The Bone Hill

by James D Mortain

  Jackson disappeared down a tiny side alley and Deans could see the waters of the estuary just a few feet away. He cupped his hands against the front window and looked inside. He could see straight through to the village on the other side of the estuary. The downstairs looked tidy and inhabited. Wow. What a place.

  He checked behind. Sarah was no longer there.

  They were at a kink in the lane and the colourful cottages continued along and out of sight. Deans wasn’t feeling anything untoward about the cottage and walked on. After a short distance, he came to an olde worlde pub by the water’s edge. He drew a deep breath and sighed. In another life. He turned back and found Jackson back at the front of the cottage.

  ‘Where has Sarah gone?’ Deans asked.

  Jackson looked all around in a full circle. ‘I don’t know. Back to the car?’

  Deans rubbed his face and groaned. ‘What was around the back?’

  ‘Nothing much, apart from stunning views over the estuary.’

  ‘Why did you send Sarah here in the first place?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Links to your mate, Scotty. This is his parent’s home.’

  ‘Do they still live here?’

  ‘That was what I was sending Sarah here to establish.’

  Deans stepped closer into Jackson’s personal space. ‘Do you believe her account of what happened?’ he asked.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? You saw her yourself at Mansell’s place.’

  Deans’ lips parted and he started back towards the car.

  ‘Shall we knock on the door before we go?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘No point – you won’t get an answer.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I’m going to find Sarah. Do whatever you like.’

  Deans found her inside the car. She had been crying. He tried to open the door but it was locked from the inside. He tapped on the window and she looked at him with startled eyes.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Deans asked.

  Sarah nodded and blew her nose into a tissue.

  ‘Can you open the door or the window, please?’

  She pulled the inside door handle and the latches sprung open.

  Deans opened the door a few inches. ‘Bit raw for you still?’ he said.

  She bobbed her head and dabbed a tissue beneath her eyes.

  Deans shot around. Jackson was approaching them at speed.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked with a stressed voice.

  ‘Nothing,’ Deans replied. ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Get in the car,’ Jackson said, gesturing wildly with his hand.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah said again, her tone now panicked.

  Jackson jumped into the driver’s seat and rushed to put the key in the ignition. ‘I’ve had a call,’ he said firing up the car.

  ‘Who from?’ Deans asked clicking into his seatbelt.

  ‘The DCI,’ Jackson replied as the car lurched backwards.

  Deans leaned through the gap between the two front seats. ‘Well, what did the DCI say?’

  Jackson faced him with an excited grin. ‘She’s at the mortuary – they’ve recovered human remains.’

  CHAPTER 39

  The DCI was waiting at the front of the mortuary to meet them. Two crime scene vans and three response vehicles were parked alongside her.

  Deans was the first to open his door and make his way towards the boss.

  ‘Have they found her?’ he said desperately.

  The DCI held both palms aloft, like a mime artist pressing against an imaginary plate of glass. ‘Let’s wait until we go inside,’ she said and then noticed DC Gold. ‘Are you alright,’ she asked.

  ‘Yes thanks, Ma’am,’ Gold said, as Jackson crept up alongside her.

  ‘Let’s talk inside,’ the DCI said.

  They funnelled through the doorway and a new mortuary attendant took them into the examination room where a forensic pathologist was waiting to greet them.

  ‘This is forensic pathologist, Camille Cissé. She and her team have kindly come down from Cheltenham to assist us with our investigation, on a short-term basis.’

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Pleased to meet you all.’

  The DCI directed Jackson, Deans and Gold to seats that weren’t there the last time Deans was in this room.

  ‘The dig is still progressing,’ the DCI said, ‘and there have been positive results.’ She gave Deans a fleeting look. ‘So far, we have exhumed six human skulls and more are believed to be at a lower depth. This has turned into an incident on a major scale and I am deferring command of the investigation to my superiors at Headquarters. A team of detectives will be joining us soon from the Major Crime Investigation Team and I will continue locally as the senior investigating officer.’ She took a breath and smiled. ‘Okay, that’s the formalities out of the way.’ The DCI nodded for Dr Cissé to continue.

  ‘As Detective Chief Inspector says, six skulls have so far been recovered. Three of them are recently deceased and three are older. Degradation suggests we are talking by a number of decades.’

  ‘When you say “recent”, how recent do you mean?’ Deans asked.

  The pathologist half glanced at the DCI who closed her eyes with a single nod of the head.

  ‘Is it Detective Deans?’ the pathologist asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  She held out her hand to shake and Deans shook it. ‘We suspect that one of the recovered heads could be that of your wife.’

  Deans’ brain buzzed like a thousand wasps had just flown in through each ear and collided in the middle. He was suddenly aware of why they were all seated, and it wasn’t for the benefit of Jackson and Gold.

  ‘And the others?’ Jackson asked.

  The pathologist cleared her throat and smoothed her hands down the sides of her white coat. ‘I can confirm that one of the exhumed heads is Archie Rowland. I have identified him myself.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Did you know him well?’ Jackson continued.

  Deans frowned and stared at Jackson.

