly into the office where Clive and Graham were already sitting, the door shut tight in a fruitless attempt to keep out Mr Patterson. Graham made me some instant coffee and
we talked about the task ahead. Clive had still not resolved the problem of transferring him on to the PM table and, anyway, the atmosphere made it difficult to think of anything much.
    The time passed slowly with the usual routine of paperwork and cleaning, but the PM request had still not arrived in Clive’s inbox by the end of the day. What the hell was Neville playing
at? He’d promised us faithfully to get the request through as soon as he could. Mr Patterson on the surface appeared to be OK, considering; going a bit green and marbled over his stomach and
across his shoulders, but not yet too slimy or unpleasant to look at. A bit of blistering on his upper thighs, but again, that could be sorted, so I was told.
    Tuesday came and, switching on the computer, Clive had still not received the PM request. He could not ring Neville as he would not be in till nine, but we had two old ladies that required
autopsies so we at least had something to be getting on with, although not even Ed Burberry singing along to John Denver could distract from the smell that was becoming distinctly stronger.
    During all this time, Clive was constantly pondering the way we were going to get Mr Patterson onto the dissection table. We were