Ruth Galloway (68 page)

‘What's that?' Ted leans in.

Gently Ruth prises the fingers apart. Still they seem unwilling to give up the object they have grasped for so long. A flash of gold, white beads.

‘Is it a bracelet?' asks Trace.

‘It's a rosary,' says Ruth.

She has seen one before, of course. A picture comes into her mind of Father Hennessey, the Catholic priest she met while investigating another long-buried body. She has a vivid memory of a ruined house, a deserted garden, an archway silhouetted against the sky and Father Hennessey holding a rosary, passing it from one hand to the other, his lips moving. Father Hennessey's rosary was black and ornate. This is smaller and simpler, white beads on a gold chain, a cross at one end.

‘May be able to trace that,' says Trace.

‘Nah,' says Ted. ‘Those things are ten a penny.'

Ruth puts the rosary into a separate bag.

‘It's all evidence,' she says.

They can now see the lower bodies, which are lying on what looks like a white sheet. On the sheet are some tiny balls of fluff. Ted bends closer.

‘Looks like the stuff we found the other day. Smells the same too.'

‘We can try to identify the material,' says Ruth. ‘It'll help with dating.' She stands up, easing her back. Her earlier euphoria is overtaken by a sudden wave of tiredness. She's out of practice at digging. Her neck and shoulders feel as if she is wearing an iron collar. Also the trench is starting to feel claustrophobic, the cliffs lowering over her with the triangle of sky above.

Ted is watching her. ‘Why not let Trace take over for a bit?' He leans forward. ‘It'd be good practice for her.'

She smiles at Ted, grateful for his tact. He grins back, showing two gold teeth. She climbs out of the trench, being careful not to damage the sides, and Trace takes her place.

Ruth walks back across the beach, noticing that white-flecked waves are starting to appear on the horizon. They
must
keep a watch on the tide. She climbs the slope and walks slowly along the cliff path to the car park. Nelson's filthy Mercedes is parked by an ominous-looking sign saying ‘Beware! Danger of Land Slides'. The car window is half open and, through it, Ruth sees Nelson, head back, eyes shut, Kate nestling on his shoulder. For a moment, she just stands there. She has only once before seen Nelson asleep and she remembers how his face is completely changed, the fierce lines softened, the eyelashes surprisingly long, the mouth unguarded and vulnerable. Kate's head is pressed against Nelson's neck. From reflex more than anything, Ruth reaches in to see if Kate is breathing. Still asleep, the baby turns her head away. Nelson's eyes open immediately.

‘Ruth. Bloody hell. You made me jump.'

‘Sorry,' says Ruth.

Nelson winds down the window. ‘I wasn't asleep,' he says defensively.

‘It's okay,' says Ruth. ‘I won't tell Clough.'

‘How are you getting on?'

‘Okay. Four bodies almost excavated.'

‘Think you'll get done today?'

‘I hope so.' She looks at the sky which is a pale, wintery blue, the sun high and hazy. ‘It's only midday now. High
tide should be at six, and we'll have to have it done by then otherwise the trench will flood. We've cleared away the rubble from the cliff fall, you see. Nothing to stop the sea getting in.'

‘What are you going to do with Katie? She can't stay here all day and I've got to get on.'

‘She can sleep in her car seat for a bit.'

‘What if she wakes up?'

‘I'll sit with her.'

Nelson looks at Ruth without saying anything. Kate stirs slightly and he readjusts his hold, his hand looking very large against her little back. Ruth finds herself staring at Nelson's wedding ring. Has he always worn one?

‘Shall I take her?' she asks.

‘Perhaps you'd better.'

Ruth opens the car door and Nelson climbs out. He places the sleeping baby in Ruth's arms and tucks her blanket carefully round her. Ruth looks at Kate to avoid looking at Nelson as he does this.

‘She's beautiful,' says Nelson softly.

‘Don't.'

‘I can't help it, Ruth. I've hardly seen her before today.'

Whose fault is that, thinks Ruth. But she knows she isn't being entirely fair. Nelson has asked several times if he can see Kate, but so far Ruth has always made excuses. She's tired, she's got a cold, I'm tired, I'm working. Nelson has a right to see Kate but there is only so much she can take.

