Body in the Woods (A Reverend Annabelle Dixon Cozy Mystery Book 3) (8 page)

Instead, the morgue was bustling with movement and the clinking of equipment – at least, until he walked in. The people in white coats were all moving around a table at the center of the room, the bones lying upon it anything but wonderful. Dirt, greenery, and pebbles were in the process of being cleaned from them, the messy debris providing a stark contrast to the sterile mortuary. The decomposed figure laid out looked almost terrifying and even at his distracted first glance, Dr. Brownson could tell that this skeleton had a rather sad story to tell.

“Ah…” he stammered, taken aback by the sheer number of people looking at him, as well as the clinical, deathly atmosphere that befell the room and the shattering of his fantasies. He glanced at the roses in his hand, looking at them as if they had been placed there by someone else, then tossed them aside onto a counter, causing instruments to clang to the floor. Everyone stared at him as the last vibrato tone of a fallen tong preceded complete and utter silence.

Just as Dr. Brownson was about to make his apologies and scurry out of the hospital, into his car, and back to his home in London, the figure at the head of the table took off her glasses and smiled.

“Robert!”

It was Harper. As radiant as ever.Still impossibly beautiful and almost magically youthful. So startling was she that Brownson almost believed her to be somebody else. She looked a full two decades younger than her forty-eight years. The bright sparkle of her green eyes and wide lips which seemed to save all their light for rare, powerful smiles were unmistakable, however.

Dr. Brownson’s earlier embarrassment disappeared along with his awareness of the rest of the room, as his eyes focused only upon Harper making her way toward him and taking his arm. Suddenly, he felt as if he were an audience in his own mind, unable to believe this was really happening, watching what unfolded as though it was happening to somebody else.

“Everyone,” Harper called to the rest of the team, “this is Dr. Robert Brownson, the finest forensic anthropologist in England. Robert, this is a small team of people I’ve brought in to help. They’re mostly medical students and assistants who will cater to your every whim. Whatever you wish for, they shall divine.”

The team nodded respectfully, a few of them uttering courteous ‘hellos,’ though Dr. Brownson’s eyes were fixed upon the transcendent figure next to him.

“Harper!” he managed to say, as she led him toward the table. “How are you? Why, you look as wonderf—”

“So as you can see, the bones have been underground long enough that roots have formed between them. I’m no botanist, but it seems to me that an estimate of…”

Brownson gazed into her face, her words growing ever more incomprehensible and elusive to follow. Try as he might to concentrate upon what she was saying, the sound of her voice captivated him so intensely that he struggled to focus on the meaning of her words. He basked in the music and the rhythm of her exquisite voice, vowels pitched in the most heavenly keys possible, consonants so expertly and delicately uttered. He felt himself carried away on a soft pillow of sound he had almost forgotten.

“...though in my personal opinion the femur indicates an age of mid to late-teens, what do you think?”

Brownson’s eyes were closed, but after a few moments he noticed that the beautiful sound of Harper’s voice had disappeared, and he re-opened them.

“Robert?” Harper repeated, the anthropologist’s silence catching the attention of several team members who shot surprised glances at Harper.

“Ah… Yes… Sorry.”

Harper looked at Dr. Brownson with a furrow in her brow.

“Let me see,” he said, buying himself time to gather his senses by peering at the bones in front of him.

Harper leaned down and spoke into his ear.

“Are you quite alright, Robert? Do you need some rest before we start? You’ve been driving all night.”

 “No, no, I shall be fine. Your smile has infused me with an energy no amount of sleep could replicate,” he whispered.

Harper looked at Brownson and squinted suspiciously. The group that had by now all gathered around the body shuffled awkwardly before observing the anthropologist keenly as he resumed probing and poking absently at the skeleton.

“So what do you think, Dr. Brownson?” one of the assistants piped up.

