A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery

by Beverly Connor

  The survey rod Sally was holding leaned severely as she watched them emerge from the Jeep. Lindsay yelled at her to pay attention, and Sally grinned sheepishly. "Come on, Lindsay, it is almost lunch time."

  Lindsay grinned back. "Okay. We'll let Derrick and Brian finish the mapping after lunch."

  "What do you think of Brian?" Sally asked as she brought the rod to Lindsay.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I was thinking about asking him out. Do you know if he is seeing anyone?"

  "Not that I know of. I thought you and Thomas were getting along."

  "Yeah, but we are not serious. I kind of like the way Brian saved me from the masked outhouse shakers and dragged Jeremy and Patrick off the site."

  Lindsay laughed. "I see. Well, if you're interested, why not ask him out?"

  "You don't think he minds forward women? Some men are funny about being the one to do the asking."

  "Ask him and see. I think he'll be flattered."

  Late in the day as the sun was beginning to fall behind the trees and the heat of the day had begun to dissipate, Lindsay was working with bone identification in the laboratory tent after most of the crew had scattered. Suddenly, the triangular dinner bell that hung from a tree near the picnic tables sounded. Lindsay and Sally both looked at their watches and at each other. "What the ..." Sally exclaimed.

  Derrick and Brian were sitting on a table, looking grim. Lindsay had a sinking feeling that something else had gone wrong. When the crew had gathered, Frank spoke.

  "We've been told a five-year-old girl is missing. The sheriff wants us to help look for her."

  Lindsay thought she was going to be sick.

  His bones are as strong pieces of brass ...

  -Job 40:18

  Chapter 8

  THE FOCUS OF the search for Jenna Venable was a large wooded area behind her house. "She likes to play in the woods," her mother tearfully told the sheriff. "I told her to always stay in sight of the house ... not to go in the woods ..."

  No one mentioned the possibility that Jenna might be another victim of the killer, but the fear of that prospect was in everyone's eyes.

  Lindsay looked at the map the sheriff laid out on the hood of his car and noted that the place where the skeletons of the little girls were found was just five miles through the woods.

  The sheriff marked off the map into quadrants and assigned teams to the quadrants.

  "This is a big area," he said. "This neighborhood borders on about three thousand acres of wilderness. The terrain gets rough around a thousand feet into the woods. We won't be able to cover the entire area before dark, so everybody come back before sundown. It is near impossible to find your way out of the woods at night, and I don't want to have to search for anyone else."

  Lindsay checked her compass before she started into her assigned section of woods. Derrick was twenty yards to her right, Brian about the same distance to her left, but he was hidden by thick brush. She examined the ground, trees, and bushes for signs of previous passage, making sure she maintained a relatively straight line of travel through the heavy growth. As she progressed deeper into the woods, the undergrowth grew more dense and she lost sight of Derrick. Occasionally, in the distance she heard Jenna's name called out by another searcher.

  Lindsay entered a heavily eroded area where water had cut deep gullies through the earth. The terrain was forested over, and Lindsay looked down into a gully thick with trees, vines, ferns, and an abundance of other plant life. It looked dark and forbidding now that she was searching for a lost child, but Lindsay remembered that as a little girl she loved places like this. To her right she could see a monadnock rising as a rocky hillock dotted with small trees and shrubs. She saw Derrick climbing among the rocks, searching. She wanted to signal her position, but he was too far to call to, so she gathered up stones and made a cairn on the edge of the gully. After scratching her initials in the dirt next to the cairn, she descended, holding onto the ropy vines with her gloved hands to keep from falling.

  The overhanging trees screened out most of the light, but Lindsay could see the winding passage the gully cut through layers of sedimentary strata. A small stream about a foot wide and just a few inches deep flowed through the bottom of the gully. Lindsay made another mound of marker stones by the creek and walked downstream away from the rise.

  The roots of trees that grew on the edge of the gully were eroded from the earth so that they made gnarly, snaky appendages in front of small caves in the side of the gully. Lindsay shined her light into the holes, and sometimes the glow of animal eyes shone back at her. Along the way she built small cairns to show her passage.

