Dry Bones

by Margaret Mayhew

  The foot bone connected to the leg bone,

  The leg bone connected to the knee bone,

  The knee bone connected to the thigh bone,

  The thigh bone connected to the back bone . . .

  And so on.

  There was a chorus, he remembered:

  Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun’

  Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun’

  Dem bones, dem bones, gonna walk aroun’

  Oh, hear the word of the Lord.

  Or something like that. Cornelia wouldn’t want to hear any of it, but she had nothing to fear. These bones weren’t going to be walking around anywhere, any more.

  He stood up again and drew the tarpaulin back in place. Turning away, his foot encountered a chunk of flint stone embedded in the earth. There were others, too, dotted around the floor. No surprise, considering that the barn was built of flint.

  ‘You saw it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s as your foreman described and definitely human.

  We must call the police, Cornelia. Now.’

  She was still in her dressing gown and, without the meticulous make-up, she looked much closer to her real age.

  ‘Now? Must we?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. Would you like me to phone them for you?’

  She nodded. ‘You’ll be here when they come?’

  ‘Yes, of course. They’ll ask you questions – bound to – but we’ll rehearse what you’re going to say.’

  ‘What am I going to say, Hugh?’

  ‘You’re going to tell them the truth – not the whole truth perhaps but at least as much of it as is necessary. You’ll say that the foreman reported what he had found last Tuesday and that work was stopped immediately on the barn. You’ll say that you were extremely shocked and upset by the discovery and couldn’t think straight. That your husband is away on the other side of the world on important business and couldn’t be consulted and so you decided to contact me, an old friend, to ask for my help. When I arrived on Friday evening, you told me what had happened and I advised you to call the police, which we did this morning. If they ask why you didn’t call them sooner, you can say that the foreman told you that, in his opinion, the skeleton had been there for a very long time. Obviously, you won’t mention the idea of leaving it there.’ He smiled at her reassuringly. ‘Try not to worry, Cornelia. You’re doing exactly the right thing now. The only thing.’

  She went away to dress while he made the call and half an hour later, a police car came up the driveway to the house.

  Detective Chief Inspector Rodgers was a short, grey-haired man, dressed in a baggy suit, a shirt with frayed cuffs and an acrylic tie. The very antithesis of the sharply dressed young DI Squibb of the Dorset Police whom the Colonel had encountered in Frog End. Detective Sergeant Collins who accompanied him was young and keen, looking about the room and obviously making mental notes.

  Cornelia had reappeared wearing her country casuals, discreet make-up and a distressed expression. The Colonel, watching her politely inviting the policemen to sit down, offering tea or coffee, was fairly sure that she was going to get away with it. He drew up one of the dining chairs and positioned himself at a slight distance from the group – far enough not to seem interfering but close enough to give comfort and support to Cornelia.

  The detective chief inspector cleared his throat and the sergeant took out a biro and a notebook. Both men looked uncomfortable on their white sofa – the older perched on its leading edge with his feet anchored to the reindeer skin, the younger sunk somewhere in the middle. The detective chief inspector placed stubby-fingered hands on his knees and took a deep breath, like a heavy sigh.

  ‘Let’s start at the beginning, shall we, Mrs Heathcote? I understand a human skeleton has been found on your premises?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Cornelia was keeping her voice just above a whisper.

  ‘Could you speak a little louder, please. Where exactly?’

  The policeman looked and sounded weary, the Colonel thought, as though he’d done it all too many times and for too many years. Very close to retirement, probably. A tired workhorse ready to be put out to grass. He had not been at all ready for it himself, but, according to W.S. Gilbert, a policeman’s lot was not a happy one.

  ‘In our barn. We’re having it converted to a games room for our son and the workmen found it when they were putting in flooring. Their foreman came and told me. Apparently, the bones were lying beneath the surface. In his opinion, they had been there for a long time.’ Cornelia closed her eyes for a moment. ‘I haven’t actually seen them myself.’

