‘Oh, God,’ the man said, and put his hands over his face. ‘Oh my God. It didn’t seem real before.’
‘Your wife said the same,’ Megan said, staring down at the girl. ‘I think that’s a very natural reaction.’
‘She was such a lively little girl. Funny, really classy. She used to do ballet, she was really good at it. She only gave it up last year because she started going out with friends.’ He started to cry, wrenching sobs. Sage could feel her eyes prickling in sympathy as she listened. Megan just nodded.
He sniffed back tears and looked up. ‘My kids are all taller, you know? Melissa is a year younger but half a head taller. She’s usually the one you have to watch, always taking risks, staying out late. We haven’t let her out of our sight since…’ He looked back at River. ‘Do you know what happened to her?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you will have to wait for the inquest.’
‘But you must be able to tell me a bit.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Megan said. ‘I can tell you that she didn’t die where she was buried.’
‘The police told us that. Do they know where she died?’ He held his hand over River’s forehead but didn’t touch her. ‘They questioned me. Nine hours straight. They always suspect the parents, they said. They needed to rule us out of their inquiry.’ He pulled his hand back. ‘They’ve done that, now. They even searched both houses, her dad – her other dad’s house too. They talked to all of us.’ He wrapped his arms around himself and looked at Sage. ‘Are you one of the doctors?’
‘No, I’m a forensic archaeologist.’
He shook his head. ‘What does one of them do?’
‘There’s a whole team involved. We all add our bits of information to understand what happened.’
‘Did you see her – you know, in the ground?’ Tears were running in two trails down his face. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t bear to think what happened to her. What he did.’
Sage was struck by something in his voice and glanced up at Megan.
‘He?’ she said gently.
‘Alistair Chorleigh. He killed a girl before, you know. Lara Black.’
Megan stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Sloane. We don’t know anything for certain.’
Sage watched as the police officer escorted him away. He broke into tears again in the doorway where his daughter and the older boy were waiting. The young man reached out a hand, squeezed Owen’s shoulder. The girl stared at Sage, her pink-dyed hair half across her face, which she brushed back with painted nails. She half nodded to Sage before she turned back to the boy and took his hand.
When the family had been accompanied from the mortuary, Sage followed Megan into her office. ‘It’s hard on the family. I thought I recognised the boy. River’s current boyfriend, I forget his name, I saw his picture at the briefing.’
‘Jake, I think. Mr Sloane was very upset; it’s hard to comfort them.’
Sage sat in the spare chair. ‘I thought he would ask if she suffered rather than blame Chorleigh.’
‘He was breaking down. Reality hits, they can’t pretend to themselves that it’s all a mistake, someone else’s child.’
Sage thought about it. ‘He was very quick to blame Alistair Chorleigh. And to link the case to Lara Black.’
‘No more than the press have been.’ Megan pulled out a book and opened it, riffling through the photographs of the body. ‘I do this job all the time, so I switch off a bit. The usual reassurance people are hoping for is “she didn’t suffer” and we can’t say that in this case. She was beaten to death and died hours later. It was a cruel death.’
‘Do we know how the investigation is going?’ Sage asked.
‘Alistair Chorleigh, as far as I know, is still a suspect, and there’s the historical disappearance to worry about. But otherwise they’re all still hypothetical. She had an older boyfriend, an ex without a good alibi, both a biological father and stepfather, her mother and stepmother. I think we can rule out the younger half-brother Henry. Owen Sloane’s biological daughter, Melissa, who we saw just now, was ice skating all afternoon and had a sleepover with friends that night. Though since we don’t know exactly when River was attacked, that’s no longer a compelling alibi.’ She closed one book of photos and opened another. ‘Two of her friends, her stepmother and her stepsister all take size five shoes, but we can’t find a match for the boot. The police are still looking. There’s another briefing tomorrow morning, you can catch up.’
‘OK.’ Sage made another note. ‘When?’
‘An early one, I’m afraid. Seven-thirty, at the police station. Bring your charming anthropologist friend too.’
