Habeas Corpus

The inspector examined Uncle Harry's passport. "Thank you, sir. That seems to be in order. Now we're getting somewhere. You are Mr Harold Fraser. What about the lady, sir? Is she Mrs Harold Fraser?"

"She's not my wife, if that's what you mean."

"Who is she then, sir?"

"I don't know. I've never seen her before today."

"Now we're getting somewhere! Not Mrs Harold Fraser, eh? An impostor! Come on, my girl, own up. Who are you?"

"I am Mrs Harold Fraser."

"Can you prove that? Let me see your passport."

"I haven't got a passport."

"Aha!"

"But I have got my Identity Card with me." Mrs Fraser produced her Identity Card and showed it to the Inspector.

"Well, well, you are Mrs Harold Fraser. This is all very confusing."

The administrator intervened. "If I may, Inspector, there are two Harold Frasers: Harold Fraser Junior and Harold Fraser Senior."

"I see, sir. Now we're getting somewhere. And which one of them is the dead body?"

The administrator consulted a file. "Harold Fraser Senior."

The Inspector addressed Uncle Harry. "So you must be Harold Fraser Junior." He turned to Mrs Fraser. "And you are Mrs Harold Fraser Senior."

"No, my husband is Harold Fraser Junior."

"But he just said you weren't married to him."

"I'm not. I'm married to the man we just brought in."

"Oh, the dead one?"

"He wasn't dead when we brought him in!" Mrs Fraser wailed.

The hospital administrator had been getting increasingly perplexed, and telephoned for the doctor who had attended both admissions to come and hopefully elucidate matters. When he arrived, the administrator questioned him. "You had a patient admitted earlier whom you certified as being dead. What was his name?"

"He was admitted under the name of Harold Fraser Senior."

"I see. And you have just had another patient admitted. What is his name?"

"He was admitted under the name of Harold Fraser Junior."

"And is he dead?"

"Good Lord, no. Just a mild heart attack, that's all. With the proper rest and medication, he'll be up and about in no time."

"Wait a minute," the Inspector objected. He pointed to Uncle Harry. "Is this the Harold Fraser you certified dead?"

"Don't be daft. Of course not."

"Then there must be three Harold Frasers!" the Inspector declared triumphantly. "Harold Fraser Junior, Harold Fraser Senior, and Harold Fraser . . .What comes after Senior?"

"Deceased," the doctor suggested. He was not long out of medical school, and still retained an irreverent sense of humour.

The Inspector was prepared to accept this designation. "Right! Harold Fraser Deceased! Where is he? Where's the dead one?"

Mrs Fraser cowered behind the inspector, and pointed to Uncle Harry. "It's him! He's both of them! He's Harold Fraser Senior and Harold Fraser Deceased. He's a zombie!"

* * *

After Mrs Fraser had been removed to the psychiatric ward for observation, the nurse returned to her duties in casualty, and Uncle Harry departed muttering imprecations against "damn fool Poms". The hospital administrator, the doctor, and the police inspector remained, discussing how the matter was to be described in their respective reports.

"It all depends," the inspector suggested, "on how many Harold Frasers were involved. It seems obvious to me that there were only two. When the ambulance came in the first time, it contained two Harold Frasers and the woman. One of the men walked out the door with the woman, and the other man was removed from the mortuary soon after. When the ambulance came back the second time, it again contained two Harold Frasers and the woman. It flies in the face of common sense to suppose that they weren't the same men."

"But the second time they were both alive," the doctor pointed out, "and the first time one of them was dead."

"So you say," the inspector replied, "but in that case we either have to believe that the corpse came alive again, or else that there's a body floating around loose out there, and if there is, where is it, eh?"

"I'm not going to have it suggested that I issued a death certificate for a living person," the doctor protested angrily.

"Be reasonable, doctor," the administrator pleaded. "You are a scientist. You are aware of the principle of Occam's Razor, that a simple solution is to be preferred to a complex one. And besides, have you asked yourself why Mr and Mrs Fraser wanted the body so badly? Might it not have been because they knew it wasn't dead?"

"But I'm telling you that I know that it was, and I'm not having it on my record that I made a mistake."

