***
Tremayne, not as insensitive as he portrayed himself, realised the dilemma. On one hand, ancient history, and on the other, a recent body. There was no doubt that it was there as a result of foul play. One thing was clear, the body had to be sent to Pathology. Murder was murder, no matter how long ago it was, and the perpetrator could still be alive, still capable of murdering others, possibly already had.
‘How important is this body?’ Superintendent Moulton said as Tremayne entered his office.
‘It’s dead, and it didn’t get there on its own. I’d say it was important,’ Tremayne replied.
‘It’s a hornets’ nest you’ve stirred up.’
‘It wasn’t us who opened up the mound. It was Gerard Horsley, odd character.’
The two men sat looking at each other across Moulton’s expansive desk. They respected each other: the older police officer, plenty of experience under his belt; younger the superintendent, a stickler for following procedures, reporting, and key performance indicators. The man had irked Tremayne when he had first entered Bemerton Road Police Station eight years earlier, the new broom aiming to sweep clean, to dispense with the old, bring in the new. But in time, an uneasy peace had developed between the two men: Moulton mellowing, gaining an understanding that gut instinct, policing by investigation out on the street, still had its place; Tremayne understanding that a modern computer-driven world needed a different approach to policing than his.
‘Odd he may be, but the man knows the right people. I’ve already had the Wiltshire Heritage Museum on the phone, that’s where the Bush Barrow treasure is displayed, and the museum in Salisbury’s been on the phone asking what I’m going to do. What am I going to do, Detective Inspector? Override them, incur their wrath, or do you have a better solution?’
‘You agree that we need to get our body out?’
‘Of course. As you say, the death has to be suspicious. We can’t just forget about it because it’s too difficult.’
‘Stonehenge is World Heritage Listed.’
‘Is the site close enough to be part of that?’
‘Close enough to have significant historical interest from Stonehenge. If it’s as important as Sergeant Yarwood believes it is, we’ll have to get permission to continue.’
‘Phone up Yarwood, tell her to secure the site while we consider what to do.’
‘Stand down Hughes and his people?’
‘Not yet. Ensure the site is secure, and make sure no one, not even Horsley, goes near; not until we’ve resolved this impasse.’
Clare took the news well, fully understanding the reasoning; Lance Atterton walked away from the site with a smile on his face – he was on contract, pay by the day, and the meter would keep running until the police officially signed him off from the site.
Gerard Horsley was not sure what he felt. He was on the verge of a great discovery, his name up there with William Cunnington, a nineteenth-century man who had seen beyond the greed of taking what he could for himself and had approached archaeology as a noble pursuit. And if what Sue Boswell had discovered in the burial mound was an indication of future finds, then the man lying there was more important than the one in Bush Barrow.
The Bush Barrow chieftain, the treasures proudly displayed in Devizes, in the Wiltshire Heritage Museum, stood unique amongst the discoveries in the region.
In Salisbury, the forces rallied. Tremayne, keen for a quick resolution, knew that it was for him to be the antagonist in any discussions. Clare wanted all care to be taken, and Jim Hughes, the senior crime scene investigator, had left the site, not concerned either way, only saying for her to call him when it had been resolved. The entrance into the mound had been sealed, and the frame that had lowered Sue Boswell remained in place. Atterton had spent time checking that the shoring was secure, and if there were to be more rain, then there would be no water ingression. Inside the shaft, the lower air temperature was freezing the previously loose soil.
***
Three hours after Clare had left the site, a group met at Bemerton Road Police Station. There had been an attempt, a result of phone calls by Gerard Horsley, to meet at a neutral location. Tremayne did not consider the museum in Salisbury as neutral. And it was his insistence that it was still a police matter, and the present held sway over the ancient.
The local newspaper had now been tipped off, and there was to be a news item on the television that night. Stonehenge and ancient history were big news, and buried treasure stirred up the public imagination. Even in the time since Horsley had announced – unwisely, Clare thought – that there was gold in the burial mound, there had been two fossickers close to the mound with metal detectors, and the police had warned them off. Extra police had been seconded to assist the two officers already there – not the effect that Horsley had wanted. And now the police were feeling the wrath of the Stonehenge World Heritage Site Coordinator, Cecil Hardcastle, a precise man in a tweed jacket and a cravat, who sat at one end of the table in the police station’s conference room.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, could we bring this to order,’ Superintendent Moulton said over the hubbub as everyone wanted to say their piece.
‘The regulations are clear in this matter,’ Hardcastle said. ‘A find of this magnitude takes precedence over any other activities.’
‘There’s no mention of what to do in the case of a police investigation,’ Clare interjected. She had had a chance to read up on the subject, but even so, it was still vague as to what should be done.
‘We shouldn’t have stopped, it’s too important.’ Horsley said, on his feet. Sue Boswell was sitting close to him.
Lance Atterton sat quietly surveying the scene. He had changed out of his work wear and was dressed in an open-necked shirt and a pair of loose-fitting trousers held up by braces, the man not having any discernible waist.