‘Felix? I’ll ask him this evening, we’re meeting for dinner.’ Sage looked up. ‘You had suggestions for examining the leaves?’
‘We have set up the evidence bags in the big lab, and I’ve found a forensic tech who is free to help. We only want to look at the evidence once, so use different light sources, record and preserve anything anomalous. Ask forensics for the choice of preservatives.’
‘Great.’ Sage mentally ran through the list of things she needed to do. ‘What do we need for the case briefing?’
‘Can you rough me out a preliminary report by tomorrow? Soil types, your archaeological finds, the edges and deposition of the leaves. I will add humidity, temperature, et cetera, and my estimate of time and cause of death. Then we can present when she was buried there, what the sequence of events was, what knowledge they must have had and how it was done.’ Megan raised her eyebrows. ‘I also understand you’ve identified a possible second burial on the grounds – you’ll need to look at that. Maybe you’ll find Lara Black. That would leave Mr Chorleigh with a lot of explaining to do.’
* * *
Sage had arranged to meet Felix at his hotel in the New Forest, pulling into the car park at eight. She left her notes and the albums of pictures in the car, determined to snatch a couple of hours away from the investigation before writing up her report.
Felix met her in the hotel lobby.
He peered at her. ‘Are you OK? You look tired.’
She winced. ‘I’m not sleeping very well. The horses, the body – they all play havoc with my dreams. And I’m sharing a room with the baby; he’s not sleeping as well as he does at home.’ They walked into the hotel restaurant and approached the bar.
‘I booked a table for two under Guichard?’ Felix said.
The woman behind the bar took a couple of menus and escorted them to a table near the dark window. Sage made herself comfortable and watched as Felix manoeuvred into a chair, wincing.
‘Are you all right?’
He sat down and looked across at her. ‘I was in an accident last year. I broke some ribs, had a nasty bang on the head. I get creaky by the end of the day.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ She handed him a menu. ‘Are you OK now?’
He leaned forward to take it, resting his arm on the windowsill. ‘The thing is, I’m physically better than I am mentally. I suspect you are too.’
Her stomach was growling. ‘I know I’ve been a bit – preoccupied. God, I’m starving.’
‘I’ve only had a sandwich all day myself.’
‘I’ve been more worried about my relationship than me,’ she said.
‘Nick?’
‘I think Nick has given up on us. I can’t move into the vicarage, and my flat’s too small and too far away from his work.’ Emotion made her voice rough. ‘I think he’s giving up on me. He’s gone to Northumberland, for a job interview.’
‘He couldn’t go much further and not be in Scotland.’ He smiled a little lopsidedly.
‘I know. I don’t really want to bother you with it. We’ll work something out.’
He looked at her for a second, as if he wanted to say more. ‘I hope so. What do you want to eat?’
They both ordered steak, and sat back with a bottle of wine to wait for their food. ‘I’d better be careful, I’m driving,’ she said, sipping hers.
Sage sat back. ‘Was he ever a suspect?’
He shook his head. ‘Honestly, Lenham was young, less thorough back then. He really thought she had run away. I was the one who thought Alistair Chorleigh knew more than he was saying. The police are looking into Chorleigh senior now, as well.’
‘Before I forget, did anyone talk to you about the briefing tomorrow, seven-thirty?’
He nodded. ‘They did. I’ll be there, even though it’s ridiculously early.’
She looked at him, seeing grey streaks in his dark hair that hadn’t been there a year before. ‘So, tell me. What happened? This – accident.’
He half smiled. ‘You wouldn’t believe me.’
‘OK.’ She tried to read him but couldn’t. Felix was a world expert on reading body language; he also knew how to conceal it. So, she waited.
Finally, he spoke. ‘Do you believe in magic? Really, under all your rational thoughts?’
She knew most people did, on one childlike level. ‘I suppose there was a time when I wondered if Bramble Cottage was haunted. Remember the poor woman who lived there? She seemed overshadowed by something supernatural. But it turned out to be physics, ultrasonic sounds tricking us.’
