The Bone Hill

by James D Mortain

  Deans looked intensely at Sarah.

  ‘Are you certain it was six p.m. last night – not this morning?’ Sarah asked.

  Ten seconds of silence followed and was then broken by the fractured voice of Mrs Rowland. ‘Where is Archie – where is my husband?’

  Deans stepped closer. ‘Mrs Rowland,’ he said, focussing on the crazy-paved blood veins in the whites of her eyes. ‘Is there any chance I could sit down, please? I’m struggling a little with my leg.’

  ‘Oh, yes… yes of course.’

  Mrs Rowland fussed with the large cushions on the sofa and offered Deans the seat. He didn’t have leg pains, he was trying to find a way of speaking without looming over the top of the frail old woman. Bad news was always best, being broken on the same level.

  Mrs Rowland offered Sarah the sofa alongside Deans and she took the armchair closest to him.

  Perfect.

  ‘Mrs Rowland, this may sound like an odd question, but has your husband ever had surgery?’

  She blanched. ‘Yes… yes, he has.’

  Deans furnished her a pained smile. ‘Would you mind telling me where on his body that was, please?’

  ‘Left knee,’ she said quickly. ‘He had a replacement knee joint on his sixty-second birthday.’

  Deans nodded ruefully and turned to Sarah.

  ‘Would you excuse us for just a moment, Mrs Rowland,’ Sarah said, standing up from the sofa.

  Deans took the invitation and followed Sarah out into the hallway.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked with stifled tones. ‘We don’t know who that is yet?’

  ‘We do.’ Deans did nothing to hide the volume of his voice. ‘And we need to take Mrs Rowland back to the mortuary with us to identify her husband.’

  Sarah flapped her arms and closed the gap between them. ‘And how do you suppose we go about that?’ she murmured.

  ‘Follow me.’

  Deans walked back into the designer living room. ‘Mrs Rowland,’ he said assertively. ‘I’d like you to come with us, if you wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘Go with you where?’

  ‘To the mortuary. We are going to see your husband.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Sarah had no alternative but to inform DS Jackson of Deans’ intentions. Jackson demanded that Deans do nothing with Mrs Rowland until he got to the mortuary himself, and they didn’t have to wait long for him to arrive. Jackson pulled nose-in to Sarah’s car so that he was immediately alongside – driver door to driver door. His window buzzed downward and he peered into the back of their car. ‘Hello Jen,’ he said to Mrs Rowland with a deadpan voice.

  Deans raised a brow and looked into the back seat at Mrs Rowland.

  ‘Stephen, what’s happening – where’s Archie?’ she replied hurriedly.

  ‘Just wait here a moment, Jen. I’m going to have a word with my colleague. Detective Gold will keep you company.’

  Jackson glared over at Deans. ‘We won’t be long.’

  Deans and Jackson walked along the front of the mortuary building and the moment they were around the corner and out of sight of the two cars, Jackson spun Deans by the shoulder and slammed him back against the wall.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing, son?’ he snarled.

  Deans swiped Jacksons’ hand from his shoulder and stood tall. ‘First name terms? You know them personally?’

  Jackson bore his jagged brown-stained teeth. ‘I said, what do you think you are doing?’

  ‘Archie Roland is lying on that slab in there,’ Deans said.

  Jackson tugged at his earlobe and pulled Deans further away from earshot of the cars.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Archie Rowland has been missing since yesterday evening, soon after being called in to work because of a big police job. Are you aware of that job?’

  Jackson’s face contorted. ‘There was no big job last night.’

  Deans tilted his head. ‘Well, technically there was… Archie Rowland became the victim of his own job.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The decapitated body lying on the trolley through there is Archie Rowland. I guarantee it.’

  Jackson stepped backwards half a step, his face twitching as the suggestion sank in.

  ‘But now we have an even bigger problem,’ Deans said.

  Jackson did not answer, still consumed with his own thoughts.

  ‘Archie, or not – there is another killer.’

  Jackson turned away and ran a hand over the bald ridges of his pate. He quickly span back around. ‘Why do you think somebody else is involved?’

