The Outcast Dead (3 page)

‘A boy. Just over a year old.’

‘Keep him safe,’ Liz Donaldson had said. ‘Keep him safe.’

Phil is already at the site by the time Ruth arrives in the morning. The dig was originally a low-key affair, organised because the council wanted to build new public toilets. Usually in these situations the archaeologists’ role is simple: they come in before the builders, survey the area for any unusual features and dig a few trenches. There is an unspoken agreement that unless they unearth the lost ark of the covenant, building work will continue regardless. All the archaeologists can do is mark the find and take samples for posterity. Ruth often thinks that there must be multistorey car parks and office blocks all over the country built on top of Roman farmsteads and dead kings. But, as with everything, money talks and building contractors tend to have more money than archaeologists. Toilets are more important than old bones.

But the possible discovery of Mother Hook has changed everything. As she walks down the slope, Ruth sees not only her head of department but the county archaeologist and a man in red spectacles taking photos with a
digital camera. Ted is also there, drinking coffee from a flask and looking sardonic.

‘Here she is,’ says Phil with massive bonhomie, almost managing to convey the impression that Ruth is late though she is, in fact, five minutes early.

She walks over to the trench, which is fenced off from the main picnic area. Behind them the cafe rises up out of the grass like a giant glass bubble, and opposite, across the bridge, the castle squats, square and secretive. They excavated the woman’s body yesterday. Now samples have been sent for Carbon 14 and DNA testing. Ruth’s job today is to examine the context, the grave cut, looking for clues in the infill, searching for any objects – glass, pottery, coins – that might help her to date the burial. She would like to be able to get on with this in peace but Phil is still hovering excitedly. Ruth notes that he is dressed in his best Indiana Jones casuals – safari shorts and a short-sleeved shirt – though she can’t remember the last time that she saw him do any actual digging.

‘Mark, let me introduce you to Ruth. Mark, this is Dr Ruth Galloway, Head of Forensic Archaeology. Ruth, this is Mark Gates.’ Voice lowered reverently. ‘A TV researcher.’

Blimey, thinks Ruth, that was quick. Phil must have been on the phone as soon as he saw the bones. She shakes hands with Mark Gates who looks at her appraisingly, as if considering how she’ll look on TV. Probably wondering where he can get a wide angle lens.

‘So you’re the lady who discovered the bones,’ Mark is saying.

Ruth doesn’t like to be called a lady, but it’s too soon to get into that sort of conversation and she doesn’t want Phil to start rolling his eyes in a humorous ‘man surrounded by feminists’ way so she just smiles and says yes, she excavated the skeleton but there are still lots of tests to be done.

‘But you’re almost certain that it’s Jemima Green, Mother Hook?’

‘Well, the dates seem about right …’ begins Ruth but Phil cuts in, ‘Oh, absolutely certain. A woman with a hook for a hand. Who else could it be?’

‘Captain Hook in drag?’ suggests Ted from the trench. Phil ignores him.

‘Because if it is her,’ says Mark, addressing himself to Ruth, ‘my programme would be very interested. Very interested indeed. It would tie in with one of our specials.’

What is his programme, wonders Ruth. He doesn’t look as if he’s from
Time Team
. Probably some academic archaeology series. On the History Channel perhaps.

‘What programme’s that?’ asks Ted.

‘
Women Who Kill
,’ says Mark, allowing a certain ghoulish relish to enter his voice.

*

Nelson is also discussing women who kill. Unfortunately for him the discussion is with Madge Hudson, criminal profiler, privately described by Nelson as Queen of the Bleeding Obvious. Also present are DS Judy Johnson, DS Dave Clough, DS Tim Heathfield. Tim joined the team at the start of the year, transferring from Blackpool
where he had been the protégé of Nelson’s old friend Sandy MacLeod. He has proved a good addition to the squad, calm and professional, always respectful to his colleagues, deferring to their local knowledge. But there’s no doubt that Judy and Clough are both wary of him. Clough distrusts new people on principle, if they are men and graduates, fitter and better-looking than him, his suspicion hardens into open hostility. Judy, who Nelson thought might get on with Tim, seems even more dubious. Their shared resentment has made Judy and Clough draw closer, a miracle in itself, Nelson thinks. He doesn’t know how Tim feels about his new teammates. Apart from one slightly cynical comment about being ‘the only black policeman in Norfolk’ Tim has shown no sign of not fitting into his new environment. His smooth, polite manner makes it oddly difficult to ask personal questions but Nelson supposes that he ought to try.

