LC 02 - Questionable Remains Read online

  Lindsay sat propped up in her four-poster bed, comfortable in her green cotton nightshirt, reading the latest osteology journal. The television on a table against the wall beyond the foot of her bed went mainly unnoticed as it flashed the news of the day, but as she turned a page in the journal a scene on TV caught her eye. She aimed the remote at the television and turned up the volume. Denny Ferguson's cocounsel, the angry young woman in the dark blue suit, was talking to a reporter. The lettering at the bottom of the picture said her name was Sarah Kelley Banks.

  "I am absolutely outraged," she was saying, "that a man's life depended on the testimony of that woman." Lindsay cocked an eyebrow as Sarah Banks went on to attack her professionalism and competence. She hit the off button when the reporter announced that Lindsay could not be reached for comment.

  The shrill ring of the telephone startled Lindsay. She glared at the device on the nightstand as if it were a traitor, letting the machine answer it. At the sound of Derrick's voice on the speaker, she picked up the receiver.

  "Derrick, I'm here," she said.

  "Good. I called late, hoping you'd be home. How'd it go today?"

  "The jury convicted him."

  "I'm glad."

  "Derrick, do you think I'm arrogant, manipulative, and unprofessional?"

  Derrick gave a surprised laugh. "Self-assured, yes. Manipulative? Definitely not. And you're the most professional person I know. What's this about?"

  Lindsay told him about the angry confrontation.

  "Well, I can see why they might be choking on sour grapes. Forget them. I have some good news."

  "I could use some good news. What is it?" She settled into her pillows and looked at the smiling face of Derrick in the picture at her bedside.

  "I'm going to be the principal investigator of the Cold River Site this summer."

  "Derrick, that's great." Cold River was potentially a huge site, probably covering more than fifty acres. It had seven mounds. The largest covered four acres and rose to a level of fifteen feet. The site had been known to archaeologists for more than a hundred years, but the landowners had never given permission to dig. The land was in different hands now and permission had been granted to the University of Tennessee, where Derrick was working on his doctorate. It was a gem of a site. Lindsay let the sound of Derrick's easy voice soothe the tension of the day from her.

  "I won't be able to come see you for a while," he said with regret. "We're starting excavation in the spring."

  "I know you must have a lot to do to prepare," she said. "I'11 put Cold River on my summer itinerary."

  "Bring your dancing shoes."

  "Always, when I see you."

  "I miss you, Lindsay."

  "I miss you, too. I wish you were here," she said. He was silent. Lindsay imagined the look of surprise on his face.

  "I'll come if you need me," he said.

  "I need you, but don't come. I'll be fine. It's just the trial and Mr. Kim. It's so sad."

  "I know," he said.

  "I'm pleased about Cold River," Lindsay told him.

  "So am I," he said.

  The March winds lingered into April, and it was unseasonably cold as Lindsay showed the students at Barrow Elementary School how much you can learn about people by examining their tombstones. Lindsay and the class of sixteen young students were in the old cemetery beside Baldwin Hall. Campus lore said it was where the university buried deceased students in centuries gone by when it was inconvenient to ship the bodies back home. The story may have been true, but the graveyard was actually the remnants of the old City of Athens Cemetery, encroached on over the years by the expanding university. Most of the residents had been exhumed long ago and moved elsewhere so that only a fraction of an acre of the cemetery remained on the campus. Lindsay had just finished talking about identifying the different kinds of rock the tombstones were carved from and asked if there were any questions.

  "Can we dig one up and look at the bones?" asked a nineyear-old dressed in a red and black UGA sweatshirt.

  Lindsay was saved from answering by Sally, who had come to tell her she had a phone call from Max Gilbert, the prosecutor of Denny Ferguson. She left the students and their teacher with Sally and hurried to see what he wanted.

  "I have some bad news," he told Lindsay when she picked up her office phone. "Denny Ferguson is on the loose."

  "How?" asked Lindsay, clutching the telephone.

