by LJ Ross
“Frank,” she snapped. “What the hell are you doing in the bathtub?”
“Gimme a kiss.”
She watched him pucker up, chuckling to himself.
“Frank Phillips, I’m warning you. I’m not a woman to be putting up with drunken layabouts.”
“But, you’re Irish,” he said innocently.
Denise flicked the shower spray to the coldest setting.
* * *
Fortune decreed that the Control Room of the Northumbria Police Constabulary dispatched DCI Ryan and DS Phillips to the remote part of Hadrian’s Wall known as Sycamore Gap. The discovery of unidentified human remains qualified as a police matter, unless they were classified as being ‘of antiquity’. That meant that somebody with the requisite authority needed to haul their sorry arse out of bed and take a look. Since the other detectives of the Criminal Investigation Department were busy looking into the usual rounds of manslaughter and GBH following drunken brawls over the weekend, it fell upon Ryan and Phillips to disregard their allocated day off-duty and take a drive into the hills. Most likely, the remains were ancient and he could happily pass them over to an archaeologist for inspection, Ryan thought.
The drive out west of the city of Newcastle-upon-Tyne was scenic. Centuries earlier, men had laid the track for a long, straight road in that direction and although it was now tarmacked, it still followed the same course. The ‘Military Road’ as it had come to be known took Ryan along a route parallel to Hadrian’s Wall, past reservoirs and rolling green fields populated by fluffy, well-fed sheep. When he saw the brown sign marked ‘Housesteads Roman Fort’, he slowed for the turn.
His attention was immediately drawn by two distinct facts: first, an inordinately large number of vehicles were crammed into the visitor’s car park. Roman history wasn’t that popular at eight-thirty on a Sunday morning. Second, his sergeant seemed to be wearing fancy dress.
Slamming out of the car, he naturally gave priority to his most pressing concern.
“Phillips? What in God’s name are you wearing?”
Catching sight of the new arrival, Frank raised a cup of take-away coffee in greeting. “Morning, boss.”
Ryan appropriated the coffee.
“You look like the back end of a bus.” It was always a comfort to know that there was someone out there who felt worse than him.
Phillips scowled.
“You were the one who suggested that we go and celebrate.”
“Not my fault that you can’t hold your liquor.”
“Can’t …?” Phillips was momentarily lost for words. “It wasn’t me who nearly fell flat on his face, boyo.”
“The pavement was uneven.” Grinning, Ryan eyed the floor. “Speaking of all things ridiculous, I repeat, what have you got on your feet?”
Phillips pointed one of his toes, dainty as a ballerina.
“These? They’re my old walking boots. Got a bit of a hike ahead of us and you know me – always come prepared.”
“You look like you’ve stumbled out of the circus. Besides, we’re not scaling Kilimanjaro.”
“We’ll see who’s laughing once you’ve walked up that hill in your City-boy shoes.”
“Uh huh.” Ryan took a thorough look around him. “Did I miss something? Why the cavalry?”
“It’s the body,” Phillips replied. “Older than your usual DB but apparently it still looks fairly recent. Could go either way. Besides that, the skeleton’s been stuffed inside the wall.”
“Inside?”
“Aye, that’s the long and short of it. Some bloke found the body as he was having a morning stroll.”
“What? He just happened to burrow inside the wall right where a body had been buried?” Ryan was incredulous. “How long is the damn wall? A hundred miles?”
“Eighty-four,” Phillips put in.
“Close enough. Eighty-four miles of Roman stonework and this bloke decides to tamper with that bit in particular? What’s his story?”
“Ask him yourself, he’s sitting in the back of that car,” Phillips thrust his square, bulldog face in the direction of one of the police cars. “But he says he went for a walk and decided to stop under that big tree for a break and a Kit-Kat. He was sitting there and saw something silver shining through a gap in the stones. He had a forage and, lo and behold, he found more than he bargained for.
“He’s pretty shaken up,” Phillips added. “Can’t stop apologising about moving the stones. Practically wants to put himself in handcuffs for it.”
Ryan blew out a breath and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
“Stranger things have happened,” he concluded. “What about the rest? I see Faulkner amongst the crowd.”
“Yeah, Faulkner’s ready to start whenever you are,” Phillips referred to the Senior Crime Scene Investigator. “We’ve got a lot of bored scientists standing around him. There’s a team of archaeologists and a forensic anthropologist is on her way, but she’s driving down from Edinburgh so she’ll be a while yet … there’s Ambrose, the entomologist.” Phillips ticked them off his broad fingers and screwed up his face in concentration. “We’ve got a forensic dentist on hand if we need one and the pathologist is on standby.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
“A lot of fuss, don’t you think? I thought we were going to have a quick look at the remains and see if they’re a job for CID. No need to bring the entire department along for that, it’s a total waste of resources. Who gave the OK? ”
Phillips pulled a face.
“There’s a shedload of bureaucracy with this one. Over there,” he made a discreet gesture in the direction of a statuesque woman dressed in sharp clothing. “She’s the National Heritage archaeologist, curator or whatever they call it – the regional bigwig. The minute she got a whiff of something amiss over here she hoofed it straight down to make sure we weren’t going to trample all over the place or knock down the blasted wall.”
