‘This was a girl,’ said Clarke. ‘Thanks to the mummification I can say that with some confidence.’
‘Is anyone else thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Rushton, looking at the ceiling.
‘I think we all are, boss,’ said DS Russell.
I’m not, thought Harry.
‘Anything I’m missing?’ asked Clarke, looking from one man to the next.
‘Megan Connor,’ said Rushton. ‘Four years old. Local child. Disappeared on the moors not far from here six years ago. Biggest case of my career. Massive man hunt. We didn’t find a trace.’ He turned to Harry. ‘Ring any bells, Reverend?’
Harry nodded. ‘I think so,’ he said. The story had dominated the news for quite a few weeks. ‘To be honest, though, I hadn’t connected the case with this area. I hadn’t realized exactly where it happened.’
‘Not two miles above Heptonclough,’ said Rushton. ‘Lass wandered off from her parents on a family picnic. Never seen again.’ He turned quickly back to the pathologist. ‘Any clothes found with the body, Ray?’
‘Yes. This one was wearing waterproof clothes,’ replied Clarke. ‘Raincoat and wellingtons. Just one wellington found, though. It’s over here. Size…’
‘Size ten, red,’ said Rushton, who was staring down at the dead child. ‘The raincoat is red too, hooded, printed with ladybirds. Am I right?’
‘Yes,’ said Clarke. ‘They’ve been removed and bagged.’
‘I see those clothes in my dreams,’ said Rushton. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’re over here,’ said Clarke. He turned and walked round the third gurney to the counter. A series of large, clear plastic bags lay in an orderly row. He picked up first one, then another and held them out to Rushton. Both had been labelled with lettering and numbers. Rushton took the bag containing one small wellington and softly shook his head.
‘She was also wearing jeans and some sort of sweater,’ said Clarke. ‘Underwear too. Should help with identification.’
‘I find myself relieved she was buried wearing her clothes, lads,’ said Rushton, still unable to take his eyes off the wellington. ‘What does that say about me?’
No one replied.
‘Any thoughts on cause of death, Dr Clarke?’ asked the thin-haired detective. ‘The skull bones seem to be…’
‘Yes, don’t they,’ agreed Clarke. ‘Very similar injuries to the first child. Severe blunt trauma to the skull, mainly the parietal and frontal bones, and in this case we have a fractured right clavicle or collar-bone, a mid-shaft humerus fracture on the right arm and a distal fracture of the right radius bone. Certainly consistent with a fall, although whether this was before or after death it’s very difficult to say.’
‘So both these children fell from a considerable height?’ said Rushton. ‘How sure are you about number two? Could her bones have been broken some other way? Could she – could both of them – have been beaten?’
‘Unlikely, if you look at the pattern of injuries,’ said Clarke. ‘Number one suffered trauma to the rear of her skull, to her spine and to her right leg, all consistent with falling from a height and landing on her back. Number two’s injuries are all down the right side of her body, again consistent with a fall and landing on her right side, possibly putting out her right arm to brace herself. When children are beaten, their injuries are more random. They tend to be concentrated around the head and upper torso, although you might see trauma on the arms if the child tries to defend itself. There are no obvious defence wounds on either of these two.’
‘Could these breaks have happened last night when the grave opened up?’ asked the DI.
‘Can’t rule it out,’ said Clarke. ‘There’s no sign of these bones starting to heal so the breaks definitely occurred very close to death or post mortem. But you had a lot of wet soft ground, and from what I’ve been told, the remains tumbled rather than fell; a height of – what – six feet.’ He looked again at the damage to number two’s skull. ‘I rather doubt it, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Everybody ready for number three?’
No, thought Harry.
The group around the gurney broke apart and moved away, collecting together again at the third and final corpse. Harry was the last to take his place.
‘Disturbing similarities,’ Clarke was saying. ‘Another very young female child, remains largely mummified. What I can see of teeth and bone development suggests an age of between two and five years old. Her height would indicate…’
‘She was clothed last night when I saw her,’ interrupted Harry. ‘What happened to…’
‘Taken off and bagged,’ said Clarke, narrowing his eyes and looking more closely at Harry. ‘Why?’
‘Can I see it?’ asked Harry.
‘What is it, lad?’ asked Rushton.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Harry. ‘It was dark last night. I probably wasn’t thinking straight. Is it possible to see the nightdress, or whatever it was?’
Clarke nodded at the younger of the two lab assistants, who crossed to the counter and checked a number of plastic bags before lifting one and carrying it across. Harry took the bag and held it up to the light.
‘It’s a pyjama top,’ said the lab assistant. She was a young woman, hardly more than twenty-five, slim, with short dark hair. ‘We need to scrape away the surrounding soil, check it for any trace evidence and then we’ll wash it,’ she went on. ‘It’ll be a lot easier to see when we’ve done that.’
‘Just the top?’ asked Harry.
‘That’s all they’ve found so far,’ replied the girl. ‘The bottom half could turn up later today. It’s quite a distinctive garment, though. Handmade, from what I can tell. No label or washing instructions and these animals seem to have been hand-embroidered.’
‘They were,’ said Harry, looking at the tiny figure of a hedgehog.
‘What’s on your mind, Vicar?’ asked Rushton.
Harry turned to the pathologist. ‘Could these be the remains of a twenty-seven-month-old little girl?’ he asked. ‘Been dead for about three years?’
‘Well, certainly nothing to suggest otherwise,’ said Clarke.
‘What’s going on?’ said Rushton. ‘Who do you think she is?’
‘She’s a child called Hayley Royle,’ said Harry. ‘Her mother is a parishioner of mine. She was thought to have died in a house fire three years ago.’
Everyone in the room was looking at him. Suddenly he wasn’t hot any more. A cold stream of sweat was running down his spine.
‘The pyjamas were a hand-me-down,’ Harry continued, turning back to Lucy’s corpse. ‘From that child’s mother, strangely enough,’ he went on. ‘Her aunt made them, they’re unique.’ They were all staring at him. He was probably making no sense whatsoever. Then Rushton turned to the pathologist. He didn’t speak, just held his hands up in a mute question.
‘There’s no evidence of fire damage that I can see,’ said Clarke. ‘How severe was the fire?’
‘It burned for hours,’ said Harry. ‘The house is just a shell now. The child’s body was never found.’
The police officers were shooting glances at each other.
‘The mother was convinced the child didn’t die in the fire,’ continued Harry. ‘She believed Hayley had got out of the house somehow, had wandered away on to the moors. Looks like maybe she did.’
‘Holy crap,’ muttered DS Russell. ‘Sorry, Vicar.’
‘No problem,’ said Harry. ‘If this child didn’t burn, how did she die?’
Clarke seemed lost for words.
‘Did she fall too?’ asked Harry, thinking of course she did. Hayley had fallen from the gallery of his church. Like Lucy had. Like Megan Connor had. Their blood would be on the stones, the police would look later in the day, they’d find traces of it. He closed his eyes. Millie Fletcher had almost become a fourth.
Clarke was talking again. ‘Yes, I’m afraid she may have done. She has injuries to her skull, facial bones, ribs and pelvis. She fell from a height and landed on her front.’