Dry Bones (7 page)

He stood watching all the activity from the sidelines and presently Detective Chief Inspector Rodgers came over.

‘We needn't keep you any longer, Colonel. Sergeant Collins will take your address and telephone number so we can get in touch. I take it you'll be going back to Dorset shortly?'

‘Unless Mrs Heathcote still needs my help.'

‘Hmm. Well, the remains will be removed for examination and we'll have some facts in due course.'

‘You'll keep Mrs Heathcote informed? I know she'll be glad to get the whole matter resolved as soon as possible.'

‘These things can't be hurried just to suit the people involved, Colonel. Believe me, I'd be just as glad myself if they could. I've been in the force for more than thirty years and I've got to the stage when I like nice easy, open-and-shut cases, not riddles like this one. I haven't got the energy or the patience any more, to be honest.'

He wondered if the inspector had any plans for his retirement. Was he looking forward to spending his days playing golf, or gardening, or making models? Did he have a shed where he'd be able to pass happy hours on his own, no longer bothered by wearisome police cases?

When the Colonel returned to the house, he found Cornelia slumped on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. She lifted a tear-stained face.

‘Why did this have to happen, Hugh? It's
so
unfair. The inquiry's going to take ages, I know it is, and everything's going to be ruined. I could kill that damned skeleton.'

There were times when no amount of money could help, he thought. When no magic wand could be waved to make things better. It was a hard lesson for the rich to learn. He sat down opposite her.

‘I'm afraid there's nothing to be done, Cornelia – except wait for things to take their course. The police will be removing the skeleton, so that's some comfort for you, at least. You won't have to think about it being there any more. And DCI Rodgers will keep you informed. You've just got to be patient.'

‘Supposing they start suspecting us of having something to do with it?'

‘Us? You mean, you and I?'

‘No, of course not. Nobody would ever suspect
you
of anything like that, Hugh. I meant Howard and I.'

‘There's no earthly reason why they should. You had no idea the skeleton was there, had you?'

‘Of course not. But the police always have suspects, don't they? They'll be back, asking more questions and not believing me. Hugh, you will stay, won't you? As long as you can? I really don't think I can face this on my own. I'm a hopeless mess, you see. I take all these pills – to calm me down in the day and make me sleep at night, but none of them seem to do anything.'

Most women could lean on their husbands in times of trouble, but, far from Howard being a prop, Cornelia seemed almost terrified of him. The Colonel felt sorry for her. He was also thinking of what Laura would want him to do. There was no reason for him to go back to Frog End immediately – only the village fête committee meeting which could manage perfectly well without him. In fact, the opportunity to miss it was almost too good to pass up. Thursday would probably not be amused by his prolonged absence, but was in no danger of starvation.

‘Yes, of course I will. But, as I've said, you really don't need to worry.'

‘Thank you, Hugh. You're so kind.'

He phoned Naomi.

‘Do you think you could go on feeding Thursday for a while? There's been some trouble here.'

‘What sort of trouble?' Naomi sounded intrigued.

He told her.

‘So I ought to stay. Hold Cornelia's hand for a bit.'

‘I bet she won't mind that.'

‘She's a married woman.'

Naomi cackled. ‘They're the worst. Watch out, Hugh.'

‘How's Thursday?' he asked, ignoring the remark.

‘Cross. When I let myself into the cottage, he comes and looks daggers at me and then stalks off. Still, he's eating the food.'

‘There's plenty more in the cupboard.'

‘Don't worry, I'll look after him.'

‘The garden . . .'

‘I'll water anything that needs it, and pull out a weed if I see one.'

‘I've just remembered – I ordered six of those white lavender plants and they should be arriving very soon.'

‘I'll field them for you. How long will you be away, do you think?'

‘I'm not sure – a few more days, I imagine.'

‘You'll miss the fête committee meeting, you realize that?'

‘Yes, I know. Would you make my apologies, Naomi?'

‘I'll tell them that you've been unavoidably detained by a skeleton and how sad and sorry you are.'

He smiled as he put down the receiver.

Cornelia retired to her room for an afternoon rest and the Colonel walked into the village to stretch his legs and buy a newspaper. Cornelia's magazines had their limitations if you weren't looking for a house to buy, or interested in taking a vicarious tour of grand interiors, or in reading articles on hunting, shooting or fishing and the like.

A proper old-fashioned bell jangled as he opened the door of the village shop. As he had expected, though, the stock was catering for its well-heeled customers. No rows of dusty tins, drums of custard powder or sacks of sprouting potatoes. Instead, vacuum-packed and frozen foods, jars of gourmet delights, all kinds of cheeses and pâtés, an impressive display of fresh fruit and vegetables and wonderful-looking bread, cakes and tarts. There was also a rack of very glossy magazines and, to his relief, some ordinary daily newspapers – even the one he preferred. As he approached the counter a woman came from the back of the shop. She was somewhere in her late forties, he judged – straight dark hair cropped short, square-jawed, thickset and wearing a spotless white overall.

‘Can I help you?' Her speech was gruff, but polite.

‘Just the newspaper, please.' He offered up a note apologetically and she gave him the change.

‘Are you staying in the village, sir?'

‘I'm visiting Mrs Heathcote. She's an old friend of my late wife's. I expect you know the house.'

‘From the outside. There was an old farmhouse when we first came here, with an elderly lady living alone. I believe her son had worked the farm but he was killed. We never saw her. I don't think she ever went out. It looks very different now.'

‘Yes, it must do.'

‘Mrs Heathcote comes in sometimes, but not her husband. I believe he spends a lot of time abroad on business.'

‘So I understand.' The Colonel looked round the shop. ‘You've certainly done a marvellous job here.'

She seemed pleased. ‘It's taken time to get things the way we wanted.'

