Читать книгу St Oda's Bones - Marcus Attwater - Страница 5

'They're not old.'

DI Collins watched in dismay as the archaeologist started to unpack ribs and clavicles onto his empty desk. They certainly looked ancient enough to him. It was his first day back, and he hadn't had time to read his email, let alone clutter the place, before Sally showed in John Davidson and his box of bones.

'Don't worry, I'm not laying out the entire skeleton. But I need to show you - ah, yes, this.'

Each bone, discoloured but clean, came contained in its own plastic zip-up bag, carefully numbered. Davidson held up what he said was a radius. Collins took it on trust.

'See? The epiphysis hasn't joined yet. That means adolescent, and St Oda lived to be 60.'

'I see,' Collins said, wondering who St Oda was, but relieved, 'You mean the individual was not old.'

'Well, that's how we first knew something wasn't right. We were expecting to find the relics, some 1200 years old, of a mature female. It's not wise, having too many expectations in my job, you tend to find what you're looking for. I probably don't need to tell you that,' the archaeologist added, with almost a smile.

'But one doesn't discount the probable as an explanation,' Collins said drily, 'So this isn't a mature individual. And?'

'Probably not female, either. And the remains certainly aren't 1200 years old. At most 60, but likely younger, our man in the lab says. He's not very good with dating recent things, but it's definitely murder, not archaeology.'

Collins made a last-ditch attempt at an innocent explanation. 'Mr Davidson, I understand these bones were found in a churchyard. How can you be sure we are dealing with murder?'

'Not in a churchyard,' Davidson specified, 'In the church. Buried beneath a heavy shrine that has been moved from its place only twice in the last century. That should give you something to go on, by the way, there will be records. But what makes me so sure he or she met a violent end is that the ulna has snapped but never healed. That, and the crack in the skull.'

Owen Collins looked at the sorry remains spread out on his desk. They were thin, fragile, young bones. Recently dead bones. He picked up the phone.

'Sergeant Holmes? Send that new DC up with some coffee, will you? This may take some time. Thanks. Oh, and see if you can find someone with a free moment to take a body to the pathologist.'

Ignoring his colleague's spluttered question, Collins turned back to his visitor. 'Start at the beginning, please, Mr Davidson. How did you find the body?'

He sat back to listen. This wasn't quite how he had expected his first day back to turn out.

'We were doing a dig at St Oda's church,' Davidson explained, 'A small excavation, just myself and two students. I wasn't supposed to be there at all, Cordelia Walden from the university here was to be in charge, but then they found those Roman remains at the rescue dig for the new parking lot in Rivergate, and she has been busy there. I'm an expert on iron age pottery, so not really what was needed, but there are few enough medieval archaeologists around, and I know how to organise a dig, after all, so there I was. Are you sure you want to know all this?'

'At the moment I don't know anything at all, so I've no idea what might be relevant. Please tell your story.'

'It's just that I tend to go on a bit, when it comes to my work,' Davidson shrugged. 'All right. St Oda's church was first built a thousand years ago, and they are planning all kinds of celebrations, an exhibition, a special service, that sort of thing. Someone decided it would be a good idea to find out what was buried beneath the shrine. I don't know who, of course, I came in long after it was decided. But whoever it was can't have known what we would find, could they? Sorry, doing your job for you.'

'Next time you find some truly medieval remains I'll come and lend a hand,' Collins said. He was beginning to like this man, and beginning to be interested.

There was a muffled knock on the door, and a fresh-faced Detective Constable entered with two cups of coffee, milk and sugar, and a curious expression.

'Thank you. It's Robbins, isn't it? That'll be all.'

'Sir.'

Davidson took the coffee but declined the rest. 'The whereabouts of the relics of St Oda were unknown,' he continued, 'But when the apse was retiled the workmen noticed there was a rubble-filled space under the saint's shrine, and someone suggested that the remains could have been hidden there during the civil war to keep them safe from Cromwell's men. And even if they weren't, it would be interesting to find out what was buried there, and when.'

'When was the apse retiled?'

'In the eighties, I think. Aidan Hollis will be able to tell you that. He's the rector at St Oda's.'

Collins made a note of the name. 'So what did you find beneath the shrine?'

