The Forsaken (Echoes from the Past Book 4)

by Irina Shapiro

  “Well, yes,” Quinn admitted with a smile. “It doesn’t seem to suit your image.”

  “We had a flat in London, but moved to Dorset five years ago. We love it there. Don’t we Paul?”

  “We do. The light is perfect in the mornings,” he added, confirming Quinn’s suspicion that he might be an artist.

  “I inherited this house when my uncle died three months ago. Prostate cancer. He went rather quickly, poor dear, but he said he preferred it that way. Didn’t want to linger and cause any more suffering than was strictly necessary. Uncle Michael was very unassuming.”

  “Did he live here?” Quinn asked. The house was not one an unassuming man would choose to live in.

  “Lord, no,” Melissa exclaimed. “He inherited it from my grandmother on her death in 1977, but he never lived here. He was a musician, a violinist. He toured nine months out of the year with the orchestra, and when he returned to London, he stayed at his girlfriend’s flat. She is a cellist, and they had been together for three decades, but never made it legal. Too Bohemian for such nonsense, he liked to say. Anyway, he never liked this place and rarely set foot in it. He never did anything to modernize it. He never had any children of his own, so I, being his only niece, inherited the lot.” She looked toward the window, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “He was a lovely man, Uncle Michael. I miss him.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss,” Quinn said softly.

  Melissa nodded and went on. “Once Paul and I took possession of the house, we agreed that we’d use some of the money my uncle left to completely revamp the place. Modern, light, and minimalist. That’s what we like. And we were going to make a studio for Paul—he’s an artist—and a study for me. I’m a graphic designer. I have my own firm, but work from home. It would be convenient for us to have a London base again, although we’re not at all sure we’re ready to leave Dorset.”

  Quinn was surprised to see Darren, a cameraman who worked on the program, appear in the doorway. He must have been filming upstairs. It was just like Rhys not to waste time. Darren positioned himself in such a way that he could film both Quinn and Melissa without any difficulty. The interview would be made to look like an informal chat. Paul excused himself and moved away, leaving Melissa alone on the settee.

  “How did you come to find the remains, Melissa?” Quinn asked, putting on her professional persona.

  “We brought in an architect to remodel the house, since we planned to do considerably more than give the walls a lick of paint and buy new appliances. We intended to knock down walls and combine some of the rooms. Anyway, I digress,” Melissa said with an impish smile. “This project is something of a dream come true for me.”

  “I would enjoy a project like that as well,” Quinn replied, wishing she had her own house to remodel, or at least decorate.

  “When Grady—that’s the architect—looked at the blueprints we found in the library, he pointed out that the measurements of one of the bedrooms didn’t match the original scale. It seemed there should have been a dressing room or a bathroom attached to the bedroom, but the wall was smooth, and there was no doorway where one should have been. Grady found it, of course. The door had been cut directly into the wall and was operated by a spring mechanism, so there was no door frame or a handle. The panel had been blocked by a heavy wardrobe. Once he and Paul moved the wardrobe, the panel was easy enough to open. And that’s when we found the remains.”

  “Can you describe what you saw?” Quinn asked as Darren panned to Melissa, who seemed to enjoy the prospect of being on television and ran a hand through her hair playfully.

  “The room was an old-fashioned bathroom. Of course, everything in this house is old-fashioned, so it wasn’t any different than the rest, except that it didn’t have electricity. Electricity had been installed at some point in the 1920s, I believe.”

  “Can you describe the room?”

  “There were no toiletries or even a dressing gown. Several towels hung on a rack. They must have been white once, but were now yellowed with age. The tub was tightly covered with a sort of tarpaulin tied down with twine. Paul and Grady removed the tarp to see what was underneath. The skeleton was there in the tub, positioned as if the person had been taking a bath when they died.”

  “Was there anything in the tub? Traces of blood, perhaps?”

  “No, but there was a white powder beneath the tub and on the rim.”

