“Robert… Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”
Dr. Brownson smiled and nodded happily.
“Yes, Harper. Though it’s been over twenty years, my feelings haven’t changed one bit.”
She looked up at him sorrowfully, her eyes full of pity. She raised her hand for Dr. Brownson to see the large emerald ring on her third finger.
“I’m married, Robert. I have been for many years now. I’m sorry if you thought this was anything more than a professional consultation.”
Dr. Brownson opened his mouth but found himself empty of words. Once again he felt as if the hospital walls were constricting him, causing his brow to sweat and a slight feeling of nausea to well up inside of him. He gulped loudly, his mouth dry, and stammered.
“Ah…Well…”
“I’m sorry, this,” she nodded at the morgue entrance, “was insensitive of me. I should have met with you first. Privately.” Robert looked down at the floor.
If you prefer,” continued Harper, her voice exhibiting a gentleness she was unused to showing, “I can arrange for another forensic anthropologist. Dr. Livingstone lives only a few mi– ”
“Ha,” Dr. Brownson said, with unconvincing joviality, “Livingstone is a hack. He couldn’t distinguish a homo sapien from a homophone.”
They smiled at each other, though Harper couldn’t help noticing the pained look in Dr. Brownson’s eyes. He took a deep breath, shuffling his feet and smoothing his clothes briskly, feeling ever more lost under the gaze of the woman he loved.
“Married. Of course. Why wouldn’t you be? Sorry. Got it wrong, obviously. You know me, imagination like a unicorn – fantastical! Never was good with people – give me some dusty, dry old bones any day!”
Harper smiled sweetly, hoping it would soothe Dr. Brownson’s embarrassment and hurt feelings, but the beauty of it only made his pining more sorrowful. Somehow, he managed to force a little laugh which sounded shallow in the long echoing emptiness of the hospital hallway.
“Perhaps you should go home, Robert.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” he said, after a few deep breaths. “There’s only really one thing that will take my mind off this, and that’s work. Lead the way, Dr. Jones.”
Harper led Dr. Brownson back into the morgue. There were a few snickers and giggles, but Harper quickly stared those down. She stood beside the cranium on the table and was joined by Dr. Brownson.
“So what do you estimate for an age?”
“Fifteen, sixteen. Certainly fits the profile of a girl that age,” Dr. Brownson said, briskly. “The bone remodeling on the hips hasn’t deteriorated much. That, combined with the fully–grown tibia makes it a near certainty.”
A few of the younger team members gathered around the table, still smiling at the doctor’s earlier antics. Harper cast them a steely look to remind them that mockery would not be tolerated.
“This damage to the cranial cavity is very interesting.”
“We thought so too,” piped up a rather confident young male assistant. “But there was a tree root grown through it. Because of that, we thought the damage to the skull likely occurred after death, posthumously.”
Dr. Brownson glanced quickly at the assistant.
“The root that went through the bottom of her skull?”
The assistant nodded, smiling.
“That’s a rather long leap of logic. You assume a root that was weak enough to go around the jawline, was suddenly strong enough to burst through the cranium? I have to disagree with your conclusion there, young man. This cranium was crushed before the root began growing through it. The damage may have increased, but if you look at the skull in profile, you can clearly see how it has been altered by a blow.”
The young man shared an abashed glance with his equally-young neighbor, his earlier silent mockery of Dr. Brownson quickly dissipating in the face of his humiliation.
“This is strange,” Dr. Brownson said, as he probed inside the skull. Slowly, he pulled out a wrinkly object from its center: A shriveled apple.
“Wow!” came a voice from one of the assembled team members. “How did that get there?”
Dr. Brownson shook his head. “These entire remains present a box of mysteries. Look at these fractures along the arms and legs. They’re small, but they were undoubtedly created during this person’s lifetime. If you look closely,” he said, leaning to inspect the bones and rub away some of the dirt, “you can even find evidence of healing. This kind of healing occurs in childhood.”
“What does it mean?” the young man asked again, his cockiness giving way to genuine curiosity.
“This person was beaten throughout her lifetime. Since childhood, in fact. I’d even posit that the beatings increased in severity. She was a healthy person so they may not have been obvious, and they quickly healed, but they were severe nonetheless.”
“That’s horrendous!” came a voice from around the table again.
“Indeed,” replied Dr. Brownson.
“And the apple?” asked the young man, respect for Dr. Brownson now having replaced his earlier ridicule.
Dr. Brownson shrugged. “It would have decomposed by now if it were placed inside the skull at the time of death so I think we can conclude it is a relatively recent addition to the crime scene. I imagine the body was found in a rather shallow grave, yes?”
Harper nodded.
“It’s possible that the apple was put there by someone or merely discarded close by and happened to find its way into the skull cavity, perhaps carried there by an animal. A bizarre coincidence, if that is the case.”
Lulled by the warm, inviting atmosphere of the tea shop, and pondering over the elaborate picture of the past that Katie Flynn had just painted for her, Annabelle had spent the past thirty minutes gazing out of the window, deep in thought. Deciding that she should give herself some respite from her reflections on disturbing village events, she picked up a local newspaper from the counter and decided to peruse the lighter, more entertaining sections.