  The sergeant had wriggled forward to the front of the sofa where he could rest his notebook more easily on his knee. His superior gave him a withering glance.

  ‘And when did this discovery take place?’

  ‘Last Tuesday.’

  ‘Tuesday? Today is Saturday, Mrs Heathcote. Why did you delay so long before informing the police?’

  She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief – her own, this time. The Colonel hoped that the tears would start to flow in earnest. It could only help.

  ‘I was extremely shocked and upset . . . I couldn’t think straight. My husband is away in Hong Kong on very important business and couldn’t possibly be disturbed. I was alone here, except for our two Filipino servants, and I simply didn’t know what to do. So I asked the Colonel to come and advise me. He’s a very old friend.’

  The detective chief inspector turned to look at him, and the Colonel could tell that he was debating just how friendly he and Cornelia were.

  ‘And when did you arrive, sir?’

  ‘Yesterday evening. I drove over from my home in Dorset. Mrs Heathcote told me about what had happened after I’d got here. She was, indeed, very shocked and upset – as you can see. I don’t blame her, do you, Inspector? The circumstances are extremely unpleasant. I told her that, of course, we must call the police, but it was late in the evening by then and Mrs Heathcote was very tired, as well as upset. It seemed reasonable to wait for the morning and for me to take a look in the barn myself to verify the situation before making the call.’

  ‘Which you did?’

  ‘Which I did. The workmen had left the remains exactly as they found them and I could see that it was a complete human skeleton. I didn’t touch or disturb anything, by the way.’

  DCI Rodgers said grimly, ‘Well, that’s something. But I still find it very odd that you didn’t call us last Tuesday, Mrs Heathcote, as soon as the foreman reported to you. A human skeleton had been discovered in most unusual and unexplained circumstances. People don’t lie down and die and then cover themselves up with earth. And a barn is not a normal burial ground. Why didn’t you call us at once?’

  The Colonel intervened. ‘As Mrs Heathcote has already said, she wasn’t thinking straight. This whole episode has been very distressing for her.’

  The detective chief inspector was looking unconvinced. He stared at Cornelia in silence for a moment.

  ‘How long have you lived in this house, Mrs Heathcote?’

  ‘Since last October. My husband actually bought the farm three years ago but we had to pull down the old house. It was completely uninhabitable.’

  ‘And where did you live while this was being done?’

  ‘In our house in London. In Kensington.’

  ‘And do you have other residences?’

  ‘We have a villa in the South of France. Oh, and an apartment in Aspen – but we don’t use it very much.’

  ‘Aspen?’

  ‘The ski resort in Colorado.’

  ‘I see.’ If he hadn’t before, DCI Rodgers had now seen exactly what he was dealing with. ‘So, until you bought this house, you weren’t familiar with King’s Mowbray?’

  ‘We’d been here once before to stay with some friends who live in the village. Mr and Mrs Fellows. They happened to tell us about this property being up for sale. My husband was interested in the land for shooting. There’s a
bout three hundred acres.’

  There was another short silence while this piece of information was digested, along with the several residences.

  ‘You mentioned a son, Mrs Heathcote.’

  ‘Yes. Rory.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘Nearly eighteen. He’s away at Harrow.’

  The detective chief inspector nodded. He was evidently more familiar with famous English public schools than with famous American ski resorts.

  ‘You said that your husband is away in Hong Kong on business. We may need to get in touch with him. Where is he staying?’

  ‘At the Peninsula hotel. But he won’t like being disturbed.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t help that, Mrs Heathcote.’

  Cornelia dabbed at her eyes again. ‘Will there have to be an inquest, or whatever it’s called?’

  ‘There is always a legal inquiry into any death when the cause is unknown or unnatural.’

  ‘I don’t see how anything can be found out from some old bones.’

  ‘You’d be surprised what the experts can tell us these days.’

  DCI Rodgers levered himself off the sofa. ‘Sergeant Collins and I will take a look in your barn now. Perhaps the Colonel would be good enough to accompany us?’