  It was growing darker, and Lindsay guessed the searchers had already started back. She tried to remember the map the sheriff showed them and how far the gully continued before it emptied into the riverat least two miles, too far to continue to the end. The creek was becoming wider and deeper.

  "Jenna," she called softly. Nothing. Lindsay was loath to give up. She decided to go a little further before starting back.

  Around a bend, Lindsay thought she heard a muffled sob. She stopped and listened and heard it again. "Jenna, is that you? Your mother is looking for you" Again she heard the soft sobs. She searched the brush with the light from her flashlight, and the patch of canes growing on the other side of the creek seemed to move. Lindsay stepped through the small stream and shined her light in among the foliage. A small, dirty, tear-stained face peered back at her and began whimpering.

  "It's all right, Jenna sweetheart. You're safe now. My name is Lindsay, and I'm going to take you back to your mother." As Lindsay stepped forward, Jenna shrank back.

  "Would you like to take my flashlight and have a look at me?" Lindsay lay the light near Jenna and stepped back. After several moments, Jenna hesitantly grasped the light and shined it at Lindsay.

  "Let me take you home," Lindsay said.

  Jenna sobbed, and Lindsay stepped forward again. This time the little girl didn't shrink back, and Lindsay took her in her arms and held her.

  "It will be all right." Lindsay took the flashlight and stood up with Jenna, who now held to her tightly.

  Carrying the child, Lindsay retraced her steps back along the creek through the winding gully. It was dark, and she needed the flashlight to find her way through the vines and heavy growth. She stopped to rearrange Jenna so she could walk more easily.

  "Don't let the bad man get me," Jenna whimpered.

  Lindsay went cold. "What bad man, sweetheart?"

  "The bad man that chased me."

  Lindsay held Jenna tighter. "No bad man is going to get you." Her words were firm and sure, but a wave of fear swept over her. The bad man would be one of the searchers, she was sure. Wasn't that a pattern: the perpetrator joining the search for his victim? Lindsay turned off the flashlight and stood for a moment to accustom her eyes to the darkness before she continued.

  As she walked, Lindsay thought she saw a point of light in the distance. She stopped and watched. The light was coming closer. Lindsay looked around for cover, but she was standing in an exposed area with only tall ferns and leafy vines hanging from the bank. She hid Jenna among the ferns and told her to be very quiet. Lindsay took her knife from its scabbard and waited in the shadow of the foliage. Soon she heard the sound of someone walking along the creek, but she couldn't make out a shape because of the bright flashlight. Her hands were sweating and her heart raced.

  "Lindsay," a voice called out.

  "Derrick," Lindsay sighed heavily. She replaced her knife and picked up Jenna, who started to cry.

  "You found her!" exclaimed Derrick.

  "Yes, and I'm so glad you found us. I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life."

  "I just followed your markers."

  "Someone chased Jenna into the woods."

  I see," Derrick quietly said.

  "Jenna, this is a friend of mine. His name is Derrick. He is a good man"

  Jenna held onto
Lindsay's neck with one arm. She had her other fist in her mouth, sobbing and hiccuping. Lindsay shined her light on Derrick so Jenna could see him. She rocked her in her arms.

  "He's like you." Jenna pointed to his hair.

  "Yes, he's like me, and we are going to take you to your mother."

  Derrick led the way to the place where they had entered the gully. He tried to take Jenna so that Lindsay could climb out, but the little girl clung fast to Lindsay's neck.

  "I can make it," Lindsay said. "You go first and give me a little help."

  Derrick climbed part way up the embankment. Holding onto a vine, he reached out for Lindsay. She held tightly to Jenna with one arm and gave Derrick her other hand.

  There was more light at the top of the gully and glimpses of red sky left by the setting sun showed through the trees. "We need to convince her to let me carry her," said Derrick. "You must be tired."

  "It's all right. I would prefer that you have your hands free."

  Derrick eyed her a moment, then scanned the darkening forest. He gave her a reassuring smile and led the way back toward Jenna's house. It seemed to Lindsay that the walk out of the woods was much longer than the walk into the woods. Her arms were tired, and she stopped frequently to shift Jenna.

