A Shroud of Leaves Page 4

  Sage peered at the screen and pointed at a dark square. ‘What’s that rectilinear feature?’ The shadow on the screen was almost covered with evergreen foliage, perhaps the same as the leaves from the burial. ‘We need to have a look at it.’

  ‘It could be a large shed or workshop,’ he said. ‘Maybe a garage or stable, left to rot. I’m no gardener but it doesn’t look like anything’s been done to the grounds for twenty, thirty years.’

  ‘It’s covered with branches.’ When Trent brought the drone down she could see the dark leaves. ‘That could be the source of the holly over the body.’ She turned to see DCI Lenham standing by the forensic tent making notes, and waved him over. ‘DCI Lenham! We’ve found a possible source for the foliage.’

  Lenham took the screen from Trent. He was tall and heavy-set, his hair more white than grey at the sides. He glanced at her sideways, catching her staring, and frowned. ‘What is it?’

  Sage pointed to the shape in the trees. ‘There’s some sort of building, in the trees a few hundred metres from the boundary. It seems covered in the type of plants that were used to conceal the body – ivy and holly.’

  ‘OK. We’ll have a look at it.’ He pointed at the screen as Trent brought the drone over the site. ‘What am I looking at? That looks grave-shaped.’ He studied the image of the barrows.

  ‘It’s too big to be a burial – there’s no scale on this thing,’ she explained. ‘Trent was telling me it’s an ancient earthwork; it was picked up on LiDAR and it’s on the maps.’

  Lenham looked from Trent to Sage. ‘LiDAR?’

  Sage answered, as Trent navigated the drone over the building again. ‘LiDAR is a laser scanning technique. It’s been used to survey the New Forest looking for features that might otherwise not show up on aerial photographs.’

  ‘Can it show anything unusual?’

  ‘It can read the landscape under the vegetation and see even tiny features or fairly flat ones that don’t show up on satellite images.’

  Lenham looked interested. ‘It would be worth looking at those scans to see if there’s any sign of a burial from the nineties. We never got to really search the grounds thoroughly when the teenager Lara Black went missing.’

  Permission to look at the barrows. Sage was excited but tried to keep it out of her voice. ‘We could follow up with a closer look on the ground.’

  Trent brought the drone back, allowing it to land gently by its case. ‘You can see there are recent footfalls leading in and out of the trees. We need to follow up the prints you can see in the dew and we’ll create a plan of the whole site.’

  Lenham looked around at his officers. ‘Just be finished before this afternoon, because my officers will need to do their own ground search and survey. Your drone footage will be useful, though. Mapping’s always difficult with so much undergrowth. We’re making a list of possible suspects at the moment.’

  Sage looked at him. ‘Are there many? I mean, how many people might want to hurt a fifteen-year-old girl, unless it’s a predator.’

  ‘You’d be surprised how many motives there can be. She lived with her mother and stepfather, a stepsister and half-brother, so there’s lots of family dynamics to explore. Her own dad isn’t around much. She had friends, an older boyfriend, and was into animal rights campaigning.’ He managed a humourless smile. ‘That could have created tensions for the parents. She and her stepsister don’t seem close, either.’

  ‘How old is the boyfriend?’ Sage said.

  ‘Good question,’ Lenham answered. ‘I’m not sure I’d like my fifteen-year-old dating a nineteen-year-old lad.’

  Trent interrupted. ‘How far can we extend our search of the estate?’

  ‘We have a warrant that covers the house, car and all the grounds.’ Lenham looked back at the screen. ‘Where do you want to start?’

  Trent pulled up an image. ‘There’s the building through the trees that might be useful. There could be a solid floor inside, maybe a stable yard outside. I can’t see anything from above except these footprints…’ He explained the images to Lenham. ‘But first, we need to catalogue the information from the grave itself. I’ll get Sage to concentrate on that.’ Trent waved her towards the forensic tent. ‘Sorry. Back to your mouldy leaves.’

  4

  ‘Lastly, from its very nature, the New Forest is ever beautiful, at every season of the year, even in the depths of winter. The colouring of summer is not more rich. Then the great masses of holly glisten with its brightest green; the purple light hangs around the bare oaks; and the yews stand out in their shrouds of black.’