  “A white powder?” Quinn asked, leaning forward. Now this was interesting.

  “Yes. I thought it might have been soap powder, or tooth powder, the type they used before the invention of toothpaste, but I didn’t touch it.”

  “Was there any moisture?”

  “No. I suspect it had evaporated over the years.”

  “Did you find anything that belonged to the person? Clothes, jewelry, purse?”

  “No, nothing. There wasn’t a scrap of evidence to the person’s identity. The police checked. The coroner certified this wasn’t a recent crime, which was when we rang the hotline.”

  “Hotline?” Quinn asked, perplexed.

  “Yes, the Echoes from the Past hotline,” Melissa answered. “There was a number to call at the end of each episode.”

  “You created a hotline?” Quinn turned to Rhys, who was hovering just behind Darren. Darren stopped filming and glanced at Rhys, smirking. Seemed he didn’t know about the hotline either.

  “I certainly did. What better way to get the viewers involved and find new subjects for our program?” Rhys replied, looking pleased with himself.

  “Right. May I see the remains now?” Quinn asked.

  “Of course. The room is upstairs.”

  Melissa set down her cup and invited Quinn to follow her toward the staircase. Paul Glover remained where he was, by the window, looking out at the dreary day.

  Melissa led Quinn up the stairs and toward a large bedroom at the end of the corridor. It was a masculine bedroom with maroon bed hangings adorning the heavily carved four-poster bed, and a maroon and navy-blue carpet that matched the heavy drapes at the window. The furniture was made of walnut, and old-world gas lamps with glass lampshades stood on bedside tables. One almost expected a valet to come striding into the room, ready to help his master dress for the day or for an evening out on the town. Quinn noted that there was no light switch in the room. It wasn’t wired for electricity, unlike the rest of the house.

  “It’s through here,” Melissa said as she pointed toward a massive wardrobe that had been pushed away from the wall, revealing the doorway to an adjacent chamber. Rhys handed Quinn a torch that he’d brought along, since the room beyond was lost in shadow, having neither a window nor a light fixture.

  Quinn entered the room and trained the torch on the back wall, where there was a large porcelain tub with clawed feet. It was wider and deeper than the newer tubs designed for smaller modern bathrooms. The skeleton lay in the tub, its skull resting against the back and its leg bones strewn haphazardly on the bottom, having collapsed after the tendons holding them together decomposed. The arms might have been folded across the belly, but now lay below the ribcage, the fingers splayed against the column of the spine. Quinn approached slowly, mindful of the white powder on the tile floor around the tub.

  “What do you think that is?” Rhys asked, peering over her shoulder.

  “I’ll have to send a sample to the lab.”

  “Do you think the person died in the tub or was placed there after the fact?” he asked, his head tilted to the side as he considered the scene.

  “I don’t see any dried blood in the tub, or any hair, so it’s possible the person died elsewhere and the body was placed in the tub to contain the decomposition process.”

  “So you think they were murdered?” Melissa asked, coming up beside Quinn and staring at the skeleton with undisguised curiosity.

  “Of course, it’s possible the person drowned in the tub by accident, but I think it unlikely. Had that been the case, I strongly doubt the remains wo
uld still be here. They would have been properly buried. I would venture to guess that someone killed this person, placed them in the tub, got rid of all their belongings, then closed up the room and moved the wardrobe in front of the door to prevent discovery. Seems like an awfully impractical way of getting rid of a corpse, but it clearly worked, since the body wasn’t discovered until now.”

  “Do you think they were poisoned with that powder?” Melissa asked.

  “I really couldn’t say, but I mean to find out,” Quinn replied. “I don’t want to touch this until I know what I’m dealing with. I’ll ring Dr. Scott, our bones expert, and ask him to come give us a hand.”

  “Excellent idea. I’ll have Darren film you two packing up the skelly and taking samples of the powder,” Rhys said. “Think Colin will come now?”

  “He might. He loves a good mystery.”

  “I’ll ring him right now.”