  "I'll take her," Derrick said the last time she stopped.

  "I'm fine. We're almost there. I can see lights through the trees"

  They emerged from the woods amid a storm of camera flashes, shouts from reporters, and screams from Jenna's mother, relatives, and friends. Mrs. Venable ran up and grabbed her daughter from Lindsay's arms. "Oh, God, my baby, you're all right. You're all right. Thank God, you're all right." She hugged Jenna as people gathered around. Jenna began to cry.

  "Good work." The sheriff beamed at them with obvious relief.

  Derrick and Lindsay answered a few questions from reporters, then ducked away, pulling the sheriff with them. "Someone chased her into the woods," whispered Lindsay.

  The sheriff stared at her for several moments as if not understanding what she had said. "No," he whispered finally. "No. Did she know who?"

  "We didn't question her."

  "What did she say?"

  "When I found her, she asked me not to let the bad man get her."

  "Damn," said the sheriff, then lowered his voice before he attracted the press still gathered around Jenna and her mother. "You two did good."

  "I'm glad we found her before someone else did," Derrick said.

  "Yeah," the sheriff agreed. "Jenna is one lucky little girl."

  Suddenly, a flash went off in their faces and they all looked up to see Mickey Lawson grinning at them. "Great job, folks," he said. He had snapped their picture. Lindsay was glad the picture would not show the look of horror on her face at seeing him.

  "He sometimes takes pictures for the newspaper," the sheriff said after Mickey moved on.

  "Still ..." said Lindsay.

  "The newspaper would want pictures. They would send one of their best photographers," said the sheriff. "Why don't the two of you go back to the site and get some sleep. Come down to my office tomorrow and make out a statement about finding Jenna."

  "Good idea," urged Derrick. "Come on, Lindsay. You could use a good night's sleep."

  They left the crowd of searchers, reporters, and onlookers and started back to the site, but Lindsay still felt a profound uneasiness.

  "Pretty good night's work, Lindsay," Derrick said as they drove along the highway. He reached over, took her hand, and squeezed it.

  "I was relieved that you came along when you did," she said. "I was afraid it might be..."

  " 1 know. I'm glad it was me, too."

  Lindsay went to the hospital early in the morning to take Jenna a teddy bear. It was a large brown bear, and Lindsay told her it would watch over her. Jenna's mother apologized to Lindsay and Derrick for not thanking them when they brought Jenna out of the woods.

  "It was very chaotic," Lindsay said.

  "I can't tell you how thankful I am. We are going to visit my mother for a few weeks, aren't we, Jenna?"

  Jenna nodded, holding on to her bear. "They said you're an arc ... arc ... arc'olgist," Jenna said. "What is that?"

  "I dig up places where people used to live long ago to find out what they did there"

  "That's what I want to be."

  Lindsay smiled. "It's a fun thing to be"

  The sheriff was also there when Lindsay arrived. He had come to the hospital to get more information about the man who had chased Jenna into the woods. He told Lindsay and Derrick that Jenna had been playing in the far corner of her backyard when a man approached her and offered her candy if she would come with him. The only description they got from Jenna was that he had a big moustache. The sheriff suspected that he may have been disguised. Jenna said she ran from him, and he chased her into the thick woods where she hid in the bushes. Afraid that he would find her, she ran deeper into the woods and down into the gully, a place where she had played previously but unknown to her mother, and hid where Lindsay had found her. Again, like most of the other clues, nothing pointed to anyone. The sheriff had someone checking out all the stores that might have sold the disguise, but he held out little hope of finding anything helpful. Lindsay and Derrick left the hospital and followed the sheriff to his office.

  After they wrote up and signed their statements for the sheriff, Derrick reminded the sheriff that he needed to finish examining the artifacts that he and his crew had retrieved from the crime scene.

  "Good idea. I'd like to send the whole lot to the crime lab in Atlanta to see what they make of it."

  Derrick laid all the plastic bags filled with crime scene artifacts on the table in the back room of the sheriff's department. Lindsay wrote down the description of each object beside its number as Derrick made the identification. He already had looked at much of the debris, but he examined each with a hand lens, hoping to find some minute but useful clue.

