Peace to her bitter bones ...
-Stanley Kunitz
The Dark and the Fair
Chapter 14
THE BANNER STRETCHED across the picnic area at the site read: Welcome Back Ned. Mylar balloons were tied to the ends of the tables. There was a cake, a keg of beer, and assorted sodas in a large ice-filled barrel. Ned stood looking at the sign. Lindsay thought he was touched by the sentiment, but with Ned it was hard to tell.
"It was nice of you to give this party for Ned," Lindsay told Frank. She had to lean close to his ear for him to hear above the din of the partying crew.
"Well, it can't have been fun in jail. If we want to get this site dug, we need to bury the hatchet, as it were"
Derrick brought Lindsay a drink, sat down beside her, and squeezed her hand under the table. Michelle sat down across from them.
"Well, Lindsay," she said. "There you are between Frank and Derrick." Only this time she smiled. Lindsay smiled back, and Frank and Derrick sipped innocently on their drinks. Marsha drove up, and Frank got up to meet her.
Someone-Ronald probably-had brought a radio and turned it on. Soon the tables were moved apart, and the crew started dancing.
"Come on, Derrick. Let me show off some of my new dancing skills," Michelle said. "You don't mind, do you, Lindsay?"
"No, please, go ahead." Lindsay said, sounding more calm than she felt. She watched them dance together, hoping her complexion wasn't turning green with her envy. She unconsciously rubbed her sore leg.
"Lindsay." Ned sat down beside her. He spoke shyly. "I want to thank you for your faith in my innocence. It meant a lot to me in jail. Derrick and Frank told me what you did to clear me. You're very clever."
"None of us really thought you were guilty."
Ned was not accustomed to thanking people. He was hesitant, as if Lindsay might get up and leave in the middle of his speech, but he continued, a new behavior. Lindsay hoped it would stick, for it would make Ned's life easier in the future.
"I was sorry to hear about what Patrick did to you. I hope you're all right," he said.
"Yes," Lindsay agreed. "I'm fine," which was almost true. She had bad dreams occasionally, and her leg still ached. But she would be fine. She would make herself fine.
The site was quiet. The corners of the anchored black plastic covering the excavation waved faintly in the breeze. Lindsay scanned the sky for the rain clouds that were supposed to have materialized by midmorning, but only a few small cottony puffs were scattered about the clear blue sky.
They were finished digging the site. All that was left was the clean-up. Lindsay did not go into town very often these days. She did not want to be asked questions about what happened to Augustine Beaufort. Now that the children of Merry Claymoore were safe, this older mystery connected to the tragic Tyler family was far more interesting to the community. Isabel Tyler kept to her mansion, seemingly unfazed by the accusations and rumors against her.
The crew were gathering for lunch. Derrick was already there reading the accounts in the paper. "Tough old lady," he said when Lindsay sat beside him.
"She'll never suffer the consequences for killing her sister, will she?" Jane said.
"I don't know about that," Frank commented. "It seems to me she is probably suffering a lot these days"
Lindsay shook her head. "She's not suffering. She's too skilled at blaming others and cutting her losses."
"After all this time, there is just no proof," Marsha said.
"No," said Frank. "Even though everyone is pretty sure she did it, she'll never be tried. I'm not sure she would be even if there were enough evidence. She is pretty old, and it all happened a long time ago."
"Yeah, but I didn't think there was a statute of limitations on murder," Sally replied. "She may be old, but she is still causing a lot of mischief: siccing that odious Seymour on us, abusing her kids, and sending them to kill people, covering up their wickedness, and then leaving them twisting in the wind when they get caught. I say we all storm the mansion and string her up. I'll get the torches"
"I say we finish the site and go home," Frank replied. "This is the last day. Tonight I'm treating everyone to dinner and dancing."
"I'll go along with that," Derrick said.
"Me, too," Lindsay agreed, standing up and taking her leftovers to the trash. "I'm going to start packing the lab. I'd like to get away before any more bodies are found."
