by S J Bolton
Harry looked from one child to the next. They were, as the pathologist said, completely dry, as though something had sucked all the moisture from their bodies. Their skin was shrivelled, dark as old leather, wrapped like cling-film over their small bones. Their scalps still had hair, there were tiny fingernails on their hands. ‘Incorruptible,’ he murmured to himself.
‘There are no bandages,’ said DS Russell. ‘I thought mummies were wrapped in bandages.’
‘Mention mummies and everyone thinks of Ancient Egypt,’ said Clarke. ‘But strictly speaking, a mummy is just a corpse whose skin and organs have been preserved by exposure to something like chemicals, extreme cold or lack of air. The Egyptians and a few other cultures created their mummies artificially, but mummies occur naturally the world over. Most typically in cold, dry climates.’
‘It can’t happen in the ground?’ asked Rushton.
Clarke shook his head. ‘Not in normal soil, anyway. There’s a property in peat bogs that prevents oxygen getting to the body and so halts the process of decay. That’s why we find so many preserved bodies in peat.’
‘Could these be peat bodies?’ asked Rushton.
‘Doubt it. No sign of staining. My guess is that these two were kept above ground, somewhere cold and dry, where the oxygen supply was limited. Some time within the last two or three months – we can have an entomologist check insect activity, give us a clearer idea – they were moved from wherever they’d been kept and put in the grave with Lucy. If I were you, gentlemen, I’d be asking why.’
For a few seconds, there was no sound in the room but breathing.
‘St Barnabas number two would have been around 105 centimetres tall,’ continued Clarke, ‘putting her in the three-to-five-year age bracket. From what I can tell from the skull sutures, she’d be in the upper half of that scale, maybe around four. Our best friends, though, in these cases, are the teeth.’ He indicated the area around the jaw bone. ‘Primary dentition consists of twenty teeth commonly known as the milk teeth. These start to erupt at around six months and are usually fully through by three years old. From about twenty-four months onwards, the adult teeth start to form underneath the milk teeth.’ He ran a gloved finger along the jaw bone. ‘Milk teeth start to be lost at around five to six years old,’ he continued. ‘Of course, this does vary quite considerably from one family to the next, but a child who has lost several of their front milk teeth is likely to be at least seven or eight. The adult teeth come through in an order that looks random but isn’t. This makes it relatively easy to age the skull of a young child. There are even some pretty good charts I can show you, once we’ve got the bones clean and can see the teeth properly.’
‘Any idea at this stage?’ asked the DI, whose name Harry simply couldn’t remember. Dave? Steve?
‘Tricky until we do the X-rays, but from what I can tell, number two appears to have a full set of milk teeth, suggesting a child between four and six years old.’
‘Boy or girl?’ asked Rushton. Both detectives looked at the senior officer, then back to the body.
‘This was a girl,’ said Clarke. ‘Thanks to the mummification I can say that with some confidence.’
‘Is anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Rushton, looking at the ceiling.
‘I think we all are, boss,’ said DS Russell.
I’m not, thought Harry.
‘Anything I’m missing?’ asked Clarke, looking from one man to the next.
‘Megan Connor,’ said Rushton. ‘Four years old. Local child. Disappeared on the moors not far from here six years ago. Biggest case of my career. Massive man hunt. We didn’t find a trace.’ He turned to Harry. ‘Ring any bells, Reverend?’
Harry nodded. ‘I think so,’ he said. The story had dominated the news for quite a few weeks. ‘To be honest, though, I hadn’t connected the case with this area. I hadn’t realized exactly where it happened.’
‘Not two miles above Heptonclough,’ said Rushton. ‘Lass wandered off from her parents on a family picnic. Never seen again.’ He turned quickly back to the pathologist. ‘Any clothes found with the body, Ray?’
‘Yes. This one was wearing waterproof clothes,’ replied Clarke. ‘Raincoat and wellingtons. Just one wellington found, though. It’s over here. Size…’
‘Size ten, red,’ said Rushton, who was staring down at the dead child. ‘The raincoat is red too, hooded, printed with ladybirds. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ said Clarke. ‘They’ve been removed and bagged.’