‘We need to put this to our executive,’ Hardcastle said. The director of the Wiltshire Museum in Devizes nodded his head in agreement, as did his counterpart at the Salisbury Museum. The Bush Barrow treasure was displayed in Devizes, a city more distant than Salisbury from Stonehenge. Clare assumed that the two men would be disputing which museum would be displaying the latest find.
‘We can’t leave a body there while you conduct your work,’ Tremayne said. He was surprised how diplomatic he had been. Typically, he would have forced his point, but even he had to concede that matter being discussed in the conference room was not a murder enquiry, not yet.
‘Detective Inspector Tremayne’s right,’ Moulton said. ‘We’ll work with you on this one, but we need our body first.’
‘If I may make a suggestion,’ Atterton said.
‘The floor’s yours,’ Tremayne said.
‘The temperature’s still cold in the mound, and another cold night should assist. What I suggest is that we form a cage around where the Bronze Age man is, nothing too elaborate, but sufficient to prevent any more soil falling down onto it. Also, we need to ensure that whatever soil is dislodged from around the more recent of the two bodies is extracted.’
‘How?’ Moulton asked.
‘The second body was not placed there from the top, but from the side. How it was done, and how no one noticed, is another issue. We know the approximate position on the side of the mound where we should work. I’ll set up a method to dispose of the soil, and also a way of enhancing the plastic down below with something more suitable. It’ll take a couple of days to complete, and then we’ll remove the first body with due care and attention, maintaining the integrity of the other.’
‘Two days?’ Tremayne asked.
‘Two days for the body you want.’
‘I don’t like this,’ Horsley said. The others on his side of the discussion nodded their heads in agreement.
‘When can you start?’ Moulton asked. He knew that further discussion would not resolve the impasse and that it was for him to assert his position. He hoped that he was making the right decision. He had had the benefit o
f checking out Atterton, including his successful recovery of over one hundred men from one of the deepest mines in South Africa. If Atterton couldn’t solve the dilemma, nobody could.
‘This cannot be allowed,’ Horsley said.
‘Unfortunately, Mr Horsley, it is the only compromise possible. None of us wants to do this, but we have no option. We have a duty to the present; your duty lies in a time long past. We’re all sympathetic to what you have discovered, but we will have our body.’
Atterton leant over to Horsley, placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing.’ It did not appease the archaeologist’s frustration at what to him was vandalism.
Chapter 5
With the battle lost, Gerard Horsley resigned himself to the decision, although Lance Atterton still found that he was becoming a nuisance. A few sharp words from Atterton, a plain-speaking man, not with the delicacy of the English language that Horsley would have used, soon resolved the situation.
The weather continued to be cold, and no one was smiling up at the burial mound, apart from Atterton. He had confided to Clare that his proposal was fraught with difficulties, one of which was that he was dealing with soil and not rock. The plan he had laid out at Bemerton Road Police Station on the day when Moulton had made his decision, and then again as the site in the tent to one side of the mound, was simple in theory, complicated in actuality.
‘I need to isolate the body at the bottom. The logical way would be to insert pipes above the lower area at a height sufficient not to disturb either body,’ Atterton said to those assembled. Horsley nodded his head, not indicating whether he approved or not.
Clare’s instruction from Tremayne had been succinct. ‘Two days, no more. And if Horsley causes trouble, evict him from the site until we have what we want.’
Not ideal, Clare would admit, and she was determined to avoid taking such action at all cost. And besides, the word had got out. The importance of the find had been known by the media for over a day, enhanced dramatically by Horsley, a man who should have known better but who was determined to have his five minutes of fame. He had featured on the television the night before after the meeting at the police station. At least he’d had the common sense not to criticise the police, although he had told the interviewer that what was in the mound was of the greatest significance and the police presence was unfortunate.
Tremayne, sitting at home with Jean, another quiet night in, had let out an expletive when Horsley had appeared on the television, sounding off as if he and William Cunnington, the hero of Bush Barrow and the discoverer of the ‘King of Stonehenge’, were kindred spirits.
Clare had laughed when Jean had told her Tremayne’s reaction. She had also seen the interview, and thought that Horsley had good reason to be pleased with himself. She was as excited as the others at the site at the prospect of finding out what else lay hidden at the bottom of the mound, knowing full well that when the other body had been extracted, she would be off the site.
The early morning frost, a regular winter feature on Salisbury Plain, showed no sign of clearing. It was ten in the morning, and it was still heavy on the ground.
‘I’ve changed my plan,’ Atterton said. ‘This cold, if it continues, should hold the soil stable enough for all of us. What I suggest as an alternative is for a plate or plates, if we have the space, to be placed over the lower body and supported by screw jacks. Now by my reckoning, and if we’re very clever, with a certain amount of luck as well, we should be able to create a platform for one of the CSIs to stand on, and for him or her to work on the other body, and if possible send up a very fine rod to the outside of the mound. That way we’ll know where we need to extract the soil. Otherwise, we progressively dismantle the mound, but that would require heavy equipment and time. Neither option will be too popular, I suppose.’
‘How soon before we can start on the first option?’ Jim Hughes said.
‘Ten minutes. I’ll grant that you’ll not be able to conduct your investigation to the degree that you normally would.’