She keeps her eyes down, fiddling with Kate's blanket. ‘Can I see her again?' asks Nelson. His voice seems to come from a long way away.

‘Sure,' says Ruth. ‘Cathbad's talking about having a naming ceremony. You and Michelle can both come.'

This time she looks up and meets Nelson's eyes. Dark eyes, more black than brown, eyes that he has passed on to Kate.

‘Thanks,' says Nelson. Then he turns away and strides off along the cliff path, towards the excavation.

By sunset, all six skeletons have been excavated. The carefully logged bones, packed in boxes marked ‘Pathology', are waiting to be winched up the cliff by Ted and Craig. The tide is almost upon them. Trace, standing higher up the beach, is up to her ankles in water. Sly little waves are lapping at the edges of the trench. The sea is blue in the setting sun yet Sea's End House, high on the cliff, is already in darkness. Ruth is in the trench, getting a last look before the sea destroys it. Examining the context in which a body is buried – the earth filling a grave and any objects (glass, fibres, animal bone, coins, pottery) found within that earth – is central to a forensic archaeologist's work. In normal circumstances Ruth would spend days in the trench taking soil samples, making detailed plans and drawings, but now she knows that in five minutes the whole area will be full of salty water and any remaining clues will be lost forever. She remembers the dig ten years ago when Erik discovered the wooden Bronze Age henge on the Saltmarsh beach. Every day, Erik had had someone on ‘tide watch'. Even so, Peter, Ruth's ex-boyfriend, had nearly died when, with terrifying
swiftness, the sea had flooded the marshland, leaving him cut off from the others. Erik had saved him. One good deed to set against other, darker, actions. Ruth hopes that this was taken into account when Erik faced his maker. Not that she believes in any such thing, of course.

‘Better hurry, Ruth,' shouts Trace, looking at the path where the waters are now swirling and foaming. ‘We've got to wade across the beach before it gets too deep.'

‘Okay.' Ruth takes a last photograph. ‘A grave is a footprint of disturbance,' she tells her pupils; the natural layers destroyed, soil and stones churned up together, vegetation growing differently. Someone dug this hole deliberately and, judging from its position, they hoped that it would never be found. If she had more time she might be able to tell exactly which digging implement was used, but now all she can do is note the way that the strata have been sliced through: the ‘grave cut' it's called. She bags some soil and a few fragments of wood and glass, worn smooth by sand and sea. She has already removed what may prove to be their most significant find – a single bullet. Then she climbs, rather awkwardly, out of the trench.

The last box is being hauled up the cliff, swaying wildly in the wind as the two men pull on the ropes. Ruth squints up at the dark shape, strangely reluctant to leave until the last skeleton has left its resting place. ‘Come on!' yells Trace. There is only a thin line of pebbles left, and in places the waves are already pounding against the rocks. Trace and Ruth run along the narrow strip of land, hugging the cliff, trying to dodge the waves. As they reach Sea's End House, they have to wade out to the stone jetty. Trace surges ahead,
creating a wake in the churning water. ‘Jesus,' she shouts, above the noise of the sea. ‘It's deeper than it looks.'

They have an anxious few minutes, struggling against the surprisingly strong undertow. The wind sounds loud and angry and it is nearly dark. Twice Ruth almost loses her footing. She can feel water seeping unpleasantly over the tops of her wellingtons. She should have worn waterproof trousers. She tries not to think that the reason she didn't was because they make her look like a Michelin man and she knew that she would be seeing Nelson.

At three o'clock Ruth had rung Shona who had finished teaching for the day. Shona drove over and collected Kate, taking her back to her house in King's Lynn. Ruth trusts Shona (up to a point) but she also knows that the nearest her glamorous friend ever comes to motherhood is weekend visits from her married lover's children. She hopes she won't take Kate for a McDonald's.

Wiping the wet hair from her eyes, Ruth sees that Trace has reached the path. Without checking to see if Ruth is all right, she runs up the slope towards Sea's End House, slapping her pockets for her iPhone. Ruth climbs slowly out of the icy water, her trousers now drenched almost to her thighs. She looks back. Across the bay, in the car park, she can just make out Ted and Craig loading the boxes into a van. Clough is there too. She can see his reflective jacket. Nelson has not come back. On the beach, the sea has reached the inlet and waves rush joyfully into the narrow cleft between the rocks. The grave of the six men has been destroyed. Water covers the beach, the biggest waves breaking against the cliffs with a sound like smashed glass.