‘I see those clothes in my dreams,’ said Rushton. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’re over here,’ said Clarke. He turned and walked round the third gurney to the counter. A series of large, clear plastic bags lay in an orderly row. He picked up first one, then another and held them out to Rushton. Both had been labelled with lettering and numbers. Rushton took the bag containing one small wellington and softly shook his head.
‘She was also wearing jeans and some sort of sweater,’ said Clarke. ‘Underwear too. Should help with identification.’
‘I find myself relieved she was buried wearing her clothes, lads,’ said Rushton, still unable to take his eyes off the wellington. ‘What does that say about me?’
No one replied.
‘Any thoughts on cause of death, Dr Clarke?’ asked the thin-haired detective. ‘The skull bones seem to be…’
‘Yes, don’t they,’ agreed Clarke. ‘Very similar injuries to the first child. Severe blunt trauma to the skull, mainly the parietal and frontal bones, and in this case we have a fractured right clavicle or collar-bone, a mid-shaft humerus fracture on the right arm and a distal fracture of the right radius bone. Certainly consistent with a fall, although whether this was before or after death it’s very difficult to say.’
‘So both these children fell from a considerable height?’ said Rushton. ‘How sure are you about number two? Could her bones have been broken some other way? Could she – could both of them – have been beaten?’
‘Unlikely, if you look at the pattern of injuries,’ said Clarke. ‘Number one suffered trauma to the rear of her skull, to her spine and to her right leg, all consistent with falling from a height and landing on her back. Number two’s injuries are all down the right side of her body, again consistent with a fall and landing on her right side, possibly putting out her right arm to brace herself. When children are beaten, their injuries are more random. They tend to be concentrated around the head and upper torso, although you might see trauma on the arms if the child tries to defend itself. There are no obvious defence wounds on either of these two.’
‘Could these breaks have happened last night when the grave opened up?’ asked the DI.
‘Can’t rule it out,’ said Clarke. ‘There’s no sign of these bones starting to heal so the breaks definitely occurred very close to death or post mortem. But you had a lot of wet soft ground, and from what I’ve been told, the remains tumbled rather than fell; a height of – what – six feet.’ He looked again at the damage to number two’s skull. ‘I rather doubt it, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Everybody ready for number three?’
No, thought Harry.
The group around the gurney broke apart and moved away, collecting together again at the third and final corpse. Harry was the last to take his place.
‘Disturbing similarities,’ Clarke was saying. ‘Another very young female child, remains largely mummified. What I can see of teeth and bone development suggests an age of between two and five years old. Her height would indicate…’
‘She was clothed last night when I saw her,’ interrupted Harry. ‘What happened to…’
‘Taken off and bagged,’ said Clarke, narrowing his eyes and looking more closely at Harry. ‘Why?’
‘Can I see it?’ asked Harry.
‘What is it, lad?’ asked Rushton.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Harry. ‘It was dark last night. I probably wasn’t thinking straight. Is it possible to see the nightdress, or whatever it was
?’
Clarke nodded at the younger of the two lab assistants, who crossed to the counter and checked a number of plastic bags before lifting one and carrying it across. Harry took the bag and held it up to the light.
‘It’s a pyjama top,’ said the lab assistant. She was a young woman, hardly more than twenty-five, slim, with short dark hair. ‘We need to scrape away the surrounding soil, check it for any trace evidence and then we’ll wash it,’ she went on. ‘It’ll be a lot easier to see when we’ve done that.’
‘Just the top?’ asked Harry.
‘That’s all they’ve found so far,’ replied the girl. ‘The bottom half could turn up later today. It’s quite a distinctive garment, though. Handmade, from what I can tell. No label or washing instructions and these animals seem to have been hand-embroidered.’
‘They were,’ said Harry, looking at the tiny figure of a hedgehog.
‘What’s on your mind, Vicar?’ asked Rushton.
Harry turned to the pathologist. ‘Could these be the remains of a twenty-seven-month-old little girl?’ he asked. ‘Been dead for about three years?’
‘Well, certainly nothing to suggest otherwise,’ said Clarke.
