The metal door of a walk-in fridge swung open. Inside you could see the logic. On the slabs lay cadavers, heads protruding from one end of blankets or sheets, yellowing feet from the other. Most had been shot.

Beneath them, on a floor sticky with red blotches, were bundles in plastic bin liners, each with fragments of what was once a life.

The chief attendant, Naji Chechan, rearranged some bags to make more space. "Twenty dead, six in a car accident, the rest through gunfire or explosions. A bit less than average. A pretty normal day I suppose."

The task for Iraq's leaders meeting this week was to create a future in which that toll will be abnormal. A constitution acceptable to most Iraqis could ease the mayhem but parliament has now indefinitely postponed a vote to approve the final draft in the face of Sunni opposition.

As the politicians haggled, the violence increased with clashes erupting between rival Shiite groups. Eight presidential bodyguards were shot in northern Iraq, six elderly men were gunned down in a cafe north of Baghdad and the bodies of 37 tortured and executed men were found south of Baghdad.

Karim Yasin grieves outside the morgue in Baquba as he waits for the body of his brother Mohammed, killed by unidentified gunmen, to be released.

The Iraqi Government and US officials hope the draft constitution will paper over divisions, paving the way for a December election and a stable government capable of imposing a degree of law and order. Critics say a document disliked by Sunni Arabs will worsen the anarchy.

Baghdad has borne the brunt of the slaughter. Some 1100 corpses were brought to the main morgue in July, a record. Six of Yarmouk hospital's arrivals on Thursday came from an apparent suicide bombing in Baghdad's al-Shurta district.

Relatives lined the wall of the morgue courtyard, sobbing. Under the midday sun it was like an oven. The three refrigerated rooms for the dead were cool, but identifications were done as quickly as possible.

Pulling back a sheet was a lottery. Some faces were waxy, unmarked and expressionless. Some, like the grey-haired woman in a blue dress, were bloodied, teeth bared. Some faces no longer existed.

In two weeks Yarmouk hospital will open a new morgue, built by an Iraqi company with money and supervision by US Army engineers. "We never have enough room for bodies," said chief administrator Haqi Ismail.

In the emergency ward 15 people groaned on beds. Ten of them had been shot that morning. Guard Abdul Mujib, 35, was hit in the left thigh and hand outside his office.

No one knew who had opened fire or why and no one seemed curious, including Abdul Mujib. What mattered was that he would recover.

"It could have been anyone for any reason," shrugged a colleague.