  As they left the house, a second police car came tearing down the driveway. What’s all the rush, the Colonel wondered? The skeleton wasn’t going anywhere.

  He led the way to the barn and the uniformed occupants of the other car hurried after them. The tarpaulin was removed and, again, he shone his torch down on to the skeleton. The detective chief inspector began barking out instructions. Lamps were set up, a photographer began work, two policemen were taping off the area. A man in plain clothes arrived, carrying a doctor’s bag. Rather too late for that, the Colonel thought.

  He stood watching all the activity from the sidelines and presently Detective Chief Inspector Rodgers came over.

  ‘We needn’t keep you any longer, Colonel. Sergeant Collins will take your address and telephone number so we can get in touch. I take it you’ll be going back to Dorset shortly?’

  ‘Unless Mrs Heathcote still needs my help.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, the remains will be removed for examination and we’ll have some facts in due course.’

  ‘You’ll keep Mrs Heathcote informed? I know she’ll be glad to get the whole matter resolved as soon as possible.’

  ‘These things can’t be hurried just to suit the people involved, Colonel. Believe me, I’d be just as glad myself if they could. I’ve been in the force for more than thirty years and I’ve got to the stage when I like nice easy, open-and-shut cases, not riddles like this one. I haven’t got the energy or the patience any more, to be honest.’

  He wondered if the inspector had any plans for his retirement. Was he looking forward to spending his days playing golf, or gardening, or making models? Did he have a shed where he’d be able to pass happy hours on his own, no longer bothered by wearisome police cases?

  When the Colonel returned to the house, he found Cornelia slumped on the sofa, smoking a cigarette. She lifted a tear-stained face.

  ‘Why did this have to happen, Hugh? It’s so unfair. The inquiry’s going to take ages, I know it is, and everything’s going to be ruined. I could kill that damned skeleton.’

  There were times when no amount of money could help, he thought. When no magic wand could be waved to make things better. It was a hard lesson for the rich to learn. He sat down opposite her.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done, Cornelia – except wait for things to take their course. The police will be removing the skeleton, so that’s some comfort for you, at least. You won’t have to think about it being there any more. And DCI Rodgers will keep you informed. You’ve just got to be patient.’

  ‘Supposing they start suspecting us of having something to do with it?’

  ‘Us? You mean, you and I?’

  ‘No, of course not. Nobody would ever suspect you of anything like that, Hugh. I meant Howard and I.’

  ‘There’s no earthly reason why they should. You had no idea the skeleton was there, had you?’

  ‘Of course not. But the police always have suspects, don’t they? They’ll be back, asking more questions and not believing me. Hugh, you will stay, won’t you? As long as you can? I really don’t think I can face this on my own. I’m a hopeless mess, you see. I take all these pills – to calm me down in the day and make me sleep at night, but none of them seem to do anything.’

  Most women could lean on their husbands in times of trouble, but, far from Howard being a prop, Cornelia seemed almost terrified of him. The Colonel felt sorry for her. He was also thinking of what Laura would want him to do. There was no reason for him to go back to Frog End immediately – only the village fête committee meeting which could manage perfectly well without him. In fact, the opportunity to miss it was almost too good to pass up. Thursday would probably not be amused by his prolonged absence, but was in no danger of starvation.

  ‘Yes, of course I will. But, as I’ve said, you really don’t need to worry.’

  ‘Thank you, Hugh. You’re so kind.’

  He phoned Naomi.

  ‘Do you think you could go on feeding Thursday for a while? There’s been some trouble here.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’ Naomi sounded intrigued.

  He told her.

  ‘So I ought to stay. Hold Cornelia’s hand for a bit.’

  ‘I bet she won’t mind that.’

  ‘She’s a married woman.’

  Naomi cackled. ‘They’re the worst. Watch out, Hugh.’

  ‘How’s Thursday?’ he asked, ignoring the remark.

