Free Tangled Web by Ken McClure Page A

out.’
    ‘They’ll lap it up,’ said Sepp. ‘They’ll see it as a good human-interest story and milk it for all it’s worth. Tears make good television.’
    ‘We’d better have a meeting and agree on what we’re going to say,’ said Harcourt. ‘Damage limitation is the name of the game.’
    ‘I’ll call my staff together and see if I can find out what really happened.’
    ‘We need names,’ insisted Harcourt. ‘We must identify the culprit or culprits and be seen to act firmly and decisively. Those responsible must be sacked without delay.’
    ‘But it must have been a genuine mistake,’ insisted Sepp. ‘No one would want something like this to happen. The guilty party will be just as devastated as the parents, I’m sure.’
    ‘Won’t do,’ snapped Harcourt. ‘The press will need a human sacrifice, nothing less will do. They must be sacked.’
    ‘And their heads mounted on the hospital gates,’ added Sepp sarcastically.
    ‘And as it’s your department …’ continued Harcourt icily.
    Sepp’s expression changed. ‘You think I should offer my resignation?’
    ‘In the circumstances, I think it might be the honourable thing to do, don’t you?’
    ‘Honourable?’ mused Sepp. ‘Where’s the honour in feeding a media circus? They wouldn’t know honour, or even common decency come to that, if it kicked them up the arse.’
    ‘That’s as may be,’ said Harcourt, ‘But we have to play the game over this one, present a solid front. The hospital’s good name is at stake. I want to be able to tell the Hospital Trust exactly what happened and what’s been done about it. That means finding out who’s responsible and getting rid of them whatever the extenuating circumstances.’
    ‘And me?’
    ‘Offer your resignation for the benefit of the press and we’ll decline it when the flak dies down.’
    Sepp looked at his watch and said, ‘Time’s getting on, you’d better tell the parents there isn’t going to be a funeral.’
    ‘I’ll phone them from my office,’ said Harcourt, making to leave.
    ‘Maybe not such a good idea,’ said Sepp thoughtfully.
    ‘What d’you mean?’
    ‘If we’re into playing the media game, a phone call might be seen as callous. You wouldn’t want that.’
    ‘Maybe you’re right,’ agreed Harcourt. ‘I’ll drive over there myself and tell them personally. I’ll get the address from Prosser.’
     
     
     
     
    Pathology Department 1pm
     
    ‘So that’s it?’ rasped Harcourt. ‘A monumental fuck-up and no one’s to blame? Just what do I tell the medical superintendent and the hospital Trust and what do I tell the tabloid scavengers baying at the gates? Just one of these things, folks?’
    Sepp shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably. ‘I’ve talked to all my staff and none of them can throw any light on this. I’m sorry but that’s the way it is at the moment.’
    ‘Then somebody’s lying,’ exclaimed Harcourt. ‘What about the mortuary technician who’s off today?’
    ‘I called him at home; he doesn’t know anything either.’
    Harcourt sighed in frustration. ‘Somebody must know something,’ he insisted. ‘Have you gone through everything in chronological order from the time of the post mortem on the missing child?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘And nothing. No one admits to having put the child’s body – or what he thought was the child’s body - in the coffin.’
    Harcourt shook his head. ‘Who took the waste over to the incinerator then?’ he asked.
    ‘No one admits to that either. A thought that B had done it while B thought that A had done it and it turns out that neither of them did.’
    ‘Jesus! You do realise that the press are going to crucify us over a Pathology department where nobody knows what anyone else is doing. It’s clear that someone on your staff knows more about this than he or she’s letting on.’
    Sepp bristled. ‘Or maybe it wasn’t someone on my staff at all,’ he snapped.
    ‘What d’you