‘What’s going on?’ said Rushton. ‘Who do you think she is?’
‘She’s a child called Hayley Royle,’ said Harry. ‘Her mother is a parishioner of mine. She was thought to have died in a house fire three years ago.’
Everyone in the room was looking at him. Suddenly he wasn’t hot any more. A cold stream of sweat was running down his spine.
‘The pyjamas were a hand-me-down,’ Harry continued, turning back to Lucy’s corpse. ‘From that child’s mother, strangely enough,’ he went on. ‘Her aunt made them, they’re unique.’ They were all staring at him. He was probably making no sense whatsoever. Then Rushton turned to the pathologist. He didn’t speak, just held his hands up in a mute question.
‘There’s no evidence of fire damage that I can see,’ said Clarke. ‘How severe was the fire?’
‘It burned for hours,’ said Harry. ‘The house is just a shell now. The child’s body was never found.’
The police officers were shooting glances at each other.
‘The mother was convinced the child didn’t die in the fire,’ continued Harry. ‘She believed Hayley had got out of the house somehow, had wandered away on to the moors. Looks like maybe she did.’
‘Holy crap,’ muttered DS Russell. ‘Sorry, Vicar.’
‘No problem,’ said Harry. ‘If this child didn’t burn, how did she die?’
Clarke seemed lost for words.
‘Did she fall too?’ asked Harry, thinking of course she did. Hayley had fallen from the gallery of his church. Like Lucy had. Like Megan Connor had. Their blood would be on the stones, the police would look later in the day, they’d find traces of it. He closed his eyes. Millie Fletcher had almost become a fourth.
Clarke was talking again. ‘Yes, I’m afraid she may have done. She has injuries to her skull, facial bones, ribs and pelvis. She fell from a height and landed on her front.’
‘Oh, I think we can stop pretending these children fell,’ said Rushton.
53
‘IT CAN’T BE HAYLEY,’ SAID EVI, SPEAKING IN A LOW VOICE, even though the two of them were alone in a corner of the hospital’s main reception. ‘Her remains were found.’
‘No,’ said Harry, still uncomfortably hot in his black shirt and jacket and tight clerical collar. ‘According to Gillian, there was no trace…’
‘Yes, I know what she’s told you. She said the same to me. But she was lying. Oh shit, this is so inappropriate.’ Evi sat back in her chair and ran a hand over her face. ‘I really shouldn’t be talking about this,’ she said.
Harry sighed. ‘Isn’t there some exception to the rule, whereby if you believe someone’s life is at risk, you can break confidentiality?’ he asked.
‘Well, yes, but even so…’
Harry put a hand on the arm of Evi’s wheelchair. ‘Evi, I’ve just seen three dead infants, all of whom died in a very similar manner, two of whom should never have been in the grave in the first place. I really don’t think normal rules apply any more.’
Evi looked down at the floor for a second, then seemed to make up her mind.
‘I went to see the firemen who were on duty when Gillian’s house caught fire,’ she replied, without looking up. ‘They found Hayley’s remains the next day. Just ashes and bone fragments, very similar to what you’d have left after a cremation, but definitely human remains. The bones were examined.’
Harry felt as if she’d just hit him in the stomach. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I was wrong,’ he said. ‘The good Dr Clarke’s going to love me.’ They would all love him. ‘I was sure I’d heard Gillian talk about what Hayley was wearing that last night,’ he went on. ‘And after Jenny told me it was handmade by her sister, well, there didn’t seem any doubt.’
Evi looked as worried as he felt. ‘Gillian must have been mistaken,’ she said. ‘Severe trauma can play tricks with people’s memories. Maybe she gave the pyjamas to someone else and forgot. If they’re unique, they’ll still help identify the body.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Harry. ‘The trouble is, the cat’s out of the bag now. The police will have to talk to her. I’m not sure how she’ll cope with it.’
‘I can go up now,’ said Evi. ‘I’ve cleared all my appointments for today.’
Harry heard footsteps approaching. When he looked up, Rushton was standing in the doorway. ‘We’re ready to go and see Mrs Royle now, Reverend,’ he said. ‘Are you fit?’
