Authors: Beverly Connor
“So someone shot him,” said Lewis.
“The angle is a little difficult for suicide. And we’d probably see some cracks around the wound. “The bullet would have more energy if the gun was pressed against the skull or the shot was fired from close range.”
“So whoever shot him was at some distance?” said McBride.
“Probably.”
“Wow,” said Marina. “Shot him dead, in the head.”
“Of course, the poem,” said McBride. “I should have thought of that right off.”
“You think it refers to this guy?” Lewis asked.
“The other poem seems to refer to the trash pit coffin, but who knows? It’s somewhat of a coincidence,” Lindsay added.
“I’ll say,” said Marina.
“So, you were able to determine the cause and manner of death,” Lewis said, showing his white teeth in a broad grin. “You see, I’m learning your forensic terminology.”
“But do you know which is which?” Lindsay grinned back.
“Cause of death is homicide and manner is gunshot?”
“The other way around. The cause is gunshot and the manner is either homicide or accident.”
“Oh, yes, accident. I’ve been hanging around you too long. I’m starting to think everything is murder. So, what do we know?”
Lindsay backed up from the table so she could see the three of them and counted on her fingers. “We have one skeleton who may have been suffocated, one who was shot in the head. Each may fit one of the loft poems in the McBrides’ house. Elaine and I searched the historical documents in the library for any reference to the Cherry or Eda Mae mentioned in the loft poems. We haven’t found anything, but some of the older residents in town do remember some sayings from childhood about Eda Mae being someone with a sharp tongue or someone their parents or grandparents warned kids against emulating. Also, there was a ghost story of sorts about an Eda Mae being haunted by a witch who would slap her during the night, among other things.”
“You and Mrs. M’ve been busy,” said Marina. “That’s quite a collection of findings.”
“If the poems are about these people, taken as a whole, it’s very suggestive.” McBride rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke. “It looks like some kind of love triangle, maybe more than one. Two poems suggest that Cherry and Eda Mae went somewhere when they should have been somewhere else—‘
Cherry gone a looking, not at home a cooking,’
and
‘Eda Mae gone all day, wouldn’t say which a way
.’”
“Sounds like assignations to me,” said Marina, perching herself on the stool vacated by Lewis.
“Perhaps the girl in the trash pit coffin is Cherry, like Lindsay suggested,” said Marina. “She was married—maybe to the guy in the other coffin—and made her husband a cuckold by sneaking off to see this guy. Oh, this is perfect.” Marina rubbed her hands, warming to her topic. “Kelsey said the Humpty Dumpty guy may have been a surveyor—the kind of guy who’s just passing through and looking for a little action with the local girls. The husband catches the two of them, shoots the guy in the head, but wants to make his wife suffer. So, he holds her in the coffin until she dies of slow suffocation, then he buries them together in the trash pit.”
“That’s certainly a scenario,” said Lewis.
“It does fit,” said McBride. “Perhaps the poem, ‘
not my sin, the hell he’s in
,’ refers to him. What do you think, Lindsay?”
“Who wrote the poems?”
McBride shrugged. “Perhaps Hope Foute. She seems to be the writer.”
“Mmmm, not the same handwriting,” said Marina.
“Besides, I think Hope might have been too young,” suggested Lindsay. “She probably lived with her parents.”
“The poems have something of a tattling nature to them,” said Lewis. “Whatever happened, someone was watching.”
“They’re ready to lift the cemetery coffin out of the ground.” Drew stood in the doorway backlit by the bright daylight, a dark form blocking out the sunlight.
* * *
The exam trailer was crowded and hot. For most of the scientists and technicians, the cemetery coffin, the one that gave them what they came for, was the big show, and they wanted to see what was in it. The lid was lifted off and set aside in the same manner as the first coffin. Inside, like nesting dolls, rested a smaller wedge-shaped coffin built from walnut. Its deep, brown smooth surface looked almost like new. This burial, unlike the first, was for a person who was cared for—at least after death.
While Joel and Adam were removing the inner coffin lid, Lindsay stood in front of the assemblage of people, most of whom were sitting in chairs they’d taken from the mess tent, some siting on the wooden floor, others standing. She took a sip of iced tea and looked out at the crowd of faces.
