Episode 3 - 'dem bones

Weekend cont.

Cleo’s phone-call home from what was now a burial site produced a series of expletives from Gary for being called into action on his free day, but he promised to get things moving, and he did.

His call to Chris, forensic scientist and general factotum at HQ when it came to clue-gathering and investigating causes of death, was less volatile, but it was clear that no time was to be wasted. In that case would Gary please tell Cleo that he was on his way and would notify his assistant, Ned. Could they please wait there for him?

***

Chris and Ned were there fast. They had been on duty at HQ and were glad of some fresh air.

Cleo introduced Joyce and Sloane to the forensic team.

“It was my idea to find the ecclesiastical treasures,” Sloane confessed. “I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for. This never happened in Egypt.”

Chris refrained from asking about Egypt, though he could see at first glance that he was conversing with an eccentric. Mr Sloane was wearing the sort of gear you see in films about archaeological digs and Chris certainly did not want to get involved in the stories told by a person he had decided on sight was tedious and pedantic (which he was) and acted much older than his years (which he did despite his scintillating Saturday night)..

One look at the bones that had been dug up convinced Chris that there had been a crime, not three hundred but at the most three years ago. The minute scraps of flesh on the bones were there thanks to the preservative quality of the soil, he said. A box was fetched for the human remains. A kind of sacred silence fell upon the little group as the bones were place gently in the box between bubble-wrap.

***

“Go home, now, you folks,” he told the three onlookers. “There’s nothing you can do here. We’ll collect any human remains we find and come back tomorrow morning to continue our research. It’s etting too dark now.”

“Was it murder?” Sloane wanted to know.

“It probably was,” said Chris, “but I need time to investigate before committing myself, Mr Sloane.”

***

Back at the cottage, Cleo thought long and hard about the situation. If it was murder, who was it? You can’t identify anyone from a few bones. Joyce and Mr Sloane declined the invitation to stay for coffee. Cleo thought they had better things to do, but that they were mismatched would soon find that out. Gary thought it was quite a conquest by Sloane. Joyce must be desperate, he told Cleo.

“Weren’t you ever desperate, Gary?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I do, Sweetheart.”

***

The rest of the day was devoted to the children, with intermittent comments bandied about, such as “If it was murder, what are you going to do about it, Gary?” or “Are you going to cancel the dig now, Cleo?”

“I wonder if our chief archaeologist went back to the scene of the crime?” Gary asked.

“That’s what the perpetrators do, isn’t it?” said Cleo.  “I expect Sloane and Joyce went off on a mutual mysterious mission.”

“With revelations,” said Gary. “But surely not with Joyce.”

“She seemed to be keen on seeing Mr Sloane. That’s why she came to the priory.”

“It takes all sorts, I suppose.”

“Opposites attract,” said Cleo. “Look at us!”

Gary looked perplexed.

“One man and one woman! If the world lasts long enough there will be a return to procreation followed by Ancient Rome and anything goes.”

“We’ve already returned to procreation, I thought, and I don’t need the rest.”

“So let’s wait for Chris’s findings and enjoy the rest of the day in peace and perfect harmony.”

“I do believe you are serious, Cleo.”

“Not really. I find it difficult to get away from a case,” said Cleo,” and this one is as weird as they come.”

“It hasn’t started yet,” said Gary.

“Have you noticed how crime cases creep up on you?”  said Cleo.

“Frequently.”

“This time someone was killed, taken apart and buried in the priory grounds. People will say it’s an omen. Like the Tutenchamun curse. Disturbing the dead and all that.”

“Rubbish,” Gary scoffed. “This wasn’t a sacred burial in a pyramid. This was cold-blooded murder followed by cannibalism and burial in the back garden of a ruined priory. Keep it in proportion, Cleo.”

That was questionable advice followed by an urgent call from Chris.

***

“It’s the head, Gary.”

“What about the head?”

“I’ve pieced the bones together. The body parts are complete and it was a male about five feet ten tall and young, but there was no skull, not even in bits.”

“That means we can’t identify him, doesn’t it?” said Gary.

“A dental xray is the best chance of that, but no jaw, no xray reference,” said Chris. “I’ll send a big team to the priory tomorrow morning and turn over more of that area, but I’m not hopeful. A person wanting to bury something does not usually dig several holes. In fact, burying them at all suggests some kind of ritual reverence or regret. People bent enough or crazyenough to indulge in cannibalistic rituals have often instructed their eaters what to do. Eating your lover is to them the deepest form of sexual activity.”

“Good God. What sort of books do you read, Chris?”

“Not that kind, though it exists,” said Chris. “I’m not spouting a theory either, Gary. I’m talking fact.”

“So I should be actively looking for left-over cannibals who devour one another for sexual kicks until there’s only one left, should I?”

“More or less.”

“How long have the bones been there?”

“Two years at the most. Normally there would be no traces of flesh on them, but they were in a plastic sack that had disintegrated enough at the seam for the contents to fall out when disturbed by the digging process.”

“So our cannibal was climate conscious too, was he? I mean, using bio-degradable bags.”

“Don’t make jokes, Gary. This is a serious business. We are dealing with dangerous crackpots. Their behaviour is subhuman. They persuade their victims to want to die and be eaten.”

“What about DNA? If there was the slightest trace of human remains they should be identifiable with DNA from the bones.”

“Bone marrow would do, as well, Gary, and I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Have we had cannibals at HQ before?”

“We can ask Colin Peck if there’s anything in the records,” said Gary. “But not tonight. Thanks for answering Cleo’s appeal so fast, Chris.”

“Not at all. It’s a new challenge,” said Chris. “Talking about Cleo, does she have any experience with the kind of behaviour - professionally, of course?”

“I don’t know. We’ve never felt the need to discuss cannibalism.”

“See you tomorrow then,” said Chris. “You can take a look at the bones of you want to.”

“Should I want to?”

“Not really. Now if we had the skull …”

***

Half an hour later, Chris phoned Gary to say that he hoped these human remains were going to be a one off macabre trophy, but he couldn’t guarantee it. There were records of serial cannibals on-line and in national newspaper archives. The world was full of crackpots. Did he remember the politician who put a plastic bag over his head to induce some kind of sex kick? He was found dead – asphyxiated.”

“What a way to go,” Gary commented.

“The vice squad should be in on this case, Gary.”

“Mia Curlew is the vice squad,” Gary retorted. “I can’t put her on to such perverts.”

“You can. She has better nerves than you.”

“Thanks for that. I’ll think about the suggestion.”

“Get her in the team. I think she’ll be more use than Greg.”

“If you think so.”

“I do.”