  ‘That’s a fresh murder and everyone on our radar is accounted for. Somebody else did this.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Jackson hissed. He rubbed the top of his head again as if polishing it would make a genie appear and solve the problem.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked Deans.

  ‘Identify Archie. Get another pathologist to forensically examine his remains…’ Deans peered at Jackson. ‘Get smarter.’

  ‘It’s going to take days to identify that body forensically.’

  ‘Wrong. It need only take minutes.’

  ‘And put that poor lady through something like this? We get paid to see this kind of horror. We may not like it, but that’s our job.’

  ‘And if we delay, who’s to say there won’t be another trolley right alongside this one tomorrow?’

  ‘Jesus wept…’ Jackson’s words tailed away and his hands balled into fists.

  Deans stood firm.

  ‘You’re crazy,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Maybe I am.’

  Jackson looked Deans up and down with confliction.

  ‘How is she going to ID her husband when he has no head?’

  ‘Surgical scar. Left knee.’

  Jackson squinted with judgemental eyes.

  ‘Confirm this, and we’re already a day, maybe two ahead of the game,’ Deans said. ‘Then we can consider motive. Then we can start looking for suspects.’

  Jackson scowled and scratched behind his ear.

  ‘Let me go and talk to Jen,’ he said. ‘You and Gold get this place opened up.’

  Jackson left Deans with a hard stare to mull over, and Sarah joined him moments later.

  ‘God, I hope you’re right about this,’ Sarah said to Deans. ‘…For your sake.’

  They entered the mortuary via the lab corridor and Deans walked to one of the windows looking out onto the parked cars. He twisted a thin plastic rod of the blinds to open a narrow crack that he could now see through. Jackson was sitting in the back of Sarah’s car alongside Mrs Rowland.

  Deans leaned back against the cool, smooth wall.

  ‘Now we sit tight and we wait,’ he said.

  Jackson joined them inside the mortuary with Mrs Rowland linked tightly to the loop of his arm.

  ‘Is Annie here?’ Mrs Rowland asked.

  Deans cocked his head. Annie?

  ‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Rowland,’ he said. ‘It’s just us.’

  ‘Jen,’ Jackson said. ‘Just come with me for a moment. We won’t be in here for long.’

  They walked through to the pre-examination room, Mrs Rowland and Jackson bringing up the rear.

  Deans stood beside the base of the trolley. Mrs Rowland stumbled as recognition of what she was seeing hit home.

  ‘Now, we are only going to show you the bottom end,’ Deans said. ‘But I want you to concentrate on what you see, especially around the knees.’

  ‘Why can’t I see his face?’ Mrs Rowland sobbed into Jackson’s arm.

  Sarah cringed and glanced at Deans.

  ‘We’re just going to show you this for now, Jen,’ Jackson said, directing her away from the top end of the body. He looked over to Deans and gestured for him to drag the covers up over the feet.

  At first, Mrs Rowland didn’t react. Then her eyes rolled into the back of her head and Jackson was left taking her suspended body weight through the crook of his arm.

>   CHAPTER 9

  Jackson headed back to the office to tie up with the DI, leaving Deans and Sarah to return Mrs Rowland to her home. The journey was stilted, silent and painful. Deans knew what was probably going through her mind, and the last thing she needed was a couple of cops attempting excruciating small talk. Could he have been more subtle in his approach? Yes, of course he could, but there was nothing considerate about the killer, and he wasn’t going to catch them by winning popularity contests. Mrs Rowland probably had no idea who he was and what he was also going through, but Jackson sure as hell did, and Deans was quietly impressed that the skipper had gone along so readily with his ideas.

  ‘Do you have family you would like us to contact?’ Deans asked Mrs Rowland.

  ‘My daughters… Oh… oh, my God!’

  ‘It’s okay, Mrs Rowland, we are happy to do that on your behalf. You have already mentioned Annie. Does she live locally?’

  ‘Sandymere Bay,’ Mrs Rowland croaked. ‘She has a flat. My other daughters live in Exeter.’

