Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(61)
‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe!’ Marie shook her head.
‘I’m sure a good shrink would find it very interesting indeed,’ said Rory, carefully replacing the card.
‘If we had one,’ grumbled Jackman.
Rory looked at him over the top of his glasses. ‘Well, I do have a friend. He’s a simply brilliant forensic psychologist, and he’s retired, so he might be prepared to give you the benefit of his expertise. I can ring him, if you like?’
Jackman thought of the super’s aversion to profiling and the trouble that the last one had caused, then said, ‘Yes, please do. I would love to run quite a few things past him.’
‘Good. I’m certain he’ll be a great help.’ Rory’s face broke into a broad smile, ‘And he’s simply gorgeous! Mature, yes, but my! If I wasn’t spoken for, well . . . but I’m getting carried away. Now, before I forget, I have to say thank you for organising such a lovely forensic anthropologist for us. I’ll introduce you in a moment, but my, what that woman doesn’t know about bones isn’t worth knowing.’
Rory turned back to the cards. ‘There is one more thing about these cards, well, about the handwriting actually.’ He bit on his lip. ‘This is by no means conclusive, but the technician who has been cataloguing the cards is a graphologist, and he’s sure that a woman wrote them.’
Jackman looked at Marie and knew she was thinking the same as him. Did those vases of flowers, and the neatly hung clothes, all carefully labelled, mean that Rory had been right all along? But what about the man with the strange eyes? The chorister? Could he be an accomplice?
‘Do you have any female suspects in the frame, Jackman?’ Rory asked.
‘Sort of. We have a woman named Elizabeth Sewell,’ Jackman whispered. ‘She’s in Saltern General Hospital at present, unfit for interview.’
‘Well, I’d keep a very close eye on her if I were you. I suggest that she knows rather a lot about our Children’s Ward.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘But come and meet the oldest resident, and Professor Wallace. Everything that we can do in situ has now been done, so she’s packing up our girl for transit.’
Rory stopped and made his introductions from a distance, warning them not to get too close for fear of cross-contamination.
Jackman looked at this expert on death, and was immediately reminded of his Aunt Hilda. The woman that looked out from the face mask was short, stocky and bright-eyed. She obviously had trouble keeping her wild mane of greying hair inside the hood of her protective suit, which created the illusion of an enormous head.
Jackman fought back the impulse to call her Auntie, and asked instead why the skeleton’s leg seemed so deformed.
‘I will be able to tell you more when I examine the remains under controlled conditions, but I believe that she had an ankle fracture in early childhood. It must have been so severe that it sheared off the end of the tibia. Even now I can see distortion and fracture-related bony callus. I would say that it never healed correctly and she was either not treated properly, or suffered another later injury to the same weakened site. Come and see me tomorrow at the morgue and I’ll tell you more.’
‘Do you have an approximate age for her, Professor?’ asked Marie.
‘I’d rather not guess, but if it’s important, I’d estimate that she was in her mid-teens. Tests will help get that estimate closer to the truth.’
‘Professor? Rory Wilkinson says that she was killed much longer ago than the other victims. Would you be able to give us a vague idea of when she died?’
Almost tenderly, “Auntie” laid a creamy-brown long bone into a box, and stared at it thoughtfully. ‘As a rough estimate, twenty years, maybe more.’
Jackman wondered who on earth this girl was, and why she had been important enough to risk exhuming her from her legitimate grave to bring her here. It was bizarre.
Rory handed Jackman a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve had one of my techies prepare this for you, rather than wait for the full report. I thought you might be able to get on and make some preliminary searches.’ He pointed to the list. On it were all the details from the cards, and a clear description of the clothes that had been so lovingly stored. Jackman knew that those clothes would be vital for final identification. It was not just the trace evidence that would no doubt still be present. Everyone remembered exactly what a child was wearing when they went missing.
‘Thanks, Rory. I really appreciate that.’ Jackman placed it carefully in his pocket.
‘No problem. And I should think you will be able to have your scene back by tonight, as long as logistics can work out a way of transporting my patients off this marsh. They are talking about a fleet of all-terrain vehicles getting as close as they dare, and the bodies being ferried by stretcher bearers from the tunnels to the vehicles. It sounds like the evacuation of the WWI trenches! Anyway, it has all been photographed, documented, swept and dusted, and everything of importance bagged and tagged. Hopefully, the residents themselves will be transferred into my tender care at the hospital by tonight, and then our real work can begin.’ He stood back. ‘Now, dear friends, I must ask you most respectfully, to bugger off and let me get on.’
Jackman grinned, thanked him again, and they began the long trek back through the tunnel.
*
As soon as Gary saw Jackman and Marie arrive, he jumped up, followed them into the office and closed the door. ‘Sorry, sir, but I think there is something very unpleasant going on over at Harlan Marsh.’