by Matt Hilton
She gave a sly nod my way. “Just a guess.”
Broom glanced at me again.
“You two have met before?”
I nodded. “Paul Broom, this is…uh, Janet.”
“Janet.” Broom gave her a nod.
“Forgive me for not shaking your hand,” Janet said, indicating a tarpaulin-shrouded mound between us. “It’s a little awkward…”
I was astute enough to guess what it was that she was guarding. Janet remained the humorous lady I met on the boat, but I could tell now that the sour look on her face had nothing to do with our arrival. I was reasonably sure that she was relieved that we’d turned up.
“I’m waiting for the police,” she offered. “You didn’t by chance notice any police cars on the road, did you?”
Broom said, “Sorry, but you might have a long wait.”
“There’s been an incident near to Ura Taing” I chipped in, “and it looks like most of the police resource is tied up with it.” Even as I said this I recalled the sergeant and constable who had stopped me last night and realised that they hadn’t been in evidence at Catherine Stewart’s place. Then again, they would most likely be off duty now, having pulled the nightshift.
Janet shook her head in mild frustration. She nudged the folds of tarpaulin with a boot. “I don’t believe it. Surely this is more important? I did say that we’d found a body.”
As she said this, her eyes flickered up at us, and I saw her chew at her bottom lip. She’d spoken out of turn and instantly regretted her words.
Broom said, “It’s okay. We already know about your discovery here.”
A small furrow appeared between her brows. Choosing not to challenge us about how we could know what was found, she instead looked over at a VW van parked nearby. It was the same one that had collected her and her colleagues from the ferry, with the self-same driver behind the wheel.
“Did Harry call you on the phone?” she asked with what sounded like a hint of derision.
Broom lifted his chin. “Is that Harry in the van?”
“Yes. Did he phone you?”
We shook our heads. Broom said, “We’ve never met. Is he Harry Bishop? The professor from Edinburgh? He’s the one in charge here, isn’t he?”
Janet scowled at the bearded man. It was all the answer we needed. She didn’t say it, but I could tell she wasn’t exactly thrilled with Professor Bishop’s leadership qualities. Broom knew it too. He shrugged, showing Janet that it made no difference.
“Is the professor okay?” Broom asked. “He looks a little…erm, distracted.”
Janet sighed. “He’s okay. He’s just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“I was hoping to ask him a couple of questions.” Couching his next question so that it didn’t seem disrespectful to her, Broom asked, “But in lieu of the professor, who is the next best person to speak to?”
“That would be Professor Hale,” she said.
Broom stared off across the archeological site, searching out a likely contender. “Where would I find him?”
“You would find her right here,” Janet said. “I’m Professor Hale.”
At my surprised look, she smiled. “But I prefer to be called Janet, if you don’t mind.”
“I remember,” I said. “That’s your formal name and your informal one.”
We ignored Broom’s quizzical frown.
Janet turned to him. “Could you tell me something, Mr Broom? What do you call your friend?”
“Carter.”
Janet nodded slowly, and again Broom was left frowning at us. There were a few empty seconds between us as we each digested what we had - or hadn’t - learned. Broom, being the odd man out in this triangle, said to Janet, “I’ve read a little concerning this dig. I have an interest in the work your team has undertaken here, so I have been following your progress in the local newspaper.”
Janet shook her head. “The local paper hasn’t exactly been kind to us.”
“No,” Broom said. “They haven’t. The point I was about to make is that I haven’t heard your name in connection with Trowhaem before…”
Janet inhaled uneasily. I detected a flash of her eyes in my direction as she said, “I’ve been misrepresented by the press. When I have been mentioned, it’s been under my previous name.”
Janet looked uncomfortable. She wasn’t under any obligation to explain anything about her past to us, but I couldn’t help feel that her next words were meant for me. I also very clearly recalled the way she’d hidden her wedding ring when we’d spoke on the ferry. “I’ve always been referred to in the press by my married name. Connery. My husband and I are separated, awaiting a divorce. I’ve gone back to using my maiden name.”
