Morse had spent his CID career trying to avoid the morgue, much to the mockery of his colleagues in Carshall Newton. In Oxford he had already earned the contempt of Lott, so he was doing his best to keep Thursday onside until he had the measure of his albeit temporary senior officer. He had felt his heart rate increase as he had walked in the door and smelled the familiar clinical disinfectant, and he could feel a hot flush beginning to creep up his neck. It was a common trait among pathologists, taking delight and enthusiasm in extrapolating an autopsy, oblivious to the discomfort of those in attendance. If only DeBryn could get it over with without the detailed description and Morse would just about make it out the other end.
Thursday watched impassively as the blood flowed into the steel drain and out of the corner of his eye he saw Morse swallow. Morse had tried to keep the dizziness at bay by looking at a fixed point in the distance, but when he heard the sound of flowing blood he looked down before he could stop himself. His face began to flush with hot blood, beads of sweat broke out across his brow and he could hear a ringing in his ears. He decided he would have to go and sit outside and face the ridicule later. Before he could excuse himself the ringing grew louder and the world suddenly lurched to the side, tipping him off balance. Thursday heard a small moan and noticed him stagger out of the corner of his eye so instinctively turned, catching the young man as he fell. As the ground flew up to meet him, Morse felt strong arms around him, heard his name being called, then he passed out into static.
Thursday gently lowered him and laid him on the floor ignoring the pathologist clicking his tongue impatiently and taking care not to bang the young man's head. Thursday could see how pale Morse was and unlike so many others in the force he felt nothing but sympathy. The young man was impossibly thin and had thrown himself into the investigation – Thursday wasn't in the least bit surprised that the constable was now lying unconscious on the floor.
DeBryn stripped his gloves off and walked round the table, and the two men crouched down beside Morse. The doctor briefly placed a hand on Morse's forehead then placed two fingers on his wrist while counting on his watch.
"He's very clammy and his pulse is racing but he'll be fine in an hour or so," DeBryn reported shortly. "I've got a sofa in my office he can lie on until we finish."
Morse groaned as he began to stir and when he opened his eyes he found himself looking up at his concerned looking superior officer and the brusque doctor. He could feel a pounding in his head and still felt hot confused as to how he had come to be on the floor.
"Wha…what?" Morse groaned thickly.
"You're alright Morse," Thursday assured him, helping him up as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "We're going to take you through to DeBryns office, if you feel ok to stand up?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Honestly." Morse still felt weak and shaky but he was desperate to leave the morgue.
Thursday and DeBryn weren't convinced one bit but they too thought he would be better with a change of scenery so they took an arm each and helped the young man to his feet. Once upright, Morse had a head rush and swayed alarmingly, instinctively reaching out to the men supporting him.
"We've got you lad, don't worry," Thursday said, as he and DeBryn grabbed him and held him up firmly between them. Slowly, a step at a time, they walked Morse towards the adjoining office. He staggered a few times, but the combined strength of Thursday and DeBryn was more than enough to take the weight of his painfully thin frame. They laid him on the sofa and Thursday removed his tie and opened his collar as DeBryn handed him a glass of water and a cold compress.
"You'll feel better sooner if you just lie here and drink all this water," DeBryn instructed him, opening a window. "We'll come back for you when we've finished." The two men left, leaving Morse to close his eyes and try to push away the feeling of humiliation.
"He's not a bad detective you know," Thursday stated fiercely, closing the office door behind them. He was silently daring the Doctor to make a smug remark about the events that had just unfolded so he could defend his colleague.
"Undoubtedly," the Doctor agreed, putting on a fresh pair of gloves and resuming the post mortem. "He was uncomfortable out at the Thrupp scene too, but obviously sharp. He has the makings of a good detective."
"He just hasn't had the right encouragement yet, hasn't found his full potential. His last station was hardly a nurturing environment."
"Carshall Newton wasn't it? Know anyone down there?"
"Another DI, so I made some discreet enquiries. My source didn't know him personally but his reputation preceded him, he was the butt of all the station jokes. Apparently he passed out in another post mortem a few months ago. Instead of sitting him somewhere to rest up, they left him lying on the floor then 'accidentally' locked him in the morgue for a few hours. When another doctor found him he was absolutely frantic, having a full blown panic attack," Thursday growled, his mouth and eyes angry lines.
"That's completely out of order," DeBryn agreed hotly. "Explains why he's been looking so peaky though. What happened after that?"
"The doctor got him out and it took a few hours to calm him. Since then the station have just been shunting him from pillar to post. Any excuse to get rid of him, they jumped on the opportunity to send him up here."