“She wants to breathe down our necks.”
Phillips scratched the side of his nose.
“That’s the gist of it. There’s a lawyer, standing next to her. They’re making noises about emergency injunctions, appropriate licences. She’s been onto Gregson already, which is why we’ve got everybody and their maiden aunt down here.”
Ryan thought of his Detective Chief Superintendent, an imposing man who was as comfortable at his desk as he was in the field. There was no denying that the man could handle the politics which came with the responsibility of his job title. Arthur Gregson could be diplomatic when the situation demanded it and this situation was shaping up to be one of those occasions.
“Brilliant. Great.” Ryan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and glanced around. Housesteads Fort was one of the larger Roman sites, boasting ruins, a museum and a visitor centre. He lifted a shoulder in their direction. “What time does the site open?”
“It’s open from ten until six, every day,” Phillips had already checked.
“But you can still park your car, if you want to walk around the pathways?”
“Yeah,” Phillips nodded. “The ruins are closed off to the public outside those times, but generally they’re not strict on parking regulations. Walkers just park their cars here and follow the trails along the wall.”
“Too early for any of the staff to be around when Colin drove up here, then?”
“Yep. Colin says he was the only one around for miles when he discovered the bones. Why? You’re thinking he sounds off?”
Ryan shrugged.
“Force of habit,” he said, and then sighed. “I thought a little trip into the country would get me out of some weekend shopping.”
“Aye, well I had high hopes for the afternoon,” Phillips agreed, thinking back to his pleasant dream of earlier. “But that’s the job.”
“Amen to that,” Ryan chugged down the rest of the cold coffee. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”
CHAPTER 2
With Phillips scampe
ring at his heels, Ryan strode across the car park and headed directly for the group of CSIs huddled in the far corner. He made it halfway before he was intercepted.
“Chief Inspector? Professor Jane Freeman.” A tall woman decked out in fine cashmere extended a hand.
Innate manners had him returning the gesture.
“Professor Freeman. I understand that you’ve spoken with DCS Gregson?”
“That’s correct. As the Chief Archaeologist for National Heritage in this region, it is my responsibility to ensure that any interference with the stones must be done under controlled conditions.”
Ryan rolled back on his heels and took an inventory of the woman standing before him. She didn’t look much like any archaeologist he had ever met. No dusty khakis, no leather jacket or goofy glasses. Freeman was in her early-forties, glamorous in an expensive, understated way with a bob of expertly dyed blonde hair and smoothly made-up skin. Her manner was direct and polished and she carried an enormous designer handbag that Mary Poppins would have been proud of.
“Right. Well, let me assure you that we will be mindful of your concerns as the investigation progresses,” he cut across her automatic retort. “For now, it really is imperative that we understand what we are dealing with before we make any further decisions.”
“Chief Inspector. Hadrian’s Wall is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. I feel obliged to tell you that I will not hesitate to instruct our solicitor to seek an injunction to prevent any disruption of the land, should we feel that your team are unable to conduct themselves accordingly.”
Ryan was starting to lose patience.
“Before anybody instructs anybody to do any damn thing, I need to see the body first. After then, I’ll be able to assess whether this is a police matter, or something for you and your friends to look over and stick in a museum. I will decide who moves what, where, when and how. Until then, frankly, you’re wasting everybody’s time.”
Her mouth fell open slightly, in shock.
“Excuse me.”
He nodded briefly, before moving away. Phillips fell into stride beside him.
“Doesn’t help to ruffle her feathers too much, son.”
“I haven’t got time for fluffing them, Frank.”
* * *
Ryan would have gone through ten degrees of torture before admitting that his thin suede boots were completely impractical for dealing with the terrain. He had a hairy moment where he pitched forwards, his feet sliding on the worn ground. Pride alone saved him from an embarrassing tumble in front of his sergeant and the team of CSIs who traipsed along behind him. Thankfully, he came to a standstill when the iconic sycamore tree came into view in the dip of the valley where the wall formed a ‘u’ shape. He took a wide survey of the vicinity and had to appreciate the splendour of the countryside, which was a patchwork in shades of green and purple. Not a building in sight; no dwellings, or even natural shelters where someone with criminal intent might choose to hide. His eyes tracked the ground as they walked the distance from Housesteads past the ruins of a Roman ‘milecastle’, which looked like a miniature fort and had been built at intervals all the way along the wall, or so the placard informed him. They continued along the pathway, passing craggy outcrops and a small lake, down and down into the valley basin until he could finally walk more casually without having to concentrate on each step.
In the habit of long experience, he began to pull on white paper overalls. Beside him, Phillips followed suit and they, along with Tom Faulkner, moved forwards to do an initial walk-through. A wide circumference had been cordoned off with police tape and a yellow tent erected around the body, looking totally out of place. A young police constable guarded the area like a sentry. They exchanged a few words and he added their names to the log of those entering or leaving.
Faulkner led the way.
“Depends on the age of the body,” he began, puffing slightly as they walked the remaining distance down the hill. “But I don’t expect to find much, unless the remains are fairly recent. Trace evidence on the ground would be long gone, I should think.”