'The rubble covering the crypt was definitely medieval. There were some interesting sherds. Interesting to me, that is. And, with hindsight surprisingly near the surface, we found human remains. It was Laura Fox who dug them out, she's very careful, very thorough. The bones appeared slender enough to belong to an eighth-century woman, and the people at the church were very excited. You may have seen the headlines in the local paper - 'Saint Reappears After Thousand-Year Absence' and the like. But when our man in the lab finally got around to examining the find, the first thing he told us was that it probably wasn't St Oda we had exhumed.'

'This dig was some time ago then?'

'Over the summer. The students are back in the classroom now. So am I, for that matter.'

'So the shrine will have been moved back into place?' Collins asked, with an inward sigh.

'Yes, I suppose so. Oh, you mean you'd need to examine the place yourself?'

'I have no doubt you have been thorough in your excavation, but scene of crime investigators tend to look at different things than archaeologists. Yes, we'll have to examine the place where the body was found. Usually we prefer to be the first to examine it,' he added ruefully.

'I'll make sure you get every record, every photograph we have.'

'Thank you. You can start by telling me if there was anything strange you noticed during the excavation, anything at all.'

But the archaeologist hadn't found anything which could shed light on the identity of the buried individual, or the circumstances of death. The shrine had been moved from its place for more than a year when the chapel was restored in the twenties - much too early, if the remains were really no more than 60 years old - and for a few months in 1983, when the choir and apse were retiled. So in all likelihood someone, one day between August and October of that year, had decided to bury a body under the saint's shrine. Was that because it just was the nearest convenient hole in the ground, he wondered, or was there a ritual significance to the choice?

DS Holmes had clearly been waiting for Davidson to leave. 'What's all this about a body then?' she demanded, coming in without knocking.

He explained about the excavation and the 'man in the lab'. 'Nothing to do until we have the pathologist's take on it, though,' he concluded, 'So how are things here? That new DC?'

She shrugged. 'Early doors. He started only a month ago, you know. Two years uniformed in Swindon, no black marks against him. Apparently he passed the exams with flying colours, but I've seen no evidence of brilliance yet. He's a nice enough boy, I suppose.'

'You don't sound convinced.'

'It's just that he still has everything to learn. And I mean everything. If he'd be any greener you could use him as a traffic light.'

He looked at her. 'Sometimes I think you spend too much time with Bridget, you're beginning to sound like her. What age are you Sally?'

'I know, I know, he's only five years younger than me. Perhaps it's just that I was so used to working with Chandra. But you'll see what I mean about Robbins when you've been around him for a few days.'

'So, anything else going off they don't put in the crime reviews?'

'I'm not sure. Old Biddy's being secretive about something, and she's been away a lot lately. But apart from that, nothing much has changed.'

'Back to work, then. Let's see what we can make of this excavation,' he said, handing Davidson's folder to DS Holmes. Even a glance at the photographs and plans had shown him how detailed they were. If they could find out who their body was, maybe he wouldn't need to ask DCI Flynn to authorise an expensive second excavation.

Just over a year ago, Owen Collins had been transferred to Oxford, where they were always short-staffed, without being given much choice over the move. He'd never been quite sure whether the transfer had been meant as a punishment. His last big case before the move had earned him a lot of praise for solving a whole slew of crimes in one go, but also much disapproval for the decisions he had made. He wasn't proud of those decisions, they had been potentially very dangerous to people he loved, but he couldn't honestly say he would act more wisely next time. He was impulsive, and he was very much aware that this would hinder more than help him in his police career. Bridget Flynn had always given him the benefit of the doubt, and pressed for his promotion when DI Naismith retired, but his experience with less indulgent superiors in Oxford had taught him that such confidence was rare. Back under her command he hoped to show the DCI that it was also justified. But whatever the reasons behind his removal, he was glad to be back at his own desk. His old enemy Sergeant Walter had been promoted and transferred away, while Sally Holmes was now a Detective Sergeant. It would be good to work with her on this new case. Or old case. There might not be anything to find, with a body that obviously had been in the ground for years. But cold cases did get solved occasionally. Collins recalled another academic coming in here with a tale of a decades-old crime. But better not think of that. He went to see if DCI Flynn was in, so he could tell her about the body in the church.