I nodded along with her explanation, feeling warm inside. Hoping that the attraction I believed existed between us had given her cause to put the record straight. Show me that she was available and I had nothing to fear. Broom on the other hand, appeared mildly embarrassed.
“Look, Professor,” he said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t prying, and hope that I haven’t insulted you.”
Janet smiled openly. “Don’t worry, Mr Broom. If you’d insulted me, I’d have let you know.”
Broom and Janet shared a chuckle. Not the most experienced man around women; I said the first thing that came to mind, “So you’re a professor, huh?”
Janet blinked. Luckily for me, her question retained a little mirth. “Does that surprise you?”
“Well, uh, no. Not really. It’s just that…”
“I’m not an old grey-haired guy, with bifocals and a tatty old tweed jacket?”
“No,” I said. “I just don’t think you look old enough.”
“But too old to be a student?” Her comment was firmly tongue in cheek, and designed to poke fun at my previous attempt at small talk. It did the trick, left me kicking at loose dirt.
Guessing what must have come before concerning Janet and I, Broom decided enough was enough. He was confident around women, but wasn’t exactly interested in them. Despite Cash’s assertion, Broom was no more a homosexual than I, it was simply that he had no interest in sex, and to my knowledge had been celibate all his life. He told me once, in order to get me to open up regarding my own concerns, that he was a forty-two year old virgin and proud of the fact. He argued that what other people saw as odd wasn’t important if you yourself were resolved and at ease with your life choices. Only thing was, he was like a reformed smoker in that respect, and would often belittle me for my need to find solace with the opposite sex, the way an ex-smoker will complain if someone lights up in their presence. Undoubtedly, what he saw as flirting made him uncomfortable. He was quick to get us back on track as to why we’d hotfooted it here. He indicated the tarpaulin shroud.
“Is he under there?”
Janet nodded. She gave Harry Bishop a quick glance, before she said, “No offence, Mr Broom. I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you.”
Broom’s shrug was expansive. “What harm can it do? I can assure you, my interest isn’t purely the inquisitiveness of a writer. I had hoped to be of some assistance to you…and to the police.”
“Again, no offence. But what help could you be? Despite your obvious skills as a writer, I doubt your expertise lies in crime scene investigation.”
Broom gave her a happy smile. “Too true. I’m no Sherlock Holmes, I admit. My reason for attending was purely to see if I could be of assistance in identifying the body. I’ve been resident on Connor’s Island long enough that I might recognise the dead man’s face.”
“I don’t think that you’ll be much help in that respect either.” What went unsaid was much more evident than her remark.
The description I’d been able to build concerning James Stewart’s death didn’t bear thinking about, and I could only assume the worst regarding this latest find. Judging by Janet’s aversion to what lay concealed beneath the tarpaulin, I didn’t really want to look.
Broom continued to push. “I’
m going to come down, if that’s all right? I promise I won’t interfere with the scene. I only want a quick look.” Broom was ungainly as he negotiated the descent to Janet’s level. I didn’t share his unhealthy desire to see the body, and showed this by stepping away and concentrating on the toes of my boots.
I remained focussed on the inanity of my footwear, but only until I heard Broom’s exclamation, “He’s been skinned!”
Against my will, I had to take a peek. Dear God, I wished that I hadn’t.
The man in the grave was like something out of a gore-splattered zombie movie. His skin and much of the adhering flesh had been torn from his frame, leaving him a patchwork of open, raw wounds and splintered bones. He was naked. Not a strand of hair remained on his skull, or any other obvious characteristic that could identify him. In fact, only through his height and build would I even guess that he was male, for even in this horrendous state I could see that he’d been of an imposing size. Feeling sick to the stomach, I stared down into the grave wondering what kind of monster could do such a thing to a man. A trow? Admittedly, I was beginning to believe Broom’s madness.
