This story precedes the show. Please ignore all pseudoscience.


The deceased had a great many relatives and none of them was what Henry would describe as unassuming.

He stood back, quietly removing his gloves and white coat, preparing to slip from the morgue's visitor room and let Lucas manage the chaos which was evidently about to break out.

"Not so fast, boss." Lucas' arm shot out. Henry glowered at the familiarity from his assistant and Lucas flinched. "Dr Morgan. You're needed here."

Henry sighed. "You know me too well."

"I know you're the ME in charge and if you duck out now I might say something ill-advised and bring the service into disrepute."

"A threat. I see." Henry refastened his lab coat and turned back to the throng. "Very well. Excuse me!" He raised his voice and the crowd ignored him completely. "Excuse me!"

He grabbed the nearest implement - a pair of liver tongs - and struck a tattoo against the metal edge of the vending machine.

The hubbub ceased. Chips and Snickers bars rattled in their coils. "Thank you," said Henry. "Who here is the next of kin of Kevin Brennan?"

Seventeen voices claimed the honour.

"Let me try another way," Henry said. "Who here enjoys filling in very boring forms?"

"I'll do it," said a woman, edging through the crush of people. "God knows I've nowhere else to be."

She was slender and silver-haired, the kind of pale silver-blonde colour that women go when they don't want to go grey. She was dressed in a pale blue coat like an Easter sky. Her hair was short, but expensively cut, and while her knee-length skirt and court heels suggested glamour, Henry noticed that her nails were not painted. Indeed her hands were as red and raw as a washerwoman's.

Henry nodded to Lucas, who began to shepherd the rest of them out.

"Kevin was my cousin," said the woman. She held out her hand. "Grace Brennan."

Henry shook hands. "Doctor Henry Morgan. I'm the medical examiner for the city. -Your cousin apppears to have been a popular man."

Grace Brennan snorted. "His money was popular. I'd say he himself was the least social man I've ever known. A hermit, he was." There was a lilt to her accent, an echo from far away and long ago.

"His death - because of the potential size of the estate - has come under my jurisdiction," said Henry. "And it was unexpected. I need to confirm that no foul play was involved. Do you know if anyone would want to harm him? "

She shook her head. "I wanted to kill him myself about half the time." She seemed unaware that this might be a provocative statement. "But that's just family, you know what I mean."

Henry grimaced. "In this place, Mrs Brennan, one sees so much of death that it is hard to imagine wanting more of it."

"I suppose so," she said, once more with the musical cadence to her voice. "And it's isn't Mrs Brennan. It's Miss."

"Of course," said Henry, peering more closely at her. He smiled as he ticked off the details in his mind. "Kevin was your father's brother's son. You've never been married, I see that now."

Her eyes gleamed. "What makes you say that, Dr Morgan?"

He indicated her hands. "Because anyone who has spent, what is it, twenty years, caring for a sick cousin had hardly had time for romance."

She folded her hands under her arms, staring.

"The fact that you've kept it a secret, when there's so much to gain from Kevin's will, makes it all the more intriguing," said Henry.

"Nobody knows," she whispered. "Nobody. So how do you -"

"You'd better come into my office," said Henry.