‘Have you been in King's Mowbray long?'

‘Nearly eight years. It was just an old village shop when we bought it. All right in its time, of course, but the residents today want more than that. We used to run a delicatessen in Battersea until we decided to move out to the country. There's always plenty of demand for quality if you choose the right location with the right customers.'

‘I'm sure there is. Still, it must be pretty hard work.'

‘We've never been afraid of that. I look after the shop and the business side of things and my partner makes the cakes and tarts, and bakes the breads. They're very popular.'

He admired the carrot cake, the sticky ginger-and-pear cake, the cream-filled éclairs, the chocolate brownies, the fruit tarts, the lavender focaccia bread.

‘It all looks wonderful.'

‘We always buy local produce wherever we can – Wiltshire honey, local ham and bacon, local free-range eggs. And all our fruit and vegetables are fresh from local farms. Would you like to taste this cheese – it's a local product too?'

He was in the middle of sampling a very agreeable crumbly, blue-veined cheese when another woman came out from the back of the shop, carrying a tray of tarts. She could once have been lovely but her looks had faded, the features become blurred.

‘This is my partner,' the other woman said. ‘We were just talking about you, Alice.'

He walked back to the house, and was sitting reading the newspaper when Cornelia came down from her afternoon rest. He stood up politely.

‘You found the shop all right, Hugh?'

‘Easily. It's a remarkable place.'

‘Run by our tame lesbians. Well, Vera does all the running and Alice does all the baking. They're devoted to each other. It's rather sweet. Is it too early for a drink, do you think?'

‘It's never too early.'

Diego was summoned and a killer martini and stiff whisky appeared in a trice. He lit another cigarette for Cornelia.

She looked up at him gratefully. ‘I don't know how I'd manage this horrible business without you, Hugh. I couldn't cope. You won't go until it's all sorted out, will you?'

‘I'll stay as long as I can.'

He wondered, though, exactly how he was going to be able to help.

T
he story of the skeleton's discovery had been reported prominently in the local press and, when the inquest opened, the public gallery in the coroner's court was packed with ghouls.

Cornelia, very pale and dressed in sober grey, was called to the witness stand and stated that she had had no knowledge of the skeleton's existence until the foreman had informed her of it. The foreman testified that his men had discovered the bones not far below the surface of the barn's earth floor.

The coroner made notes.

‘Did your men disturb the skeleton in the process?'

‘Hardly at all, sir. They weren't sure what it was at first, so they fetched me. I could see what looked like a human hand sticking out and we scraped off the earth bit by bit until we could see the rest. We were careful.'

The Colonel was called and gave an account of the part that he had played. No, he had not touched or moved the remains; he had merely called the police on Mrs Heathcote's behalf.

‘You've known Mrs Heathcote for some time, I believe?'

‘She was an old friend of my late wife.'

‘And when this discovery was made, she asked you for help?'

‘She was extremely distressed by what had happened. Her husband was away on business abroad and she felt unequal to handling the situation alone.'

After Detective Chief Inspector Rodgers had given his evidence, an expert medical witness was called. The human skeleton, he said, was that of a white woman of between nineteen and twenty years old.

‘What evidence do you have in order to make that assumption, doctor?'

‘The shape of the skull gives the race and the endocranial sutures indicate a fully-grown adult, as do the closing of the growth plates at the ends of the long bones and clavicle. And the patterns of tooth eruption and tooth wear enable us to narrow the age with accuracy. Also, recent studies have proved that cementum – the mineralised tissue that lines the surface of tooth roots – exhibits annual patterns of deposition. Since the skeleton was complete, height was, of course, easy to measure. She was five foot, seven inches tall.'

‘Can you give an opinion on the cause of death?'

‘The examination revealed a severe injury to the back of the skull which would have been caused by a heavy blow of some kind. We term this blunt force trauma and it would almost certainly have been fatal, though, without a fleshed body, it's difficult to be absolutely sure. X-rays have not revealed any fragmented metal or metal shavings so whatever inflicted the blow was not made of metal.'

‘Could it have been accidental?'

‘That's possible but, in my opinion, the injury was delivered by another person, using a sharp and heavy instrument and with great force – though this is conjecture.'

There was murmuring from the public gallery.

‘And how long has the woman been dead?'

‘No skin or soft tissue remain. Bones do not decay in the same way, but they are subject to weathering or scatter if left on the surface. If buried, as in this case, insects cannot get at a body, but micro-organisms can and the acidity of the soil will also have some effect on decomposition. A buried body will take between one and two years to become completely skeletalized. There was no hair remaining and human hair decays in ten to fifteen months, but there were still some fibres of clothing material clinging to the bones which have not yet been identified. Materials take anything from a few months to four years to decay, depending on the kind and on the conditions. Cotton and wool, for example, can rot away in under a year while rayon takes only six months. Remains were found close to the feet of shoes made of leather which enables us to be quite precise about how long ago this particular death took place. Leather takes more than four years to rot.'

‘So what is your conclusion?'

‘That death would have taken place between four and five years ago. We can be more specific after further tests have been carried out. The weight, features and any pathology of the deceased can be established. And the teeth and dental work could provide a positive identification. The two front teeth in the upper jaw had been capped.'

There was louder murmuring from the public gallery, instantly quelled by the coroner. The inquest was adjourned pending further investigations.

Not hundreds of years ago, the Colonel thought grimly. Not even one hundred. Not even fifty. A mere four to five.

Howard Heathcote telephoned from Hong Kong in the evening. Cornelia took the call up in her bedroom and when she came downstairs, the Colonel could see from her face that the conversation had not gone well.

‘The police have been in touch with him and, of course, he's absolutely livid about everything. He wants to sell the house at once. He said I was to get rid of it straight away. Put it into the agent's hands, move out and go back to London.'