The Lost (Echoes from the Past Book 9)

by Irina Shapiro

  “They’re at our London flat. Katya will not return until the skeleton has been removed, so you have free rein.”

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Around ten?”

  “Perfect. Quinn, are you all right with this?” Rhys asked. “I wouldn’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”

  “Yes, I’m all right,” Quinn replied, and meant it.

  “All right enough to agree to an Echoes from the Past Christmas special?” Rhys asked, grinning wickedly.

  “Now you’re pushing it.” Quinn laughed. “You know what, let me see what I’m dealing with, and we’ll go from there. If there’s an interesting story here, then I might be persuaded to come out of retirement for one more episode.”

  “Deal,” Rhys said. He set down his mug and stood. “I really do appreciate this, Quinn. More than you know.”

  “I’m happy to help. I can understand the need for closure,” she replied.

  “I know.”

  Rhys kissed her cheek and headed for the door, looking a lot better than he had when he’d arrived. “See you tomorrow.”

  “See you.”

  Chapter 2

  Hertfordshire, England

  Saturday morning found Quinn and Gabe driving to Hertfordshire. The village of Potters Cove, where Rhys and Katya had settled after Vanessa was born, lay a few miles north of Potters Bar and was as picturesque as only an English village could be. Rhys had purchased and renovated an eighteenth-century manor house and had spared no expense to make it both modern and beautiful. The drive was lined with stately trees that directed the visitor’s gaze toward the lovely house that sat upon a gentle slope, its buttery façade golden in the spring sunshine.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” Quinn said as Gabe parked the car on the gravel drive in front of the house and turned off the engine.

  “Some couples go see a film on their date night; we excavate a burial site,” Gabe replied with a grin. “Normally, I’d tell you to think twice about getting involved in this type of case again, but I can see you’re excited about this.”

  “I am,” Quinn admitted.

  “I am too. I miss getting my hands dirty,” Gabe said. “And I love hearing the stories.” He turned toward Quinn and removed his sunglasses, looking at her intently. “Promise me you’ll stop if you find it too destressing.”

  “I promise. But to be honest, I don’t think any case can be as heartbreaking as that of Annie Edevane. I still dream about that poor little girl.”

  Gabe nodded. That case had led to Quinn’s refusal to commit to a third season of Echoes from the Past. She simply couldn’t bring herself to delve into any more tragic deaths, especially those of children.

  “Well, this one is an adult,” Quinn said. “Shall we?”

  Gabe got out of the car and opened the boot, taking out their kit. He slung one of the bags over his shoulder, hefted the other one, and followed Quinn around the back of the house, where the area in question was clearly marked with yellow and black tape. Rhys stepped out through the French doors at the back and walked toward them, smiling in welcome.

  “Quinn. Gabe. Thank you for coming. I’m at your complete disposal. Tea? Coffee? Sandwiches? A curry?” he asked as he followed them to the site. “There’s a decent Indian restaurant in the village.”

  “Curry sounds great, Rhys,” Gabe replied as he eyed the upturned roots of the ancient oak. “But for now, a bottle of water will do.”

  “On it,” Rhys replied. “I’ll keep you fed and watered for as long as this takes.”

  Gabe set down their cases and pulled out two pairs of latex gloves, handing one pair to Quinn. The skeleton was clearly visible, the skull peeking through the gnarled roots as if it were playing hide-and-seek. No wonder Vanessa had been terrified. The scene resembled a particularly ghoulish Halloween display.

  “What do you think?” Gabe asked as soon as Rhys headed back toward the house to fetch the water.

  Quinn tilted her head to the side as she lowered the camera, having taken a dozen photos of the remains in situ.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say this is an adult male. Of course, it could just as easily be a tall woman or a well-developed teenager. We’ll know more once Colin Scott gets it on the slab. Rhys has already called him, so he’ll be expecting me.”

  Gabe nodded. “I’m glad you’ll get to work with Colin again. I know you miss him.”