Drew and her husband stood by Lewis off to the side. Her gaze brushed over their faces, but didn’t linger. Eric Van Horne’s face was impassive. He didn’t even look particularly interested in what was going on, but he didn’t exactly look bored, either. Why was he here? Visiting? Maybe, but Lindsay didn’t think so.
Why have I wasted so much time? I should have gone headlong into investigating Drew and her husband while the army reserves are here. Now, tomorrow they will be gone
.
Joel and Adam lifted the wooden lid from the coffin and set it aside. An acrid odor rose from the coffin as everyone stood and craned to get a look inside. At a glance it wasn’t easy to make out the bones among the rags.
“It looks like we have remarkable preservation,” said Lindsay.
Sparse wires of dark hair stuck to the top of the skull. Adhering to the bones were patches of darkened desiccated skin and dark tattered cloth. It was difficult to tell flesh from fabric. While the photographer took the photographs, Lindsay addressed the group.
“As a result of the rather spectacular excavation of a Spanish galleon off the coast of Georgia by UGA’s Archaeology Department, the department now has a new Conservation Research Laboratory directed by Carolyn Taylor. Because these remains will deteriorate quickly, after the photographs and collecting samples for Peter, I’m going to give the bones only a brief examination. Then we’ll ship the remains to the conservation lab where I’ll be able to do a more thorough examination after the conservators remove the fabric.
“The material has lots of microbes attacking it, making it fragile, and it will have to be handled carefully so it doesn’t deteriorate any further. The conservators will remove the fabric from the bones and, after a sterilization procedure, will store it between glass. From a study of the cloth, we’ll be able to know what it’s made from, how it was woven, and possibly how the articles of clothing were sewn together."
“Didn’t they make their own clothes out of cloth they made from plant fibers?” asked Jarman. “Didn’t I hear someone say they grew—what was it, flax, for that purpose?”
“Yes, they made linen from flax.”
“Linen? Linen is made from plant matter?” said Jarman.
“Yes, flax makes a very tough cloth. However, it doesn’t take dye very well, so it is usually a white to off-white color. These clothes are dark—men were typically buried in dark suits—I assume it’s probably cotton or wool, but I don’t know.”
The photographer finished the shots along the length of the remains, and Lindsay showed him where she wanted close-ups.
“We have an added bonus,” she said, “of having a pair of glasses with this one.” She pointed to an object amid a heap of cloth. “We’ll be able to get some idea about this fellow’s eyesight, which I think’s kind of neat.”
“So, it’s a man?” asked Marina.
“The skull looks male.”
“All done for now,” said the photographer.
Lindsay slipped on her mask and took a pen and gently lifted pieces of fabric away from the pelvis. “It’s a male pelvis.”
“How old is he?” Adam asked.
“Let’s see. His wisdom teeth are in, and that usually occurs between seventeen and twenty-five. His epiphysis in his humeri and femurs are fused.”
Lindsay carefully lifted the pubic bone and luckily found no hindrance in examining the pubic symphysis. She explained to them, as she did her students, that the surface of the pubic symphysis changes as a person matures and ages, so that it can be used as an indicator of age. However, there is such overlap in stages of change that, as in sexing, other bones should also be used, when they are available, to arrive at a more accurate age estimation.
“Because the act of childbirth causes changes in the pubic symphysis, this method is not valid on female skeletons.”
Lindsay examined the sternal ends of several ribs. “From a quick examination of the ribs, pubic symphysis, teeth, and epiphysis fusion, I would say he was in his early twenties, no more than twenty-five.”
“Maybe he’s the one who was
shot dead in the head
,” said Joel.
“No, Lindsay found him,” said Marina. “He’s the shattered skeleton.”
“You found a bullet hole somewhere in those skull fragments? Well damn, a murderer can’t get away with anything with you around,” Adam said.
“No.” Lindsay’s voice was strong and unwavering. “No, they can’t.” She resisted looking at Drew and her husband in particular, but focused her gaze on the crowd.
“Now, I’m going to take some samples of detritus around the skeleton for Peter and us, look over the bones again for any features, then we’ll close it up.”
“What about that bow we saw in the x-ray?” asked Posnansky.
