A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery

by Beverly Connor

  The package was from the forensics department at the University of Tennessee. It was the kit she needed to reconstruct the face of Burial 23. Lindsay laid out the supplies on her desk and began placing the skin depth spacers on the skull. When she finished, she began with the modeling clay, smoothing it to a thickness that just covered the spacers. It was like connecting similar elevation lines on a map.

  When Lindsay stood and stretched her stiff muscles, she realized that it was well after dark. She looked down at the rough image of a face emerging from her effort. Coarse though it was, she could see the countenance of Burial 23 taking shape.

  It was still early enough to take a walk by the river, and the night was lit by the moon. She put away her work and left her tent. No one else was home in the crew's tent village. The tents were dark and empty. Probably in town, she thought, or taking a moonlight swim. It was cool, and she hugged herself as she walked down the deer trail toward the river. No one was there, and she turned around to return to the tents. Just ahead she could see a dark form coming down the path toward her. For a moment, she had the urge to turn and run. Then she realized it was Derrick.

  "You out for a walk, too?" she asked, trying not to sound relieved.

  "Yeah. Nice night for it."

  Derrick looked good in the moonlight. Of course, thought Lindsay, Derrick looked good all the time.

  Unexpectedly, he reached out and gently pulled her to him. For a moment, as if waiting for her to say something, he simply looked into her eyes. When she said nothing, he kissed her. Lindsay slipped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss.

  Kissing Derrick was sweet, tender, and exciting, everything Lindsay thought it probably would be. When they finally stopped, she stepped back. She had known Derrick for a long time; he was a good friend. He had kissed her cheek many times and had even kissed her lips to ring in a new year, but he had never kissed her like that.

  "Come with me " He held out his hand.

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Can't afford to"

  "But you want to"

  "Of course I want to. That's beside the point."

  "It will be really good." He kissed her ear.

  "I don't doubt that, Derrick." She smiled up at him. "You are one of the most gorgeous... sexiest men I have ever known. And you genuinely like women, really like them. But that's part of the problem."

  "How come? I practice safe sex"

  Lindsay laughed. "I've never had casual sex, and I don't intend to start, not even with such a terrific partner."

  Derrick's eyes were soft and dreamy. He was an expert lover, all gentle and coaxing with the promise of giving the greatest of pleasure, which she had no doubt he could deliver.

  "My reputation far surpasses the reality. I'm not casual either."

  Lindsay laughed again. "I would fall in love with you, and you would break my heart."

  "I would never."

  "I'll take one more kiss, if you've a mind, then I'll go to my tent and sleep alone."

  Derrick pulled her into his arms and gave her his best.

  In the morning the sheriff sent word that the Pruitts had identified some of the clothes Derrick had found at the crime scene. With that and Lindsay's report, he released the bones for burial. Lindsay was glad it was over.

  The scouts had arrived at the site and had set up camp in an adjoining field. Lindsay tried to give each a little time working on a burial, because among the site crew burials were considered a treat. But she found to her amazement that some of the scouts were afraid to touch the bones. She watched one boy's hand shake as he tried to use a wooden tongue depressor to scrape dirt away from a long bone. She was astonished that he was afraid of the remains of a people she thought of as friends.

  Most of the scouts' time, however, was seized by Ned to remove the overburden in the new section he was so impatient to uncover. Lindsay thought he would be happy now, or at least less combative, but Frank's refusal to give him the number of professional crew he wanted and Frank's insistence that he supervise Ned's work made Ned furious. Lindsay overheard them argue on a number of occasions.

  "Dammit, you act like I can't lead an excavation!" Ned yelled.

  "Ned, we need to have consistent methodology throughout the site. I don't question your abilities, only your stubbornness"

  "Great, that's just great..."

  All the arguments usually ended with Ned stomping off to his corner of the site.

