Whispers of the Dead dh-3

by Simon Beckett

  But it was short-lived. The air was thick and still underneath the pines, untouched by any breeze. Almost immediately I felt myself begin to sweat as we stooped under the low branches and made our way towards the nearest white-clad agents.

  ‘So what have you found?’ Tom asked, trying to disguise his breathlessness as they made way for us.

  It was hard to pick out individuals under the billowing protective gear and masks, but I recognized the big man who answered from the mountain cabin. Lenny? No, Jerry. His face was flushed and beaded with sweat above the mask, his overalls grimy with pine needles and bark.

  ‘Oh, Lord, this is gonna be a day,’ he panted, straightening. ‘Got a skull and what’s left of a ribcage, plus a few other bones. They’re scattered pretty good, even the bigger ones. There’s a fence further on back there, but it’s too fallen down to stop anything getting in. On four legs or two. And these goddamn trees are a real bitch.’

  ‘Any clothes?’

  ‘Nope, but we got something that looks like an old sheet. Body could’ve been wrapped in that.’

  Leaving him there, we made our way towards the nearest find. The forest floor was dotted with small flags, like an unkempt putting green, each marking a separate discovery. The one closest to us had been planted by what remained of a pelvis. It lay under a tree, so that we had to bend almost double to reach it, slipping on the frictionless carpet of pine needles. I glanced at Tom, hoping this wasn’t going to be too much for him, but with the mask concealing much of his face it was hard to tell.

  The pelvis was so badly chewed it was difficult to say whether it was male or female, but the femur lying next to it gave a better indication. Even though both ends of the big thigh bone were scored and pitted by animal teeth, it was obvious from its length that it was a man’s.

  ‘Quite a size,’ Tom said, squatting down to examine it. ‘How tall would you say its owner was?’

  ‘Well over six feet. How tall was Willis Dexter?’

  ‘Six two.’ Tom smiled behind his mask, obviously thinking the same as me. It was starting to look as if we might have found the man who was supposed to have been buried at Steeple Hill. ‘OK, let’s see what else there is.’

  Branches scratched at us, showering us with needles as we pushed through the trees. Tom was showing no obvious signs of discomfort, but it was heavy going. Sweat was running down my face, and I was beginning to cramp from being forced to walk in a permanent crouch. The pine scent was nauseating now, making my skin itch inside the constraining overalls.

  The remains of what had once been a sheet lay some distance from the pelvis. Filthy and shredded, it had been marked with a different colour flag to distinguish it from the body parts. Near it, partially camouflaged by fallen pine needles, was a ribcage. A few ants scurried busily over it, foraging for any last vestiges of flesh, but there was little left. The bones had long since been picked clean, and the sternum and several smaller ribs were missing.

  ‘Looks like this was where the body was dumped,’ Tom commented, as I took photographs. ‘The scattering looks pretty typical. Animals rather than dismemberment, I’d say.’

  Nature abhors waste, and a body lying outdoors soon becomes a food source for the local wildlife. Dogs, foxes, birds and rodents— even bears in some parts of the US—will attend the feast, detaching and carrying away whatever they can. But because the bulkier torso is too big for all but the largest scavengers to move, it tends to be eaten in situ. That means the ribcage usually marks the location where the body originally lay.

  Tom peered at the end of one of the ribs. He beckoned me closer. ‘See here? Saw marks.’

  Like most of the other bones, the rib had been badly gnawed. But parallel lines were still visible among the teeth marks, fine striations running across the bone’s end.

  ‘Hacksaw blade, by the look of it. The same as you’d get from an autopsy,’ I said. Standard procedure during an autopsy was to cut the ribcage on either side of the sternum, so that it could be removed to give access to the organs underneath. Bone cutters were sometimes used, but an electric saw was often faster.

  That would have produced marks just like these.