‘I’ve spent my whole career disproving magic. Witch doctors in West Africa, mambabarang in the Philippines, suangi in New Guinea. Traditional magic workers, spell casters. Often the victims of superstition and abuse. But every now and then I meet someone who can do things that defy all explanation.’ His voice was as serious as she’d ever heard it.
Sage looked up at him. ‘Until they are explained, lots of things seem like magic. To a Victorian, antibiotics would be magic potions.’
‘Yes.’ He hesitated for a long moment. ‘Jack – my partner – she went through something, a kind of psychological treatment. And whatever it was, it affected me too. I was knocked out.’
‘Wow.’ Sage was trying to find anything to say that didn’t sound sceptical or mocking, but he went on.
‘When I came round, she was dying. She only survived because the man we were with was a brilliant first aider. He saved her life. And now I can’t get that moment out of my head, when she was just lying there, lifeless.’
That Sage could identify with. How many times did she see Nick falling back with a kitchen knife in his chest?
Felix carried on. ‘I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. I got help – it sounds like witchcraft itself. You look at some moving lights while you talk about what you saw. It sounds absurd, but—’
‘EMDR,’ she said. ‘My doctor suggested it. It does sound ridiculous. I don’t even know what it means.’
‘Eye movement desensitisation and reprocessing.’ He sat back as the food arrived. ‘Thank you.’
‘Did it help?’
Felix looked down at his steak. ‘It helped me. And that helped us, as a couple. I couldn’t have coped with the flashbacks otherwise.’ He looked up, smiled crookedly. ‘It’s made a huge difference. I think we’re settling down now. Happy.’
‘Maybe I will try it.’
The food was delicious, and hunger blotted out more questions. She thought about the flashbacks she was having. So many things set them off. A sharp knife or sunlight glinting off metal or a man’s voice, shouting. When the flashbacks burned into her consciousness she couldn’t react to Max or listen to Nick, she just wanted to be by herself. The unpalatable fact was that even Max – centre-of-her-world Max – was enjoying time with his grandmother who was really there for him, instead of hearing ‘not now’ or ‘in a minute’ a hundred times a day. She often dreamed of the attack just before she woke up; she could feel Elliott’s fingers digging into her wrist, hear him scream as the well collapsed. Felix had saved her life that day, he’d saved them all. The thought killed her appetite for a moment. She pushed a few peas around the plate.
‘Do you ever think about what happened at the cottage?’ Her voice was smaller than she expected.
‘On the island? I do, sometimes. I’m just sorry we couldn’t save everyone,’ he said. ‘I do wonder, could I have seen it coming, could we have done something to stop Elliott acting out? I don’t know why he behaved so irrationally – perhaps it was the ultrasonics, or maybe it really was some evil spirit trapped in the house. We’ll never know.’
‘I’m starting to think forensics isn’t for me,’ Sage admitted. ‘Looking at that girl’s body – that’s a long way from interpreting a few bones from hundreds of years ago.’
He half smiled without any humour. ‘I can’t forget Isabeau’s skeleton.’
The girl in the ghostly remains of a dress, buried four hundred years before, still haunted Sage too. She smiled back. ‘OK, even bones from the past are disturbing. But people’s intentions are horrible. Someone hated that poor girl, River, enough to beat her to death.’ She looked around in case anyone was close enough to hear them. ‘And maybe Lara Black too if she’s buried on the site, beside the lawn.’
‘Does the anomaly on the LiDAR look like a grave to you?’
‘Not really.’ She pushed her cutlery away. ‘To be honest, it’s a bit raised, not what you’d expect from an old grave. No matter how hard someone compacts the soil, it’s always looser after being shovelled in on top of a body. Which shrinks over time, lowering the profile. Sanctioned graves are normally mounded up to allow for shrinkage. I think you’re right. If there had been a large mound of fresh soil by the lawn in 1992, the police would have seen it. I suppose he could have hidden the body away until after the police left, but where? And why have this right in plain view, next to the path? No, I think it’s something else.’