  Lindsay had looked forward all day to her work that evening on the skull of Burial 23. She smoothed and refined the formerly roughed-out features, willing her fingers to bring an expression of life into the clay. Late into the night, she stopped and looked at the face that stared back at her with blank eyes. Whoever she had been, she was a handsome woman with a very proud face and a well-shaped head. Lindsay wondered what her story was, wondered if anyone she once knew was here in this town or if she were now an anonymous person who could only talk to archaeologists. Even to them her ability to com municate was reduced by lack of context. Burial 23 couldn't tell Lindsay as much about her life as could the 500-year-old Indians with whom she had been buried.

  Derrick knocked on her tent pole. "I saw your light on," he said as he entered. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and his mane of hair was in disarray as if he had just risen from sleep. "So that's 23," he said, pulling up a chair and raking his fingers through his hair. "Nice looking chick."

  "Yes," agreed Lindsay, "I wonder who she was and who shot her?"

  "Has it occurred to you that there's been entirely too much murder on this dig?" Derrick commented as he studied the roughed-out clay face.

  "Yes, there has. I'm glad you're about finished with the crime scene."

  "Me, too. I'm ready to get back to the Indians. They were quite gentle people, compared to the citizenry of Merry Claymoore. I'm going back to bed. Wanna come?"

  "I'm too tired."

  "Always an excuse. By the way, this Saturday night suit you?"

  "Dancing? Fine. I can't wait. By the way, we're going to have to practice a little before we go. How long has it been since you've done any lifts?"

  "Since we last danced. I'll find a place. Unite, Lindsay."

  "Sweet dreams, Derrick."

  Derrick found another body at the crime scene the next day. From the far side of the site Lindsay saw the sheriff and him as they drove up. Derrick ducked into the lab tent with a box under his arm. The sheriff spotted her and walked in her direction.

  "No," she whispered, "not another one"

  She met the sheriff half way, hoping he would tell her something different from what she knew in her heart.

  "I want this kept absolutely quiet. That's why the coroner agreed we could bring it here," he told her as they walked to the lab.

  Derrick was waiting for them. Fortunately, because so many of the professional crew were working away at the crime scene, Frank had pulled all the lab personnel to work the site. Lindsay, Derrick, and the sheriff were alone in the laboratory tent.

  "Sorry, Lindsay." Derrick smiled grimly at her when she entered.

  She walked to the table and for a moment stared at the box of bones. Finally, she lifted out a femur and examined it. "These bones are older. Right off, I would say they've been in the ground at least ten years, perhaps longer."

  "There are some contextual differences," Derrick told her. "I found buttons and some fabric with the bones. On top, but not underneath. It looked as if the hands were bound when the victim was buried, and there were traces of fabric on the maxillary bones"

  "Ten years or longer. Damn!" exclaimed the sheriff. "With that long a span of time between this victim and the others, there could be many more out there"

  "There may be other burial sites, but I believe we've found all the holes at that site." Derrick said. "We've covered the area pretty well, measuring the resistivity of the ground."

  "Resistivity? Is that what you were doing?" asked the sheriff. "I thought you were using a metal
detector."

  "Besides," said Lindsay, "if that many children went missing over the years, wouldn't it have been noticed?"

  "Maybe, but the Hastings girl was from another county. When you have children missing from different parts of the state, it would be easy for a pattern to go unnoticed."

  "I'll have a look at these bones right away. There are a few tests I can perform to see how long they have been in the ground. Perhaps I can give you a more accurate time frame."

  The sheriff started to go, then abruptly turned to Lindsay and Derrick. "You know, the other day when you were describing those Indians who were massacred by the Spanish'? You brought what happened to life by just knowing the bones and the lay of the land. Can you do that for the crime scene? I think that you two might bring a perspective to my investigation."

  "We can try," Lindsay replied. "I'm not sure it would be different from what you yourself would see.

  "Maybe, but I would like to hear it, just the same." The sheriff left, and Lindsay began to unpack the bones.

  "You want some help?"

  "You better go see what you can do for Frank," Lindsay suggested. "I guess he is beginning to regret loaning us to the sheriff."