"I hear that," Brian said.
Lindsay and the lab crew were packing up and labeling boxes of artifacts. She still had the bones of Augustine and her reconstruction, which she was packing separately. She must remember to ask the sheriff where they were supposed to be sent.
"I don't know what to do with this."
Lindsay looked up at a field student who was holding out a bag to Lindsay. "It was in the bags for Burial 22. We thought it might be European in origin. Besides the skeleton of the horse, it would be the only European artifact we have found. But I think it may belong to Burial 23 "
Lindsay opened the sealed plastic bag and looked at the contents. "Well, Isabel Tyler, I think I've got you," she said aloud. She grinned at the puzzled face of the girl in front of her and opened the bag. Smiling, she took out a broken porcelain rose leaf that would make Isabel's broken pin whole again, as it was in her picture taken 60 years earlier at the Fourth-of-July picnic, the day Augustine disappeared.
From Questionable Remains, the second volume in the Lindsay Chamberlain series.
Chapter 1
DR. CHAMBERLAIN" GERALD Dalton, Denny Ferguson's defense attorney, lay a hand on the mahogany witness box. "Dr. Chamberlain." He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, taking in the entire jury, who sat fanning themselves with their notebooks and gazing at Lindsay through skeptical eyes. "You ask these twelve men and women to believe that you can positively identify my client as being the man who shot Ahyoung Kim, even though the perpetrator wore a ski mask ... and you only got a glimpse in his mouth as he was yelling at you to hand over your purse?"
Dalton removed his glasses and pretended to clean them with his handkerchief, shaking his head as he focused his gaze on his task. "My client could go to the electric chair," he said, replacing his glasses on his nose. "Are you willing to have that on your conscience? Weren't you scared? This fellow, whoever he was, had just shot Mr. Kim, and now he fixed his attention on you. You must've been terrified."
"Your Honor." The prosecutor, Max Gilbert, rose to his feet. "Is Mr. Dalton going to cross-examine Dr. Chamberlain, or is he going to testify himself?"
"Get on with it, Mr. Dalton," the judge ordered.
"Dr. Chamberlain, don't most bone experts like yourself use dental records to identify people, or are you able to Zen your identifications?" Dalton gave Lindsay a broad, sarcastic, toothy grin.
"Your client has very distinctive overlapping teeth," Lindsay replied, "as I have described in detail. I saw them clearly and noticed them in spite of my fear because observation is automatic for me. It's my job."
"It's your job," Dalton repeated. "Haven't you told your students on many occasions that you need much more evidence to make a positive identification than to rule out a person?"
"Yes," she answered. The heating system in the old, small-town courthouse was on high, and Lindsay could feel the prickly sensation of perspiration forming on her forehead. I must look guilty, she thought ruefully. She saw Mrs. Kim and her son Albert out in the spectator seats. Mrs. Kim understood little English, but she could read faces; her own was filled with worry. Albert, who had dropped out of the university to help his mother, looked angry. The defendant, Denny Ferguson, sat staring down at his hands. Occasionally he would look up at Lindsay with a half smile on his face.
Dalton's co-counsel sat tapping a pencil silently on her pad of paper. She watched the jury for a moment, then shifted her attention back to Lindsay.
"Well, then," Dalton continued with exaggerated sarcasm, "forgive me if I don't quite understand. It seems to me that
all you can say about my client-after your brief look in the perpetrator's mouth-is that you can't rule him out. This is a far cry from saying that Denny Ferguson is positively the man you saw"
"The man who shot Mr. Kim was your client." Lindsay realized she sounded more stubborn than professional.
"Dr. Chamberlain, you require more supporting evidence when you identify skeletal remains. Why are you requiring so little for a man's life?"
"I have described your client's dentition in great detail. I am sure of my identification."
