–”
“Get out of the way,” someone said. It was the SOCO from the hall and the gurney-bearers. They had a fresh gurney. The SOCO positioned herself at Sandy’s feet. “You get her shoulders,” she said to the attendants. Wingate came over to stand with Fraser.
The attendants leaned over to grip the dead woman’s shoulders. “Just don’t think about it,” one of them said to the other. “OK, go.”
They began to lift Sandra Fremont. It looked like her upper body weighed five hundred pounds, the way they were tugging. They struggled a moment longer, then there was a loud creak under her face and they pulled her up. The knife was closer to fourteen inches in length, and the end of it stuck out of the middle of her face. Her nose was a steel fin.
Wingate strode out of the room. Fraser began laughing. “James? What was that about the angle of the knife?”
On the way back to his car, Wingate puked twice.
Jack Deacon’s report on the rest of the bone fragments came through just after 4:00 p.m. After Greene was done with it, Wingate made a photocopy and took it out to Pember Lake.
“You look awful, James,” Hazel said when she opened the door.
“I had a bad egg,” he said. “The bones from the field are at least forty years old.” He gave her the report, which she started to read on her way back to the kitchen. He followed her. “How’s your mom?”
“Asleep.” In the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and she read and reread the report, flipping back and forth to tests and photographs. “God,” she muttered. The Fremont bone was from the pelvis of a fifteen-year-old boy. The victim had died between 1950 and 1960, according to Deacon. Marks on – and indentations in – the bone were consistent with blows from an axe. He attributed the darkness in the grooves to scorching. The other bone, the frontal arch of a skull, had also been hacked and burned; Deacon put the age of the victim at twelve. He reckoned the vertebra didn’t belong to either victim. So there were three bodies at least.
Hazel tossed the file onto the kitchen table. “Someone murdered these children more than forty years ago and gotaway with it.” They both found themselves staring at the folder, as if it were glowing, and they were each correct about what the other was thinking. “Those poor boys,” Hazel said.
“Poor boys,” said Wingate.
She poured some coffee out of a fresh pot into two cups, made Wingate’s the way he took it, and brought them back to the table. “You should go home after this.”
“Our master gave me leave to stay on unofficial duty.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Did he give you leave to keep wearing your stripes?”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, Hazel. I’m just trying to keep an eye out. You’ve done it many times for me.”
“This isn’t the time to pay me back. If Ray or Willan sees you dressed for duty, they’ll –”
“Skip saw me.”
“Oh, right. You went straight back to the station house. And?” She looked at him funny.
“What?” he said.
“You’re being evasive. Why?”
“Who’s invasive?” came a voice from behind them, and they both swivelled in their chairs. It was Emily, in a housecoat, her hair aswirl.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“What time is it?” She looked at the clock before Hazel could, then looked out the window at the long shadows on the lawn. “Is it six o’clock at night?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes. You weren’t feeling well.”
“Hello James.”
They both eyed her warily. “Hello Mrs. Mayor.”
She was looking at their coffees with a confused expression. Her energy was subdued, not at all as it had been that morning after her attack.
“How are you feeling?” Hazel asked.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Emily replied. “A little hungry. Groggy.” She was looking around the kitchen now. Hazel had thrown out the cigarettes. “I think I want a sandwich,” she said. Hazel rose immediately to make
“Get out of the way,” someone said. It was the SOCO from the hall and the gurney-bearers. They had a fresh gurney. The SOCO positioned herself at Sandy’s feet. “You get her shoulders,” she said to the attendants. Wingate came over to stand with Fraser.
The attendants leaned over to grip the dead woman’s shoulders. “Just don’t think about it,” one of them said to the other. “OK, go.”
They began to lift Sandra Fremont. It looked like her upper body weighed five hundred pounds, the way they were tugging. They struggled a moment longer, then there was a loud creak under her face and they pulled her up. The knife was closer to fourteen inches in length, and the end of it stuck out of the middle of her face. Her nose was a steel fin.
Wingate strode out of the room. Fraser began laughing. “James? What was that about the angle of the knife?”
On the way back to his car, Wingate puked twice.
Jack Deacon’s report on the rest of the bone fragments came through just after 4:00 p.m. After Greene was done with it, Wingate made a photocopy and took it out to Pember Lake.
“You look awful, James,” Hazel said when she opened the door.
“I had a bad egg,” he said. “The bones from the field are at least forty years old.” He gave her the report, which she started to read on her way back to the kitchen. He followed her. “How’s your mom?”
“Asleep.” In the kitchen, he drank a glass of water and she read and reread the report, flipping back and forth to tests and photographs. “God,” she muttered. The Fremont bone was from the pelvis of a fifteen-year-old boy. The victim had died between 1950 and 1960, according to Deacon. Marks on – and indentations in – the bone were consistent with blows from an axe. He attributed the darkness in the grooves to scorching. The other bone, the frontal arch of a skull, had also been hacked and burned; Deacon put the age of the victim at twelve. He reckoned the vertebra didn’t belong to either victim. So there were three bodies at least.
Hazel tossed the file onto the kitchen table. “Someone murdered these children more than forty years ago and gotaway with it.” They both found themselves staring at the folder, as if it were glowing, and they were each correct about what the other was thinking. “Those poor boys,” Hazel said.
“Poor boys,” said Wingate.
She poured some coffee out of a fresh pot into two cups, made Wingate’s the way he took it, and brought them back to the table. “You should go home after this.”
“Our master gave me leave to stay on unofficial duty.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Did he give you leave to keep wearing your stripes?”
“You’ve got a lot on your plate, Hazel. I’m just trying to keep an eye out. You’ve done it many times for me.”
“This isn’t the time to pay me back. If Ray or Willan sees you dressed for duty, they’ll –”
“Skip saw me.”
“Oh, right. You went straight back to the station house. And?” She looked at him funny.
“What?” he said.
“You’re being evasive. Why?”
“Who’s invasive?” came a voice from behind them, and they both swivelled in their chairs. It was Emily, in a housecoat, her hair aswirl.
“What are you doing out of bed?”
“What time is it?” She looked at the clock before Hazel could, then looked out the window at the long shadows on the lawn. “Is it six o’clock at night?” she asked, incredulous.
“Yes. You weren’t feeling well.”
“Hello James.”
They both eyed her warily. “Hello Mrs. Mayor.”
She was looking at their coffees with a confused expression. Her energy was subdued, not at all as it had been that morning after her attack.
“How are you feeling?” Hazel asked.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Emily replied. “A little hungry. Groggy.” She was looking around the kitchen now. Hazel had thrown out the cigarettes. “I think I want a sandwich,” she said. Hazel rose immediately to make
Similar Books
