‘I think it must have been on Monday morning,’ says Hugh, ‘after the library. We went for a walk on the beach.’
‘And how did she seem?’
‘Her usual self,’ says Hugh. ‘Avril was always cheerful, always put a brave face on things. Look.’ He fetches a framed photograph from the mantelpiece. It shows Hugh and Avril laughing on a pier. Cromer, Judy thinks. Avril is wearing a blue and white striped dress. Hugh is debonair in a panama hat.
‘She thought that dress made her look fat,’ says Hugh. ‘But I loved it. She looks bonny.’
He uses the Scottish word unselfconsciously. Emma was right; Hugh was sweet on Avril.
‘Isotope analysis,’ says Ruth, ‘is a particularly useful tool for archaeologists. Many different materials, such as bone, hair or organic residues, can serve as substrates for isotopic analysis. Teeth are particularly important. Can anyone tell me why?’
She looks at the earnest faces of her students. On the screen behind her is a photograph of the Tombland skeleton, still lying in the middle of the Norwich roundabout, measuring rod beside it. She has decided to use this case as a way of teaching stable isotope analysis to the first years. After all, they were there when the body was discovered, that should make the information more relevant. Also, David is always moaning that the course doesn’t have enough on the latest forensic techniques.
It’s the bearded student, Joe McMahon, who answers. ‘Because once we get our adult teeth, they’re there for life.’
‘Exactly,’ says Ruth. ‘Bones renew themselves, teeth don’t. Isotope analysis of teeth gives us a good idea of where a person lived. In this case, our skeleton seems to have had a diet that was high in meat and dairy, which suggests that she was a fairly high-status individual.’
Eileen Gribbon puts up her hand. ‘Does that mean that she was buried in the churchyard and not in a plague pit?’
Ruth sighs inwardly. She blames herself for first mentioning the P word but some of her students really seemed obsessed. She answers, patiently. ‘The location of the body, and the way it’s laid out, does suggest a formal burial. We also found some fibres which could indicate the presence of a linen shroud. Wrapping the body in cloth would also limit the movement of the bones as the cadaver decomposed, which could account for the skeleton’s well-preserved appearance.’
The deceased. The cadaver. The skeleton. As always, Ruth feels the inadequacy of words for the dead. But at least they know the sex. She clicks onto her next slide.
‘We’ve been able to extract DNA from the bones,’ she says. ‘Until quite recently, DNA extracted from skeletal remains often turned out to be from the parasites that fed on the soft flesh.’ She looks at her students to check for signs of squeamishness, but they are all listening intently. ‘But then it was discovered that the petrous portion of the temporal bone,’ she points, ‘is the best place to take samples for DNA testing. We did this with our skeleton and, as I suspected from the pelvic bones, she is female. What’s more, we think that she had dark hair and blue eyes.’
The students gasp. Ruth smiles; she, too, can never get over the fact that DNA can yield such intimate secrets. At the end of the session, she suggests that they give their subject a name.
‘Ruth,’ says someone.
‘Martha,’ says Joe, with such emphasis that all the other students immediately agree with him. So the Tombland skeleton is now named Martha, the sister of Lazarus, who rose from the dead. It’s quite fitting, thinks Ruth.
The vicar calls herself Mother Wendy. When she invites them to use this form of address, Tony has a sudden choking fit.
‘It’s the dust,’ says Judy, slapping him– hard– on the back. But the church isn’t particularly dusty. Maybe Tina cleans here too? St Andrew’s is a handsome building, with a square tower and Gothic windows. Like a lot of Norfolk churches, it looks rather too grand for its surroundings. Wendy says that, these days, it’s only full for weddings and funerals. Will Avril Flowers be buried here? Judy assumes so.
‘We have our regulars, of course,’ says Wendy. ‘Some people come to the Eucharist every day.’
‘Was Avril one of your regulars?’ asks Judy. They are sitting at the back of the church by a display showing the repairs needed for the tower. Judging by the graphs, the work will be completed some time in the next century.
‘Yes, she was,’ says Wendy. ‘She was very devout in her quiet way.’
‘Did she ever seem worried about anything?’ asks Judy.
‘Of course she was worried,’ says Wendy. ‘That’s what the church is here for. For worried people. That’s why we’ll always be here.’
‘Was she worried about anything in particular?’ asks Judy.
‘I can’t really say,’ says the vicar.
Is this because she doesn’t know, wonders Judy, or because of the seal of the confessional? Do Protestants even go to confession?
‘Avril seemed like a very nice lady,’ says Tony. Judy sees that his guileless charm is the right tack to take. Mother Wendy visibly relaxes.
‘She was. She was the sort who always kept busy. Doing the flowers, helping with the cleaning rota, collecting for charity.’
‘My mum’s the same,’ says Tony. ‘Always doing things for other people. I think she forgets to look after herself sometimes.’
Is this too heavy-handed? No, Wendy is smiling mistily at Tony. ‘That’s just it. Sometimes we forget to love ourselves.’