She took a final bite of her cheesecake (which had appeared at her table after she had dispatched the last of her cupcake as if by magic, so little did she remember ordering it), and feeling rather full, she smiled as she read the story of a young boy from Upton St. Mary who had just returned from a trip to the North Pole. She looked up, hoping to find another tea shop customer with whom she could coo over the brave young man, when a stern, familiar figure across the street caught her eye. Louisa Montgomery.
Sure enough, Louisa must have attended to her shopping after that mysterious business in her allotment shed, for her carpet bag was so full that it weighed the teacher down and dramatically slowed her pace. Leeks, bread, and cucumbers were peering precariously over the bag’s rim.
Annabelle hurriedly popped the last raspberry from her cheesecake into her mouth and bustled toward the counter to pay her bill. As soon as she was done, she opened the tea shop door, the bell above it tinkling as she did so. She walked quickly across the street, glad of fresh air and exercise with which to assuage her guilty feelings for being a “little piggy” as her mother used to say.
“Miss Montgomery!” cried Annabelle, cheerily.
At the sound of her name, Louisa spun around so quickly that the cucumber that had been trying to escape from her bag finally made it. It dropped to the floor, bounced once, and began to roll into the road. Louisa quickly leaned forward to pick up the errant vegetable, completely forgetting about the others that were on the edge of jumping ship, too. Three oranges, two apples, and a grimy-looking cabbage were soon rolling away in different directions as Louisa wrestled with her bag to stifle any more escapees.
“Oh gosh!” Annabelle exclaimed, as she quickly darted around the teacher, picking the food items up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Hmph,” grunted Miss Montgomery, her condescending gaze and the barely perceptible shake of her head saying everything her words were not. Annabelle was suddenly all too
aware of what Katie had meant when she said that Louisa spoke to everybody as if they were children.
“There you go,” Annabelle said, tucking the veggies back into Louisa’s bag. Louisa snatched the remaining cucumber from Annabelle’s hands and placed it in the bag herself.
“Thank you,” she said, with great difficulty. “But I do not need your help. I do not intend to attend church anytime soon.”
Annabelle, once she had recovered Miss Montgomery’s startlingly curt tone, said, “I do apologize. I was only trying to be helpful.”
“If you wish to be helpful, then do not call my name so rudely when I am carrying my shopping.”
Annabelle watched as Louisa continued to jostle the food, forcing it deeper into her bag insistently. She could see that Louisa was in no mood to talk so turned away and took a few steps down the street before changing her mind and circling back.
“I only wished to advise you, Miss Montgomery, that it would be a good idea to assist the police in their investigation into your sister’s disappearance.”
The close attention Miss Montgomery had been paying to securing the vegetables in her bag was suddenly replaced with a look of astonishment that she shot toward the Vicar. Annabelle held her gaze, waiting for Louisa to take the next step.
After looking up and down the road and swallowing, Louisa gestured for Annabelle to walk up the path to her house.
“Please come in, Reverend.”
Annabelle duly obliged.
Louisa unlocked her door and stepped inside. She was shaking as Annabelle followed her. As soon as Annabelle had passed into the hallway, Louisa quickly shut the door and addressed her visitor.
“How do you know? The Inspector insisted that nobody knew about this.”
“Actually, it seems like most people in the village are aware of the new developments in your sister’s case – more so than me. As for the body found in the woods, I witnessed the scene myself last night.”
“It can’t be my sister,” Louisa said, as if to herself.
Annabelle hung her head solemnly.
“The body was… It’s been there for a long time.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Maybe we should sit down and talk about this.”
“What is there to talk about?!” Louisa cried, desperation suddenly sparking fiercely in her eyes. “My sister is gone! That’s it! Talking won’t bring her back!”
Louisa grabbed her bag in frustration and marched into her kitchen, where she angrily began unpacking her groceries. Annabelle turned to the door, then back to the kitchen, wondering what she should do. The teacher seemed entirely unable to discuss anything right now, let alone the matter of her sister’s death, but Annabelle was certain that such an opportunity would not present itself again. Slowly, she inched forward into the kitchen, where she saw Miss Montgomery grabbing and stacking groceries with alarming fury.
She watched for a few moments, searching her mind for words that would both calm the angry woman and encourage her to reveal something pertinent. Sensing her presence, Louisa spun around to face Annabelle, a bunch of carrots in her hand, clutched as forcefully as a weapon.
“There is simply no use in digging up the past. What’s done is done. I don’t see why it’s anybody’s business but my own.”
“I understand,” Annabelle said sympathetically, stepping forward. “But there will be a police investigation. They will most likely reopen the case now they have new evidence.”
“If they could have found out who did it, they would have found out back then!” Louisa said in a pleading voice. “This will achieve nothing!”
“But don’t you want to know who did this?”
Louisa seemed to crumble, falling into a chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
“I don’t care who did it,” she said, mournfully, “I just don’t want to deal with all the gossip again. The half-truths, the wild stories, the speculation. About my sister. About me. About Daniel.”
“Daniel?” Annabelle said, quickly.