  Quinn turned to Melissa. “Do you have any inkling as to who this person might have been? Any family legends of someone going missing or leaving unexpectedly, never to be heard from again?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Do you know whose room this was?”

  Melissa shook her head. “No one ever used it, at least not that I can recall. My grandmother kept it locked.”

  “Has this house been in the family for generations?” Quinn asked. She needed something to go on, a starting point, but Melissa was giving her nothing to work with.

  “No. I believe my grandparents were the first of our family to live here.”

  “Would you have anything that belonged to your grandmother? A piece of jewelry, or an object that meant a lot to her?”

  “Everything here belonged to my grandmother,” Melissa replied, making an expansive gesture.

  “I mean something more personal. Something that was special to her.”

  “There’s this.” Melissa pulled a gold chain from beneath her top, exposing an egg-shaped pendant. The egg was covered with blue enamel and decorated with a delicate pattern of gold and diamonds.

  “That’s beautiful. Is that…?”

  “Yes. It’s Faberge. This necklace was my grandmother’s prized possession. She never took it off, according to my mum. Mum wanted to take it for herself, but my grandmother left specific instructions to pass the necklace to me after her death.”

  “It truly is stunning. Would you allow me to borrow it for a little while? It will help me piece together something of your grandmother’s past. Is there anything you can tell me about her?”

  Melissa shook her head again. “She died several years before I was born. My mother didn’t like to talk about her mother. They didn’t have an easy relationship. Grandmother was born in Russia; that much I do know. She came to England when she was a teenager.”

  “What was her name?”

  “Tina Swift.”

  “That doesn’t sound very Russian,” Quinn replied as she extracted a plastic baggie from her handbag and held it open for Melissa, who carefully removed the necklace and allowed it to pool at the bottom.

  “Her full name was Valentina, and Swift was my grandfather’s surname. I don’t know what her maiden name was. My grandfather was her second husband. He’s my mother’s father. Uncle Michael was my grandmother’s son from her first marriage, but he took his stepfather’s name when his mother remarried. He preferred it because it didn’t sound ethnic.”

  “Are there any photographs of your grandparents?” Rhys asked as they returned to the parlor. “The viewers love to see what the real people looked like, and compare them to the actors in the episode.”

  “My mum has some old photos. I can give you her phone number. She’ll be happy to talk to you.”

  “That would be great,” Rhys said. “Please don’t touch anything until we return. It seems Dr. Scott is in the middle of an autopsy and won’t be finished for several hours. We’ll return tomorrow to box up the skeleton and collect samples, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Yes, of course,” Melissa rushed to reassure them. “Whatever you need. Honestly, I just want it gone. I’ve had trouble sleeping since we discovered the remains. They creep me out.”

  “One more night, and you’ll be rid of your tenant, Mrs. Glover.”

  They said their goodbyes and left the Glovers’ house. Darren walked off to his van with strict instructions to return at ten tomorrow morning.

  “Can I give you a lift home?” Rhys asked Quinn once they were in the street. His Range Rover was parked in front of the house, its black exterior slick with rain. The air had grown colder and a brisk wind had picked up.

  “Yes, please.”

  Quinn closed her umbrella and climbed into the car, glad not to have to take the Tube or hunt for a taxi. Her feet were damp and she was cold. She should have worn a warmer jumper.

  “Are you hungry? I have time for lunch,” Rhys said as he pulled out of the parking space.

  “Sorry, I have to get back. I only left enough breastmilk for one feeding.”

  Ordinarily that type of confession would send Rhys running for the hills, but today he smiled and nodded in approval. “I hope Hayley will decide to breastfeed. It’s so much better for the baby. And it’s kind of sexy too. I love seeing a woman nurse her infant.”

  “Too much information, Rhys.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  “Do you know if you’re having a girl or a boy?” Quinn asked. Normally, she’d refrain from asking too many personal questions, but Rhys wasn’t just her boss, he was her friend, and he liked nothing more than to talk about the coming baby.

