The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,52
identify the body. Otherwise we’ll have to wait until the father can get here.
“We’re also going to need dental records; you’ll probably need to get those from London. We’ve had the wrong woman once before in this case, and we need to be absolutely sure.”
Morgan nodded and took a few steps back from the grave.
The police officers continued processing the scene. Soon a plastic bag containing a mobile phone was handed up.
Morgan shot Davies a puzzled look.
“I’ve already got her mobile,” she said. “It was in her handbag.” “You’ll need to trace both of them,” Davies told her. “She could have had two. Some people do, but I can’t think why. I’ve only got the one and I hate it.”
Several minutes later the activity in the grave stopped and the officer looked up.
“I think that’s everything that’s here, sir,” he said. “Shall we prepare to move the body?”
Davies looked around.
“Not yet. The coroner needs to take a look first,” he said. “She should be on her way by now. Where the hell is she?”
He looked around. Beyond the churchyard and across the river he could now make out the town’s three-arched bridge; the coming lightness had imperceptibly pushed aside the heavy darkness of night. Lighter shades of grey touched the trees around the graveyard and soon the first faint blushes of dawn would signal that a new day had begun.
Davies looked down at the officer standing in the grave.
“Make absolutely sure you get everything there is to be had out of this grave,” he said. “We’ve only got one chance to do this. And make sure everything you do get is processed properly—fibres, fingerprints, the lot.”
A few minutes ticked by, and Davies remembered the rector’s offer of coffee. Now’s the time, he thought, and asked one of the officers to knock on the door of the rectory and let Mrs. Evans know they were ready for it.
“And be sure to thank her,” he added testily.
As the officers were standing under the trees drinking their coffee, the coroner arrived, suited up, and climbed into the grave.
Davies watched as she knelt beside the body and gently examined it.
About ten minutes later she was standing beside him explaining her preliminary findings as the officers prepared the body for removal.
“Be careful,” Davies called down to them. “Don’t drop or lose anything. Sorry,” he said, turning back to the coroner.
“As I was saying, there are several heavy blows to the back of the head just here,” she said, almost touching the back of her own head with a gloved hand, “with what looks like some kind of flat, blunt instrument. There are also ligature marks around her neck, so on top of the head wounds, she was strangled. Can’t tell you with what, yet, but whatever it was, it wasn’t left in place on the victim.”
She picked up her bag and prepared to leave.
“We’ll have more for you after the autopsy, but I would say the body’s been dead for about a week. As for manner of death, do I need to tell you? But for the record, it’s clearly a homicide.”
Two hours later the shrouded body was on its way to the morgue in Bangor for identification and autopsy, the coffin of Emma Teasdale had been returned to the earth, and the team had dispersed to begin writing their reports and processing still photos and videos. Davies was on his way to pay a call.
“I came to give you the results myself,” he said to an anxious Penny, “and to thank you. We did find a body exactly where you thought we would, and although we’re waiting on final and formal identification, we’re pretty sure it will turn out to be that of Meg Wynne Thompson. So thank you for coming forward with what was really only a hunch or a bit of intuition. If it hadn’t been for you, we probably never would have found her. And I’m sure that’s exactly what the killer was counting on.”
He stopped for a moment, and seemed unsure whether to continue.
“I hate that word, ‘closure,’ I have no idea what it means, but people always use it in circumstances like this, and say, ‘Oh, well, at least now her parents can have closure,’ so for what that’s worth, I’m sure her parents will be grateful to have a body they can bury. I’ve seen other parents, and believe me, it’s far worse not knowing what happened to your child.”