“You see that, Janet?” I heard Broom say. “His teeth have been smashed out, his lower jaw shattered.”
“I did notice that, yes.” Janet’s answer was barely above a whisper.
“Why do you suppose he’d do that?” Broom wondered. Then, before an answer was forthcoming, he said, “Only one reason isn’t there? Whomever killed this man did so with the intention of making identification of him very difficult indeed. I believe that the skin was removed to deny us any fingerprints, or scars or blemishes, maybe even a recognisable tattoo. The teeth and jaw was crushed so that even dental records would be useless. The killer is very calculating, don’t you think?”
“He’s a beast,” Janet offered, and I could only agree.
Broom stroked his chin with a finger. He stared at the man in the grave and I was more than slightly perturbed to note that he didn’t appear that moved by the ugliness of the murder. He turned his gaze to Janet. “Other than through DNA, are there any other ways of identifying this man?”
Janet sniffed. “I thought that this had nothing to do with your curiosity as a writer; I get the impression that you are using this terrible situation to source reference your next book. I find that a little distasteful, Mr Broom. I’d be happy to discuss identification procedures with you, but not now. Not here.”
Here, here, I thought. I’m in agreement with you, Janet.
Broom was nonplussed. “You know, I always encounter this problem.” He gave me a pointed look. “Whenever I offer my help, people always think I have an ulterior motive. Simply because of my trade, people think that anything I offer comes with a price. I’m not Satan bartering for souls, Professor Hale. I was genuinely sharing my thoughts with one I believed would have a valid opinion.”
Shrugging away the last few comments, Janet offered, “Facial reconstruction. It is a process sometimes used by scientists to reconstruct the facial characteristics of exhumed skeletons. The police also employ the same practice, but for wholly different reasons.”
She didn’t go into the specifics concerning the procedure, judging that we were both intelligent enough to understand what she was describing. Broom was obviously familiar with the practice, as he didn’t push for further explanation. I’d watched a couple of TV programmes on the subject, and had recently viewed a reconstruction from the mummified remains of Tutankhamen, so I was also familiar with the scientific process.
“I take it that such an endeavour is rather time consuming, possibly not viable in this instance?” Broom said.
“You’d be guessing correct,” Janet said. “It’s more likely that the body is checked for any underlying historical traumas. For example, any mended fractures or evidence of medical procedures that could be compared with hospital records. Unfortunately, this procedure is generally used to confirm identity where the subject is preliminarily identified due to other factors. Take a train wreck or air disaster where there are a number of fatalities, perhaps they have been burned or disfigured, then this process can be used to confirm each individual.”
A frown furrowed its way into Broom’s brow. “Yes,” he concurred. “But what you are saying is that there would have to be some reason to look at a specific individual’s medical records to ascertain that person’s identity. The police haven’t access to some super computer that cross-references everyone’s records have they?”
“No. They don’t have that ability.” Janet glanced once at the dead man, then back to Broom. “If someone were to come forward with…say for instance, a report of a missing person…well, then the police would be able to request access to the medical records of that person and then use them for comparison. If they had no leads, well, they’d be simply fishing in the dark.”
“So…unless someone comes forward with a possible name, it’s unlikely that the police would use this method?”
“The body will be minutely examined, and any identifying factors will be catalogued in the body of an autopsy report. This would be used in any subsequent inquest, or as a record for comparison as-and-when a possible name comes to light.” She shrugged. ‘Other than that, a DNA test will ascertain the identity, but only if the victim has been previously sampled, or they have an idea whose body it is and take comparison samples from a sibling or parent.”
“I see,” Broom said. Watching his face I couldn’t decide whether-or-not he appeared happy with the conclusion.
Adding my own opinion, I said, “Small island like this, it’s likely that someone will come forward pretty quickly. I can’t imagine you can be on the island very long without someone missing you.”