  “I do,” Quinn admitted. She hadn’t seen Dr. Colin Scott since he and her brother Logan had broken up for good nearly two years ago. Their first split had come in the summer of 2015, but they’d reconciled after Jo’s sudden death. The relationship hadn’t lasted, however, and it had been Colin who’d ultimately walked away, giving Logan the space he’d needed to find his way forward. As far as Quinn knew, Colin and Logan hadn’t spoken since, and she looked forward to seeing Colin and catching up with him.

  Quinn put away the camera and crouched next to the remains. “I think we’re going to have to cut this skelly free,” she said. “Some of the thinner roots have grown through the ribcage and skull. The bones are too brittle and will break if we apply even the slightest pressure.”

  “I agree.” Gabe took out industrial-size secateurs from his case. “We’ll cut around it and then extract the trapped bits.”

  It took nearly three hours to free the skeleton from the suffocating embrace of the web of roots. Once the support of the latticework had been removed, the skeleton began to come apart, since the bones were no longer held together by joints and ligaments. Quinn spread plastic sheeting on the ground and reconstructed the skeleton, labeling the bones while Gabe excavated the area beneath the grave, using a trowel and brush to sift for any artifacts that might have belonged to the deceased but had become embedded in the soil or stuck to the wood.

  “Anything?” Quinn asked as she labeled the last bone and stood up, stretching her aching back.

  Gabe shook his head. “Not a bloody thing. Not even a button or a strip of leather.”

  “Any evidence of a shroud?”

  “Not that I can see, but it would have rotted away by now,” Gabe replied. “This tree was probably no more than a seed when this person was buried. Any organic matter would have decomposed years ago.”

  “So, what would you say?” Quinn asked, taking in the girth of the tree stump. “About two hundred years?”

  “At least.”

  “Any indication of how he died?” Rhys asked as he emerged from the house with steaming mugs of tea.

  Quinn shook her head. “Nothing obvious. Some bones are cracked, but I would think that happened postmortem, once the roots began to spread. We’ll have to wait for Colin’s assessment.”

  “Rhys, when was this house built?” Gabe asked.

  “The house was completed in 1727. It had been commissioned by Lester Lowell, whose descendants lived here until two years ago, when the last surviving scion of the original family passed away at the impressive age of one hundred and two. A cousin from Canada inherited the estate and promptly sold off everything, including every stick of furniture and heirloom that had been in the family for generations. No sense of history,” Rhys scoffed, clearly disgusted by such blatant commercialism.

  “Did you purchase any of the contents of the house?” Quinn asked, wondering if the person whose bones were about to be packed in a large rectangular box might have been a Lowell.

  “No. Katya wouldn’t want any of those moss-eaten sofas and dusty tapestries,” Rhys replied with a grin. “She loves everything modern, my Katya.”

  “Can’t say I blame her,” Gabe said as he pulled off his gloves. “There’s something to be said for surrounding yourself with modernity and comfort. I didn’t want to keep any of the furnishings from my parents’ home either. My mum took a few items that possessed sentimental value, but the rest went at auction.”

  Rhys laughed. “I’ve never been faced with the choice, being descended from dirt-poor Welsh farmers. Not everyone can trace
their roots to the Conquest,” he teased Gabe. “No antique cabinets or Aubusson carpets for us. Or medieval swords, for that matter.”

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for that curry now,” Gabe said. “I’m starving.”

  “Me too,” Quinn agreed. “I asked Nicola to order a pizza and watch a movie with the children before putting them to bed. She has no other plans tonight, so we needn’t rush.”

  “Excellent. Would you like to get a takeaway or go into the village?”

  Quinn looked down at her mud-stained jeans. “Let’s do a takeaway. You place the order, and we’ll finish up here and clean up a bit. It really is lovely here,” she said, taking in her peaceful surroundings. “I can see why you fell in love with the place.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t me,” Rhys replied as he collected empty water bottles and sandwich wrappers. “Katya had dreams of living in the country. I’ll take London over this any day.”

  “Too peaceful for you?” Gabe joked.

  “Something like that,” Rhys replied with a grin. “But, now that we’ve dug up a skeleton, things are looking up.”

  “Have you already pitched the Christmas special to the network?” Quinn asked, amused by Rhys’s enthusiasm.

