"Gill, B.M. - Death Drop" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gill B M)

He pushed open the mortuary door and called out for Gamlin who was in the office off the main corridor. Gamlin, who had been smoking, stubbed his cigarette out on a tin lid that had once held adhesive tape.

Fleming smelt tobacco and formalin. The corridor was painted green and had a stone floor. Double doors with glass insets led off it into the main room. He had steeled himself to accept a clinical' filing system of bodies in metal drawers, but if they were there they were tactfully out of view. In an alcove at the end of the room and partly hidden by a white screen was a hospital trolley. The small form on it was covered by a sheet. For a moment he stood in the middle of the room and couldn't move forward.

Preston said quietly, "You'll see him as.you remember him -- but take your time."

He began walking again. This time up to the trolley. The sheet was over David's face. He drew it back slowly. There were dark marks about the temples just below the springing fair hair. A small cut above the left eyebrow was a tiny line of mauve. Dark eyelashes lay thickly against the smooth freckled skin as if he slept. But this was no sleeping face.

This was nothing. Something loved. Something gone. David. Not here. Nowhere.

A shaft of sunlight came through the high window and lay across the trolley. It touched the skin with false colour as if nature tried to make amends.

Preston was at his side. "Did you want a priest? It didn't occur to me you might."

"No."

"Do you want to stay awhile? Gamlin will fetch you a chair."

"A few minutes -- no chair --just leave me."

He stood emptily by the trolley. What words now, David ? Your hand is a stiff ball of ice. I'm touching it. It's colder than mine.

I love you -- wherever you are.

That goes on.

He turned at last and walked through what seemed a Siberian wilderness or non-reality towards the main door. There was a girl standing there -- not looking at him -- looking at David. She was carrying wild flowers -- a rough posy of harebells and pinks. She was walking over to the trolley -- standing there -- putting the flowers on the white sheet -- still standing there. Now walking away, her face awash with tears.

Outside he felt the bite of the wind and heard the distant roar of the sea. He went over to the sea-wall and tried to struggle back to some awareness of his own personal identity.

He turned and looked back at the mortuary. The doctor ' and the girl were standing by the door waiting for him --

but giving him time. He went back to them. The girl, precariously calm, had stopped crying. Her lips were tight with tension and she avoided looking at him.

Preston introduced her. "This is Jenny Renshaw from the school. She's the matron and she knew David. She wants me to apologise for the way she walked in -- intruded on your grief. But she cared about him. And she had the flowers." He remembered Gamlin's furious expression. Wild flowers in a mortuary -- petals on a corpse. He had steered her out before Gamlin's annoyance could explode into words. He added, smiling at her, "Her function is to be around. To drive you wherever you want to go."

She found her voice at last and the words came out thickly, "Or to leave you alone. If you can't stand being with anyone -- then say so."

Her perceptiveness touched him so that he could almost feel human. The rejection that had begun to form in his mind became a reluctant acceptance. He didn't know he needed human companionship, but he was beginning to know it. She had wept for David. She was the first who had shown any genuine emotion for David.

There was a bond.

He thanked her briefly.

Preston told him that there was a form to sign concerning the autopsy which would take place the following day. They walked back to the hospital together while Jenny waited in the can He seemed to her like a man not fully alive -- as if he walked and talked because his body was geared to walk and talk. An awareness of his death-wish pricked her into something deeper than pity.

When he returned she asked him where he wanted to be driven. Brannigan had told her to try to persuade him to return to the school, but she was wise enough not to try. The role of ambassadress had been thrust on her. In no way was she accountable for the accident. As the youngest and only non-teaching member of staff Fleming would scarcely rate her as an opponent. At best, Brannigan said, he might listen to her sort of reasoning -- at worst he would dismiss her. There would be no overt animosity.

Fleming didn't know where he wanted to go. "Anywhere. Could you just drive for a while? Anywhere."