A Rumor of Bones: A Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery (11 page)

"It's strange," said Lindsay. "We've had problems
with pothunters at sites, but never with this kind of
thing. They might have hurt Sally."

"I'll keep looking. In the meantime, take care and
don't go too far into the woods alone. You never know
what is in somebody's mind."

"I didn't mention this before," said Lindsay, "but
the other night I had a persistent tailgater. I didn't
think too much of it at the time, but, well, he went just
slightly over the line of normal tailgaiting."

Derrick frowned. "You should have said something"

"Did you see what kind of car it was or anything'?"
asked the sheriff.

Lindsay shook her head. "It was too dark, and his
lights were too bright."

"Don't anybody travel alone until I can figure this
out," the sheriff warned them.

The field crew had left for the day, and Lindsay sat in
the picnic area, gazing over the site. Derrick walked
over and sat down beside her.

"You okay, Lindsay? Maybe you ought to bow out
of identifying any more bones"

Lindsay shook her head. "I'm fine. Tell me about
the crime scene."

"You sure you want to hear it now?"

"Yeah. Let's get it over with."

"The scene itself is a small clearing in a wooded
area about five miles from the paved road. Off the
paved road, a three-mile dirt road dead ends in an old
overgrown roadbed. The old roadbed is two miles
long and leads to the clearing. The oldest burial-the
last one I found-was the deepest. Three feet, 10
inches, but I'd say about an inch accumulated since
the burial. The remains were extended. It looked like
the hands had been tied behind, and it looked like she
was gagged. The clothes had been removed and laid
on top of the body before it was buried. You sure you
want to do this?"

"Yes. Let's get it over with."

"Amy Hastings' grave was shallow, about a foot
and a half. The sheriff's men measured it, and I don't
know how accurate they were. Her dog was buried
with her. I didn't see the burial, but the sheriff showed
me the pictures. You don't want to see the photographs, do you?"

"No, I'll rely on your narrative. I'll look at your
map later."

"The bones were found by a hunter. Some animal
dragged them out and disturbed the burial. So some
hones were sticking out of the ground"

"Could you tell when the burial was disturbed?"

"No. The dog bones had been gnawed. You can
have a look to see what kind of animal it was, if it's
important. Her clothes were buried four feet from the
foot of her grave. They had been neatly folded."

"What?"

"Yeah, isn't that a kicker. He folded their clothes.
The pants first, the shirt, the socks, and underpants
and duct tape, pieces of rope, and the shoes"

"Obsessive personality, or is it compulsive'? I forget the difference."

"Me, too. The last grave, Peggy Pruitt's, was three
feet, two inches deep. Her clothes were four feet from
the foot of her grave and were also folded neatly. She
was also extended, her hands crossing her chest."

"Sounds like some kind of ceremonial behavior."

"That's what I thought, too. The knife was found
one foot from the head of Peggy's grave. It was
slightly warped. I think he put it down after he cut
the rope and stepped on it accidentally, mashing it
into the ground. That and the shallowness of Amy's
grave make me believe that something made him
hurry both times."

"Was the ground hard to dig?"

"Not with a sharp shovel, but how many people
other than us sharpen their shovels?"

"He was fairly strong," Lindsay said, almost to herself. "He could have dug a deeper grave for Amy. He must have been in danger of being interrupted."

Derrick nodded in agreement.

"How do people get that way?"

Derrick put an arm around her shoulders. "I don't
know. I suppose they are abused themselves. They
certainly can't have had a normal childhood."

"How'd we get into this?" asked Lindsay, shaking
her head.

Derrick pulled her to him and kissed her hair. "I
got into it because you volunteered me."

"Oh, right, I forgot. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I don't think the sheriff's department
was up to a thorough search. He loaned me a couple
of deputies. Meticulous digging is definitely not their
forte."

They were both quiet for a moment, then Derrick
said, "Let's go eat."

"Frank was supposed to come by and take me to a
movie and dinner."

"All right. Catch you later then."

"Ask me again later," she said.

"I'll do it." He kissed her cheek and headed off to
the river.