  “Of course. They love the idea.”

  “What if this bloke was totally vanilla?” Quinn asked, borrowing one of her American father’s turns of phrase. She loved American expressions. They were so—for lack of a better word—expressive.

  “Have no fear. Vanilla can always be doctored until it’s chock-full of nuts and bits of chocolate,” Rhys replied. He always knew what made for good television.

  “Now you two are making me even hungrier,” Gabe said. “Rhys, grab some ice cream while you’re picking up that takeaway.”

  “And a bottle of wine,” Quinn added.

  Rhys chuckled. “I have plenty of wine, and there’s ice cream in the freezer, at least three different flavors, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Compliments of Katya?” Quinn asked.

  “She allows herself half a cup of ice cream every night,” Rhys said with an indulgent smile. “And it has to be a different flavor every time.”

  Quinn laughed and nudged Gabe in the ribs. “And you thought I was high maintenance.”

  Chapter 3

  On Monday morning, having dropped off the children at nursery school, Quinn presented herself at the mortuary, the box of bones in her hands. She and Gabe had discussed the skeleton at length on their way back to London on Saturday, coming up with possible stories for their nameless passenger, and were curious to see what the tests would show. Dr. Colin Scott came out to greet her, a warm smile lighting his handsome face.

  “Quinn!” he exclaimed. “It is so good to see you.”

  “And you,” Quinn replied as she followed Colin into his office. “It’s been too long.”

  “I do miss working on your cases,” Colin said. “The mystery added a little spice to my otherwise uneventful workdays. I hear there’s to be a Christmas special.”

  “Yes. Rhys is quite excited about it.”

  “Are you?”

  “A bit,” Quinn admitted. “It’s been a while since I got involved with a case. I do miss the practical side of archeology, but it’ll be a while until Gabe and I can sign up for a dig.”

  Colin nodded. “How are Emma and Alex?”

  “They’re well. There is also Mia. She’s going to be two this month.”

  “Congratulations,” Colin said. “What’s she like?”

  “A handful,” Quinn replied, smiling. “I didn’t know Emma as a toddler, and Alex was such an easygoing baby that I wasn’t quite prepared for the terrible twos, which, technically, have yet to begin. But what about you? You look well,” she said as she settled herself in the visitor chair and set the box of bones on Colin’s desk.

  “I am to be married in June,” Colin said.

  “Congratulations! I’m so pleased for you. Who’s the lucky lad?”

  “His name is Adam, and he’s a florist,” Colin replied with a happy smile. “We met when I stopped in to order flowers for my mum’s birthday.”

  “Have you a photo?”

  Colin pulled his mobile out of a desk drawer and showed Quinn a picture of his intended. Adam had to be in his mid-forties, his broad face framed by an artfully trimmed beard and his soft brown eyes looking into the camera. Logan referred to stocky, bearded middle-aged gay men as teddy bears, and Adam certainly fit the bill. Although handsome in his own way, he was nothing at all like Logan, who, at thirty, still looked like a wild child and often acted like one.

  “We are well suited,” Colin said, sounding as if he were trying to convince himself. “Adam is ready to settle down.”

  “I’m happy for you, Colin. Truly,” Quinn said.

  “How’s Logan?” Colin asked at last. “Is he still working at the London Hospital?”

  “Logan is well. He transferred to A&E. He likes working the trauma cases. In fact, that’s where he met his new partner. Rafe brought in his mate, who’d been stabbed during a mugging outside a club.”

  “Is it serious between them?” Colin asked. Quinn could see the pain in his eyes. Logan had hurt Colin badly, but it was clear to Quinn that Colin still carried a torch for Logan. She was glad he’d found the strength to move on and find happiness with Adam.

  “Yes, it’s serious,” Quinn said. “They’re expecting their first child in April. It’s a boy,” she added.

  “Are they using a surrogate?”

  “Yes, and a donor egg, but the baby is Logan’s biologically. He’s so excited,” Quinn said, smiling at the memory of Logan’s joy when he’d first seen his son on an ultrasound scan.

  “I’m happy for him,” Colin said. “That was what ultimately broke us up, you know,” he said conversationally.