  ‘Cross. When I let myself into the cottage, he comes and looks daggers at me and then stalks off. Still, he’s eating the food.’

  ‘There’s plenty more in the cupboard.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll look after him.’

  ‘The garden . . .’

  ‘I’ll water anything that needs it, and pull out a weed if I see one.’

  ‘I’ve just remembered – I ordered six of those white lavender plants and they should be arriving very soon.’

  ‘I’ll field them for you. How long will you be away, do you think?’

  ‘I’m not sure – a few more days, I imagine.’

  ‘You’ll miss the fête committee meeting, you realize that?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Would you make my apologies, Naomi?’

  ‘I’ll tell them that you’ve been unavoidably detained by a skeleton and how sad and sorry you are.’

  He smiled as he put down the receiver.

  Cornelia retired to her room for an afternoon rest and the Colonel walked into the village to stretch his legs and buy a newspaper. Cornelia’s magazines had their limitations if you weren’t looking for a house to buy, or interested in taking a vicarious tour of grand interiors, or in reading articles on hunting, shooting or fishing and the like.

  A proper old-fashioned bell jangled as he opened the door of the village shop. As he had expected, though, the stock was catering for its well-heeled customers. No rows of dusty tins, drums of custard powder or sacks of sprouting potatoes. Instead, vacuum-packed and frozen foods, jars of gourmet delights, all kinds of cheeses and pâtés, an impressive display of fresh fruit and vegetables and wonderful-looking bread, cakes and tarts. There was also a rack of very glossy magazines and, to his relief, some ordinary daily newspapers – even the one he preferred. As he approached the counter a woman came from the back of the shop. She was somewhere in her late forties, he judged – straight dark hair cropped short, square-jawed, thickset and wearing a spotless white overall.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Her speech was gruff, but polite.

  ‘Just the newspaper, please.’ He offered up a note apologetically and she gave him the change.

  ‘Are you staying in the village, sir?’

  ‘I’m visiting Mrs Heathcote. She’s an old friend of my late wife’s. I
expect you know the house.’

  ‘From the outside. There was an old farmhouse when we first came here, with an elderly lady living alone. I believe her son had worked the farm but he was killed. We never saw her. I don’t think she ever went out. It looks very different now.’

  ‘Yes, it must do.’

  ‘Mrs Heathcote comes in sometimes, but not her husband. I believe he spends a lot of time abroad on business.’

  ‘So I understand.’ The Colonel looked round the shop. ‘You’ve certainly done a marvellous job here.’

  She seemed pleased. ‘It’s taken time to get things the way we wanted.’

  ‘Have you been in King’s Mowbray long?’

  ‘Nearly eight years. It was just an old village shop when we bought it. All right in its time, of course, but the residents today want more than that. We used to run a delicatessen in Battersea until we decided to move out to the country. There’s always plenty of demand for quality if you choose the right location with the right customers.’

  ‘I’m sure there is. Still, it must be pretty hard work.’

  ‘We’ve never been afraid of that. I look after the shop and the business side of things and my partner makes the cakes and tarts, and bakes the breads. They’re very popular.’

  He admired the carrot cake, the sticky ginger-and-pear cake, the cream-filled éclairs, the chocolate brownies, the fruit tarts, the lavender focaccia bread.

  ‘It all looks wonderful.’

  ‘We always buy local produce wherever we can – Wiltshire honey, local ham and bacon, local free-range eggs. And all our fruit and vegetables are fresh from local farms. Would you like to taste this cheese – it’s a local product too?’

  He was in the middle of sampling a very agreeable crumbly, blue-veined cheese when another woman came out from the back of the shop, carrying a tray of tarts. She could once have been lovely but her looks had faded, the features become blurred.

  ‘This is my partner,’ the other woman said. ‘We were just talking about you, Alice.’

  He walked back to the house, and was sitting reading the newspaper when Cornelia came down from her afternoon rest. He stood up politely.