Now Madge beams round the table, blissfully unaware of the cross-currents of antipathy.

‘We’re looking at a woman here,’ she begins, reaching, in Nelson’s opinion, new heights of Bleeding Obvious ‘A woman suspected of killing three of her children. Now a woman who kills her children is often suffering from depression.’

You don’t say, thinks Nelson. There was him thinking that infanticide was a sign that everything was going well.

‘But often they can present a very good facade. Looking perfect can be very important to them.’

Despite himself, Nelson thinks of Liz Donaldson’s spotless house. She had been wearing slippers, he remembers, so as not to spoil the carpets.

‘Are we talking about Munchausen’s?’ asks Tim.

Clough gives him a dark look, which Nelson notices. Clough always becomes irritated when Tim uses words that are more than two syllables long.

‘Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy,’ corrects Madge. ‘I think it’s possible. Munchausen’s,’ she turns to Clough, ‘is a psychiatric disorder where the subject feigns illness in order to gain attention. In the case of Munchausen’s by Proxy they feign illness in other people, often children, sometimes actually causing the illness themselves.’

‘I know what it is,’ snaps Clough. ‘There was that case of a nurse, wasn’t there?’

‘Liz Donaldson’s a nurse,’ says Nelson before he can stop himself.

‘Beverley Allitt,’ nods Madge, ‘convicted of murdering four children in her care and attempting to kill three others. One theory was that she was suffering from Munchausen’s by Proxy.’

‘Still got life though, didn’t she,’ says Clough.

‘Yes, she was detained at Rampton Secure Hospital. The Judge recommended a minimum of forty years. Actually DCI Nelson makes a good point.’

Nelson looks as surprised as anyone to hear this.

‘Individuals with Munchausen’s often have some medical knowledge. Liz Donaldson was a nurse. She’d
know about symptoms and treatment. She’d know exactly what the doctors and nurses were looking for.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ says Judy. ‘She hasn’t worked since her first child was born.’

‘That could be significant in itself,’ says Madge. ‘She may have missed the kudos of being a nurse. She may have wanted to prove that she was as clever, or cleverer, than the medical staff attending her children.’

‘By killing them?’ Nelson can’t stop the incredulity creeping into his voice. He suspects Liz Donaldson but the idea that she murdered her children in order to look intelligent seems to him dangerously simplistic. He can just imagine the Defence’s reaction if the CPS tried that one in court.

Madge remains calm. She once told Nelson that his hostility to her was actually a sign of admiration, even attraction. Since then, Nelson has tried to avoid her as much as possible. The trouble is that Madge is almost always called in on the big cases. Nelson’s boss, Superintendent Whitcliffe, thinks she’s brilliant.

‘Women kill for the strangest of reasons,’ she says now, smiling seraphically.

‘So do men,’ says Judy. ‘I mean Munchausen’s doesn’t just affect women. What about the husband?’

‘Munchausen’s by Proxy primarily affects women,’ says Madge. ‘And I understand the husband wasn’t present when any of the deaths occurred. Which, incidentally, might be a factor. Liz may have been trying to reclaim her husband’s attention. She might also have resented the
fact that Bob’s career was going well while hers seemed to have stalled.’

Madge seems to be on first-name terms with both of the Donaldsons, though they have never met. Once again, career envy seems a very flimsy motive to Nelson. Michelle gave up her job as a hairdresser when their children were born. She’d gone back to it when the girls were at secondary school. As far as Nelson can remember, there hadn’t been any angst about it. It was just what you did.

‘It’s all conjecture though, isn’t it?’ says Clough. ‘I mean, there’s no evidence.’

And that’s the problem. There is no real evidence. They are still waiting for the autopsy on David. The deaths of the first two children were recorded as ‘unexplained’ but Nelson has wheeled in an army of experts who say that the reports could point to asphyxiation. It was this that led Nelson to bring Liz Donaldson in for further questioning. Somehow, though, the press got wind of it and, with no further evidence forthcoming, he has had to release her without charge. He is aware that he walks a knife edge. The press coverage is teetering between evil child killer and wronged mother. One false move and Nelson himself will be the big baddie in all this. Then Whitcliffe will sack him and he’ll still be no nearer to finding out who killed Samuel, Isaac and David.

Thinking of those names, he says now, ‘Could there be a religious link? All three boys had biblical names.’