  "Sometime after midnight last night he complained of severe stomach pains and had a fever. The county jailer on duty called for a doctor, who thought it was his appendix and had him sent to the hospital. He found himself in a momentarily unguarded hospital room and walked out. Simple as that."

  "What do you think he will do?"

  "Try to get as far away from here as possible. He does have a lot of relatives who could hide him, and that's bad, but I don't want you to worry, just be cautious. Normally, these guys are caught within forty-eight hours."

  Lindsay hung up the phone. She decided not to tell Derrick. He would probably interrupt his work to come down, and she didn't want to be the cause of that. Besides, the prosecutor was right. Ferguson would be caught soon if he stayed in the area. The life of a fugitive is hard, particularly when his face has been seen on TV by nearly everyone.

  Ferguson's escape caused a flurry of news items about the role of Lindsay's testimony in his conviction. His lawyers talked about the tyranny of expert witnesses and how their credentials and reputation can unduly interfere with some jury members' exercise of their own good judgment. Sarah K. Banks gave a teary interview, saying that Denny was afraid he was going to be put to death for something he didn't do. No wonder he bolted, she told the interviewer. He felt as though he had no hope for justice.

  Denny Ferguson was not caught within forty-eight hours. Two months passed before Max Gilbert, the county prosecutor, called to tell her, "A car stolen from the hospital parking lot about the time of Ferguson's escape turned up in South Carolina. It's a safe bet it was him. He'll turn up. He's not smart enough to stay hidden for too long. Maybe we'll get lucky and Unsolved Mysteries or one of those programs will pick up the story."

  Lindsay thought that sounded as if they didn't have a clue where to look for Ferguson, but she had stopped worrying about it. If he had a grudge against her, he would have tried something before now. She directed her attention to her plans for the summer: a leisurely trip through North Georgia and Tennessee, visiting archaeological sites. The three she was most interested in were directed by friends she had gone to graduate school with who were in the process of finishing up their doctoral programs: Brian Parker's Royce Site, Jane Burroughs' Rock Shelter Site, and, of course, Derrick Bellamy's Cold River Site. She had spent the larger part of spring quarter planning her trip. If Denny Ferguson came after her, at least she would be a moving target.

  "There's a call for you." Susan Gitten leaned from the door of Lindsay's cabin, yelling to her. "Do you want me to tell them you've gone?"

  Lindsay turned from stroking her horse's neck and glanced at her Land Rover, packed and ready to go. "Yes ... no. I'll take it." She rested her cheek on Mandrake's velvetsoft nose, gave his neck another pat, and walked to the cabin.

  "Lindsay Chamberlain," she said.

  "Dr. Chamberlain, this is Sheriff Howard, over in Cordwain. We met last year at that cemetery flooding thing."

  "I remember. What can I do for you?"

  "A farmer up here's found a skeleton in a field he's plowing. I wonder if you'd come take a look. I got a deputy guarding it right now." Lindsay looked at her watch. She had planned to be on the road by now, but then, she had also vowed to have a leisurely trip and a flexible schedule. "We don't have anybody here who can tell us what to do with it," he added, as he gave her directions to the farm.

  "I'll leave right now. It should take about forty minutes."

  "Thanks. I sure do appreciate this. It's probably an Indian burial ground he's stumbled on, then again ..."

  Ch
apter 2

  LINDSAY SAW THEM standing in the field: two men in uniform, slim with military bearing, and another man dressed in work clothes. A large green tractor was sitting idle a few feet away. A woman in a print housedress stood at the edge of the field. Next to her a young boy about twelve sat cross-legged, petting a dog lying beside him. A girl of about five pulled at the woman's hand, straining to see what had gotten the grown-ups' attention. All faces turned toward Lindsay as she parked her vehicle and walked across the plowed field.

  The sheriff held out his hand to Lindsay. "This is Miles Lambert. He owns the land. This is my deputy, Mike Murray. Glad you could come."

  Lindsay smiled and shook each hand in turn. "No problem," she said as she looked down to where two ribs lay on the surface of the ground.

