Watermark

by E. J. Kay

  Chapter 13

  Kelly’s mobile played a tinny version of Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill. She saw the call was from Joseph Connor, and felt a little surge of excitement. Oh for God’s sake woman, grow up. She flipped it open. “Dr Connor, how are you?”

  “Dazed and confused.”

  Kelly recognised the Led Zeppelin allusion. “Hey, hey, what can I do?”

  Joseph laughed. “Mike Osewe and I have just been down to the lab to start work on Nimue, and Mike found something we think might be relevant.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Alec finished reconstructing the skull just before he died. He was really excited about something and asked me to go down to see it, like I told you. Well, I think I know what he was excited about. There’s a wound at the back of the skull, near the base. Weirdly, it’s in what looks like the same place as the wound to Alec’s head. And it’s shaped like a ... a ...”

  “Don’t tell me. Pointed wedge,” said Kelly.

  “Exactly. So, we tried fitting the hand axe that was found with her into the hole, and it’s a pretty good fit.”

  “So you’re telling me that Nimue and Alec Whickham were killed in the same way?”

  “Well, we couldn’t swear to it as we haven’t seen the wound to Alec’s head in any detail, but it sounds strikingly similar. I don’t know if it means anything, but we thought we’d better tell you.”

  “Who knew about this?” asked Kelly.

  “We’ve been asking ourselves the same question, and we don’t know. Alec didn’t say what he wanted to show me when he called, and we don’t know how much his research team knew. I guess you’ll need to ask them.”

  “Would Professor Bailey have known?”

  “Again, I don’t know.”

  “OK, well, thanks for letting me know. I’ll need to ask the pathologist to take a look at the skull and compare the wounds, so I’d be grateful if you didn’t do any more on the skull.”

  “Sure, there’s plenty more for Mike to work on.”

  ----------

  There was indeed plenty more, and Mike got down to it immediately. He was on a tight schedule, he realised that, so he called a meeting with Lily, Ben and Egraine the next day. And he couldn’t help himself; he had to ask them if they knew about Nimue’s skull. But they appeared completely taken by surprise by what Mike told them. They confirmed that Alec had worked on the skull himself, and had been very secretive about it. They all had their own particular areas to work on, and knew better than to ask Alec how his work was going.

  Later that evening Mike called Sophie to let her know that he’d be late home, and then went back down to the lab by himself. He looked down at Nimue’s skull on the table, trying to imagine how she might have looked when she was alive. “Who were you?” he whispered. “And who killed you?” The skull gaped back. “Let’s see if you can at least tell me the answer to the first question,” he murmured as he put on a pair of fine lab gloves and picked up the skull.

  Chapter 14

  The hearse moved slowly along the street, followed by a cortege of seven cars, and turned into the driveway of Woodland Memories. Alec had been very clear about his funeral wishes in his will. The celebration of his life was to be humanist and he wished to be buried, not cremated. As he had gained so much in his life from examining human remains, he very much wanted to remain a potential part of that activity after his death. There was also something about being burned that he found instinctively repellent. As a staunch environmentalist, he had willed to be buried wrapped in a recycled paper shroud, near or amongst the roots of a tree. Woodland Memories offered exactly that service, as their cemetery was a tract of managed woodland fertilised, very effectively, by their clients. Or “guests” as Mr Symonds, the proprietor, was wont to call them.

  The cause of death had definitely been established as a blow to the back of his head with a sharp, heavy object and all toxicology reports had come back negative. So, the Police had released Alec’s body for burial and his parents had organised the funeral near to his adopted home on the Lancashire coast, largely so that as many as possible of his colleagues and friends could attend easily. His mother was afraid that his funeral would be poorly attended as he had few real friends. But they also chose the area because of Woodland Memories. The cemetery was a beautiful place, there was no denying it. Although the proprietor could be overwhelmingly syrupy, the cemetery was well run and had impeccable environmental credentials. In particular it catered for humanist funerals so the arrangements had been easy. But not cheap.