“Do you remember,” Dr. Brownson ignored his inquisitor, and began to speak again to Harper, his mind far too captivated by his thoughts to concentrate upon his work, “when we took a trip to Brighton Beach? We went in the water, but you were so concerned about your hair that you would only go up to your waist!”

Brownson laughed heartily, causing a few more members to cast confused expressions toward him.

“Um…” Harper said, clearing her throat. “Yes. I was just wondering, however, what age you would place the body based on the—”

“Of course, of course,” Dr. Brownson said, turning his head once more to the collection of bones. He prodded a little more but when everyone had turned their attention once again to the skeleton on the table, Dr. Brownson leaned in toward Harper again, a warm smile upon his face.

“I must say,” he whispered, as his hands continued to work a particularly tough particle of dirt away from one of the bones, “you don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you. It’s simply remarkable.”

Harper smiled neatly, though there was a certain amount of tension around her jaw. She looked straight at him and indicated with her eyes for him to focus on the bones. “Thank you. That’s nice of you to say. You look very well yourself, Robert.”

Dr. Brownson smiled warmly and cast his eyes around the table at the assistants who returned his inexplicable grin politely. He continued to work on the bones, grasping at a nearby brush in order to get a better look at a cavity.

“Canst thou O cruel, say I love thee not, when I against my self with thee partake?” he said.

“Ah… Dr. Brownson.”

“Do I not think on thee when I forgot, am of my self, all-tyrant, for thy sake?”

“Doctor…”

“That was one of your favorite sonnets, do you remember?” Dr. Brownson said, with glee, all attempts at discretion now discarded. “I would read you a different one each time we parted. That particular one was when—”

Dr. Brownson felt firm fingers grip his forearm and pull him toward the morgue entrance. Harper wrenched the door open and yanked the doctor outside with an ease that suggested remarkable strength for such a slight woman.

He looked around him, as if stunned to find himself outside, before settling his eyes once again on Harper and smiling as if he realized her intentions.

“What is the matter with you? This is neither the time nor the place, Robert,” said Harper, her voice firm and resolute.

“You’re right,” replied Dr. Brownson, standing upright. “I’m sorry. I just got carried away.”

“I have a team in there, hadn’t you noticed?” continued Harper. “They expected an experienced forensic anthropologist…not a Shakespeare-quoting, sonnet-serenading poet!”

Dr. Brownson nodded apologetically. “You’re right. I’m being terribly unprofessional. It’s just that it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and it’s stirring so many pleasant memories!”

Harper sighed.

“Let’s get back in there and do our work,” Dr. Brownson said, wearing a pleased smile, “and as soon as we’re done, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner, I mean, breakfast. We’ll catch up – we’ve got decades to get through after all!”

Dr. Brownson chuckled and stepped toward the door, but a strong grip pulled him back once again. When his eyes met Harper’s, his face dropped.

“Robert…”

“Don’t look so shocked! I know it’s been a long time, but just looking at you I can see you’ve not changed very much at all. As for me, well, I’m pretty much the same man you knew at Oxford! I daresay it’ll be just as if you never left!”

“Robert… Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

Dr. Brownson smiled and nodded happily.

“Yes, Harper. Though it’s been over twenty years, my feelings haven’t changed one bit.”

She looked up at him sorrowfully, her eyes full of pity. She raised her hand for Dr. Brownson to see the large emerald ring on her third finger.

“I’m married, Robert. I have been for many years now. I’m sorry if you thought this was anything more than a professional consultation.”

Dr. Brownson opened his mouth but found himself empty of words. Once again he felt as if the hospital walls were constricting him, causing his brow to sweat and a slight feeling of nausea to well up inside of him. He gulped loudly, his mouth dry, and stammered.

“Ah…Well…”

“I’m sorry, this,” she nodded at the morgue entrance, “was insensitive of me. I should have met with you first. Privately.” Robert looked down at the floor.