  "Lambert thinks it may be a dog he buried a few years ago," said the sheriff, as Lindsay kneeled to look at the yellowed bones. She picked them up and stood to examine them.

  "No, I'm afraid they're human," she said.

  The sheriff shook his head. "Well, damn."

  "How can you tell?" asked the deputy. "I've seen some pretty big dogs."

  "If you look over at that dog, you'll see his rib cage is a different shape from ours. It's a consequence of walking on four legs rather than two."

  Lindsay watched as they squinted at the dog, who sat up and wagged his tail as if expecting to be called. They looked at the ribs again, not seeing what Lindsay saw. Lindsay asked the young boy to bring his dog over, which he did eagerly. The dog was a large black and tan hound that wagged its tail and sniffed with mild interest in the direction of the bones.

  "What's his name?" Lindsay asked the boy.

  "Casey," he told her.

  Lindsay petted the dog and said his name. He licked her hand and gave her his paw. She shook it, then held the rib bones next to his chest. It was obvious from the comparison that the ribs could not be those of a dog.

  "I see what you mean now," said the sheriff. The others nodded in agreement.

  "These are the left sixth and seventh ribs of a human," Lindsay said. "They've been in the ground a good while, well over a hundred years from the looks of it. But ground that is routinely fertilized," she motioned toward the field, "has an effect on bones that can make them look older than they are. I need to see all of the skeleton to be sure of its age."

  "I've got some shovels," Lambert offered.

  "I have excavation equipment in the Rover," said Lindsay. "It probably will take the rest of today and most of tomorrow, maybe longer."

  "Deputy Murray here will help," said the sheriff, and Lindsay was somewhat surprised when the deputy readily agreed.

  "I got a camera in the car," he said.

  Mr. Lambert was able to supply her with a makeshift screen to sift the surrounding dirt for items that might belong with the bones.

  Lindsay drew a tentative outline in the soil indicating where she believed the grave's edges would be, then sat down in the plowed ground and began gently moving away dirt with her trowel. She started where the ribs had protruded through to the surface, and she quickly found more bone. After an hour or so the sheriff realized that this was going to be a slow and meticulous task. He left the deputy in Lindsay's charge and drove back to his office. The Lamberts had left earlier. Lindsay heard Mrs. Lambert admonish her children not to bother them while they worked.

  Mike proved adept at excavating and at sifting the fill taken out of the burial. The ground was soft and the task went more quickly than she had expected. By noon the upper half of the skeleton was partially uncovered. She was brushing dirt away from the forehead of the skull when, to the side of the excavation, she spied a pair of small tan feet with pink toenails in tiny brown sandals. She looked up into the wide-eyed cherubic face of the little girl she had seen earlier. The girl was staring down at the protruding skull.

  "Hi," said Lindsay.

  The girl grinned and waved a hand at Lindsay.

  "Marilee, does your mama know you're here?" asked the deputy.

  Marilee nodded emphatically twice. "She said for you to come in for tea and sandwiches."

  "That sounds mighty good," said Mike. "How 'bout it, Dr. Chamberlain?"

  Lindsay dusted her hands. "Maybe you and Marilee could bring me a sandwich and something to drink. I think I'd like to continue working."

  "I found one just like that." Marilee pointed to the ground.

  "What?" asked Mike.

  Lindsay's gaze followed the direction of Marilee's finger. Lindsay saw it immediately. She took a tongue depressor and gently shaved the dirt away from the object, then dusted it with a soft paintbrush. After more shaving she was able to lift it from its place in the ground.

  "What is it?" asked Mike.

  "A copper earspool," said Lindsay.

  "An earspool?" Marilee sounded incredulous. "What's that?"

  "It's like a pierced earring, but the hole in the ear is stretched over this part. See how it kind of looks like a spool of thread?"

  "Well, what kind of person wears something like that?" asked Mike.

  "Indians of a certain time period wore them," answered Lindsay. "Where did you find the other one like it?" she asked Marilee.