“Probably.” Broom was wearing a whimsical smile that didn’t associate with the course of our conversation. Maybe it was just me, but I found even the slightest of smiles inappropriate. I lowered my eyebrows, jutted my jaw at him. It was pointless, in fact; if anything, Broom’s smile grew wider.
Grunting, I switched my focus to Janet. She appeared to have decided that Broom’s interest in the dead man wasn’t to her taste, and I watched her flip the tarpaulin back into place, concealing the brutally damaged skull and torso.
Wind stirred by the tarpaulin carried a charnel stench. Not so much decomposition as the stale stench of a butcher’s block. I covered my nose and mouth with my hands, moving away. From the lower level, Janet followed my progress. I glanced at her. Our gazes met and stuck.
“I can understand Mr Broom’s interest in this, but what about you, Carter? You don’t strike me as the type I’d expect to show up here.”
I fed my hands into my coat pockets. Lifting my shoulders, I said, “I’m just tagging along with Broom. Believe me, the last thing I expected when I woke up this morning was to visit two murder scenes.”
Janet’s pupils dilated. “Two murders?”
“Yeah,” I said. “The other incident the police are dealing with at Ura Taing…” A solid lump forced its way into my throat. “A little boy was killed. His sister is also missing.”
“Children? Dear God! What’s going on here?”
Broom said, “The haugbonde curse.”
We both turned to him. For me, I was surprised that Broom had brought up this nonsense in the presence of one as sophisticated as a professor. Janet’s response seemed more like genuine shock. Her sudden fear was what I couldn’t fathom. Still, her next words went a little way to clarify her thoughts on the subject.
“Don’t tell me that you give that childish nonsense any credibility, Mr Broom? I’d have thought that one as learned as you would realise that fairies and trolls belong in children’s books.”
Her comment made me want to agree with her, but there was something in the tone of her voice that said she too had considered the curse legend as a viable explanation for the presence of the dead man.
“Take my words as analogous, if you wish,” Broom said, unfazed by her pointed sarcasm. “But you must admit tha
t the thought has crossed your mind.”
Janet shook her head, but the reddening of her cheeks told the lie.
“You can deny it all you want, Professor.” Broom’s face took on angles and planes I was unfamiliar with. Not very often did Broom show anger and I was momentarily stunned to silence. He jabbed a finger at Janet. “This is only the latest mishap that you’ve had to contend with, isn’t it? You’ve had to suffer a number of setbacks, haven’t you? Confrontation from the islanders? Mechanical failures? Bad weather?” He swung his finger to point at the swamped excavation site. “Floods. And I bet you aren’t the only one experiencing personal problems.”
“Broom.” My voice cracked like a gunshot. “That’s enough.”
Broom was well out of order. He had no right to talk to anyone that way. Bringing up something as hurtful as her divorce as proof of his argument was disgraceful to say the least.
Blowing hot and cold with equal speed, Broom’s smile blossomed again. Then it flickered to an embarrassed grimace. “I’m sorry, Professor Hale. I shouldn’t have been so personal. But all I was attempting to point out is that the signs are all there. Don’t you agree that there has been more than its fair share of bad luck connected to this archeological dig?”
In a very un-professorial manner Janet said, “Shit happens all the time, Mr Broom, to everyone, everywhere. It doesn’t mean that ancient curses are to blame.”
Broom allowed his head to drop, his mane of hair concealing his features. He wasn’t acquiescing. “Shit does happen. But how often does it turn up in the shape of a skinned corpse and an eviscerated child? Childish nonsense or not, you must see that your time on the island is up? In that respect, the haugbonde curse wins out.”
Janet’s mouth made a thin line. “Mr Broom. Your haugbonde is going to have to try harder than this if he expects me to leave Connor’s Island.”
Air stuttered into Broom’s lungs. His eyes took on the intensity of lasers. “You are a very brave woman, Professor Hale. Or very stupid. You should reconsider…I cannot guarantee your safety if you stay here.”