  ‘Starting to look more and more like we’ve found Willis Dexter, isn’t it?’ Tom said. He started to push himself to his feet. ‘Male, right height, with autopsy cuts on his ribs. And Dexter’s clothes were burned in the car crash. Without any family to provide more, chances are the body would be left in the sheet it came in from the morgue. Time scale’s about right, too. There’s no moss or lichen on the bones, so they’ve been here less than a year. That seems—’

  He gave a sudden gasp and doubled up, clutching at his chest. I pulled off his mask and had to hide my alarm when I saw the waxy pallor of his face.

  ‘Where are your tablets?’

  His mouth was stretched in a grimace. ‘Side pocket…’

  I tore open his overalls, berating myself. You should never have let him do this! If he collapsed in here… There was a button-down pocket on the thigh of his chinos. I pulled it open but couldn’t find any tablets.

  ‘They’re not there.’ I tried to sound calm.

  His eyes were screwed shut with pain. His lips had developed a blue tinge. ‘Shirt…’

  I patted his shirt pocket and felt a squat hard shape. Thank God! I pulled it out and unscrewed the top, shaking out one of the tiny pills. Tom’s hand trembled as he slipped it under his tongue. Nothing happened for a few moments, then the tightness in his face began to relax.

  ‘OK?’ I asked. He nodded, too drained to speak. ‘Just take it easy for a minute or two.’

  There was a rustle from nearby as Jerry, the big forensic agent, came over. ‘Y’all OK?’

  I felt Tom’s hand tighten on my arm before I could answer. ‘Fine. Just need to catch my breath.’

  The agent didn’t look fooled, but left us alone. As soon as he’d gone Tom’s shoulders slumped again.

  ‘Can you walk?’ I asked.

  He drew in an unsteady breath. ‘I think so.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here.’

  ‘I’ll manage. You carry on.’

  ‘I’m not letting you—’

  He gripped my arm again. There was a quiet entreaty in his eyes. ‘Please, David.’

  I didn’t like the idea of letting him make his way from the woods by himself, but it would only agitate him more if I insisted on going as well. I looked between the pine trunks to the edge of the trees, gauging how far it was.

  ‘I’ll take it nice and slow,’ he said, guessing what I was thinking. ‘And I promise to rest as soon as I get out.’

  ‘You need to see a doctor.’

  ‘I just have.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘Don’t worry. You just finish off here.’

  Anxiously, I watched as he picked his way through the woods, moving with the deliberation of an old man. I waited until he’d reached the tree line, vanishing through the close-pressed branches into the daylight before I went over to where Jerry was examining an object on the ground that might or might not have been a piece of bone. He glanced up as I approached.

  ‘He all right?’

  ‘Just the heat. You said earlier that you’d found a skull?’ I went on quickly.

  He led me to where another small flag had been set at the bottom of a slope. The pale dome of a human cranium sat next to it, half buried among the pine needles. The mandible was missing, and the skull lay upside down like a dirty ivory bowl. The heaviness of its structure suggested it was a man’s, and I could make out fracture lines radiating across the frontal bone of the forehead. It was the sort of injury caused by impact with something flat and hard.

  Like a car windscreen.

  I was sure now that the remains belonged to Willis Dexter, in which case we probably wouldn’t learn much from them. It was almost certain that the mechanic had died in a car crash rather than been murdered. His only connection with the killings was that his casket and grave had been appropriated by the killer
. If we could have established if either of his hands, or even any digits, were missing it might at least explain how his fingerprints came to be left on the film canister so long after his death. But no carpels or phalanges had been found, and given the size of the woods it was unlikely that they ever would be. The remains had been too thoroughly picked over by scavengers. Even if the smaller bones hadn’t been eaten, they could be anywhere by now.

  ‘Wasted journey, huh, doc?’ Jerry said cheerfully as I photographed the latest find—a rib chewed down to half its original size. ‘Not much to say, other than they’re human. And we could’ve told you that. Anyhow, if you’re done we’d like to start getting this all boxed and bagged.’

  It was an unsubtle hint. I was about to leave him to it when I noticed another flag.

  ‘What’s over there?’

  ‘Just some teeth. Must’ve come loose when the jaw was pulled off.’