‘It does seem an odd shape, too. Squarish, not long and thin like a grave.’ He smiled at the waitress as she took their plates away. ‘Pudding?’
‘That would be great,’ Sage said, her appetite surging back. Her phone beeped with a message. ‘Sorry, it’s my mother. I’d better call her.’
It was fine, Max was OK, she just hadn’t got the message that Sage would be late.
‘That nice professor, yes?’ Yana asked.
‘Yes, Mum. That nice professor.’ She smiled at Felix. ‘No, I won’t be too late, I have work to do. And I’ll call Nick when I get in.’
Sage rang off, tucking her phone away from sight in her bag.
‘A bit of pressure about Nick?’ Felix asked, looking up from the dessert menu.
‘I’m finding life hard enough without Nick to consider.’ There, it was out, the uneasy feeling she’d been squashing down with a barrage of work and study. ‘Maybe you’re right. I should try this therapy. I can’t feel much worse than I do now. I have dreams sometimes about Steph, falling into the well, only I can’t save her and she’s just floating, smiling up at me…’
‘I can recommend the clinic in Bristol that I used, if you like. A few sessions and you’ll be able to think clearly.’
‘I nearly lost Nick and the baby.’ She dashed away a single tear tickling her cheek. ‘I feel like people expect me to carry on as normal. I saw River’s stepfather today. He’ll never be the same again.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘Nick would make a brilliant father to Max. He does already when I give him the chance.’
Felix looked up as the waitress approached. ‘I’ll have the cheesecake, please,’ he said. ‘Sage?’
‘Crème brûlée, please.’ She waited until the woman was gone. ‘Sorry. I don’t want to burden you with my problems.’
‘What you’re feeling is completely natural. No one else is expecting you to carry on as normal. Just you.’
‘I know.’ He was right, she could feel a softening in her spine as she slumped back in her chair. It was only anger that was really keeping her upright. ‘So, what do I do?’
‘Spend more time with Nick and the baby, stop worryi
ng about the future, enjoy the moment.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s the only useful thing my father ever taught me, and he only learned it at the end of his life. Grieve properly, then move on. You can’t live in the past and the future may never happen.’
Their food arrived and Sage was lost in the crunchy sugar and smooth custard for a moment. ‘Being in the present, huh?’ She smiled.
‘Exactly. Concentrate on the facts of the case not on the tragedy. That’s how I manage the World Health Organization stuff, anyway. Think about that girl. Think about the story of how she got there, not the awfulness of it.’
‘And the story is that someone put River there to be discovered, and deliberately implicated Alistair Chorleigh.’
He leaned back and watched her until she had eaten the last scrap. ‘Sage, just be careful around Alistair Chorleigh. Stay objective.’
‘He’s just pathetic,’ she said, remembering his concern for his dog. ‘You heard what the vet said, he’s the local scapegoat.’
‘So was the Lanarkshire Strangler. When he was interviewed by a psychiatrist, he was hugely upset at not being allowed to talk to his wife while he was being interviewed. He cried.’
Sage couldn’t imagine it. He’d attacked a dozen women and killed three, if she remembered the news correctly. ‘Crocodile tears?’
‘Compartmentalisation. Just stay wary, stay focused. Chorleigh may be being framed for River’s murder, but he may equally have killed her and buried her in a fit of drunken remorse. And he is still the last person we know to have seen Lara Black alive.’
* * *
After she left Felix, Sage drove back to Winchester. She couldn’t park anywhere near her mother’s house so late in the evening, so she had to walk through the quiet town, past the cathedral green, its towering frontage ghostly in the lights focused on its saints and windows. Yana’s house was dark when she fumbled the key into the lock.
She crept in in case her mother was asleep, but heard the murmur of voices, and when she pushed the door open realised there were just a few candles burning in glass lanterns around the living room. Someone – a woman maybe in her fifties – was curled up on the sofa, her mother in the armchair opposite.
A Shroud of Leaves Page 15