“Her boyfriend,” Louisa said, softly, before adding, “at the time.”
Annabelle mused over the name for a few seconds.
“Was he suspected of having something to do with her disappearance?”
Louisa closed her eyes and nodded slowly.
“What happened to him?”
Louisa – her eyes still closed – merely shrugged.
Taking note of Louisa’s growing reluctance to talk about Daniel, Annabelle decided to change tack.
“You had a boyfriend at the time too, didn’t you?”
Louisa looked at Annabelle, her eyes hardening. “I did.”
“Wh… What happened?” Annabelle asked, as gently as she could, hoping that Louisa would not have another outburst.
Instead, Louisa snorted derisively.
“We got married. And then we got divorced.”
“Why?” asked Annabelle again, feeling she were pushing her luck somewhat.
She watched Louisa stare into the distance, silent and contemplative. Just as Annabelle was sure that Louisa had not heard the question or simply would not answer it, she said:
“Because I didn’t love him.”
Annabelle felt like she was about to burst, she was so full of questions and curiosity. Louisa Montgomery had turned out to be a fascinating figure, both brusque and rude, yet vulnerable and hurt. Annabelle left her sitting alone, staring out of the window, no doubt burrowing deep into her past where her memories and reflections would only bring her pain.
Annabelle jumped into her car and drove away from the village center, turning over each word of Louisa’s conversation in her mind as she searched for clues. Not that she needed to, because she had already received the biggest one yet – Daniel, Lucy’s boyfriend.
Something about the way Louisa had spoken his name had resonated in Annabelle’s mind. She had spoken it with the same warmth that she had spoken about her sister. Annabelle was in no doubt that Daniel was an integral part of this story. She had to find him.
Annabelle knew plenty of Daniels. Daniel was a popular name in the village and surrounding area, from Terry the dog-walker’s quiet, well-spoken nephew, Daniel Robbins, to Daniel Holden, the village’s only war veteran.
Of course, it was entirely possible, perhaps even likely, that Lucy’s boyfriend had left Upton St. Mary after the macabre incident, but it was still worth investigating. People who grew up in the village tended to return frequently, its idyllic vistas and strong sense of community a rarity elsewhere in the world.
Annabelle was proud of her ability to commit the contacts in her address book to memory, and she was still mentally flicking through its pages when she parked the car in the churchyard. She hopped out of her car and walked to the door at the back of the church.
“...Daniel Jones, the pharmacist – but he moved here shortly before me. Then there’s Daniella Watson – of course not. Daniel… Daniel…. Dani–”
“Eeeeek!” came a shriek, as Annabelle turned a corner in the passage to her office and bumped into something small and hard.
Philippa spun around, saw Annabelle, and screamed again. “Aaaaaah!”
“Philippa!” Annabelle shouted, her face twisting into a look of sheer horror and confusion. “What’s wrong?!”
“Oh, Reverend,” Philippa said, immediately calming down. She was clutching at her chest with one hand and rubbing her cheek with the other. “It’s you.”
“Of course, it’s me!” Annabelle said, still filled with astonishment at her church secretary’s reaction. “Who else would it be?!”
Philippa shook her head and turned back to her work, anxiously sifting through prayer books. “Never mind.”
Annabelle put her hands on her hips and frowned.
“That’s enough, Philippa. This has gone far beyond ridiculous. I demand that you tell me what it is that’s troubling you, this instant.”
Philippa once again shook her head, quietly counting
the prayer books out to herself.
“Philippa,” Annabelle continued sternly, “if you do not tell me what is wrong, then I will regard it as the height of rudeness.”
Philippa slowly counted out one more prayer book, then turned to face Annabelle with a look of deep reluctance.
“I’m sorry, Reverend. I would like to tell you, but it’s not something that can be spoken of in a house of God – nor to a person of the cloth.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened.
“Don’t be silly, Philippa. You’re just making me even more determined to find out what it is you are hiding! What would make you say such a thing?”
“I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“Well, if you insist on not telling me, then I’ll just have to guess.”
“Please don’t.”
“Let’s see now,” hummed Annabelle, placing a finger upon her lips and looking up, “what could be so embarrassing that you wouldn’t even say it to a priest…”
“I’d rather not–”
“I’ve got it. It’s those scratch cards, isn’t it? You’ve developed an addiction to them, and you’re worried about how sinful it is.”
“No!” Philippa said, appalled at the accusation. “I’ve not committed any sin! Well, none that I’m terribly ashamed of.”
Annabelle smiled.
“Okay. So what is it, then?”
Philippa shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking around her as if hoping for some escape route that would lead her away from the Reverend’s line of inquiry. When she realized that she was well and truly trapped, she spoke reticently.
“I… I saw something.”
Annabelle knit her brow.
“What?”
“That’s all I’m going to say, Reverend. Please, don’t ask me any more,” Philippa begged, before turning back to the prayer books and beginning her count from the beginning.
Annabelle gave her friend one last sympathetic purse of the lips before resting her questions. She already had more than one mystery tugging at her capacities. She would have to be patient regarding Philippa’s.
Body in the Woods (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 3) Page 6