  ‘Okay,’ Deans said. ‘Can you give me the addresses, please? I’ll ask our colleagues in Exeter to speak with your other daughters, but we can visit Annie, if you would like us to?’

  Mrs Rowland wiped her eyes and gawped at Deans. ‘Yes. Yes, please. Annie lives at Seventeen Kingsley Terrace,’ she said.

  ‘Seventeen Kingsley Terrace, Sandymere Bay,’ Deans repeated as he scribbled the address into his day-book. ‘Does she live there alone?’

  Mrs Rowland jiggled her head, but did not answer.

  ‘Okay, thank you,’ Deans whispered. ‘Can you give me her telephone number – just in case she isn’t at home?’

  Mrs Rowland opened her purse and handed Deans a black-glossed business card with embossed gold writing: Annie Rowland MBBS. That meant she was qualified in medicine. Deans ran his finger over the raised letters of her name and instantly heard blood-curdling cries of terror reverberating inside his head. He shot a look at Sarah and then back at Mrs Rowland, they hadn’t noticed. Deans coughed into his fist, dropping the card onto his lap.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said to Mrs Rowland. He paused and looked deeply into her face. ‘Trust me when I say this – I’m not going to stop until I find your husband’s killer.’

  When they arrived at the farm, Deans walked Mrs Rowland to the front door.

  ‘I’ll be okay now,’ she murmured keeping Deans at emotional arm’s length. She stood at the threshold of the front door, but before going inside she stopped and turned to him. ‘You’ve been very kind and understanding. Thank you.’

  Deans removed his wallet from a back pocket and took out his own business card.

  ‘I’m not normally based in Devon,’ he said. ‘But if you need to talk – at any time – please use this number. I understand what you are going through more than you can imagine.’

  Mrs Rowland took the card from Deans’ fingertips. A slight flicker of recognition registered in her face and kept sight of Deans as she slithered through the narrow gap in the front door, until she was gone.

  Deans stayed put for a moment. She knows who I am.

  He turned around and rejoined Sarah inside the car. He stared ahead through the windscreen. He couldn’t see much, it was dark outside. The loose rattle of the diesel engine provided him with an unusual comfort – a sense of mundane normality – whatever that was, anymore?

  ‘Is this getting too big for us?’ Sarah said after half a minute of watching Deans in his fixed position.

  ‘I dunno,’ Deans shrugged, still looking ahead at nothing in particular.

  ‘I mean…’ Sarah pressed. ‘Are we out of our depth?’

  Deans dwelled a second. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Are we in… danger?’ she asked with fragile tones.

  Deans slowly turned her way. She was seeking a reassurance he could not possibly provide, but his answer was simple.

  ‘Probably.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Nine-twelve p.m. and Jackson was nowhere to be found back at the station. Sarah Gold located a note from him stuck to her computer screen.

  It’s been a long day. Get yourselves home. We have another pathologist meeting us at the mortuary tomorrow morning at eleven.

  Sarah huffed and placed her bag onto the chair with a loud thud.

  ‘Not being funny, Andy, but can’t we ask someone from nights to update the next of kin? I’m knackered.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Deans said. ‘I’ll do it on my own. Just drop me at the address. I’ll find my own way back.’

  Sarah groaned. ‘I can’t do that. You are in no fit state to be left on your own. What if something happened, I’d never forgive myself?’

  Deans tittered. ‘It’s a send-to. What’s the worst thing that can happen?’

  Sarah rocked her head.

  ‘Do you know the way?’ he asked.

  She lowered her gaze to look at her watch.

  ‘Have you got somewhere else to be?’ Deans asked.

  ‘No,’ Sarah replied in a quiet voice. ‘Come on,’ she said.

  They spent the ten-minute journey in silence. It didn’t matter to Deans, he was in a contemplative state and idle chit-chat wasn’t on his menu. They dropped down the hill on approach to Sandymere Bay. In daylight hours this would be the first place he would see the ocean, but tonight all he could see was the amber glow of the village street lamps and the odd passing car. Sarah slowed and turned off the main road onto a steep driveway that doglegged left towards a large white four-story terraced building set back away from the main road. Looking out of his window, Deans noticed a date stone in the centre of the front-facing wall: 1857. Sarah followed the narrow driveway to a parking area behind the properties and stopped at one end of the terrace, rather than in the middle.