  The New Forest: its History and its Scenery, John R.Wise (1885) Copied by hand in a book of field notes, Edwin Masters, 22nd June 1913

  Dinner was a sombre affair. Mr Chorleigh barely acknowledged my presence after a scathing stare at my lack of proper formal attire, and didn’t encourage much conversation while the food was served. I had time to observe Peter and his sister communicating by the odd word and a few smiles.

  Molly is pretty, slight, and looks younger than her seventeen years. Last summer Peter came to stay with me and my mother in our rooms in Colchester, while his sister Claire was ill and infectious. He stayed a month, until the poor girl died, and the time together strengthened our friendship. We talked late into each night about his dreams and his fears for his family. I missed him when he left for the funeral. Through him, I felt I already knew his sensitive, grief-stricken mother and his bookish younger sister. He didn’t speak with as much affection about his father, but he had a great deal of respect.

  After dinner, Peter and Molly took me out to see the grounds. The family have about forty acres of forest, and it seems pleasant and open to me. The back of the house looks over a handsome paved area covered in Grecian-style statues, scantily dressed nymphs and a rather fat Pan. The whole terrace has a view down a gradual incline, lightly forested, to the river. The house has a grand reception room with three sets of French doors, which Molly told me can hold forty couples dancing or even more. They prefer to sit in the south drawing room, which also has river views and catches the last of the evening sun. The weather had been sunny, and was becoming sultry.

  ‘The sea is just a short trip in the motor,’ Peter told me, pointing at a garage that we passed between the house and the tennis court. ‘And we swim in the river sometimes; it’s tidal. There’s a beach and a boathouse through the trees. We drive out to Lymington if we want to sail. Father has a three-year-old Starling motor, and there’s a wagonette brake we use for hunting and shooting parties.’

  It was a reminder that Peter’s upbringing was very different from my own. Some diffidence must have shown on my face, because Peter nudged me with his elbow. ‘Cheer up, Ed. If anyone acts snobby you can trot out your great-uncle, the general.’

  I smiled, but hardly thought the relative I had met once when I was a child was equal to all this splendour. ‘It is rather different.’

  ‘I’ve stayed with your mother, and she couldn’t have been kinder. It’s no different here, we just have a bigger place. Anyway, don’t be a chump, let’s go and look at the barrows.’

  I followed him and Molly out to the grass tennis court and along a well-kept path mowed through the trees. We walked down to the gardeners’ shed. Beyond it the path narrowed to a track. We wove through trees and bushes, past a huge stack of felled logs, and the sounds of birds became louder.

  Molly turned and put her finger to her lips. ‘If we’re very quiet, we might see them…’

  She tiptoed down the path with Peter and stopped when he raised a hand. I crept up to them and saw a magnificent sight: fallow deer, five of them, standing on a hillock. They lifted their heads and froze for a moment. I held my breath. Then the nearest one sniffed at the air and our human scent must have frightened them, for they were off, bounding into the trees and away from us.

  ‘They’re often here, but not normally so early,’ Peter said, walking out onto the foot of the slope. ‘It’s because Molls and
I have been away. They don’t get disturbed much. This is the barrow.’

  As I ducked under the foliage, I came into the clearing and the full scale of the mound was revealed. It was some eighty or a hundred feet long, and twenty feet across at its widest and covered with grass. It was about five or six feet high.

  ‘Isn’t it magnificent?’ Molly shaded her eyes against the late sun. ‘And there’s the second one.’

  I hadn’t noticed the second barrow because it was at a slight angle and half obscured by small trees. The slope rose up, more steeply, and was covered with brambles and gorse. It seemed to end abruptly; Peter had warned me it had been chopped about badly. He led the way, squeezing past stinging nettles and bracken along the side.

  The second barrow had been cut in half. The whole of one end had gone, exposing two stone slabs that had once formed some sort of chamber within, like double doors. The barrow was a little taller than the other one, and narrower, like a wedge of cake covered in grass. Below, the ground gave way to dried mud. It looked as if there was some sort of pond here in wet weather.