Ryan agreed. Hadrian’s Wall received thousands of visitors every year, each footstep damaging or displacing any of the minutiae that Faulkner and his team would be looking for.
They could see the discarded stones on the ground and as they drew nearer, leaving a wide berth, they could also see what had upset the hapless Colin Hart on his morning walk.
“Nothing obvious to indicate an altercation, but then, there wouldn’t be,” Faulkner commented, scanning the ground as he edged closer to the cavity. He drew out an expensive-looking camera and began snapping pictures from different angles with an enormous zoom lens.
“We’ll do a fingertip search to make sure there’s nothing of interest. Ah, now, straight away I can tell you that these aren’t very recent remains. Can’t see much flesh tissue; a tiny bit of leathery skin left, that’s all. Looks female,” Faulkner snapped on his mask and crouched down to get a better view. “Pathologist will need to have a word with the forensic anthropologist to try to come up with a firm date and make a start on identifying her.”
“Her?”
With gloved hands, Faulkner took out some kind of long silver tool and gently lifted one of the bones, to see the underside.
“This looks like the pelvis. I’m no medical doctor, but from experience alone? The size and shape definitely looks female.” He paused again, taking an initial view of the area, the cavity, the absence of recent decay. “The hair looks long, which probably also denotes female. More likely that a female would wear a bracelet of this kind, too.” He pointed to the dulled silver bangle, which hung from one of the bones.
“I thought hair carried on growing after you die,” Phillips remarked.
“Common misconception,” Faulkner stood up and turned to them again. “You’re going to want to have the experts give you the final say-so, but I’m thinking these bones look anywhere up to fifteen years old.”
“That’s recent, as far as we’re concerned,” Phillips commented.
“Yeah, it is.”
Faulkner pointed towards the remains with a gloved hand.
“I’ll tell you something else,” he added. “I’ll bet whoever killed her never thought she would be found, after all this time.”
“Bad luck,” Ryan returned, with a tigerish smile, before turning to retrace his steps.
* * *
Once they returned to the elevated ridge upon which the fortress of Housesteads had been built, Phillips was dispatched to deal with the necessary paperwork. There were forms to be signed and protocols to be followed, before human remains could be exhumed from a site of historic importance. Although it was small of him, petty maybe, Ryan was relieved that the responsibility of looking after the body fell into their hands. His hands. Being a criminal investigation, justice took precedence over antiquity.
Clearly, that didn’t present any undue obstacle to the officious Professor Freeman, who was still making herself known to the police and forensic staff on site.
Mildly irritated, Ryan turned his sights on Colin Hart, who was seated in the back of one of the police hatchbacks parked nearby. He dipped his head inside.
“Mr Hart?”
He saw a man in his forties, with light brown hair ruffled by the wind and perhaps from restless fingers. Watery blue eyes greeted him from an unremarkable, only slightly lined face, smoothly shaven. Average looking sort of personality, Ryan deduced.
“Chief Inspector Ryan. Fancy a bit of fresh air?” He held the door open to the other man and watched him shuffle out of the car.
“Thanks,” Colin said. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“Sorry about that. There were a few matters to see to, first,” Ryan replied easily.
They started to walk slowly, in no particular direction.
“Can I get you some water?”
“Well, I had some earlier, in my backpack.” Colin turned around, as if to look fo
r it.
“It’s still there, don’t worry.” Ryan stopped at the edge of the car park, where the asphalt met the grass leading down towards Housesteads Fort.
“So, Colin. Do you mind if I call you Colin?”
“Go ahead.”
“Tell me about what happened this morning. How did you come to find the body?”
Ryan judged him to be shaken, but not so much that they needed to pussy-foot around the subject.
Colin blew out a long breath.
“I was just walking. I wanted to get down to Sycamore Gap, to try to catch the sunrise.” He went over his movements in a quiet, no-nonsense way.
Ryan considered.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t strike me as a curious sort of man. What made you start messing around with the stones?”
Colin looked guilty as sin, Ryan thought with an inward smile.
“I’m terribly, terribly sorry that I tampered with the wall. I really can’t explain what came over me,” Colin shook his head, presumably at himself. “I would never dream of doing such a thing, normally.”
Ryan made a brief, dismissive gesture.
“Let’s try to keep this in perspective. It may be frowned upon, but I bet hundreds of people walk all over those stones every year, when they think nobody’s looking. You might have gotten a bit carried away, but at least you’ve uncovered something of interest.”
“It was awful,” Colin said slowly. “I saw the silver and, I don’t know, maybe I thought it was some sort of buried treasure. Anyway, I just had to know. When the stones came loose and I looked inside –”
He swallowed back the memory of those wide, hollow eyes.
“Did the stones come away easily?”
“Well, I’d better be honest with you and admit that they were quite tightly packed. It took some elbow grease to dislodge them.”
“I see.” Ryan did see, quite clearly, how it probably happened. Colin had thought himself on the verge of an archaeological discovery, perhaps a trove of old Roman coins, and had burrowed into the wall in his haste to uncover them. Instead, to his chagrin, he had made a different kind of discovery altogether.