  The little girl looked around the field as if gathering her bearings. She pointed toward the middle.

  "Do you come out and collect stuff after it rains?" asked Lindsay.

  Marilee nodded that she did.

  "I'll bet you find a lot of good stuff. Could I see it?" she asked.

  A worried look came over the little girl's face, and Lindsay remembered how tightly she had protected the Clovis point she found when she was Marilee's age, how she hung on to it still, keeping it safe in her desk.

  "I won't take it," said Lindsay. "I just want to look at it."

  Marilee smiled and said, "Okay."

  "Well, I guess that tells us who the bones belong to," said Mike, rising and mopping his brow with a large blue bandanna.

  "Looks like it "

  Lindsay took the brush and dusted the skull. It had been partially flattened from years of decay, heavy topsoil, and, Lindsay supposed, farm equipment running over it, but certain features caught her eye. First, the very narrow nasal passage, then the slightly rectangular eye sockets: telltale signs of a Caucasian skull. She looked closely at the teeth, which she believed had overbite instead of the usual evenedged occlusion of people of Asian ancestry. Lindsay touched the zygomatic arch with her finger. She would have to wait until the skull was out of the ground, but she was relatively sure that these were not the forward-projecting cheekbones of an Indian skull, but the more recessed ones of a European.

  "This is interesting," she said aloud.

  "Found something else?" asked Mike.

  Marilee squatted by the grave and looked at the bones.

  "His facial characteristics are not those of an Indian, but of a European," she said.

  "What does that mean, exactly?" asked Mike. "We got us some guy from Europe wearing spools in his ears getting hisself buried here in this field? Maybe it's some hippie, you know, from the '60s, and the bones are not as old as they look. You said fertilizer and stuff make a difference."

  "These are authentic Mississippian earspools, and the bones are definitely over a hundred."

  "He from Mississippi?" asked Marilee. "My kindergarten teacher's from there."

  Lindsay grinned at the little girl. "How old are you?" she asked.

  Marilee held up five fingers.

  "You sure are smart for five."

  Marilee grinned.

  "But no, Mississippian is the name of," Lindsay hesitated, searching for an explanation that Marilee would understand, "a big tribe of Indians that lived about five hundred years ago."

  "Wow," Marilee whispered.

  Marilee's mother, Grace Lambert, made tuna sandwiches, chocolate cake, and tea for Lindsay and Mike. They were sitting cross-legged in the grass at the edge of the plowed field eating when they heard the screen door of the house
slam and turned to see Marilee running across the grass holding a cigar box.

  "These are the things I found out here," she said, handing the box to Lindsay.

  Lindsay set her plate down and opened the box. Marilee scooted close, guarding her treasure, Lindsay thought. The green copper earspool lay on a wadding of cotton. The design cut into the copper, as far as Lindsay could determine, was similar to the one with the skeleton. In the box with the earspool were two arrowheads, a bottle cap, half a horseshoe, and a rusty bolt.

  "Nice collection," Lindsay told her. "It looks like this earspool is the mate to the one we found today." Marilee looked troubled again, and Lindsay handed the box to her and she set it on her lap.

  "Mama and Daddy told me I have to give it to you," Marilee said quietly.

  "No. You can keep it. But maybe sometime I can borrow it and give you a paper that says that it is yours and I must give it back. Would that be all right?" Marilee nodded her head. "I don't need to borrow it now," Lindsay continued, "so you keep it safe."

  Marilee smiled. "Will you tell Mama and Daddy that?"

  "Sure," said Lindsay. "Are these all the things you found?"

  "Yes. I look all the time."

  "Let's look in the field now, while Mike finishes his lunch."

  "I can go back to work now if you need. .. ," he said, with a mouth full of chocolate cake.

  "I want to do a little surface collecting. Take your time."

  Lindsay and Marilee walked in the fine, dark brown dirt of the field. Lindsay's practiced gaze swept the ground with each step, but she found nothing.

  "If you come back after a rain," suggested Marilee.