The jury wasn't convinced. Lindsay could see that. Too much rested on her testimony, and they didn't believe she could identify Ferguson by having seen only his teeth. They would not have noticed his teeth in that detail, and they didn't really believe she would either. Denny Ferguson would go free, even though Lindsay knew he was the one who shot and killed Mr. Kim, the neighborhood grocer-simply because Mr. Kim did not have enough money in the cash drawer to satisfy him.
"You like the Kim family, don't you?" The defense attorney's voice was quiet, almost gentle.
"Yes"
"You want to see the murderer caught. We understand your sadness and sympathy for the Kim family." Again he gestured with a sweep of his arm, including the jury as if they were on his side. He shook his head and raised his voice, drawing out his words. "But just how can you convince me, and these twelve very sensible people, that you can say for sure it was my client who shot Mr. Kim and not someone else with bad teeth?"
"Mr. Dalton," said Lindsay, raising her hands to grip the top of the witness box and leaning forward slightly. "You had orthodontic work as an adult. You had four teeth pulled. Two upper second premolars and two lower premolars. You wore your braces quite a long time, and the constant soreness caused you to develop the bad habit of grinding and clinching your teeth at night."
Gerald Dalton gawked at Lindsay, surprise evident on his face. His mouth dropped open, and he was speechless for a moment. It was that moment of surprised hesitation that swayed the jury. Lindsay could see them shift their gazes to one another the way people do when they simultaneously see and understand a truth. In that moment she saw Albert nod his head and turn to whisper something to his mother; she saw the prosecutor smile and the defendant look around as if someone had told a joke he did not understand.
"Okay, how'd you do it?" Gilbert asked Lindsay, handing her a cup of coffee from the cappuccino machine in the corner of his office. He grinned broadly. "Your timing was perfect."
"My timing was from desperation."
Gilbert sat down and propped his feet on his dark oak desk. "But tell me how you did it."
"It wasn't that hard. His theatrics made it possible. The way he tried to intimidate me, leaning over me, drawing out his words with that big voice of his, gave me a good look into his mouth. I saw that he had premolars missing. When he looked down to clean his glasses, I caught a glimpse of a permanent retainer behind his lower incisors. A retainer is used to prevent shifting of teeth."
"And grinding his teeth?"
"His lower incisors were beveled where they ground against his upper incisors."
Gilbert gave a satisfied laugh. "I'll bet there's going to be a great gnashing of teeth in his office when the verdict comes in. With circumstantial evidence and a witness who only saw in the perp's mouth, of Dalton thought this was going to be an easy one."
"You think they will find Ferguson guilty, then?" asked Lindsay. She couldn't quite share in Gilbert's confidence.
"I think so. Of course, I've been surprised and even shocked by juries before, but I feel good about this. You're a good witness."
Lindsay took a sip of her coffee. "I can't stay for the verdict. I have to give an exam. Call me when you know something." She set down her cup and rose, offering Gilbert her hand.
He stood up quickly and shook her hand with a firm grip. "Sure. Glad to work with you, Lindsay. We don't usually have this kind of thing going on in our little town. I hate to see this kind of crime come in."
"Me, too," said Lindsay. "I'm going to miss Mr. Kim."
Sally, Lindsay's graduate assistant, was setting up the classroom for the honors course final exam when Lindsay returned to Baldwin Hall, home of the Department of Anthropology and Archaeology. Sally's dark blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, one wayward strand falling into her face. She had on a pair of well-worn jeans and a black T-shirt showing a white skeleton of a rat on the front along with the words: Rattus Rattus.
"I like your shirt," said Lindsay.
Sally looked down at the picture on her chest. "Yeah, I do, too. We're selling them to raise money for the anthropology club." She paused a moment before she asked. "Is it over?"
"It's with the jury"
"I'm sorry about Mr. Kim, Lindsay."
"So am I" Lindsay tried to fight off the depressing mood in which the trial had left her. "Did you get students from the advanced osteology class to help you with the exam?"
"They'll be here in a few minutes." The graduate students came in, followed by six honors students from Lindsay's class. There were the usual moans, groans, and the predictable question, "Is it hard?"