‘Liz Donaldson isn’t religious,’ says Judy. ‘She had the boys baptised in the Church of England but there’s no
record of churchgoing. It’s not as if she was Born Again or,’ a swift glance at Nelson, ‘Catholic.’ Judy, like Nelson, was brought up a Catholic.

‘Why pick religious names then?’ says Nelson.

‘They’re fashionable aren’t they?’ says Clough, whose first name is David. ‘Lots of kids these days called Noah and Joshua and the like. Doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Isaac was almost sacrificed by his father,’ says Tim. ‘Samuel was called by God. David was the chosen one. They’re also all Old Testament prophets.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it,’ says Clough.

‘I was brought up in a highly religious household,’ says Tim mildly. ‘I’m agnostic myself.’

That figures, thinks Nelson. He has already noticed that Tim likes to keep his options open.

‘That’s an interesting line of thought,’ says Madge, giving Tim a warm smile. ‘The child as sacrifice.’

Nelson thinks of something Ruth once told him about children being buried under doorways, sacrifices to Janus, the Roman God of beginnings and endings. Aloud he says, ‘This isn’t getting us very far. We’re awaiting the autopsy results on David. If there’s any evidence of suspicious circumstances, we’ll get Liz Donaldson in again. She’s bound to crack soon.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ says Madge. ‘Remember she might almost enjoy pitting her intelligence against yours.’

Judy snorts, as if implying that Nelson is bound to come off worse in any battle of wits.

*

When Nelson gets back to his office, his PA, Leah, tells him that his warlock friend has called.

‘Cathbad?’ says Nelson.

Judy, who is hovering in the doorway, gives an involuntary exclamation.

Nelson turns. ‘Did you want me, Judy?’

‘No.’ Judy backs away.

Left alone, Nelson calls his friend who is, strictly speaking, a druid and not a warlock. He misses Cathbad, who recently moved to Lancashire. Raving mad though he undoubtedly is, you can always rely on Cathbad for some interesting conversation.

Cathbad comes straight to the point. ‘Liz Donaldson is innocent.’

‘What do you know about it?’

‘I just know,’ says Cathbad, maddeningly elliptical as ever.

‘Oh, OK then. I’ll call off the enquiry. Nice of you to call.’

‘Sarcasm is a defence mechanism, Nelson.’

‘I need all the defences I can get.’

‘I know Liz Donaldson,’ says Cathbad, softening slightly. ‘She’s a lovely person. It’s unthinkable that she should do something like this.’

But the unthinkable does happen, thinks Nelson. I think about it all the time. Aloud he says, ‘I can’t discuss the case with you, Cathbad.’

Cathbad sighs. All the way from the north, Nelson’s country. ‘Be careful, Nelson,’ he says.

‘Careful of what?’

‘If you convict an innocent woman, you’ll be cursed.’

This, Nelson knows, is not a joke.

Ruth begins the long drive home in a less than placid frame of mind. She had been looking forward to a peaceful day’s digging but Phil has ruined it by hanging around with his TV pal, asking stupid questions.

‘Find anything interesting?’ Mark peered into the trench, scuffing the perfect edges with his trendy red converse.

‘Some glass,’ replied Ruth, pointing to the neat row of objects on the tarpaulin. ‘Looks Victorian.’

‘Why would there be glass buried here?’

Ruth sighed. ‘All sorts of reasons. It’s in the topsoil which is just a jumble of accumulated objects, rubbish, builder’s debris, that sort of thing. There may be no association with the body at all.’

‘What if you found something really exciting? Her diary, for instance?’

Ruth didn’t ask why Jemima Green’s diary would have been buried with her. It’s possible that the woman couldn’t even read and highly unlikely that she kept
notes of her crimes.
Feb 8th 1866 Busy day. Went to market, scrubbed floor, killed a child
. Instead she said, dryly, ‘That really would be a significant find. Excuse me. I must get on.’

When Mark saw her brushing dirt from a piece of bone, his excitement knew no bounds.

‘Is that human? Looks like a child’s.’

‘Animal,’ said Ruth. ‘Probably a sheep.’

‘I’d love to have some shots of Ruth cleaning bones,’ said Mark to Phil. ‘Do you have any spare bones we could use?’

‘Oh we’ve got lots of bones,’ said Phil heartily. ‘Bones all over the shop in our department. Isn’t that right, Ruth?’