  "Let me know if you need to talk." Derrick gave her a quick hug and a kiss on her cheek.

  "Sure," she said and stared after him as he walked out of the tent.

  The laboratory tent was hot, even with all the flaps open. Lindsay tied her T-shirt under her breasts, exposing her bare midriff to any cool breeze that might come through the tent. She put on latex gloves, laid out the bones, and began examining each one carefully. After a while, she blinked away a tear and began her meticulous measurements.

  Lindsay thought she heard a scream. She stopped what she was doing and listened. She heard it again, then shouting. She hurried out of the tent and saw Derrick and Alan running through the woods toward the latrines with Frank right behind them. Lindsay ran to the edge of the woods. Some of the remaining site crew were not far behind.

  "What happened?" she asked the few crew who had arrived, also alerted by the scream.

  Jane shrugged. "It must have been Sally. She went to use the bathroom. Maybe she saw a snake."

  Lindsay followed the guys into the woods. Jane called after her to be careful. She found Sally standing by one of the outhouses trembling.

  Lindsay put an arm around her. "What's wrong?"

  "Some sons-a-bitches came up through the woods and started shaking the latrine," she answered breathlessly. "I screamed and went out to find out who it was, and they grabbed me and tried to drag me off into the woods." Lindsay couldn't tell if she was more frightened or angry. "Brian was in the other one and heard me scream. He came out and ran after them. They let me go and ran off. Brian still chased them, and I think he caught one, but I'm not sure"

  A moment later Lindsay saw Brian, Derrick, Alan, and Frank walking back. Brian was rubbing his jaw.

  "They got away," Alan told them.

  "Who was it?" asked Lindsay.

  "Dunno," said Brian. "I heard Sally scream, and at first I just thought some insect or something scared her. Then I heard laughing and ran out, and these two guys had hold of Sally. They ran when they saw me. I yelled and chased them. Caught one and decked him. But the other one came back and decked me. About that time Derrick and the others showed up, and we chased them down to the river. Couldn't tell who they were. They wore stockings over their heads.

  "Could these be the same guys that came though the woods wearing masks a few days ago?" Frank asked.

  Brian and Derrick shrugged. "Could be. These guys wore different masks," said Brian. "I doubt they were pothunters. Probably just some locals out having what they consider entertainment."

  "Thanks for rescuing me, Brian," said Sally.

  "No problem. Sorry I didn't catch them"

  "I'll call the sheriff," said Frank. "Are you all right, Sally?"

  "Sure, just scared." She laughed slightly.

  "Look," Frank told them. "From now on I don't want the women to go to the latrines alone. Go in pairs."

  "Great," said Sally. "Now we can't go to the bathroom by ourselves."

  Ned and some of the scouts met them as they walked back to the site. He was red-faced, apparently from running. They all were breathing hard. "We went down to the river to see if we could see anything," he said. "We caught sight of a red outboard, but it was just a flash."

  "I'll tell the sheriff," said Frank. "That may help."

  "Is everyone okay?" asked Ned.

  "Sally is a little shaken, and Brian has a sore jaw," Frank replied.

  "This is a little more serious than pothunters," said Ned.

  "Yeah," Frank answered. "It is."

  Lindsay finished analyzing the small skeleton from the crime scene late in the evening. She carefully laid the bones in their box, wrote up the report, and went to bed. I don't want to do this anymore, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. There is such pain in those little bones. A person had to be hurt terribly for it to show up in their bones.

  The next day, Lindsay helped with the flotation at the river while Michelle, the flotation supervisor, began the chemical flotation in the lab. Lindsay emptied a bag of dirt from the floor of Structure 3 into a bucket with a fine wire mesh bottom. She took the water hose and washed the dirt through the wire mesh, leaving a collection of objects too large to pass through the mesh. She ran her fingers over the objects: chert, broken pottery, daub, rocks and other miscellaneous debris. She was placing the artifacts on a flat screen to lie in the sun to dry when she saw the sheriff walk out into the field with Derrick. Derrick was putting a target on one of the rolls of hay.

