‘How long do you reckon he’s been out here?’ asked Harold, ignoring him.
The body was starting to stiffen, but it didn’t look to Midge as if rigor mortis had properly set in. ‘I think he’s been here quite a few hours.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ cried Rona, her shoulders heaving. ‘He wasn’t going to leave until the morning.’
Bridie had started coughing quite heavily, pulling her coat closer around her. ‘Bridie, would you take Rona inside, please,’ asked Midge, knowing Bridie would never go in of her own accord. ‘Make her a drink or something.’
Surprisingly, Bridie acquiesced and led a visibly distraught Rona back into the house.
‘Is he going to vomit again?’ asked Harold, pointing at Noah, who had just registered all the blood.
‘Two murders –’ Midge held up a finger to stop Harold from interrupting – ‘and no help coming.’
‘It’s the ghost,’ murmured Noah. ‘I keep telling you.’
‘I’m starting to think he’s got a point,’ remarked Harold to Midge, stamping his feet on the ground to warm them up.
‘Do you believe in Father Christmas too?’ sighed Midge.
‘What are we going to do with... with him?’ asked Noah, flapping his hand down at the body. ‘We can’t fit him in the bath with Rendell.’
Midge looked at the white lawn around them, gripping hercane to keep her fingers warm. ‘The snow and air temperature should preserve things enough for any forensic team that eventually arrives. As long as nothing is disturbed.’
Noah, with an audible sigh of relief, went to follow Midge as she headed back to the house, but they both stopped after a few steps when they realized they had left Harold behind, still standing beside Dr Mortimer. His head was bowed and he appeared to be murmuring something to himself.
‘Are you saying a prayer?’ called Noah, groaning.
Harold waved his arm down at the doctor. ‘It doesn’t seem right to just leave him like this, without saying a few words.’
Midge came back, followed by Noah, who was wiping the snow from his cheeks.
Harold cleared his throat. ‘The only thing is that I don’t really know any. Apart from “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands”, and I think that might be a hymn.’
‘As the veil between worlds thins, may the spirits guide you through the ethereal realms,’ said Noah, before abruptly beating both arms across his chest. ‘It’s the paranormal investigators’ last rite,’ he muttered, responding to Midge’s bemused look.
‘I only know one prayer,’ she said. ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name; thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil.’
After which, it occurred to Midge that she had recited the same thing when they had buried the cat in the garden.
‘Shouldn’t we say something about him?’ said Harold. ‘About his life?’
‘We didn’t really know him,’ pointed out Noah.
Midge stared down at the sheepskin coat and cleared herthroat. ‘RIP Andrew Mortimer. If you had met him, you would have liked him.’
‘Amen,’ said Harold, solemnly, as snowflakes settled on his toupé.
And with that, the three of them turned their backs on Dr Mortimer and trudged back through the falling snow to the house.
Chapter47
When a loved one dies unexpectedly, or someone receives any kind of big shock or trauma, there is always a compulsion to shepherd that person towards bed and sleep. Doctors prescribe painkillers and there is generally talk of the body simply shutting down, while people tell each other that it’s really the best thing for it. But Midge had often wondered if, in fact, the urge to confine the bereaved to bed rest came from a desire to avoid witnessing their pain. It tucked them away, neatly, out of sight and out of mind.
However, people follow habits, don’t they? And never more so than in times of stress. So, that is exactly why, shortly after discovering Dr Mortimer’s body, Midge was rummaging through his medical bag trying to find something to give to Gloria for the shock. And at that precise moment, something odd caught her eye on the green and white prescription pad within the bag’s inner pocket. The medicinal issuer at the top of the pad was not Dr Andrew Mortimer, but was instead a stamp in the name of Dr Alan Masters. Thinking that now was not the best time to raise the matter with the late doctor’s wife, she mentally tagged and filed the prescription pad away in her mind before finding some sleeping pills and handing them over to Gloria. After witnessing her dutifully swallow the pills, Midge tucked her back into bed and firmly shut the bedroom door on her.
For the rest of them, it was a very subdued party that sat around the kitchen table that lunchtime. Concerned that Bridie had been overdoing it, Midge insisted on her resting on the chaise longuein the drawing room, and Harold was only too happy to prepare a fire for her as it gave him something to do, other than shovel up more buckets of snow to cover Rendell with. No one had mentioned it, but the stench from the body was unmistakably seeping through the bathroom door.
Quite frankly, it was a relief to separate Bridie from Rona. Every time Rona burst into tears, which was often enough, Bridie would roll her eyes and mouth ‘addict’ to Midge. Rona was very emotional and certainly appeared a woman on the edge, but whether it was anything synthetic rather than nerves was hard to tell.