If you prefer,” continued Harper, her voice exhibiting a gentleness she was unused to showing, “I can arrange for another forensic anthropologist. Dr. Livingstone lives only a few mi– ”

“Ha,” Dr. Brownson said, with unconvincing joviality, “Livingstone is a hack. He couldn’t distinguish a homo sapien from a homophone.”

They smiled at each other, though Harper couldn’t help noticing the pained look in Dr. Brownson’s eyes. He took a deep breath, shuffling his feet and smoothing his clothes briskly, feeling ever more lost under the gaze of the woman he loved.

“Married. Of course. Why wouldn’t you be? Sorry. Got it wrong, obviously. You know me, imagination like a unicorn – fantastical! Never was good with people – give me some dusty, dry old bones any day!”

Harper smiled sweetly, hoping it would soothe Dr. Brownson’s embarrassment and hurt feelings, but the beauty of it only made his pining more sorrowful. Somehow, he managed to force a little laugh which sounded shallow in the long echoing emptiness of the hospital hallway.

“Perhaps you should go home, Robert.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” he said, after a few deep breaths. “There’s only really one thing that will take my mind off this, and that’s work. Lead the way, Dr. Jones.”

Harper led Dr. Brownson back into the morgue. There were a few snickers and giggles, but Harper quickly stared those down. She stood beside the cranium on the table and was joined by Dr. Brownson.

“So what do you estimate for an age?”

“Fifteen, sixteen. Certainly fits the profile of a girl that age,” Dr. Brownson said, briskly. “The bone remodeling on the hips hasn’t deteriorated much. That, combined with the fully–grown tibia makes it a near certainty.”

A few of the younger team members gathered around the table, still smiling at the doctor’s earlier antics. Harper cast them a steely look to remind them that mockery would not be tolerated.

“This damage to the cranial cavity is very interesting.”

“We thought so too,” piped up a rather confident young male assistant. “But there was a tree root grown through it. Because of that, we thought the damage to the skull likely occurred after death, posthumously.”

Dr. Brownson glanced quickly at the assistant.

“The root that went through the bottom of her skull?”

The assistant nodded, smiling.

“That’s a rather long leap of logic. You assume a root that was weak enough to go around the jawline, was suddenly strong enough to burst through the cranium? I have to disagree with your conclusion there, young man. This cranium was crushed
before
the root began growing through it. The damage may have increased, but if you look at the skull in profile, you can clearly see how it has been altered by a blow.”

The young man shared an abashed glance with his equally-young neighbor, his earlier silent mockery of Dr. Brownson quickly dissipating in the face of his humiliation.

“This is strange,” Dr. Brownson said, as he probed inside the skull. Slowly, he pulled out a wrinkly object from its center: A shriveled apple.

“Wow!” came a voice from one of the assembled team members. “How did that get there?”

Dr. Brownson shook his head. “These entire remains present a box of mysteries. Look at these fractures along the arms and legs. They’re small, but they were undoubtedly created during this person’s lifetime. If you look closely,” he said, leaning to inspect the bones and rub away some of the dirt, “you can even find evidence of healing. This kind of healing occurs in childhood.”

“What does it mean?” the young man asked again, his cockiness giving way to genuine curiosity.

“This person was beaten throughout her lifetime. Since childhood, in fact. I’d even posit that the beatings increased in severity. She was a healthy person so they may not have been obvious, and they quickly healed, but they were severe nonetheless.”

“That’s horrendous!” came a voice from around the table again.

“Indeed,” replied Dr. Brownson.

“And the apple?” asked the young man, respect for Dr. Brownson now having replaced his earlier ridicule.

Dr. Brownson shrugged. “It would have decomposed by now if it were placed inside the skull at the time of death so I think we can conclude it is a relatively recent addition to the crime scene. I imagine the body was found in a rather shallow grave, yes?”

Harper nodded.

“It’s possible that the apple was put there by someone or merely discarded close by and happened to find its way into the skull cavity, perhaps carried there by an animal. A bizarre coincidence, if that is the case.”