But that was a freakishly rare occurrence, and I doubted it was the explanation here. ‘It takes a lot of body fat for that to happen, and even then not everything burns away. Some of the bigger bones and extremities usually survive.’
‘They could be hidden under the ash,’ the SOCO offered.
‘Not an entire body,’ I said. ‘We should be able to see more than this.’
We could rule out scavenger activity as well. Animals couldn’t have got into the boiler if the hatch was closed, and I doubted they’d have tried anyway. Even if a larger scavenger, like a fox, had ventured this far into the basement, the bones would have been too burnt to be of any interest.
Whelan had squatted down to examine the ashes spilled on the floor below the boiler’s hatch. ‘So you’re saying somebody burned a body in here, then came back afterwards and took away what was left.’
‘Not all of it,’ I said, putting the scapula into an evidence bag.
Chapter 22
While the cadaver dog search continued without me, I stayed in the basement to sift through the cold ashes in the boiler. If I was needed they would send for me: in the meantime, I was more use down there, carefully trowelling ashes through a fine-grade sieve with the SOCOs. Most of what we recovered were just fragments of charcoal that hadn’t been fully consumed by the fire, but there were other finds as well. Several more phalanges, from feet as well as hands, along with a small number of larger bones, were concealed beneath the ashes. All were crazed and distorted by the heat. Two pieces of broken ribs were recovered, their ends sharply splintered, and what looked like a rounded piece of clinker turned out to be the head of a right tibia, with the rest of the long shin bone buried under the ash. Uncovered nearby, though still further away than it would have been in life, was the rounded triangle of a patella. A kneecap, though from the left leg rather than the right.
As we worked, we began to form a clearer picture of what had happened, if not why. As Whelan had noted, the ashes on the surface were mostly burnt wood, salted with blackened chunks of charcoal. Underneath them was an older layer of ash and cinders, left over from when the boiler had burned coal to heat the hospital. That suggested that the body had been put inside, had wood piled over and around it, and then been set alight. While it wouldn’t have burned as hotly as a coal fire, the boiler would have trapped and intensified the heat, enough for the soft and connective tissue to burn off until only the charred skeleton remained.
Then, when the fire had died and the bones were cool enough to handle, someone had come and taken them away.
The SOCOs had discovered an ash-covered rake and shovel nearby, probably used by boiler-room staff when the hospital was still functioning. They’d also been put to more recent use. The burnt remains would have come apart when anyone tried to remove them, the surviving ligaments and tendons too brittle to maintain the skeleton’s integrity. Judging by the tracks in the ashes, the tools had been used to clumsily drag the remains closer to the hatch, jumbling up the bones and causing some of them to be buried in the process.
And not just bones. There were other non-organic finds as well. A metal belt buckle, a zip fastener and circular eyelets from either shoes or boots, all charred but enough to show that the body burned in here had been wearing clothes.
Parekh had been to the basement for the start of the recovery but hadn’t stayed. There was little for her to do except agree that the bones were human, and when she’d been called out to another, unconnected death across the city she’d left us to it. Ward had come as well, bulky and uncomfortable in the coveralls and her face pale and strained.
‘Are we looking at one set of remains or multiple?’ she asked, looking at the boxes of evidence.
‘I can’t say for sure yet,’ I said. ‘I haven’t seen any duplications, but—’
‘Just tell me if it’s one or two.’
Her sharpness betrayed her tension. The excitement she’d shown earlier, on the way to arrest Gary Lennox, had evaporated. Not only had Oduya’s intervention stymied her hopes of establishing Lennox’s guilt through his fingerprints, now we’d uncovered what appeared to be a fourth victim.
Today hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped.
‘One. So far,’ I added.
If we’d found duplicates of any of the bones — two right tibias, say — it would mean we were looking at commingled remains from two or more people. I’d found nothing to support that yet, though.
‘What else can you tell me?’
‘The bones we’ve found are all large and heavy, even allowing for them shrinking in the fire. I’d say from that we could be looking at a male, but that’s only a first impression.’
‘Height? Age?’
‘You know I can’t—’
‘I’m going to be reporting to Ainsley and standing in front of a pack of reporters later. Just give me something.’
I was about to say that it was too early to be speculating on age and stature when we were still sifting through the ash and cinders, but then I saw the lines of strain around Ward’s eyes.
‘From what I’ve seen, it’s probably an adult male,’ I told her. ‘Heavily built and between one eighty-four and one eighty-eight centimetres tall, based on the length of the tibia. I’ll be able to give you a better estimate when I’ve done all the calculations, but he was probably six foot one or two. Probably.’
I stressed the last word, letting her see I wasn’t happy saying even that.
‘How old an adult?’
‘It’s hard to say.’
‘Give me your best guess.’
‘I just have done.’ I could understand Ward’s impatience, but there was only so much I could tell from a few burnt bones.
‘Fine. If you’re not up to it I’ll ask Mears,’ she snapped.
She turned and walked out. I stared after her, my face burning. None of the SOCOs would meet my eyes. I picked up the sieve, then put it down again.
‘I’m taking a break,’ I said.
I left the boiler room myself, silently fuming. Ward and I didn’t mix socially, but we’d always got on. There had never been any friction when we’d worked together in the past, and she’d shown real concern during the scare over Grace Strachan earlier that year. She was obviously feeling the strain, but that didn’t make me feel any better after she’d publicly torn a strip off me. Stoking a sense of injustice, I walked along the dimly lit passageway. My footsteps rang off the dank walls, the echo bouncing back in a staccato counterpoint. It was only when I turned a corner and found that the floor lights abruptly ended that I realized I’d taken the wrong turn.
In front of me the passageway disappeared into darkness. Now I’d stopped, the only sound was my breathing as I took in where I was. Up ahead was the black mouth of a larger passageway, and when I saw the cross of tape stretched diagonally across it I realized it was the blocked-off tunnel leading to the demolished morgue. Opposite it, unlit and barely visible in the shadows, was the old morgue entrance.
My breath steamed in the cold underground air, and I was suddenly aware of how alone I was. I told myself that was ridiculous. There were SOCOs in the boiler room I’d just left and the entire site was full of police. Yet, standing in the dark passageway, it felt as though I were the only person in the entire hospital.
Idiot. Now you’re just frightening yourself. I must have been this way when I’d first come down with Whelan, and even if the floodlights had been taken away I had a flashlight on my phone. I could probably find my way to the stairs if I carried on.
I didn’t, though. Ignoring the urge to look back over my shoulder, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come. Even though I didn’t like to admit it, the sound of my feet splashing through the puddles was a welcome relief after the heavy silence. I speeded up, telling myself it was because I didn’t want to waste any more time, and turning the corner, I almost walked into Whelan.