"I don't think so," said Lindsay, smiling. She gave each of them a long strip of black fabric.
"What's this?" asked one of the students.
"A blindfold," she answered.
"I knew it," said another. "A firing squad. She's going to shoot us if we fail."
"We have to get our bones somewhere," offered Sally.
Lindsay smiled at the group of four male and two female undergraduate students as they dropped their backpacks on the floor and sat down. "Okay, everyone listen up. As you have probably guessed, your test will be to identify some selected bones by touch alone. After you've named each bone, the graduate student assigned to you will write your answer down for you. You can get extra credit if you can identify the correct side-left or right. Don't try to listen to what the other students are saying because I've put different bones in each of the boxes on the tables. Now, pick a box and begin."
Each student picked a spot next to one of the covered boxes on the laboratory tables and tied their blindfold across their eyes. Lindsay watched as they removed the lids from their boxes, reached in, took a bone, and felt for identifying characteristics. She smiled when their faces lit up as they felt a trochanter or a condyle or when they frowned as they searched with the tips of their fingers for a fossa or muscle attachment. Sometimes they would roll the shaft of a bone in their hands to determine the shape of the cross section. After a while she left the exam in Sally's supervision and went to her office.
Lindsay's office had no windows. The walls beside and behind her desk were lined with bookshelves filled with books and journals. Her walnut desk had belonged to her grandfather, the only other archaeologist in the family. The brown, straight-grained wood surface was marred, and the left front leg still had her father's initials carved into it where he had tried out a new pocketknife on his ninth birthday. Her mother had wanted to have the desk refinished before they gave it to her, but her father had said no. Lindsay was glad because the marks left on artifacts reveal their history in a kind of code that she took pleasure in deciphering. The coffee cup rings told of her grandfather's long nights sipping coffee and working on articles. The cuts and scratches were evidence of the stone tools he laid out on the surface to examine and catalog.
The desk faced the door to the archaeology lab. An oak filing cabinet inherited from the previous occupant stood behind the door. On the other side sat a single stuffed leather chair next to a brass floor lamp. Her grandfather's trowel rested on a bookshelf, and an old photograph hung on the wall behind the chair, showing her grandfather as a young man dressed in a tie and rolled up shirtsleeves, holding a shovel and standing in front of an Indian mound in Macon, Georgia.
There were no artifacts or bones displayed in Lindsay's office. The only artifact she possessed was in an old cigar box inside her desk. It was a treasured possession: the f
irst Indian artifact she had ever found. When Lindsay was five, her grandfather had taken her on the first of their many trips to do surface collecting. She had earnestly examined the freshly plowed ground as she walked beside her grandfather, getting hot, tired, and restless. Then, there it was: the tip of a point partially covered by the moist earth. She had dug it out with her fingers and wiped off the dirt that clung to it. The point was beautiful, and it was huge, longer than her hand and almost as wide, made from black flint.
"It's a Clovis point," her grandfather had told her. "The oldest point there is. It could have killed a woolly mammoth." Lindsay had held on to her find so tightly the edges had cut her hand, but that didn't matter because she had found something wonderful. Since that day she had found many things, but no discovery had ever made her feel as she did that time she found the Clovis with her grandfather. From that day on, Lindsay knew she would be an archaeologist.
Lindsay was reaching for a term paper to grade when a figure appeared in her doorway. She thought it was a student before she recognized Gerald Dalton's co-counsel. Lindsay hadn't gotten a good look at her in court. Now she saw that she was a small, fineboned woman, not over five feet, four inches tall. Lindsay guessed she wore a size two. She looked as if she had the hollow bones of a bird, she was so thin and delicate looking. Her short, glossy-black hair was cut in a pageboy, and her skin looked as though it would be translucent if her makeup were washed off. She stood stiffly in the doorway, still in the snugfitting dark blue suit she wore to the trial.
"Can I help you?" asked Lindsay.
A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery Page 24