About ten minutes passed before Frank came.
"Sorry I'm late. The flotation crew thought they had
mislabeled some bags. Turned out all right, though."

Lindsay stood up and stretched. "Derrick was filling me in on the crime scene"

"I'm sorry I got you involved in this, Lindsay. I
didn't think it would go so deep."

"That's okay. Where do you want to eat?"

"How about Mexican? There is a nice place about
ten miles from here. We can eat and still have time to make it to the movie. I thought we'd see Blazing Saddles. Have you seen it?"

Lindsay shook her head. "No. That sounds fine to
me.

They walked to his car, and she climbed in the passenger side, then buckled her seat belt.

"Tell me something," said Frank when they were
on their way. "What is it about Derrick that makes
him appealing to so many women'? This is not just for
my information, you understand. A lot of us guys
would like to know."

Lindsay smiled. "I assume you mean besides the
fact that he is drop-dead gorgeous"

"Yeah, besides that."

"Derrick respects women. He understands them.
He is not a whiner if he doesn't get what he wants. I'll
bet you have never heard Derrick bragging about any
conquests."

"No, he just smiles if anyone asks him anything."

"Nor will you find any posters of naked women in
his tent"

"There are none in my quarters either. And I never
whined."

"When we uncover a burial in which dirt action
has forced open the jaws, he never makes that dumb
joke about it being a woman because her mouth is
open"

"I never make that dumb joke," Frank protested.

"You didn't ask me about you. You asked me about
Derrick," Lindsay responded.

"Is that all'?"

"That's basically it. He is a gentleman, and he is
sexy. That's a pretty powerful combination. Not all women like had boys. I think that is probably just an
excuse some men use for being bad"

"How do you feel about him'?"

"Derrick is one of my best friends." Lindsay
glanced over at Frank, trying to read his expression.

"Is that all'?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, you and he are hanging around a lot
together these days." Frank turned onto the highway
and headed toward Cullins.

"We are working the crime scene." Lindsay felt
uncomfortable talking about herself and how she felt,
preferring to live in the present, at least with her
social life. She changed the subject. "What about you
and Marsha?"

"Marsha's really a very nice person."

"I know, but that wasn't what I asked.' Lindsay
enjoyed turning the tables on his interrogations and
smiled when Frank seemed uncomfortable, too.

"She has a great deal of enthusiasm about the site,"
Frank said and asked no more questions.

Comedy was Lindsay's favorite type of movie.
When Frank brought her back to the site and walked
her to her tent, she was in a good mood. No thoughts
of the crimes in Merry Claymoore entered her head.

"I had a great time, Lindsay." He bent his head to
give her a kiss.

"Hey, guys, enjoy the movie?" They turned toward
Derrick, who looked as if he had just come from the
shower-or a late night swim.

"Yes," said Frank. "We had a great time."

"Good," said Derrick, making no move to leave.
"We'll all have to go next time. It'd be a nice break"

Lindsay grinned.

"Don't you have someplace to go?" Frank asked.

"Sure do" Derrick walked into his tent and turned
on a lamp. "Don't let me disturb you guys," he said.
"Go right on with what you were doing."

"We should have gone to my house," said Frank.

"I have to get up early," said Lindsay. She kissed
Frank on the cheek and went into her tent.

"Goodnight everybody," said Frank.

"Goodnight," came several voices from their tents.

Lindsay was beginning to dread seeing the sheriff's
car. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and the workday had
just ended for them. She was sitting with Frank and
Derrick drinking a cold beer when the too-familiar
brown-and-tan vehicle with the big star on the doors
pulled into the parking area.

"What now?" Frank groaned.

Lindsay said nothing. She just waited. The sheriff
got out of his car and came walking up with a large
envelope in hand.

"I think we might have the girl," he said, sitting
down at the table with them. "I searched the missing
person reports for the time frame you gave me and
came up with a couple of possibilities. This one"-he
tapped the envelope on the table-"is the same age
and general description as the others. Her name is
Marylou Ridley. She was seven when she disappeared, and she was blonde. I know you thought she
was five, but her medical and school records show her
to be small for her age." Lindsay reached for the envelope. "These are her x-rays," the sheriff continued. "I
dug them out of old Doctor Pritchard's basement."