  ‘Yes. In fact, Archie Rowland sponsored me when I first came to this country. I even stayed at his family home for a short time until I found my own accommodation.’

  Deans waited for Jackson to say something else. He didn’t.

  ‘How are we going to do this?’ Deans asked. ‘I’m not being funny, but I need to know if you have my wife.’

  ‘Of course,’ the DCI said. ‘As I understand it and correct me if I’m wrong, Dr Cissé, but Andrew will go with you shortly and attempt to make a formal identification?’

  ‘That is correct. I can assure you that the process will be respectfully conducted, but sadly, this is the quickest way of identifying the exhibits.’

  ‘Exhibits?’ Deans repeated.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was an insensitive choice of words.’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘Shall we get on with this?’ Jackson said.

  Everyone stared at Jackson.

  Deans stood up from the chair. If he was being honest, he was close to vomiting. The DCI took his arm and led him away from the others and into a side room with comfortable seating and a low coffee table.

  ‘We’re going to show you some images first, Andrew. If you positively identify your wife from those, we would then offer you the chance to see her in person and in private, for as long as you need.’

  ‘Okay,’ he murmured.

  Deans’ breathing was juddering and his head felt so light he thought it would lift from his shoulders.

  ‘I’ll leave you now,’ the DCI said. She smiled sincerely and closed the door as she left.

  Compassion was oozing from Dr Cissé’s glassy-black eyes. She leaned forwards and touched Deans’ hand. ‘I know how hard this is for you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry about your colleague,’ Deans replied. ‘And I’m sorry you have been caught up in all of this.’

  Dr Cissé smiled lightly and opened a lap
top on the seat beside her. She typed something into the keyboard and looked up over the top of the screen at Deans. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked.

  Deans blinked and swallowed, even though his mouth was parched dry. He drew a deep shuddering breath. ‘Okay.’

  The doctor looked back down at the screen. ‘I’m going to show you a series of images, and for continuity, I will also show you images of how the heads were located in the grave by the forensic team.’

  Deans tried to nod, but his neck was solid.

  The doctor turned the laptop around and Deans faced the screen for a long moment without moving. His eyes burned into the image.

  ‘Are you ready for the next one?’

  Deans didn’t react. His stare was fixed on the laptop.

  The doctor turned the computer back to herself, but Deans continued gaping into the space left by the screen. Dr Cissé turned the computer to Deans once again.

  He looked at the photograph and finally blinked as tears forced their way out.

  ‘Is this your wife?’ Dr Cissé asked quietly.

  Deans broke away from the computer and wiped the streams of tears from his cheeks.

  ‘Don’t speak if it’s hard. Just give me an indication,’ Dr Cissé said handing Deans a paper tissue.

  He closed his eyes and sank his head. ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘That’s Maria.’

  ‘There’s something I need to tell you about your wife’s head.’

  Deans slowly looked up.

  ‘Maria’s head was… different to the others.’

  ‘Different?’

  The pathologist creased her forehead and partially looked away.

  ‘Different how?’ Deans asked.

  Dr Cissé looked directly at him. ‘Her head was bound in plastic wrap – a cling film material.’

  Deans grimaced.

  ‘No other heads were preserved the same way.’

  ‘Preserved?’ Deans blubbed.

  ‘We suspect the killer wanted to keep her…’ she coughed behind her hand. ‘…fresh.’

  Deans scowled.

  ‘Your wife has been dead for what, two months or so?’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘Without the preservative layer, she would be unrecognisable today, given the maggots and other creatures that would take her flesh.’

  Deans shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is probably even harder for you.’

  Deans bit his lip and dropped his head. ‘Can you trace the wrap – fingerprints – DNA?’

  ‘It’s possible, but we would anticipate the killer was forensically aware, and this type of PVC cling film can be found in any supermarket, in any corner store.’ She stopped talking for a second or two. ‘I know this is hard, but I just have a couple more photographs to show you.’

  Deans wiped his nose with the back of his hand and mustered all his will to look at the screen. The next image showed a close-up inside the pit; all mud, deep red dirt, and a rounded dome, like a football wrapped for Christmas. Deans spluttered behind his praying hands. He noticed the depth of the trench, surprised at how shallow it was – no deeper than half a metre.

  ‘And this is the last one,’ the pathologist said. She repeated the process of finding the photograph on the screen and turned it back to Deans.

  This time, he was looking at a wide-angle view of the trench and he could see Maria’s bound head once again, but now he could also see two other severed heads, one on top of the other. There could be no doubt, given their condition, that they were recently deceased. Deans swallowed hard and leaned closer to the screen.

  ‘The head in the middle is Dr Archie Rowland,’ the pathologist said. ‘But we are still—’

  ‘I know who it is,’ Deans interrupted.

  The pathologist picked up her pen and readied her pad.

  Deans looked closer again, scrutinising the image a while longer, and then gently bobbed his head. He dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes once more.

  ‘Detective?’

  Deans looked up at Dr Cissé through broken eyes.

  ‘Are you able to give me a name?’

  Deans’ chest shuddered as he filled his lungs. He looked back down at the screen.

  ‘It’s Archie’s daughter – Annie Rowland.’