  "Do you guys think you can finish these bags?" she asked the scouts who were working with her.

  "Sure"

  "Come get me or one of the other supervisors if you have any problems." She climbed from the dock onto the shore and walked across the site to the field. Frank and several of the crew were already there watching. Derrick had his bow and arrows, several handmade spears, and his atlatl. He had just hurled a spear into the target when Lindsay arrived. The spear stopped with only its point embedded in the hay. He picked up the banner stone-weighted atlatl and placed another spear on it. Drawing back his arm, he threw the spear hard. It flew from the atlatl and embedded halfway up its shaft into the roll of hay.

  "That's a big difference," muttered the sheriff.

  Next Derrick took his bow and placed an arrow on it. He drew back the string, aimed, and let the string gently roll off his fingers. The arrow embedded into the bull's eye.

  "I'm more accurate with a bow," said Derrick. "But a spear and atlatl can get the job done"

  "Sure can," said the sheriff. "Do you hunt?"

  "Nope. Never killed anything more dangerous than a roll of hay."

  "Those are nice spear points. Did you make them?"

  "Yeah. I like to get the feel of what it's like to use the same tools the Indians did. It's hard. I'd hate to have to make my living by my skill with the atlatl."

  Lindsay caught the sheriff's eye, and he came over to her. Derrick joined them, having offered to let anyone who wanted to have a go with the weapons. The three of them walked toward the lab.

  "I've finished with the preliminary examination."

  "What've you found?"

  "The damage to the bones is not quite the same, but similar. The most striking thing I found was a pattern of physical abuse"

  The sheriff looked up at her sharply. "It was an abused child?"

  "Yes. Chronic. There is significant damage to the bones." Lindsay handed him her report.

  "If we can find out who it is, that could be our big break," the sheriff said. "Whoever was the chronic abuser of this child could be the killer of the others. This may have been his start. Maybe he killed this kid accidentally and found out he liked it." The sheriff looked satisfied. "I'd like a go at that atlatl."

  "Sure," said Derrick. They left the lab and headed back
to the field.

  "By the way, I haven't got a line on those guys yet. I think they were probably local punks who thought it would be fun to scare some outsiders."

  "It's strange," said Lindsay. "We've had problems with pothunters at sites, but never with this kind of thing. They might have hurt Sally."

  "I'll keep looking. In the meantime, take care and don't go too far into the woods alone. You never know what is in somebody's mind."

  "I didn't mention this before," said Lindsay, "but the other night I had a persistent tailgater. I didn't think too much of it at the time, but, well, he went just slightly over the line of normal tailgaiting."

  Derrick frowned. "You should have said something"

  "Did you see what kind of car it was or anything'?" asked the sheriff.

  Lindsay shook her head. "It was too dark, and his lights were too bright."

  "Don't anybody travel alone until I can figure this out," the sheriff warned them.

  The field crew had left for the day, and Lindsay sat in the picnic area, gazing over the site. Derrick walked over and sat down beside her.

  "You okay, Lindsay? Maybe you ought to bow out of identifying any more bones"

  Lindsay shook her head. "I'm fine. Tell me about the crime scene."

  "You sure you want to hear it now?"

  "Yeah. Let's get it over with."

  "The scene itself is a small clearing in a wooded area about five miles from the paved road. Off the paved road, a three-mile dirt road dead ends in an old overgrown roadbed. The old roadbed is two miles long and leads to the clearing. The oldest burial-the last one I found-was the deepest. Three feet, 10 inches, but I'd say about an inch accumulated since the burial. The remains were extended. It looked like the hands had been tied behind, and it looked like she was gagged. The clothes had been removed and laid on top of the body before it was buried. You sure you want to do this?"

  "Yes. Let's get it over with."

  "Amy Hastings' grave was shallow, about a foot and a half. The sheriff's men measured it, and I don't know how accurate they were. Her dog was buried with her. I didn't see the burial, but the sheriff showed me the pictures. You don't want to see the photographs, do you?"