"Their loss. Think there could be a permanent position for him here?"
"Not as things stand. There's no room in the station budget for an additional officer. Damn pity, it'll break my heart to send him back down there."
"Well, you never know what might happen. And we're finished here."
"Cause of death?"
"Strangulation. See these marks on her neck? They match the patterns on her brassiere. She had been struck on the head with a heavy object prior to death, and she hasn't been interfered with. Make of that what you will. I'll type up my report and have it in by tomorrow"
"Thanks Doctor."
"Not at all. I'll just give Morse a quick check before you take him away. I think you'd probably be best taking him out the other door of my office."
"I'd appreciate if his … 'problem' could just stay between us."
"I see no need to mention it in the report," DeBryn replied with a smile.
Lying on DeBryns sofa, Morse had drank the water and was indeed starting to feel better. He was trying to suppress the tidal wave of memories from that other incident at Carshall. The disorientation of coming round on cold hard floor; the bewilderment of being alone; the anxiety of the door being locked; the panic and claustrophobia of being locked in a small room with a dead body. He had tried to keep himself calm as he banged on the door and called for help, certain someone would come back for him. As minutes had turned to hours, he found the phone had been disconnected and at this point he had begun hyperventilating. He remembered sliding to the floor, the room spinning wildly around him, the blood thundering through his head. He hadn't been able to draw breath and his heart and lungs had felt like there was an iron cage around them. Eventually after what felt like days, another passing doctor had heard him and helped him out. He had sat in the kindly doctor's office breathing into a paper bag, and it had taken more than an hour for him to calm down enough to be able to leave.
The doctor had been good to him, but at the station it was another matter. This event had been met with the highest hilarity, and Morse had been subject to cruel taunts and mocking for weeks. After a few weeks even the chief super had to admit things had gone too far so he had seconded Morse to a different inspector. Since then, Morse noticed he had been shunted around and he knew the station had been glad for any excuse to be rid of him. Shame there weren't any vacancies with Thursday. Still, he could always leave the force altogether. It really wasn't what he thought it was going to be and he could always go travelling or pick up his degree.
He opened his eyes again as the door opened and Thursday and DeBryn came in. Without asking permission, the Doctor felt Morse's brow then took his wrist to check his pulse again.
"Feeling better?" Thursday asked kindly
"Yes, thank you Sir," Morse replied, embarrassed.
"Well you're not clammy anymore and you look a much better colour now. Your heart rate is still quite high but it will come down within the next hour or so. Keep hydrated, take some aspirin for the headache and try not to exert yourself for the next few hours," the doctor spoke bluntly, handing him back his tie.
As he stood up, Morse noticed the other two men looked poised to catch him but he felt steady enough on his feet and the room was staying where it should be. He felt cool again and the dizziness was gone but he did indeed have a thumping headache. He followed Thursday through another door into the corridor beyond, and they walked wordlessly out to the car. Thursday didn't take the road back to the station; instead he drove and parked them outside an unfamiliar pub.
He left Morse at a table in the garden, returning a few minutes later and plonking a large glass of ale in front of Morse.
"Actually Sir, I don't drink," Morse explained sheepishly, lifting his head out of his hand.
"Very commendable. Now get that down you," Thursday advised wisely. "If you're going to apologise, dont."
Morse had indeed just been about to start a grovelling apology but Thursday was obviously trying to spare his embarrassment by making light of it. Relieved and grateful, Morse turned his attention to his ale and in taking a gentle sip, discovered that it wasn't half bad. As they drank and chatted away about the case, Morse felt the rest of his strength returning to him, especially when Thursday insisted on making him eat a plate of beans and toast he had bought.
"Just what the doctor ordered," Thursday remarked, noticing the marked increase of colour in Morse's face.
"DeBryn…" Morse queried.
"DeBryn can be a bit sharp at times but he is an outstanding Doctor. His bark is much worse than his bite and he'll see you right if you're in need. He knows a good officer when he sees one and if you make the effort to earn his respect, you'll get respect and unwavering loyalty back."
"What a way to make a bad first impression," Morse groaned. "Just as well I won't be here for too long then."
"I wouldn't be so sure, I think you might have struck the right chord with him," Thursday winked at Morse as they stood up to leave.
As Morse departed to interview Mary's friends, he felt re-energised and refreshed and reflected on the stark difference of the care and compassion he had received from Thursday. That had spurred his decision – if a position didn't become available at Oxford before his departure, he would hand in his resignation and face whatever the world had to throw at him.