The Lost (Echoes from the Past #9) - Irina Shapiro Page 0,3
of his trousers. His identity card was legible enough to make out his name.”
“Had he been shot?”
“No. All his fingers had been smashed and his neck was broken, a leather belt still tied around it. He’d been tortured and hanged, then buried in a shallow grave beneath the tree.”
“That’s a dreadful story.”
“Katya feels strongly about giving this person a proper burial and maybe even finding his or her descendants and notifying them. It’s very important to her. Finding Oleg’s remains was tragic, but it gave the family closure, and they were able to bury him and mourn him properly.”
“Are you asking me to investigate?” Quinn asked, feeling an unexpected flutter of excitement in her belly.
“I’m asking you to investigate,” Rhys replied, his gaze holding hers, a pleading look she wasn’t accustomed to seeing in Rhys’s eyes.
“Have you found anything that had belonged to the deceased?” Quinn asked, her mind already on the case.
“Yes.” Rhys reached into his pocket and pulled out a small plastic bag. He handed it to Quinn.
Quinn lifted the bag to the light, eager to see the contents. A tarnished, dirt-encrusted silver band lay within.
“This was the only item found with the remains,” Rhys said.
Quinn set the bag on the coffee table, her gaze drawn to the dull glint of the ring. “Was there nothing else? No buttons, buckles, bits of leather?” she asked.
“No. Just this.”
Quinn nodded. “The deceased must have been buried in a shroud, which would explain the lack of metal objects since the body was most likely stripped naked before being wrapped.”
“That would make sense,” Rhys agreed.
“So, that would suggest that the person had been buried with some care. And if that were the case, why would they bury the body beneath a tree rather than in a graveyard? Is there a graveyard nearby?” Quinn asked.
“Yes. There’s the parish church.”
Quinn nodded, ideas already taking root in her mind. “This person might have been a plague victim, but then again, a plague victim would most likely have been buried in whatever clothes they died in. Or perhaps it was someone who wasn’t of Christian faith and wouldn’t wish to be laid to rest in a Christian graveyard. What have you done with the remains?”
“I’ve asked the workers to cordon off that bit of the garden. The remains are in situ, waiting for you to examine them.”
“Good. Will you be there tomorrow?” Quinn asked. She’d speak to Gabe tonight, but was in no doubt that he wouldn’t object to her excavating the remains.
“I will be there whenever you need me to be.”
“What about Katya and Vanessa? I wouldn’t want them more upset than they already are.”
“They’re at our London flat. Katya will not return until the skeleton has been removed, so you have free rein.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Around ten?”
“Perfect. Quinn, are you all right with this?” Rhys asked. “I wouldn’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”
“Yes, I’m all right,” Quinn replied, and meant it.
“All right enough to agree to an Echoes from the Past Christmas special?” Rhys asked, grinning wickedly.
“Now you’re pushing it.” Quinn laughed. “You know what, let me see what I’m dealing with, and we’ll go from there. If there’s an interesting story here, then I might be persuaded to come out of retirement for one more episode.”
“Deal,” Rhys said. He set down his mug and stood. “I really do appreciate this, Quinn. More than you know.”
“I’m happy to help. I can understand the need for closure,” she replied.
“I know.”
Rhys kissed her cheek and headed for the door, looking a lot better than he had when he’d arrived. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
Chapter 2
Hertfordshire, England
Saturday morning found Quinn and Gabe driving to Hertfordshire. The village of Potters Cove, where Rhys and Katya had settled after Vanessa was born, lay a few miles north of Potters Bar and was as picturesque as only an English village could be. Rhys had purchased and renovated an eighteenth-century manor house and had spared no expense to make it both modern and beautiful. The drive was lined with stately trees that directed the visitor’s gaze toward the lovely house that sat upon a gentle slope, its buttery façade golden in the spring sunshine.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Quinn said as Gabe parked the car on the gravel drive in front of the house and turned off the engine.
“Some couples go see a film on their date night; we excavate a burial site,” Gabe replied with a grin. “Normally, I’d tell you