  Standing on the rutted ground, I could just reach the top of the slabs, where I could feel an open space like a letterbox but wider. ‘It’s been cut about as if it was another barrow. Was it ever excavated?’

  Peter shook his head, walking carefully over the edges of the dried mud. ‘It’s been like this since the farm owned it, and they say it went back to the Middle Ages at least.’ He rested his hands on the two upright slabs that formed a barrier, holding back the inside of the barrow. ‘I always imagined this was a portal to a great treasure chamber within. I thought one day I would find a way to open it.’

  ‘Is it hollow?’

  Peter pointed at the top of the stones, obscured by hanging ivy and plants. ‘There’s a huge flat rock roof on top, under the grass. That slot goes right under the top stones. When I was a child my father forbade me climbing up inside in case I got stuck. It does echo so maybe there’s a deeper cavity in the middle.’

  ‘Perhaps we should investigate this one instead,’ I said, suddenly anxious not to damage the intact earthwork.

  ‘My father’s expecting a gold hoard, at the very least,’ Peter said. ‘If there was any treasure in this one, someone has already had it.’

  I looked back at the serene burial mound behind us. ‘It sounds silly, but it makes me a little uneasy to disturb whatever’s buried there.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Molly. ‘Don’t disturb the curse of Hound Barrow.’

  ‘Hound Butt,’ corrected Peter. ‘And there is no suggestion of a curse.’

  5

  Late morning, Tuesday 19th March, this year

  Chorleigh House, Fairfield, New Forest

  While Trent packed the drone away and downloaded the data for analysis, Sage went back to help collect evidence from the grave site. She found Megan outside the tent, holding out a forensic suit pack.

  ‘We’re finally ready to take the body to the mortuary,’ she said. ‘It was more complicated than we thought with all the leaves, and the press have been questioning how long we’re taking to move her. They want a definite confirmation that it is River, which Lenham will give at a press conference once all the relatives have been told.’ She brushed her hood back with a gloved hand. ‘I’ve been here since five and I didn’t get to bed until one last night.’

  Sage noticed the dark rings under the pathologist’s eyes. ‘You must be shattered. Trent sent me to help. What can I do?’ She followed Megan into the tent. At least the body was now covered with a plastic sheet. Sage lifted up one of the last piles of leaves from above the girl’s head. They were moulded together into a stack by moisture, white threads of mould running through them. ‘These were piled up somewhere for at least a few weeks.’

  Megan stood back, rubbed the base of her spine. ‘We need to find where they got them. It’s unlikely they brought a car full of leaves with them, but you never know.’ She smiled as DCI Lenham pulled back the tent flap and slid just inside.

  He leaned towards the grave. ‘Before I talk to the press, is there any doubt that this is River Sloane? DNA will confirm it, of course.’

  Megan reached forward and drew back the sheet carefully. ‘What do you think, Sage? Is there anything which would contradict that conclusion? It helps if we all use the same basic procedures.’ The pathologist stared at her, and Sage felt like she was twelve years old in a French verbs test.

  The body looked so pathetic in its grave cut, the soil appearing almost black. ‘Well, it’s a female, obviously, and the length and colour of hair and make-up residue seem to match the photos I saw on the news. She could be as young as twelve, or as old as twenty – post-mortem changes to the face make it hard to tell with the swelling. She had shoulder-length blonde hair, bleached a few weeks ago; her roots are dark blonde, mousy.’ Sage had a flashback to seeing Steph’s face, floating in a haze of pale hair from the year before. She blinked the memory away. ‘She has two piercings in the right ear, three in the left, all in the lobe. Her eyes are… um, I’m not sure.’

  The pathologist lifted one of the eyelids with a probe. They had a pearly sheen. ‘Blue, I’d say. Maybe green. We’ll be able to be more definitive at autopsy.’

  DCI Lenham consulted the note he was holding. ‘Height?’