Lindsay opened the envelope, pulled out the
x-rays, and studied them. "It's her. I'll make the
measurements to verify it." She rose and started for
the lab, but the sheriff stopped her.

"Her mother lives about 20 miles from here on the
other side of the county. I'd like to go see her and take
you with me. I may need you to describe the pattern
of abuse in case she denies it."

"Is this necessary?" asked Frank. "Lindsay has
been working a lot of overtime lately."

"No, it's not necessary, but I'd appreciate it."

"I don't mind. I'll go do a few comparisons, then
change clothes."

Lindsay and the sheriff stood in the living room of
the small white frame house waiting for Mrs. Greenwood nee Ridley to join them. The man she lived
with said she was visiting a neighbor, and he would
go get her.

Lindsay wore the one suit she had packed, an offwhite linen pant suit with an emerald green silk
blouse. The man invited them to sit, but Lindsay
decided not to because of her white suit. She looked
around the room as she waited. The furniture was
dirty and worn. Accumulations of dust under the
chairs and in the corner wafted as the man opened the
door and went outside. On an old end table amid a
clutter of bric-a-brac sat a few photographs, one of
little Marylou. Lindsay picked it up. It was a school
picture. An unsmiling Marylou with puffy eyes and
uncombed hair looked back at Lindsay. She set the
picture down on the table as the door opened and a
woman entered by herself.

"He said you wanted to see me."

Lindsay turned and stared at a thin, haggard
woman in a faded house dress. Her mouse-brown hair
was streaked with gray and hung in her face. Her
frightened brown eyes darted from Lindsay to the
sheriff as she absently wiped her hands on her apron.

"Yes, Mrs. Greenwood. I'm Sheriff Duggan, and
this is Dr. Chamberlain. I know this is going to be a
shock to you, and I'm real sorry to have to tell you,
but maybe after all these years it will ease your mind.
We found the bones of your daughter, Marylou. Dr.
Chamberlain here identified them."

Mrs. Greenwood's eyes grew wide. She stepped
back and put a hand over her heart. "Marylou?" she
whispered. "It's been so long. I don't understand."

"We have finally found her remains. Would you
like to sit down, Mrs. Greenwood?" asked the sheriff.
He stepped over to her and took her elbow, then
guided her to a chair.

She sat and twisted her bony fingers in her lap.
"You found her?"

"Yes, and we need to ask you a few questions.
Someone took Marylou twelve years ago," the sheriff
said, "took her out in the woods and killed and buried
her. We need to find who did it."

"That was a long time ago. I talked to the law then
and told them all I knew."

"Mrs. Greenwood" Lindsay spoke for the first
time. The woman looked startled a moment, then
stared up at her. "Your daughter was abused"

"What do you mean? I was good to Marylou. She
was a little clumsy." Mrs. Greenwood looked down at
her hands.

"No, Mrs. Greenwood. Your daughter's injuries
were not due to clumsiness. The break in her arm was
from being twisted, not from falling out of a tree like
it said in her medical records. Her fingers had been
broken, and she wasn't taken to the doctor to have
them set, so they healed misaligned. She had been
shaken so severely it damaged the bones in her neck.
She was also undernourished."

"That's not true."

"it is true, Mrs. Greenwood. There is no doubt. Her
injuries could only have been from abuse, not from
falling down."

"You don't understand." Mrs. Greenwood's mouth
twisted as she tried to think of how to make them
understand. "Marylou was a headstrong, whiny child.
You don't know how it was for me"

"Mrs. Greenwood," said Lindsay, taking a step
toward her. "There is no circumstance you could possibly have been in that would justify the treatment
Marylou received. There is no behavior Marylou
could have exhibited that would justify her being maltreated so severely that it showed deep in her bones."

"You don't know what my life has been like."

"It doesn't matter what your life has been like. You
cannot use it as an excuse to abuse your daughter or
allow her to be abused. There is no acceptable reason
to abuse a child. Your daughter suffered horrendously
during her short life. I doubt there was a time she was
not in pain."