  “Was it?” Quinn had assumed it was Logan’s infidelity.

  “Logan wanted children.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  Colin shook his head. “I like my life, Quinn. I have my job, my partner, my hobbies. I like to go out to nice restaurants and travel. Babies change all that, and frankly, I never felt the urge to be a dad. It’s not for everyone. I had initially agreed to think about having a child, because it was so important to your brother, but ultimately, I couldn’t get behind the idea. I simply wasn’t ready for that kind of lifestyle change.”

  “I see. Well, you’ve made the right decision, then. For both of you.”

  Colin nodded. “Yes, I think things have worked out for the best for us both. And I hear Gabe is doing well,” Colin said, changing the subject. “I read his book. Very insightful. It’s almost as if he’d been a woman during the Wars of the Roses himself,” Colin joked.

  Or as close as he could get, Quinn thought, trying not to giggle.

  “Now, tell me about this skelly,” Colin invited.

  Quinn filled him in on the details of Rhys’s find. “Will Dr. Dhawan be working with you on this?” She hadn’t seen Sarita Dhawan since they’d worked on the crucifixion case from Ireland and wanted to say hello.

  “Sarita is long gone,” Colin said. “She’s a Home Office pathologist now. Works out of a lab in East London. It was your cases that steered her toward working homicide. I have a new assistant—Shannon McCardle. She’s very competent,” he added.

  “I look forward to meeting her.”

  Colin stood and scooped up the box. “I’ll ring you in a few days.”

  “Thanks, Colin. I hope you’re able to glean something useful. There was nothing buried with the skeleton except a silver ring that the deceased must have been wearing at the time of death, so whatever information we obtain will have to come from the bones.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Quinn left the mortuary and stepped outside into the mild March morning. Spring was in the air, and a few buds had already appeared on the birch trees near the exit. Quinn inhaled deeply, thinking she’d take the children to the playground after school. And t
hen, once they went down for their nap, she’d spend some time with the ring found with the remains.

  Chapter 4

  October 1777

  Long Island, Colony of New York

  The morning was breezy and cool, bright sunshine flooding the kitchen as soon as the shutters had been opened. Ben gulped down a cup of milk and stepped outside, needing to see just how much damage last night’s storm had wreaked. The gale had come out of nowhere, gaining in intensity and raging through the night, the tempest ripping through Long Island like some crazed giant who’d torn out trees and smashed outbuildings in his fury. The yard was littered with broken branches, and several felled trees lay on their sides across the fields. He’d chop them up and use them for firewood once the wood dried out.

  “Ma?” Ben called out as he stepped into the dim interior of the barn.

  “Here, son,” Hannah Wilder called. “I’m just milking Tansy.”

  “Where’s Derek?” Ben asked. The house had been empty when he woke, his brothers already gone.

  “Derek’s gone to the Blanchette farm.”

  “How much longer does she have to wear the splint?” Ben asked. Their closest neighbor, Barbara Blanchette had recently been widowed, and to make matters worse had taken a fall and broken her leg. Her three daughters, all under the age of twelve, did their best to help their mother, but some jobs were beyond them. Derek stopped by nearly every day to chop wood, help Mistress Blanchette up and down the stairs, and fetch any supplies the girls might need from town.

  “A fortnight more, at least,” Hannah said. “And once it comes off, she’ll have to take it easy for a while. I feel for the poor woman. There’s so much to do with winter just around the corner.”

  Ben nodded. “And Josh?”

  “Ran down to the beach first thing this morning,” Hannah said as she rose from the milking stool and lifted the pail of milk.

  Josh loved to scour the beach after a storm, looking for beautiful seashells and anything else the sea may have decided to expel from the depths of its roiling cauldron. Unfortunately, Ben didn’t have the luxury of strolling on the beach. The wind had torn at least a dozen shingles from the roof and wrenched off a shutter just outside his mother’s window. A section of the chicken coop enclosure had been flattened, and there were broken branches and leaves in the well. He’d start with the chicken coop, then reattach the shutter and replace the shingles. Hannah would have to see to the well.