  When Sage couldn’t answer because she didn’t have a measuring tape to hand, the pathologist answered for her. ‘Four-ten to five-one, maybe. Short, slight, as you can see. It’s almost certainly River Sloane, although the swelling of the face and extensive bruising makes a visual ID tricky. Fingerprints match exemplars in her bedroom and DNA will be later.’

  Lenham stared down at the girl. ‘Poor kid. Was there something you wanted to show me?’

  ‘Here’s a bruise, triangular, left temple. What do you make of it?’

  He peered at it. ‘I don’t want to pre-empt the postmortem. But I’ve seen those kind of bruises before.’

  Sage collected another handful of sharp holly leaves and put them in a large evidence bag. ‘Oh?’

  Megan started bagging leaves from above the head. ‘Blunt instrument with a wedge-shaped profile? We see them occasionally; they are sometimes the cause of accidental deaths.’ She swung an imaginary golf club. ‘Golf balls can kill, too, although I’ve never seen a case.’

  Lenham was about to leave when he turned back. ‘Dr Westfield, do you know Felix Guichard?’

  ‘I do, he’s an anthropologist I’ve worked with before. Why?’

  ‘He’s coming down to see me. When I mentioned your name, he said you were a meticulous investigator. That’s the word he used, meticulous.’ Lenham’s voice was gruff and he turned away.

  ‘Why is he coming?’ Sage couldn’t see a connection with Felix.

  Lenham stopped but didn’t look around. ‘Old case,’ was all he said as he walked away.

  Sage checked the location code before she wrote up the last bag of leaves from the body. ‘Do you know what that’s about?’

  ‘It’s the missing girl, Lara Black,’ Megan said. ‘She disappeared from the bus shelter right opposite the house, twenty-odd years ago. If you can clear that edge we can lift the body out, get her to the morgue. Then you can collect the rest of the leaves.’

  ‘OK,’ Sage said. ‘Underneath, there’s a border of the turf that we were looking for yesterday, it’s been rolled up tightly around the edge. I’m conserving that, too. Have you ever seen that before?’

  ‘There’s a lot about this burial that’s new to me,’ Megan said. ‘It’s more like a display case for her. Strange.’ Megan turned to Sage. ‘What made you think about forensic archaeology?’

  ‘When I came back from maternity leave I realised I didn’t want to be the county archaeologist any more. I had a lot of time to think about how I would fit in childcare so I did a couple of post-graduate modules while I was teaching at the university. I thought I could take a few cases here and there, fit it all in around the baby.’

  Megan smiled. �
�That’s why I went into forensic pathology, to spend time with my children. In practice I get called out at all hours and hardly see my kids.’

  Sage winced. ‘Hopefully this will give me lots to write about for the dissertation. If I can find enough time to work at the laptop.’

  ‘Does your partner help with childcare?’

  Sage managed a small smile. ‘He does, but Nick works very long hours. He’s a vicar – we don’t live together.’ It felt awkward, chatting about Nick. ‘After what happened on the island last year I wondered if forensics might suit me.’ She could feel her heart thumping, her palms sweating at the memory.

  ‘A crime on the Isle of Wight?’ Megan said, half smiling. ‘You never expect it, do you?’

  ‘I was looking into a murder, but a very old one. Fifteen-eighties,’ Sage added, watching a frown wrinkle Megan’s forehead.

  ‘And that’s when you were attacked? Trent said something.’

  Her words sent a shiver down Sage’s back. She nodded, and tried to keep her voice neutral. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I would have thought that might have put you off forensics.’

  Sage half smiled at the thought that this case might. She looked away from the shrouded body. ‘Maybe it should have. I’m hoping it helps me work through it.’

  A young police officer poked his head around the tent flap. ‘Dr Westfield? I was wondering if you could have a look at something out here.’

  Megan waved at her. ‘Go with PC Stewart. We’re ready to move the body, anyway.’

  It was a relief to stand up in the open air. ‘What can I help you with?’

  ‘It’s over here.’ He glanced curiously as she sighed with relief. ‘I suppose you’ve seen dozens of bodies.’

  ‘Not really.’ Sage followed him along the front of the house. ‘I mean, I’ve excavated a lot of burials, but they were usually hundreds of years old.’