  In place of a religious service, the group of family and friends invited to the interment gathered in the small chapel to remember Alec’s life, to say goodbye to him and to pay their respects for a life so tragically cut short. The congregation was by invitation and included just Alec’s immediate family and close friends, including Joseph and Anna. Everyone had the opportunity to say something to the small group of mourners, and Alec’s mother was determined to do this, despite the emotional toll she knew it would take. Shaking, and almost overcome with grief, she took her turn to stand in front of her son’s coffin. Her husband and two sons supported her, as her husband whispered, “You don’t have to do this Ellen. Everyone will understand.”

  She pulled herself up, gave him a squeeze on the arm and turned to face the group. “Alec loved what he did. Even when he was very young he used to show me all the things he’d collected on the beach when we went on holiday. He could be difficult, I know. But he was good, right the way through. He was my beautiful boy.” Tears welled up and she broke down, sobbing. Her husband and sons led her back to her chair and helped her to sit down.

  As the congregation filed out of the chapel and into warm spring sunshine, Alec’s coffin was prepared to be driven out to the woodland. His body had been in a coffin for the duration of the service, but it would need to be removed and placed in its paper shroud at the burial site. This wasn’t considered appropriate viewing for family and friends, so they had said their final goodbyes in the chapel. Alec’s parents had booked a local hotel for the buffet lunch at one pm, and opened the invitation to attend to anyone from the university. As the mourners walked back to the car park, they passed the wishing well, most of them stopping to throw in some coins.

  Kelly and Robson had been invited to the buffet too, and as usual Robson had the job of driving. Kelly always felt that being driven around was one of the few perks of being a senior officer. As he drove towards the hotel, Robson caught sight of a woman standing across the road from the car park entrance. She was wearing high heeled boots with an ankle-length great coat and a dark scarf over her hair. Robson knew her, he was sure, but just couldn’t remember where from. He turned to Kelly. “That woman over there, I’m sure I know her from somewhere. Do you recognise her?”

  Kelly looked. “No, doesn’t look familiar. And I’d be happier if you stopped eyeing up the local talent and kept your eyes on the road.” He parked and got out of the car, but when he looked over again, she had gone.

  By the time the funeral group reached the hotel a number of people from the university were already there; the Vice Chancellor and his wife and a couple of the deans who had known Alec and taken an interest in his work. None of his old colleagues from Birmingham had come, though. Juliet hadn’t come either, as she felt too awkward to meet Alec’s parents, but had sent flowers and a message saying that she would be thinking about the Whickhams at their time of loss and assuring them that she always had the greatest regard for Alec. It was just as well that Juliet hadn’t attended, as Alec’s mother had torn up her card and put the flowers into the nearest waste bin as soon as she had seen them at the cemetery.

  Alec’s family stood by the door to the main room, accepting the condolences of the people attending with good grace, but also with clear distress. Joseph picked up a glass of wine from a tray offered by one of the waiters and walked into the main room with the rest of the funeral group. Large circular tables had been laid out in the c
entre of the room and a long buffet ran along the wall at one side, opposite the bay windows that looked out over the Fylde coast. Anna walked over to the windows to look out across the sand flats that were peppered with wading birds making the most of the low spring tide. The sun sparkled on the sea beyond. “It’s a beautiful view from here,” she said, turning to Joseph who had followed her across the room.

  “It is.”

  “I wonder how many people will come. I do hope Alec’s family aren’t embarrassed on top of the grief.”

  Joseph turned back to look at the room. “It looks like a reasonable turn-out, and the VC’s come along so that’ll make them feel that Alec was appreciated, even if he wasn’t very well-liked.”

  “Joseph!”

  “Sorry love, it’s just true. I liked him, but a lot of people didn’t.”

  Anna shook her head as she looked back across the sand flats to the sea. “Well someone didn’t like him one bit, or we wouldn’t all be here today.”