‘Of course,’ said Harry. He stood and turned to Evi. The back of her chair had two handles, one on either side of her shoulders. ‘May I?’ he offered.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ she snapped. ‘Let’s go.’
54
GILLIAN SEEMED TO SWAY IN THE DOORFRAME AS HER EYES fixed on Harry’s. ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming this morning,’ she said, before shooting a sly glance at Evi.
‘Gillian, this is Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton,’ Harry said. ‘I’m afraid we need to talk to you. Is it OK if we come in?’
Gillian’s eyes opened a little wider, then she turned and walked back up the stairs towards her flat. Harry allowed Evi to go up next and then followed. Rushton brought up the rear.
The flat seemed to have been tidied since the previous day. Harry hoped it hadn’t been for his benefit.
‘What’s going on at the church?’ Gillian asked, as they all entered the small living room. ‘There’ve been police cars there all morning.’
Through the window behind Gillian, Harry could see the main road winding its way up the hill towards the church. The rain of the previous night had left a thin mist behind. The edges of the buildings that lined the road seemed to be fading, as though rubbed out by an eraser.
‘That’s partly why we’re here,’ said Harry. ‘Something happened at the church last night.’ He turned to Rushton. ‘Detective Chief Superintendent, do you mind if I…?’
‘No, please go ahead,’ replied Rushton, sinking into an armchair.
Harry waited for both Gillian and Evi to sit. Evi took the other armchair, Gillian sat in the middle of the sofa. Harry dropped down until he was half sitting, half leaning beside her. ‘Gillian, something’s happened which might cause you some distress,’ he began. ‘That’s why I asked Dr Oliver to come.’ Gillian’s eyes drifted to Evi, as if only just noticing that she’d followed them up, then moved back to Harry.
‘Do you remember telling me about the night your old house caught fire?’ asked Harry. ‘About the night Hayley was killed?’
Gillian said nothing, just nodded once, her eyes not leaving Harry’s face. He began to wonder if she’d started drinking again. There was something not quite… ‘Do you remember the pyjamas she was wearing?’ he continued.
At that Gillian drew herself up. Her eyes flickered into focus and she glanced from Harry to Rushton. ‘What’s happ
ened?’ she asked. She was starting to look frightened.
‘Mrs Royle,’ said Rushton, leaning forward. In the small room, they all seemed uncomfortably close to each other. ‘Early this morning we found the remains of a small child wearing pyjamas very similar to the pair you described to Reverend Laycock. Is there any possibility you were mistaken about what your daughter was wearing?’
‘You found her?’ Gillian had pushed herself forward on the sofa, was on the verge of leaping up.
‘A child was found,’ said Harry, putting his hand gently on Gillian’s arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see both Evi and Rushton getting ready to stand up. ‘But we don’t see how it could possibly be Hayley.’
‘I knew it.’ Her fingers were clutching his hand. ‘I knew she hadn’t burned. Where was she? What happened to her?’
‘Mrs Royle.’ Rushton’s voice was loud enough to silence Gillian for a second. ‘I’ve seen the report of the chief fire officer who attended the blaze at your house. According to that, your daughter’s remains were found. They were released into your possession shortly after the fire.’
‘No,’ snapped Gillian, glaring at Rushton.
‘No?’ repeated Harry.
Gillian’s head spun back to face him. ‘What they gave me wasn’t Hayley. I know it wasn’t.’ She turned to glare at Rushton again. ‘They were trying to palm me off with a handful of ashes. I know she got out of the house. Stop looking at each other like I’m mad, I know what I’m talking about.’
‘Gillian, what happened to the ashes that the firemen gave you?’ asked Evi. ‘What did you do with them?’
Gillian stood up so quickly Harry almost overbalanced. He watched her cross the room and disappear into the kitchen. A cupboard door was opened and objects moved around. He turned to Evi, who gave a little half-shrug. Then Gillian was back, carrying a metal jar in both hands. It looked like – it looked like what it was – an urn. Harry got to his feet.
Gillian crossed the room and stopped at the small coffee table that sat in the middle of the carpet. She dropped to her knees and swept one hand across the top. A magazine and her purse fell to the floor.