  There was nothing unusual about that. Scavengers generally eat the face first, and the teeth could easily have been dislodged from the missing mandible. I almost didn’t bother going over. I was hot and tired, and wanted to see how Tom was. But I’d learned from hard experience not to take anything for granted.

  ‘I’d better take a look,’ I said.

  The flag had been placed amongst the exposed roots of a scrubby pine. It wasn’t far from where the ribcage lay, but it wasn’t until I was up close that I could make out the dirty nuggets of ivory. There were four molars, coated in dirt and hard to see amongst the pine needles. It was a testament to the thoroughness of the search that they’d been found at all. Yet as I looked at them it seemed that something wasn’t quite right…

  The heat and discomfort were instantly forgotten as I realized what it was.

  ‘Just teeth, like I told you. So, you done now?’ Jerry asked as I began to photograph them. The hint was plainer this time.

  ‘Have you got photos of these yourself?’

  He gave me a look that said I was an idiot for asking. ‘Doc, we’ve got photographs coming out of the wazoo.’

  I pushed myself to my feet. ‘I’d take some more of these anyway. You’re going to need them.’

  Leaving him staring after me I made my way out of the woods. Sweat was trickling down my back as I left the claustrophobic cover of the pines and gratefully pulled off my mask. Unfastening my overalls, I ducked under the crime scene tape and looked around for Tom. He was standing some way off, talking to Gardner and Jacobsen in the shade of the yew hedge. He looked OK, but my relief lasted only until I saw Hicks was with them. A moment later I heard the raised voices.

  ‘… no legal standing in this investigation! You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous. You’re just splitting hairs, Donald,’ Tom said.

  ‘Splitting hairs?’ The sun glinted off the pathologist’s bald head as he thrust out his chin. ‘Will the judge be “splitting hairs” when he throws out a homicide case because an expert witness let an unsupervised assistant tramp all over a crime scene? One who probably won’t even be in the country when this goes to court?’

  It wasn’t hard to guess who they were talking about. They all fell silent as I approached.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked Tom. First things first.

  ‘I’m fine. I just needed some water.’

  Up close I could see he was still pale, but he seemed a lot better than he had. The look he gave me made it clear I shouldn’t mention his attack in front of the others.

  I turned to Gardner. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘You’re damn right there’s a problem!’ Hicks interrupted. For all his indignation, I could see he was enjoying himself.

  ‘Maybe we should discuss this some other time,’ Gardner suggested wearily.

  But the pathologist wasn’t going to be diverted. ‘No, this needs to be settled now. This is one of the biggest serial killer investigations the state’s seen in years. We can’t risk amateurs fouling things up.’

  Amateurs? I clamped my mouth shut as my temper threatened to slip. Whatever I said would only make things worse.

  ‘David’s every bit as competent as I am,’ Tom said, but he lacked the energy to argue. Hicks stabbed a finger at him.

  ‘That’s irrelevant! He shouldn’t have been wandering around a crime scene by himself. What about it, Gardner? You going to start handing out tickets so anyone can just walk in?’

  Gardner’s jaw muscles knotted, but that had hit home. ‘He’s got a point, Tom.’

  ‘Goddammit, Dan, David’s been doing us a favour!’

  But I’d heard enough. It was obvious where this was going. ‘It’s all right. I don’t want to make things difficult.’

  Tom looked stricken, but Hicks was barely able to suppress his glee.

  ‘No offence, Dr… Hunter, is it? I’m sure you’re well enough respected back home, but this is Tennessee. This isn’t your affair.’

  I didn’t trust myself to say anything. Jacobsen was staring at Hicks with an unreadable expression. Gardner looked as though he wished the whole thing was over with.

  ‘I’m sorry, David,’ Tom said helplessly.

  ‘It’s OK.’ I handed him the camera. I just wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere. ‘Will you be able to manage?’

  I didn’t want to say more, not in front of the others, but Tom knew what I meant. He gave a quick, embarrassed nod. I started to turn away before I remembered what I needed to tell him.