  The hotel staff began taking the covers off the cold part of the buffet whilst two servers took up their positions behind the hot plates. A queue formed quickly and everyone shuffled along it, making their food choices. After they had filled their plates, Joseph and Anna looked for somewhere to sit. Mike was at a table with Ben, Lily and Egraine. A man in a clerical collar was just sitting down with them. “Shall we sit with Mike?” asked Joseph.

  “Oh yes, I haven’t had chance to ask him how Sophie’s feeling now,” answered Anna.

  They walked over to the table and Mike stood up to give Anna a kiss and a hug. “Sophie can’t make it. She’s still feeling pretty awful,” he said, before Anna had a chance to ask.

  “Oh dear. Please give her my love won’t you. If there’s anything I can do to help, please tell her to call me anytime.” Mike smiled and nodded as they all sat down at the table.

  Joseph introduced Anna to Alec’s researchers and then turned to the cleric. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

  “Ah, no, I’m Jim Whickham. Alec’s cousin.”

  “Hello.” They shook hands. “I’m Joseph Connor. I worked closely with Alec for a number of years. This my wife Anna.”

  Jim leaned over and shook hands. “Delighted to meet you.”

  “I’m so very sorry for your loss” said Anna, trying to unwrap her knife and fork from the complicated folds of the serviette.

  “Thank you, yes. It was a terrible shock, although I have to admit that I didn’t know Alec very well, I’m ashamed to say. On the occasions when we did meet, we didn’t ... er ... see eye to eye, I’m afraid. “

  “It’s a shame when families drift apart,” said Joseph. A dreadful platitude, but what can you say?

  “Oh, it wasn’t really a drift. I would call it more a split. I always wanted to enter into a discussion with Alec about evolution from the perspective of a creationist like myself, but unfortunately he would never engage with the conversation. I was always sorry that I couldn’t discuss these issues with someone of Alec’s obvious intellect.” Jim set about trying to release his own cutlery from its serviette cocoon.

  “What were the issues you wanted to air with Alec?” asked Mike, glancing over at Joseph who raised his eyebrows a little. They were both thinking about the comments on Alec’s blog.

  “Oh well, how can humans have evolved such profound understanding? How could evolution result in a creature that can comprehend the meaning of a God? Can we evolve souls, and if so, how do we live in this world to protect our souls in the next?” said Jim. Nobody moved. “Sorry,” he said, smiling to break the weight of the moment. “That must sound like quite a list!”

  “Well, Alec was a confirmed atheist, so he probably wouldn’t have seen the purpose of the conversation, I’m afraid,” replied Joseph.

  Jim nodded. “Very true.” He started work on his chicken wings. “Do you have any thoughts on the matter, Dr Connor?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe in a traditional Christian God, I just can’t. The evidence of the world around me doesn’t back it up. But, I don’t know about a God who plays dice. I’m an agnostic when it comes to that kind of God,” said Joseph.

  “Why?” asked Jim.

  “Well, by application of scientific process, I suppose. I can neither prove nor disprove the existence of a God that sets up the rules and then lets the game play with no intervention. I can’t gather any evidence either way, so I can’t take a position on it. I guess I’m saying that I’m an atheist in relation to some Gods, and an agnostic in relation to others!” said Joseph.

  “But isn’t it taking the Bible literally that gives Christians the real problem?” asked Mike. “My sense has always been that belief in a God per se isn’t too much of a problem for evolutionary theory. As Joseph says, you can imagine a God that sets the rules up and then lets the game run. Evolution is then just the mechanism by which the game progresses. It’s biblical doctrine that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

  Jim smiled. “Ah, yes. The argument that science just enables us to hear God thinking. I have to admit that I do find some credibility in that view, but I still struggle with some aspects of evolutionary theory from a more theoretical point of view. I can see the similarities between humans and apes, but nothing in the theory that satisfactorily accounts for the differences. The simplest explanation is that we have been chosen by God. All uncertainties dissolve in the face of that understanding.”