Lindsay took her pen and gently teased back some of the material and found a jeweled bow lying in the midsection. “It’s a broach. It looks like marcasite.”
Marina came forward and examined the piece of jewelry. “It is. Very typical of eighteenth-century jewelry. Perfect condition.”
“Are you sure about the gender?” Eric Van Horne asked, his mouth curled in what Lindsay supposed for him was a smile.
“Yes. Bones are far more diagnostic for sex determination than associated artifacts.”
“I’ll bet,” said one of the female technicians, “that his wife or girlfriend put it in his coffin, so that something of her would always be with him.”
“That’s what I would imagine,” said Lindsay.
“Someone said something about them being reburied?” asked another technician.
“When we finish the analysis,” answered Lewis, “the bones will be reburied in the cemetery of the Kelley’s Chase Primitive Baptist Church near who we believe are relatives.”
“I believe that a member of the congregation who is a cabinetmaker is going to make new coffins from wood he has on hand—which, I might add, is befitting the customs of these people.” Lindsay gestured to the remains in front of her.
“Are you going to bury the jeweled bow with him? It would seem that if you believe the woman who loved him wanted something she cherished to stay with him always, you would have to.” Lindsay looked up to see John West standing near the rear with Luke, his arms folded, his face rigid. Everyone turned to look at him, then back at Lindsay.
“I suppose that’s true.” Lindsay smiled at him for a long moment and his stern face broke into a grin as he stared at her.
Chapter 37
Alex Wrote A Letter
“DID YOU COME all this way just to harass me?”
John kissed Lindsay on the cheek as she collected the samples from the coffin. “Indeed not.” He looked down into the coffin. “Is this what I’m going to look like after a couple hundred years?”
“Depends on what happens to your body after you die. Close you up in an airtight case with no embalming, and you might look something like that.”
“John, good to see you.” Lewis grabbed John’s shoulder and shook his hand. “He wasn’t embalmed?” Lewis asked Lindsay.
“Actually, after I said that, I realized I don’t know. We’ll be able to tell when the samples are analyzed.”
“I think I would prefer to be cremated and have my ashes scattered to the wind,” said John. “This does not look good.”
Lewis introduced John to Phil McBride and the others gathered near the coffin as Lindsay finished collecting the samples. Anyone who wanted to see the remains, which was almost everyone, came up to take a peek.
“Very interesting,” said Eric Van Horne. “Never knew you could tell so much from a pile of bones.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lindsay saw John take Lewis aside and whisper something in his ear and Lewis whisper something back.
“All that and more,” said Lindsay. “I hope you’re enjoying your visit. This is quite a show we have here, isn’t it?”
“Quite different from the primitive digs that Drew usually works on. Didn’t know archaeology could go so high-tech.”
Lewis and John rejoined the group. “John designed and built the cofferdam for excavating the Spanish galleon.” Lewis began an elaborate explanation of what a cofferdam is, holding the audience spellbound at the thought of working in a dry well in the ocean.
“Okay, we can close him up.” Lindsay helped Adam and Joel put the lid back on the coffin.
“Lindsay.” Lewis pulled her aside as the others filed out of the tent, ready to party. “I’ve decided to send all the bones back to the lab. Is that all right with you? You have enough for a preliminary report, don’t you?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Alex is going to pack up tomorrow, and I thought it would be more efficient if everything went at the same time. I’m going to stick around a couple of days. So is John.”
There was that tickle in her brain again. An itch she couldn’t scratch. What exactly did Lewis say that caused it?
“You and John’ve been planning things?” she said.
“I hope you don’t mind, but he’s convinced me that you are in danger here.”
“He has?”
“Don’t go getting angry with either of us. That tape in your SUV and the torn page worried both of us.”
“I’ll be fine. I think I’ll stay until I’ve solved this thing.”
“No.” John’s whisper was almost a shout. “No, you won’t,” he said more softly. “Luke’s spoken with the sheriff here, and he’s looking for Gentry. You are going home.”
Lindsay looked back and forth at the two of them. “Has something else happened that I don’t know about?” They stared at her a moment, looked at each other, at the ground, at Luke who came to join them. “What?” she asked.