Blood Harvest

50

SOMETHING WAS THUDDING LOUD INSIDE HARRY’S CHEST. Not his heart, though, his heart never made this sort of racket. Should he say something, tell them he knew the identity of one of the dead children?
It was almost painful, this pounding against his ribs. If it was indeed his heart, he had a serious problem. Hearts weren’t supposed to beat this hard.
He couldn’t say anything now, he’d sound ridiculous, hysterical even. Tomorrow would be soon enough. He glanced down to make sure he would step on matting, and moved away from the cordoned area. The white-clad figures around him got back to work.
The Fletchers’ back garden was a quagmire. Harry followed in Detective Chief Superintendent Rushton’s footsteps, along the loose-weave steel path that had been laid over the mud. Above their heads a makeshift PVC shelter was holding back the worst of the weather. Powerful lights on steel poles had been positioned in the four corners. Now that he was facing the house, Harry could see lights on in the downstairs windows. The blinds and curtains had all been drawn.
‘As crimes scenes go, this is as bad as it gets,’ said Rushton as they walked back towards the house. ‘We’re working in the dark, in shocking weather, the mud’s close to a foot deep in places and it looks like there was quite a lot of contamination of the site before we got here.’
One of the white-clad figures was moving slowly round the outside of the inner cordon, taking photographs. Another figure, which Harry thought might be a woman, was using a measuring tape. She stretched it from the wall to the smallest of the three bodies, then began scribbling, or maybe drawing, on a clipboard hanging around her neck.
‘The forensics people you see have just arrived from Manchester,’ explained Rushton. ‘We don’t have that sort of specialism locally. Luckily, the first officer on site was a bright lad. He sealed off the area until the team could get here. Did the same up in the churchyard.’
Harry looked up. More white figures could be seen on the other side of the stone wall. Up there, too, efforts were being made to control the weather. An awning had been stretched across metal poles. One of the officers was struggling to fasten plastic sheeting around the edges. In this wind it was close to hopeless.
‘What are all these people doing?’ Harry asked.
‘The photographer is recording the scene before the trace-evidence people can get to work,’ said Rushton. ‘He’ll take pictures from every angle, then he’ll climb up into the graveyard and do the same. That girl over there, she’s sketching. She’ll measure how everything is situated in relation to everything else and then it’ll all be fed into a computer. We’ll get a very accurate model that we can use if we ever need to go to court. The main task tonight will be removing the bodies, intact if possible, and getting them to the pathology unit. Along with everything else that might be relevant. The coffin will go, of course, any bits of clothing, hair and so on. We’ll take casts of any footprints. Looks like they’ve started already.’
Rushton was pointing to a spot not far from the house. A man was kneeling on a mat of chequer-plated aluminum, pouring liquid on to the ground in front of him.
‘The other two bodies could have come from graves on either side of Lucy’s,’ suggested Harry. ‘I can’t tell you whose they were, but there’ll be a plan somewhere.’
‘We have it already,’ said Rushton. ‘Family graves on both sides, three people recorded as being in the one, four in the other. All adults. And from what we can see so far, those graves are still intact.’
‘Is it possible they’ve been in the ground a long time?’ asked Harry, knowing it wasn’t. None of the corpses he’d just seen was properly skeletonized. ‘In a much earlier grave that no one knew about? This churchyard is hundreds of years old. There must be ancient graves all over this hill. Headstones got removed, people forgot who was in the ground.’ He stopped. He was gabbling. And clutching at straws.
‘Well, we can’t rule it out for now,’ said Rushton. ‘But frankly, the team think it unlikely. And you have to see their point. Did they look like ancient corpses to you?’
Harry looked back over his shoulder. ‘Do the Fletchers know what’s going on?’ he asked. ‘They’ve been under a lot of pressure lately, it won’t be the best—’
‘Oh aye, they know,’ said Rushton. ‘It was the kids that brought the wall down.’
‘What?’
‘I haven’t had chance to speak to the parents yet, so I’ve only had half a tale,’ said the detective, ‘but it seems the two boys were out in this weather, climbing the wall. They had their younger sister in a hold-all, apparently. Looks like some sort of attempt at running away from home. Job for Social Services, if you ask me. Where are you going?’
Harry was heading back along the path to the house. A hand fell on to his shoulder. ‘Hold your horses, lad. You can’t go in yet. The family GP is in there and the two youngsters are talking to one of my DCs. Let’s just leave everyone to do their jobs for a minute, shall we?’
Harry knew he wasn’t being given a choice.
‘You’re familiar with the layout of this part of the churchyard, Reverend?’ said Rushton, as they started walking again. ‘Both churches, old and new, were built at the top of a steep hill, so a lot of terracing had to be done to create the graveyard. The wall we’re looking at was built several hundred years ago, from what I’m told, but it was a lot higher on this side than on the church side. Are you with me?’
‘Yes, I know that,’ said Harry, as they reached the edge of the Fletchers’ property and turned to leave the garden. ‘Gareth Fletcher has mentioned it to me a couple of times. He wanted to get a surveyor in, he was concerned about the stability of the wall.’
‘He was right to be.’ The two men were at the side of the house. Another massive awning had been stretched across from the house to the church wall, creating a dry space for the forensic team to store equipment. Unable to reach them, the weather seemed determined not to be ignored. Raindrops thundered down on the plastic roof while the wind kept it in constant, noisy motion.
‘I’m told there’s an underground stream that runs beneath the church,’ Rushton continued, removing his overalls and indicating that Harry should do the same. ‘Ordinarily that’s not a problem, but when there’s been heavy rainfall, like over the past few days, the church cellar gets flooded. The land around here gets boggy. Did you know?’
‘Yes.’ Harry was balanced on one foot, struggling to take off a boot that was too tight and looking round for his own shoes. ‘Gareth and I had a walk around the boundary a couple of weeks ago. I agreed it didn’t look too stable, but there’s a process I have to go through when any work needs to be done on church property. I’d already set the wheels in motion but these things typically take weeks, sometimes months.’
‘Well, Brian, is it my granddaughter’s grave?’
Harry and Rushton both turned to see that Sinclair Renshaw had entered the tent from the Fletchers’ driveway. The fingers of his right hand clutched a cigarette. Harry had never seen him smoke before.
‘It looks that way,’ said Rushton. ‘I’m very sorry.’ Sinclair nodded his head, just once.
‘Do Jenny and Mike know?’ asked Harry. ‘Do you want me to—’
‘I’ve asked they not be told until the morning,’ Sinclair interrupted him. ‘Christiana has made coffee in the vestry. You should come up. It’s warmer in there.’
Harry pulled his own jacket back on. ‘What happens now?’ he asked Rushton.
‘Well, strangely enough, there is a protocol in cases like these,’ replied the detective, indicating that they should leave the tent. ‘When remains are uncovered on church property, they have to be removed from site and examined by a police-approved pathologist. If he determines the remains are ancient bones, a lot of them apply the hundred-year rule: they’re simply returned to the minister in charge – in this case, you – and it becomes your responsibility to re-inter them.’
‘Yes, I think I knew that,’ agreed Harry, ‘although it’s not a situation I’ve ever come across before.’
‘It’s certainly never happened here,’ said Sinclair.
‘On the other hand, if the remains are, shall we say, fresher, we have to confirm their identity,’ added Rushton. ‘Make sure the body really is the person whose name is on the headstone. Do you follow me, Reverend?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Harry.
‘Once identity is confirmed, we hand the remains back jointly to you and the family and let you arrange for re-interment.’
‘Another funeral,’ said Sinclair, running his hand over his face. ‘It will be too much for Jenny. How can any mother be expected to bury her child twice?’