  Joseph leaned on the table, waving a piece of chicken that was skewered onto the end of his fork. “The seeds of the differences were probably sown before the splits between orang-utans or gorillas or chimps. What you see today are living gorillas and chimpanzees that have gone through millions of years of evolution themselves. A human-chimp common ancestor may have been a little more upright or had a little more capacity for certain kinds of mental activity, then groups of common ancestors separated, for whatever reason, and adapted to the environments they found themselves in. We developed the upright stance and intelligence and all the other human traits; chimpanzees didn’t.”

  Mike nodded. “There was a huge variety of apes around ten million years ago, then the climate changed and trees gave way to more grassland around seven to eight million years ago. But before that there were big apes and little ones and those that lived in the trees and those that lived more on the ground. And, just maybe, those that were already living partially in water if Elaine Morgan is right. The diversity of apes then was remarkable. What we see now is the result of apes passing through a climate change bottleneck. Only a few of the more adaptable species survived. That adaptability is the key.”

  “Personally I think that living in the trees initially was one of the most important aspects of our development”, said Egraine. “It gave all the primates grasping feet, and as the front ones are nearer to their faces, they started using their front feet as hands to hold and manipulate food and tools. And to groom. And all the other things that apes do with their hands. And they started to be more upright by hanging from the branches and sitting in them. If they had stayed on the ground I don’t believe that we would have developed the characteristics that enabled us to become human. We needed to get into the trees and stop being so fundamentally quadripedal, then come back down out of them to start walking around. It seems to me that the burning question is what did we do then? Or more precisely, what did we do then that was different from the other apes? That was what Alec was really working on.”

  “Yes, I tend to agree,” said Mike. Egraine beamed at him. “The argument that it was standing up that suddenly freed our front legs to become arms with hands that could manipulate things doesn’t make sense. Look at chimps and gorillas and orang-utans. They have hands and aren’t ‘quadripedal’ in the same way that lions are. It would be very difficult for a lion to stand on its back legs and even if it did, it would have no useful appendages at the ends of its front legs. But the apes all do, as do the monkeys and lemurs, to a greater or lesser extent. So apes can all manipula
te tools in a sitting position, which is what our ancestors would have done too. It doesn’t seem credible that it was moving on two legs that gave us the edge in tool making and then our brains got bigger due to the mental exercise! Both we and the apes can sit and use our hands. Why does bipedal locomotion make any difference? We’re still basically looking for a big environmental difference between us and the other apes. We got separated, stranded, somewhere very different.”

  Jim smiled good-naturedly. “I can see that I’m outnumbered here, but I at least I value this chance to finally debate it. I still struggle with how well everything fits together, though. Isn’t it strange that all the things that happen should do so by accident? Trees die and decay three hundred million years ago and form the coal we need at the time we evolve to be able to be clever enough to use it. That this could be coincidence alone beggars belief. The only explanation that makes any sense is that it is organised, planned, designed, by a higher intelligence than ours. I suppose I struggle with so much randomness and chance. I take your point about being unable to believe in a God because you see no evidence, Dr Connor, but I see evidence of planning and design everywhere. We both see the same world, but we choose what we consider to be evidence differently.”

  Mike leant across the table. “You know, that’s always been something I haven’t understood about creationism. If you believe that God created the world as it says in the Bible, and that the Flood was real, for example, why would you want to try to give scientific explanations for it too? Surely that defeats the point you are making that God created everything. It seems you want to have both explanations work at the same time. I mean why do you need a swarm of comets dumping water on the earth if God simply willed it?” Mike looked hard to see if the last part of his little speech provoked any reaction. But, there was nothing.

  “Actually, to me evidence is irrelevant,” said Lily. “I do believe in God and I work as a scientist. I don’t see any conflict. My spiritual beliefs don’t come from the same place as my belief in science and I don’t feel the need to reconcile the two. As Dr Osewe says, we’re probably uncovering the way God works. That was what Newton believed he was doing, wasn’t it? It’s no big deal to me if the people who wrote the Bible got some of it wrong. They were human after all.”