  ‘I wonder where we’ll find number seventeen?’ Deans asked, already knowing the answer.

  ‘It’s just here,’ Sarah said.

  Deans moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue. ‘Been here before?’

  ‘Couple of times,’ she said. ‘There was a New Year’s Eve stabbing in one of these flats a few years ago. I had to sit on the scene all night. I’ll never forget it. All my friends were out partying and I was here.’

  Deans offered a smile. ‘The joys of working uniform.’ He waved his hand. ‘After you.’

  He followed Sarah up an external flight of metal steps towards the fourth floor. It wasn’t the easiest of passages with walking sticks.

  ‘Why does it always have to be the top level?’ Deans mumbled as he followed some distance behind Sarah.

  She stopped outside of number seventeen, but instead of knocking on the door, she took a step backwards.

  ‘What?’ Deans said. ‘You want me to talk to her?’

  Sarah nodded.

  Deans rapped his knuckles on the door and waited. He looked over at Sarah. ‘Are you feeling okay?’ he asked. ‘You’re very quiet tonight.’

  She peered down at her hands. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I just don’t like death messages. Reminds me of when my dad left.’

  Don’t worry, Deans thought. Annie already knows.

  The door eventually opened and standing before them was the person Deans had expected to see: Annie, the mortuary attendant. This time she was wearing red jogging bottoms and a baggy black top. She looked at them both and with a startled expression, nosed out beyond the doorframe and looked back along the walkway. It was sly, but Deans knew exactly what she was doing.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, as if Deans was a cold-calling salesperson she had never met before.

  ‘Annie,’ Deans smiled. ‘We met earlier at the mortuary.’

  Annie blinked and scowled.

  Crap acting, love.

  Deans went along with it and removed his warrant card – as if she really needed reminding of who he was.

  ‘I’m Detective Deans and this is Detective Gold.’

  Annie peered at Sarah and held her gaze for longe
r than was necessary.

  ‘Can we come in, please?’ Deans asked.

  Annie angled her body sideways, inviting them inside. Deans gave a courteous nod and walked through to the main room of the flat. He walked up to the front-facing bay window and looked out.

  ‘I knew it,’ he said, looking beyond the rooftops of the houses below and into the black void where the bay and pebble ridge would be. ‘This must have a staggering view by day.’

  ‘It’s alright,’ Annie said, now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarah in the middle of the room, both facing Deans.

  He turned with a grin and looked at them. They both peered back at him with wide staring eyes. Deans cast a cursory glance around the room. The flat was tidy. Clean. He twitched his brows – one might also say, it was spotless. His eyes settled on a piece of red material hanging from the wall. He craned his neck to get a better look. It appeared to be an outline of a black bird in flight, set against a red semi-circular background and framed with a black tasselled boarder on the curved edge.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Annie asked, also looking at the decoration.

  ‘Has your mother called you in the last hour? Sarah gently asked.

  ‘No,’ Annie said reaching for her mobile phone. She turned it towards Sarah. ‘See.’

  Deans’ questioning eyes caught Sarah’s for a second or two. ‘Well, that’s why we are here,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid we have some tragic news.’

  Annie’s face dropped – as it would do, but the following reaction piqued Deans’ interest even more.

  ‘Oh no,’ Annie said, backing herself towards an armchair. She plopped herself down and stared with wide animated features. ‘Oh God!’ she said squashing her cheeks between her hands so that her lips were protruding unnaturally. ‘When was it?’

  Deans stared at her. ‘When was what? I haven’t said anything yet.’

  Sarah kicked out sideways, connecting with Deans’ shin.

  ‘Well, you’ve already said it’s tragic news, so obviously it’s nothing good, is it?’

  Deans knit his brow. ‘You’re quite right. It’s not good news at all.’