  The yield consisted mostly of old pull tabs and bottle tops, beer cans, and old soft drink bottles. They had also found ten rusted nails, pieces of a barrel hoop, a two-foot length of rusted chain, three-and-ahalf feet of barbed wire, three rusted hinges, two small weathered pieces of cardboard that had once been tightly wrapped into a stick, the bones of one rabbit, and parts of two mice.

  "Not much help," Lindsay commented as she wrote down the identifications.

  "This might help," Derrick said. "It looks like the pan lock from a tripod."

  Lindsay looked at the object Derrick was holding. "Another photography connection."

  "What's that?" The sheriff peered over Derrick's shoulder.

  "A part for a camera tripod," said Derrick.

  "Oh, Lord," the sheriff said.

  "That means there may be pictures somewhere, if this belongs to the killer," Lindsay said. "Can't you search Lawson's studio?"

  "I don't have probable cause to get a warrant for Mickey's place."

  "He took the portraits of the children," said Lindsay, "and he showed up at the search for Jenna."

  "So did half the town." The sheriff pulled up a chair and sat down. "And it's true he took the school pictures, but he and Adam Bancroft are the only two professional photographers in this area. Mickey is well known. I know you don't like to hear this, but his family, the Tylers, have a lot of influence in this town. I need a little more evidence before I can zero in on a member of the Tyler clan."

  "Can you get a warrant for both Adam's and Mickey's studios, so it won't look like you're focusing on Mickey?" Derrick asked.

  "You can't just get warrants like that," said the sheriff. "We have absolutely nothing to link Adam Bancroft to the murders, and you can't just focus on someone and point them out as a possible child killer when you have no grounds to prove it."

  "Yeah, you're right," Derrick agreed. "I guess even the most liberal of us can turn fascist in the right circumstance."

  The sheriff grinned. "Yep, that's why you have people like me to watc
h out for people like you. How `bout we go out for lunch?"

  A few minutes later, the sheriff, Derrick, and Lindsay sat in a far corner of the diner and, as had become their tradition, finished eating before mentioning anything about the murders.

  The sheriff cautioned them. "I know it looks to you like you have a good suspect in Mickey. But you have no hard evidence, and your circumstantial evidence is very thin."

  "Who owns the land the crime scene is on?" Lindsay asked.

  "The Timberland Paper Company now. They bought it from the Tylers about 15 years ago"

  "The Tylers again," Lindsay remarked.

  "Yes," the sheriff said, "but they have owned a lot of land over the years. They are the biggest landowners hereabouts, besides the paper company."

  "Still, a family member would be familiar with the land."

  "And a lot of other folks who might have hunted on the land. Gun clubs have rented it for years. I need something that connects Mickey to the scene or to the children, something besides him being the one who took their school pictures."

  "Can you find out if he has a broken tripod?" Derrick asked.

  "Yes. I can do that," said the sheriff.

  "I was thinking," Lindsay said. "Derrick is well known at the hardware store and other places for scavenging tools for the site. What if he asks around for old tripods to use for parts to fix his surveying tripod?"

  "Good idea," the sheriff said. "I don't think that would raise any suspicion at all."

  After lunch, Derrick took Lindsay to the crime scene. He sat on a log and watched as she walked among the children's filled-in graves.

  It came to her mind easier than she thought it would, as easily as for archaeological sites. She saw a truck turn into the overgrown road. It was a common pickup truck, like every other one on the road.

  He slid out, coins dropping to the ground from his truck seat.

  The girl slid out the other side, dropping the pen and candy wrappers. She was sucking on a Tootsie Roll pop. Lindsay couldn't see which little girl it was, nor could she see the face of the man. Even though she thought the man was Mickey Lawson, his face was a haze. The man took his camera from the seat, walked to the rear of his truck, and began setting up the tripod. The little girl played around the site, crunching on her sucker and throwing away the cardboard stick when she finished. When she became restless, the man soothed her, telling about the pretty pictures he was going to take of her and how pleased her parents would be. He picked her up and a large black fog appeared in front of them through which Lindsay could neither see nor hear what he did. When he came out of the fog, he was carrying the little girl, and she was limp.