Free The Chosen Dead (Jenny Cooper 5) by M. R. Hall Page A

politically correct, I know you won’t like it, but it’s the truth, and something has to be done about it.’
    ‘It sounds as if we’ve drifted beyond the personal.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t care,’ he said, with a dismissive wave of the hand. ‘Look – we’ve got C. diff, streptococcus, haemorrhagic E. coli, you name it. These are rapidly mutating, highly infectious, antibiotic-resistant strains and they’re killing people – usually the sick, and now the healthy. What’s more, they didn’t develop here, they came from outside.’
    ‘Outside?’ Jenny tried to disguise her scepticism.
    ‘We’re inundated with patients from countries where they either don’t choose to or can’t afford to treat infection properly. Instead of hitting C. diff with a broad spectrum of drugs they’ll use only one or two – not enough to kill the bacteria, just enough for it to develop antibiotic resistance. So another patient brings it here and we’ve nothing left in our armoury that’ll knock it out.’
    ‘And you can’t raise this issue because . . . ?’
    ‘For God’s sake, Jenny – you can’t blame an infection on
foreigners
, no matter how true it is.’
    ‘You want to stop treating foreign patients? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
    ‘Someone’s got to take an honest look at the situation.’
    ‘And you’re nominating me?’
    ‘You’re the coroner,’ he said accusingly. ‘I have to go. I’ll be late for theatre.’
    ‘Are there any documents I can look at? Would anyone be prepared to give me a statement?’ Jenny pressed.
    ‘I’m just giving you a steer, that’s all.’ He looked levelly at her. ‘And if my name is ever mentioned in this context I stand to lose my job – you do understand that?’
    ‘You needn’t worry, David. I shan’t embarrass you.’
    ‘Thank you.’ He seemed briefly grateful. ‘I’d appreciate that.’
    Jenny pressed the buzzer at the mortuary door at 7 a.m., more in hope than expectation. To her surprise, the intercom was answered by a junior technician who said that Dr Kerr was already at work. He let her in, but as she sidestepped the gurneys cluttering the corridor and made for the door of the autopsy room, he appeared through the swing doors to the refrigeration unit and called after her. ‘You won’t want to go in there, Mrs Cooper.’
    Jenny glanced through the observation pane and saw that a negative-pressure isolation tent constructed of several skins of clear polythene sheeting had been placed over the dissection table. Its electrically powered filters were designed to clean the air inside and ensure that no dangerous microorganisms harboured by the body could escape. Dr Kerr was at work inside it, wearing an all-in-one biohazard suit.
    ‘He won’t be long,’ the technician said. ‘He did the p-m last night but the lab came back asking for some more samples. You can wait in his office if you like.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    He nodded, as if reassuring himself that she could be trusted, and returned to his task.
    Jenny glanced back through the observation pane and saw Dr Kerr emerging from the tent with a number of steel flasks, which he placed into a refrigerated transport box. It was a procedure she hadn’t observed before and she found it unsettling. He looked up and saw her face. He waved a gloved hand then pointed, a gesture she took to mean that she should retreat to his office. She followed his advice.
    More than usually aware of the warmth of the sickly sweet mortuary air, Jenny went to the office window and tried to open it. A safety catch had been fitted that allowed it to open outwards only a few inches from the frame. She pressed her face to the narrow gap and took in a deep breath. She had blithely wandered the hospital’s corridors for the past four years without ever questioning whether it was an altogether safe place to be, but now it felt alive with hidden dangers. For all his many failings, David was the most unflappable person she had