‘Any soil we remove will be sifted and checked, but there won’t be any blood, not after so long, and any loose items we should be able to pick up.’
‘I’m in agreement,’ Horsley said.
In the end, Atterton phoned another mining engineer. The man, a wiry Welshman, as thin as Atterton was fat, arrived at the site within the hour.
‘Sorry, Sue, not this time,’ Atterton said, looking over at the young archaeologist.
‘Don’t worry,’ the Welsh engineer said. ‘I’ve worked with Lance before. He knows my ability.’
Clare wasn’t sure of the plan, as it seemed fraught with danger to her, but no one had anything else to say.
On the top of the mound stood Jim Hughes, Sue Boswell, Dafydd Evans and Lance Atterton. Clare and Horsley were relegated to watching from below.
Evans, Atterton’s colleague, peered down the shaft, letting out a gasp at what he could see. ‘No chance for you, Lance,’ he said.
‘Can it be done?’ Atterton asked.
Evans turned to Sue Boswell. ‘How far does the body extend at the bottom?’ he asked.
‘I’ve only seen the top half. We need an area of at least a foot around the whole body.’
‘Not possible, as you’ve probably realised. I suggest we take some of the metal plates or spares that we’ve just walked on and place them over what’s exposed and use screw jacks to hold them up. Unfortunately, there’s no room for two, so it’ll have to be me,’ Evans said, his accent noticeable.
‘I could do it,’ Sue insisted.
‘I suggest you let her,’ Atterton said. ‘We need to be cooperating here, and I don’t want to be accused afterwards of rejecting a perfectly reasonable suggestion.’
‘Are you sure?’ Hughes asked.
‘No one’s hundred per cent on this one, but yes, it should be okay.’
‘A compromise,’ Evans said. ‘The plates and the jacks are cumbersome. Sue can go down, prepare the area, no more ferreting around. We’ll pull her up, and then I’ll go down and secure the area.’
Sue took her place at the entrance to the shaft. As on the previous day, she was fully kitted up, her breathing apparatus checked and working. The second time her descent was more controlled than the first, not only because she was less frightened, but because Evans was steadying the rope.
‘I’m here,’ Sue shouted, her voice muffled by the mask over her face.
‘You know the size of the plates and the jacks,’ Evans said. ‘Don’t try to find something else. If you dig into the sides of the mound, it could collapse.’
‘I won’t.’
Sue kept to the agreement, and soon she was back at the top of the mound. Evans followed her route down, the plates – there was only space for three – fed down on another rope, the screw jacks following.
After forty-five minutes, the area was declared safe. A sheet of plastic had now been placed over the plates, and there was a place for the CSI’s feet to rest, although he would still be secured from above.
***
Ground-penetrating radar brought to the site that day was moved over the area where the first body retrieval was to be made. With patience and a good deal of skill, the outline of the body could be seen, also its position. Jim Hughes, the senior CSI, was delighted.
‘We’ll need our nominated CSI in the shaft to assist, and we’ll dig from outside,’ Hughes said.
‘Agreed,’ Atterton said. ‘We’ll set up a soil retrieval system inside the mound, nothing complex, just plastic buckets.’
‘Some will fall down,’ Horsley said. He was ignored. The first body extraction was going ahead.
Two CSIs stood on the outside of the mound, about half-way up. One of them made the first thrust with his fork, piercing the grass that grew there. Carefully, he and the other CSI removed the turf from an area of one square yard. Another CSI took a metal rod and prodded gently into the soil, checking for resista
nce. At the third attempt, he declared success.
Inside the mound, the CSI gently removed the soil around the body’s exposed leg, ensuring that whatever he removed was placed in a bucket and lifted to the top for further examination by other CSIs. It wasn’t pleasant, and the man knew that he could only work there for thirty minutes before a break. The next CSI to be lowered down the shaft, a twenty-two-year-old woman, relished the prospect.
By the time she was lowered down, the first leg had been fully exposed, and the ankle of a second one was visible. On the side of the mound outside, slow progress was being made as the soil was dug out, not at an oblique angle, but by cutting into the mound as if cutting a slice of cake. Horsley stood mutely to one side, not expressing an opinion.
The man’s head was revealed at four twenty in the afternoon. With a clear indicator, the CSIs on the outside intensified their activity. Inside, in rotation, the two CSIs, chosen because of their physiques, continued to work. When the metal rod broke through from outside into the tunnel, their work was complete.
Dafydd Evans dropped down into the tunnel and secured the body that Horsley and Sue Boswell worried over with an additional cover, and a layer of clean soil, padding it down as best he could. On instructions from Jim Hughes that were being relayed from above him at the entrance to the shaft, he removed the last of the soil holding the body. From the side of the mound, the CSIs pulled it out, not taking any notice of the condition, only seeing that the man was fully clothed and that the skeletal remains were intact.
Afterwards, at the debriefing, Gerard Horsley was ecstatic, and he shook Atterton’s and Evan’s hands firmly. ‘Great job. When can we start?’ he asked.
‘We’ll need tomorrow morning,’ Hughes said. ‘After that, we’ll hand it over to you.’
‘Fine, better than I expected,’ Horsley replied.
Burial Mound Page 4