  “They couldn’t tell from the last scan. The baby had its legs crossed, but I’ll be happy with either.”

  “No preference?” Quinn asked. Didn’t men always want sons, even these days when it wasn’t a question of inheriting titles and estates and carrying on the family name?

  “Well, if I had to choose, I’d like a girl. I always wanted a daughter.”

  “Perhaps you will.”

  “As long as the baby is healthy, I don’t care. I know people say that all the time, but it’s true. So many things can go wrong.”

  “Yes,” Quinn agreed, thinking of Quentin and the heart murmur that had led to their separation at birth. Had Quentin been born healthy, perhaps Social Services would have kept the girls together and they’d have been adopted by the same couple. How different life might have been had Quinn grown up with her twin.

  “So, what did you make of Melissa?” Rhys asked as he stopped at a red light.

  “Seems nice. A bit flighty, I suppose.”

  “I can’t stand people who know nothing of their own history,” Rhys vented. “If my grandmother came from Russia and had a genuine Faberge necklace, I’d want to know how she came by it. Clearly, she was no peasant. There’s history there. Interesting history. And I can’t wait for you to fill me in on it.”

  “And I will, but don’t rush me. First, I’d like to find out more about the skeleton and that white powder. Once we know more about the victim, genetically speaking, we can start to try to piece together what led to the murder.”

  Rhys nodded. “I won’t rush you, I promise. I know you have your own process; I’m just fascinated by it. By the way, the first two episodes got excellent ratings.”

  “I’m glad. I know how happy good ratings make you.”

  “They should make you happy too. With the second series already in production and the popularity of the hotline, this program can go on for years.”

  “Have you had many calls?” Quinn asked, amazed that anyone had called in at all. “I can’t imagine that people routinely trip over centuries-old skeletons.”

  “This is England, my dear. You’d be surprised what you can trip over.”

  “I’m an archeologist, Rhys. I trip over things for a living.”

  “Precisely. We’ve had three calls, to be exact. One woman claimed she’d found the remains of a child in her garden. Turned out to be a dog. Another old bid
dy claimed there is a Saxon burial mound on her land. Turned out to be just a hill. And then there was Melissa Glover. Very odd, that.”

  “It is odd. Why would anyone keep a body in their house all these years? Surely, they could have disposed of the remains at some point, instead of sealing off the room. Someone was bound to come across the skelly sooner or later.”

  “Definitely later, in this case. I wonder how long that poor tosser’s been lying there.”

  “You think it’s a man?”

  “Don’t you?” Rhys challenged her.

  “I do. Too tall and narrow-hipped to be a woman, but given its position, I could be wrong in my assessment. Perhaps once it’s laid out on the slab it’ll look different.”

  “Well, we know it isn’t Grandma Tina. Perhaps it’s her first husband,” Rhys mused as he pulled up to Quinn’s building.

  “Never mess with a Russian woman,” Quinn quipped. “It can end badly.”

  “If you only knew,” Rhys replied cryptically. “Regards to Gabe and the children,” he said as Quinn opened the passenger door. “I expect to hear from you tomorrow.”

  “You will.”

  Chapter 3

  Gabe was sitting cross-legged on the floor, Alex in his lap, when Quinn came home. Emma was in her room, probably playing with her new favorite doll. Seth had made sure to select a doll that resembled her, and she called it Emme, in honor of herself.

  Gabe looked up, a happy grin on his face. “Alex smiled at me.”

  “Did he? And I missed it?”

  “I’ll make him do it again.” Gabe gently tickled Alex’s tummy, making the baby gurgle. He kicked his legs and his mouth stretched into a toothless grin. “There.”

  Quinn grabbed her mobile and snapped a photo. “Got it.”

  “I smile all the time and no one takes photos of me,” Emma grumbled as she came into the room. She alternated between doting on her brother and seething with jealousy.

  “We take photos of you all the time, even when you’re not smiling,” Gabe replied. “Would you like to hold him?”