The administrator and the police inspector looked mutely at each other, pondering how to resolve the matter. Suddenly a look of enlightenment came to the administrator's face.

"Tell me, doctor," he asked, "have your case notes for today gone to central filing yet?"

"No, they're still on my desk. I file them all together at the end of my shift."

"Then the matter is easily dealt with. Of course you didn't make a diagnostic error. How could anybody ever suggest such a thing? But you did make a slip of the pen. When you wrote 'Patient dead - Remitted to mortuary,' you actually intended to write 'Patient fully recovered: discharged'."

He opened a drawer of his desk and took out a small bottle. "I have a friend in America," he said, "who has sent me a sample of a fluid invented by a typist he knows. When you make a mistake, you just paint over it with this white stuff." He gave the bottle to the doctor. "She calls it 'Mistake Out.' She should market it: it would make a fortune."

* * *

Once clear of Nutchester, and no longer in fear of pursuit, Sam and Eric took it easy on the way back to Nutcombe. Billy Watkins' body, at present propped up between them in the front of the hearse, would soon be reunited with its coffin, at present reposing in the back, and returned to the chapel of rest ready for interment tomorrow. They felt that their efforts had earned a reward, and they stopped at the Red Lion for refreshment. When their thirsts had been adequately slaked, they resumed their journey and drove the remaining half mile or so to their destination. As they pulled up outside Lovejoy's funeral parlour, PC John Banks stepped from the shadows.

Banks had received the county wide call from police headquarters in Nutchester to be on the lookout for two body snatchers and a corpse. He had earlier observed Lovejoy's hearse, with Eric and Sam in the front, leave Nutcombe at some speed on the Nutchester road. It had occurred to him that these events might not be unconnected, and he had therefore stationed himself outside the undertaker's to await the return of the hearse. His suspicions received further support when he observed that there was a third party in the front seat. Sam lowered the driver's door window.

"Evening, constable. Is anything the matter?"

"Good evening, sir. Will you please step out of the vehicle?"

Sam reluctantly alighted from the hearse, attempting to nudge Billy towards Eric as he did so. This was a mistake. Exertion and ale had combined to render Eric drowsy, and his chin was dropping onto his chest when he felt a push against his side. Instinctively he pushed back, and Billy's lifeless body fell across the seat.

* * *

Banks prepared to telephone headquarters with pleasurable anticipation. He had locked Sam and Eric in a cell, arrested on suspicion of body snatching. He had locked the body in the hearse, and pocketed the keys, thus securing the essential evidence. He, Police Constable John Banks, of the Nutcombe station, had single-handedly succeeded in bringing a county wide hunt to a triumphant conclusion. It should be worth at least a commendation, if not a promotion.

With some difficulty, he eventually got connected to the Inspector in charge of the case.

"About the search for the body snatchers, sir . . ."

"Oh, you can stand down from that, Banks. The search is off."

"But I've got them, sir."

"Got them? Got who?"

"The body snatchers, sir. I've arrested them here in Nutcombe."

"Don't be a fool, Banks. The parties concerned were detained here in Nutchester and interviewed by me."

"You mean you have them under arrest there, sir?"

"No, they were released. My enquiries showed that no crime had been committed."

"No crime, sir?"

"That's right. Turned out there wasn't a body after all. It was all a mistake."

"A mistake, sir? Then what should I do with my suspects?"

"Release them, of course, and hope that they don't sue you for wrongful arrest."

"But the body, sir. What should I do with the body?"

"Body? What are you babbling about, Banks? I just told you, there wasn't any body."

"But there is, sir. The hearse has a body in it, sir. I saw it with my own eyes, sir."

"In a hearse? Well, of course a hearse is likely to contain a body, you fool. That's what they're used for. Have you been drinking, Banks?"

"But, sir . . ." Banks wailed.

"Listen, Banks. This body of yours. Is it the corpse of Harold Fraser Junior, Harold Fraser Senior, or Harold Fraser Deceased?"

"No, sir. It's Billy Watkins. I recognised him. He's due to be buried tomorrow."

"Banks, listen to me carefully. Go home, drinks two cups of black coffee, and go to bed. AND REPORT TO ME IN MY OFFICE TOMORROW AT 10 AM!"

* * *