Page 12 of Her Last Breath

‘I can’t talk now, Mum. Take the paracetamol and I’ll sort this later.’

‘I don’t know why I bothered,’ Maeve replied, exasperated.

There was muffled noise on the phone before Lorraine came on the line.

‘What’s wrong with her?’ Jane asked impatiently.

‘Mrs Hacker says her legs are hurting and she’s in agony. The doctor said this’ll happen because she’s immobile, so we’re trying to hoist her out of the bed, get her moving. The painkillers the doctor prescribed clearly say two every four hours. She says she doesn’t care.’

Resting her face against the cool metal of the mortuary doors, Jane took a couple of deep breaths.

‘Can you put me on speaker?’

‘You’re on speaker now, Detective.’

‘Mum, listen, this is for your own good. Let them do your exercises, take the tablets they are giving you. And if in an hour you’re still in pain, I’ll get the doctor to do a home visit, OK?’

There was silence at the other end.

‘OK, I need to go now, but I’ll call in an hour, OK? And where’s the phone I gave you? You shouldn’t be wasting Lorraine’s minutes.’

‘I told you I don’t know how to work that thing.’ Her mother’s voice sounded distant and faint on speaker mode.

‘Try, at least.’

Ending the call, Jane hurried into the mortuary. Inside, everything was metallic, white and sterile. A room behind the reception area housed a bank of computer screens. The post-mortem suite was to the left. Jane donned protective gloves and boot covers.

The rancid smell overpowered her as soon as she entered the small room. DS Johnson was dressed in PPE coveralls and a beard net, looking as though he was about to operate rather than observe. Standing next to him was a young Asian lady, who was about to slip on a facemask. Before she could open her mouth, Jane saw Alice’s body on the autopsy table and stopped in her tracks.

The young mother’s face was bloated, with sloughed skin hanging loosely from her frame. Alice’s torso was full of gas, as though she would explode if prodded, like a bag of putrid algae. Fish had binged on her extremities, open sores visible in the harsh light. This was not something anyone should see, especially Alice’s parents. Thoughts of Alice’s daughter, Emily, sprang into her mind, Jane’s heart aching as she remembered the innocent eyes asking her why?

‘DS Johnson, change of plan,’ Jane declared purposefully. She hoped there were no traces of the emotions she was feeling. ‘This post-mortem will be carried out by the forensic pathologist. Apologies for the miscommunication and I hope we didn’t waste your time,’ she said, acknowledging the young doctor who was staring at her in shock.

DS Johnson came up to Jane, speaking in a low voice.

‘We need the FP to focus on murder victims, not a suicide. Do you know how long the waiting list is? We might have to keep her on ice for days, ma’am.’

Jane indicated that he should follow her outside, leading the way out of the post-mortem unit.

‘You’re forgetting who’s in charge again, DS Johnson,’ Jane said, angrily pulling off her PPE.

‘I’m trying to make the best use of resources, ma’am.’

‘You sound like a memo. The same memo we all got after the banking crash and the financial crisis.’

‘People say those words, but up here, we feel them. We are still paying the price for the bailout and the pandemic,’ DS Johnson bit back, barely contained frustration on his face.

‘Burnley isn’t a bubble, the whole country felt the same shockwaves.’

‘Not the way we did. The North suffered far worse.’

‘You sound like Game of Thrones. This isn’t a race to the bottom. And you keep forgetting – I’m from Burnley.’

Jane didn’t blink, daring him to disagree, but kept a half-smile on her lips.

‘You don’t understand how things work up here, how we have to play the system,’ DS Johnson insisted. ‘We get a tiny window for a forensic pathologist, so we use that where most needed. Suicides come here.’

‘I know how limited resources work. And I also know how a chain of command works. Do you?’