  CHAPTER 40

  Deans dragged himself out of the examination room after forty minutes alone with Maria. Sarah was waiting for him in the hallway. She was teary and immediately hugged him as he came through the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered in his ear and held him tight. Deans finally gave in to his emotions, wrapped his arms around her back, dropped his chin to her shoulder and broke down. They remained like this for several minutes, until Deans pulled away.

  ‘Did you hear who the other was?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Sarah replied softly. ‘Where does that leave us now?’

  Deans shook his weary head. ‘I don’t know, but it’s a game changer.’

  ‘Where do you think her body will be?’

  ‘My guess is we’ll find it sooner or later on the beach.’

  ‘Why is this happening?’ Sarah asked. ‘I mean, why so vicious and brutal, and why bury heads and dump the bodies in the sea?’

  ‘It’s symbolic.’

  ‘Of what?’

  Deans walked to the window, twisted the blind and looked outside through heavy lids. Jackson’s car was gone. ‘Because… because this is war,’ he said.

  ‘Who with?’

  Deans rocked on his heels. ‘The deadliest adversary I’ve ever seen.’

  The CID office was buzzing like a hive and the queen bee was at the centre of it all.

  ‘Ma’am,’ Deans said. ‘Can I have a private word, please?’

  ‘Ah, Andrew,’ she said taking his hand in hers and turning him to one side. ‘I am sorry that this is all so personal for you. Are you okay?’

  He thought about it for a second or two. ‘Yes, I’m okay. Can we go somewhere else to talk, please?’

  ‘Yes. Just hold on.’ The DCI called across to a uniformed inspector and said she needed ten minutes.

  Deans took her to the small interview room along the corridor and they sat down. Before speaking, Deans took a measured look around her face. He hoped his gut feeling was correct in placing his trust in her hands. ‘I’m wary of Jackson,’ he finally said.

  ‘Sergeant Jackson?’ she repeated. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think he is involved in these murders.’

  The DCI pulled a face, something between a smile and a grimace. She tilted her head. ‘You’d better tell me what’s on your mind.’

  Deans planted his palms on the desk. This was it; cards on the table; his deepest concerns exposed, laying himself open and vulnerable.

  ‘Do you trust him?’ Deans asked.

  ‘How can you ask me such a thing? Of course I do. He’s an experienced detective. He’s done tonnes of good for this community over the years.’

  ‘That’s my issue. He is very well established within this community. So wouldn’t you expect him to be a little more au fait with its history than he portrays?’

  ‘I’m lost.’

  ‘Ma’am, we are dealing with a cult whose warped teachings and mistaken beliefs result in the deaths of anyone that comes close to identifying them. We are all targets, and the closer we get to exposing the truth, the nearer we all come to death.’

  ‘No. I’m sorry—’

  ‘Think about it. Take it right back to Amy Poole. We focussed on Ash Babbage and there is no doubt Babbage was involved, along with Detective Ranford, but if you remember, when crucial evidence went missing, Sarah Gold was used as a convenient scapegoat. And then Babbage folds in interview and ends up dead when Ranford decides it’s time to shut him up. But here’s the part I haven’t yet worked out – Ranford is captured, thanks to Jackson, and then admits to the murder of my wife and involvement in the Amy Poole murder. We recover forensic evidence from Ruby Mansell’s house and the case progresses
nicely, until Archie Rowland is murdered. Evidence stacks up against his daughter, we’re about to get her in and she turns up dead.’

  The DCI did not speak.

  ‘I’m sorry, but all roads lead to Sergeant Jackson. I know he saved me from Ranford, but why was he there in the first place? Don’t you think that was rather convenient? He’s not usually proactive to the radio – why should he come running when Ranford pressed the emergency button? Just look at how the deaths are linked: Amy Poole – a sacrifice. My wife and unborn child – a sacrifice, and a punishment to me for pursuing the killers. Ash Babbage – murdered before he said too much. Archie Rowland – murdered because he was getting close to the truth. Annie Rowland – murdered because we were about to bring her in. The closer we get to the centre of this secret society, the more people are dying. Someone on the inside is calling the shots. They’re the centre of it all and my money’s on Jackson.’

  The DCI didn’t take her eyes off Deans as she stood up and silently made her way to the door and peered outside. She closed the door once again and re-took her seat.

  ‘They’ve found remains of another five victims,’ she said, ‘and they’re still working on the pit.’

  ‘Heads?’

  ‘Yes – well, skulls now.’

  ‘There was something Jackson said to me at the time Ranford was arrested. He said he had come on board when the rate of untraced missing persons had gone up. Young females, he said, over a long period of time. He wasn’t here to help, he was attempting to cover this up. We need details of every person reported missing in North Devon,’ Deans said. ‘Some of them will be our victims, for sure.’

  ‘We would need to involve our cold case department at Headquarters,’ the DCI said. ‘They have access to data going back decades and obviously knowledge of ongoing investigations.’

  ‘Good,’ Deans said. ‘How quickly could we get our hands on that information?’

  The DCI shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just like every specialist team, they have their own pressures. They may be dealing with past lives, but the present demands and politics remain the same.’

  A loud knock at the door made them both jump in their seats.