  ‘You should take a look at the teeth that’ve been found in there. They don’t belong with the rest of the remains.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Hicks demanded.

  ‘Because they’re from a pig.’

  That silenced him. I saw the flash of interest in Tom’s eyes. ‘Premolars?’

  I nodded, knowing he’d understand. But he was the only one. Hicks was glaring at me as though he suspected some sort of trick.

  ‘You’re telling me they’ve found pig’s teeth? What the hell are they doing there?’

  ‘Don’t ask me. I’m only an amateur,’ I said.

  It was a cheap parting shot, but I couldn’t help myself. As I walked away I saw the smile on Tom’s face, and thought there might even have been a ghost of one on Jacobsen’s.

  But it didn’t make me feel any better. I retraced my steps round to the front of the chapel, yanking the overalls’ zip so hard they tore. I wrenched myself free and stuffed them in a plastic bin already half full of discarded protective gear. When I stripped off the rubber gloves sweat dripped out of them, forming dark splashes like a modernist painting in the dirt. My hands were pale and wrinkled from being trapped in the airless latex, and for an instant I felt a tug of something like dé;já vu.

  What? What does that remind me of?

  But I was too angry to dwell on it. And a more mundane thought had occurred to me. I’d come to Steeple Hill in Tom’s car. After my grand exit, now I was stranded out here.

  Oh, terrific. I flung the gloves into the bin and took out my phone before realizing I didn’t know the numbers of any local taxis. And even if I did, they wouldn’t be allowed into the cemetery.

  I swore under my breath. I could always wait for Tom to finish, but my pride wouldn’t allow that. Fine. I’ll walk. Knowing I was being stubborn but in too foul a temper to care, I headed for the gates.

  ‘Dr Hunter!’

  I turned to see Jacobsen coming along the path towards me. The bright sun was in her face, making her squint slightly against the glare. It caused tiny crow’s feet to appear at the corners of the grey eyes, giving her a quizzical, almost humorous look that softened her features.

  ‘Dr Lieberman said you didn’t have your car. How are you getting back to town?’

  ‘I’ll manage.’

  ‘I’ll drive you.’

  ‘No thanks.’ I was in no mood to accept favours.

  Her expression was impossible to read as she brushed a wayward strand of hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind her ear. ‘I wouldn’t recommend wa
lking. Not with all the press outside.’

  I’d not thought about that. The anger began to leak away, leaving me feeling more than a little stupid.

  ‘I’ll get my car,’ Jacobsen said.

  CHAPTER 12

  THE SILENCE in the car wasn’t exactly companionable, but neither was it awkward. I didn’t feel talkative and Jacobsen didn’t seem concerned either way. My temper had cooled a little, but there was still a slow burn of resentment that refused to die down.

  I pulled at my shirt, still hot and uncomfortable from the time spent in the pine woods. The inside of the car had been turned into an oven by the sun, but the air conditioning was finally starting to win the battle. I stared moodily out of the window, watching the unending succession of stores and fast food restaurants troop past: glass, brick and concrete set against the dark green backdrop of the mountains. More than ever I was aware of how unfamiliar much of it was. I didn’t belong here. And you’re certainly not wanted.

  Perhaps I should check for earlier flights after all.

  ‘You might not like it, but Dr Hicks had a point,’ Jacobsen said, rousing me from my thoughts. ‘Dr Lieberman’s an authorized TBI consultant. You aren’t.’

  ‘I know how to work crime scenes,’ I said, stung.

  ‘I’m sure you do, but this isn’t about how capable you are. If this goes to trial we can’t afford to have a defence attorney argue that we didn’t follow procedure.’ She turned to look at me, her grey eyes candid. ‘You should know that.’

  I felt my self-righteous anger wilt. She was right. And there was more at stake here than my pride.

  ‘Dr Lieberman’s ill, isn’t he?’

  The question took me by surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’

  Jacobsen kept her attention on the road. ‘My dad had a bad heart. He looked the same way.’

  ‘What happened?’ I asked.

  ‘He died.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It was years ago,’ she said, closing the subject.