Ruth walks slowly up the slope. She is desperate to get back to Kate but she has to check that all the finds are accounted for. In the car park her Renault is beside the plain white police van. Ted and Craig are shutting the double doors. Clough is watching. A little way apart Trace is talking into her phone. Clough catches Ruth's eye. ‘She loves that thing more than me.'

Ruth hasn't usually got much time for Clough, whom she regards as the worst sort of sexist, racist Neanderthal policeman, but something in his expression touches her. She is also surprised to hear him use the word ‘love', even facetiously. Can the famously commitment-phobic Clough really have fallen at last?

Ruth smiles. ‘I'm sure she doesn't.'

Clough shrugs, looking rather rueful. ‘Bone boxes are in the van. Post-mortem's set for tomorrow, nine o'clock.'

‘Does Nelson know?'

‘He said to say he'd see you there.'

‘Thanks.' Ruth has a last few words with Ted before heading back to her car. Clough calls after her. ‘Look after that baby of yours. She's a little star.'

Wonders will never cease, thinks Ruth as she drives off into the night. Kate has turned her into a nervous wreck and Clough into a human being. Whatever will she accomplish in the next four months of her life?

*

The first thing that Ruth hears as she approaches Shona's house is the sound of crying. More than crying; this is screaming, wailing, the sound of a banshee in full-throated howl. The neat terraced house seems almost to be pulsating
with the noise. Ruth runs up the path but Shona has opened the door before she reaches it. A scarlet-faced monster squirms in her arms.

‘I'm sorry, Ruth. I've tried everything. Lullabies, classical music, ride-a-cock-horse. The lot. She's been at it for nearly an hour. I think she must be ill or something.'

Ruth reaches out her arms for Kate who takes a deep breath, leans into her mother's neck and instantly falls asleep. The silence feels immense, far more than mere absence of sound.

‘My God.' Shona sounds both awed and rather resentful. ‘All she wanted was her mum.'

‘She's probably just cried herself to sleep,' says Ruth, speaking gruffly to hide how she feels. This has never happened before. Secretly she has never felt before that she is any better than anyone else with Kate. It is her mother, comfortably upholstered and full of maternal authority, or Sandra, who have seemed like the real experts. Ruth may feel that she knows Kate but she has never been sure that the compliment is returned. Until now.

Juggling Kate with what now seems to be practised ease, she follows Shona into the sitting room. The normally stylish room bears the signs of Shona's struggle to placate the baby. A half-full bottle of milk rolls on the polished wood floor and CDs of suitably soothing classics lie scattered over the sofas. The TV is showing some primary coloured children's programme and an open bottle of wine sits on the coffee table.

Shona follows Ruth's glance. ‘Didn't even have time to get myself a glass.'

Ruth doesn't comment on the fact that Shona has been drinking while in charge of her baby. It's her fault, her lack of contingency planning, that has led to Shona having to cope with a screaming baby all afternoon and she's grateful – if slightly worried at the urgency with which Shona now grabs a glass and fills it to the brim.

‘Do you want some?' asks Shona as an afterthought.

‘No thanks. I've got to drive.'

‘I'll make you a cup of tea,' says Shona, not moving.

‘It's okay,' says Ruth. ‘I ought to be going.' She starts to arrange Kate in her car seat, an unnecessarily complicated device bought for her by Cathbad.

‘How was the dig? Things looked pretty busy when I left you. What did you find?'

Ruth looks over her shoulder at Shona, who is sitting cross-legged in an armchair, her bright red hair falling over her eyes. In the past she has had reason to distrust Shona's interest in her work but she feels that she, or Kate, owes her something, information at the very least.

‘Six skeletons,' she says. ‘They look comparatively recent.'

‘Good God, Ruth,' says Shona, sounding almost amused. ‘Are you going to be mixed up in another murder?'

‘I wasn't exactly mixed up in the last one,' says Ruth with asperity. ‘Unless you count a madman trying to kill me.'

‘I would definitely count that.'

‘Well, in this case, I've simply been called in to examine the bones. Look at how they've been buried and so on.'