Chapters (28)
Mrs Barley’s release from hospital was imminent. Her precious garden was beginning to look neglected, since Bob had been unwell himself, and hadn’t visited during her absence. We decided to tidy things up before her return.
I mowed the lawn, while Elodie dozed in her pram, beneath the overhang of the summer house’s roof. Jack pruned and weeded the borders, taking care to replace each marker in its original position – rose, iris, violet, sweet william. Jobie, typically frenetic, darted about like one possessed, sniffing everywhere like a bloodhound. He wasn’t usually allowed into Mrs Barley’s garden and it was obviously all very exciting for him.
We paused for lunch and went indoors. Suddenly, the dog hurtled through the back door, panting excitedly and covered in soil.
‘Jobie! What’ve you done?’ I cried, rushing outside. To my horror, Jobie had burrowed a huge hole in Mrs Barley’s flowerbed.
‘Bad boy! No!’ I was too late. Mrs Barley’s magnificent damask roses lay crushed and strewn across the path.
We stared helplessly at the devastation that our pet had wreaked. Before we could stop him, the dog resumed his frenzied digging, triumphantly raising his head to reveal a small bone between his teeth.
‘Shit! Look at the mess he’s made. What can we do?’ Turning in desperation to Jack, usually the voice of reason, I was shocked to find his complexion drained to an unearthly pallor.
‘Jack …?’
‘Stina, that’s no animal bone.’
Perplexed, I scanned his ashen face. ‘What d’you mean …?’
‘I’m certain … it’s human.’
I almost retched. What the hell had our dog uncovered?
My heart hammering, I knelt beside Jack to examine the decimated flowerbed. There were numerous bones of varying lengths – but all of miniature proportions; tiny, porous, filigree-like twigs. Tentatively, I raked back the soil with my hand, revealing a larger, more rounded object.
I recoiled in horror.
It was a tiny human skull.
‘I’m ringing the police,’ said Jack, eventually.
*
The doorbell chimed.
We showed the young policeman responding to our call into the garden. Mutely, he made notes, nodding occasionally, before retreating to his patrol car to relay the information to his colleague.
The forensic team arrived and cordoned off the cottage. Their blue and white tape seemed incongruous around Mrs Barley’s privet hedge and front gate. In disbelief, we watched the proceedings from our living room. It felt completely unreal. They continued to work by flashlight beyond dusk, painstakingly brushing away soil and putting samples into clear evidence bags.
‘Bit grisly, this one,’ remarked one officer, passing by the open window. ‘Appears there are around three bodies. Babies. We’ll know more once we get everything back to the lab.’