Christopher that slipped off when they were shifting the earth to make the car park. But, deep down, she knows this isn’t true. The layers above Jemima Green’s body were all in place. This soil hasn’t been moved for over a hundred years.
Ruth thinks of Erik, her tutor at university and once the man she admired most in the world. It was Erik who discovered the Bronze Age henge on the beach near the Saltmarsh. The henge dig, which took place thirteen years ago, is still a golden memory for Ruth. The wide clear sands in the early morning light, the tide rushing in across the marshes, the first sight of the wooden henge, the sacred circle still complete after some four thousand years. Some local people – Cathbad included – wanted the henge to stay where it was, exposed to the wind and the tides. Erik had sympathised. ‘Sometimes the best thing we can do is to leave something where it was meant to be.’ But higher authorities had prevailed and the timberswere removed to a museum. Would Erik approve of Ruth removing Jemima Green’s medal? He would probably think that it should remain with the dead woman, her one pathetic example of grave goods. But, on the other hand, he certainly wouldn’t have approved of
Women Who Kill
and would definitely have considered Ruth a more fitting guardian than Mark Gates or Phil.
Thinking of Erik makes Ruth feel restless. When she gets home, rather than going into the house, she decides to walk with Kate across the sand dunes to the sea. It’s a beautiful evening, limpid pools of blue and gold, the seagulls flying low over the waves. The walk across the marsh can be dangerous but Ruth takes a path discovered long ago, two thousand years ago in fact. It’s an Iron Age causeway, constructed many years after the henge but, in Erik’s opinion, connected to it. ‘This is sacred land, Ruthie. A crossing place. A bridge between land and sea, between life and death. People have known that for thousands of years.’ All that is left of the causeway is a series of wooden posts sunk into the earth. Ruth follows these now, Kate skipping along at her side, thinking of the time when she first found the path, lost on the marshes at night. And Cathbad, of course, had known all along. She is so deep in the past – recent and ancient – that the sound of her phone is a shock. But when she looks to see who’s calling, it’s not a surprise at all. Cathbad.
‘Hi Cathbad. I’m walking across the Saltmarsh with Kate.’
She thought he would respond to this – the Saltmarsh is one of his favourite places and Kate is one of his favourite people – but Cathbad’s voice is tough, businesslike.
‘Ruth. Have you heard about Liz Donaldson?’
‘Who?’
‘Liz Donaldson. The woman accused of killing her three children.’
For a moment Ruth is no wiser and then she sees a woman’s face, a laughing blonde-haired woman holding a baby.
‘She was on the news the other night,’ she says.
‘Yes. There’s been a lot of coverage. It’s Nelson’s case you know.’
‘I know.’ She thinks of something. ‘I didn’t think she’d actually been accused. The report I saw just said she was being questioned. Nelson refused to comment.’
Cathbad laughs, rather bitterly. ‘Yes, he’s doing that a lot at the moment. They took her in for questioning. There was no evidence so they had to let her go again. But it’s obvious what they think. The police think she did it.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘No. I know she didn’t do it. I know Liz. She’s a friend of Delilah’s, she used to babysit for the kids. She’s a lovely woman. She would never harm anyone.’
Ruth is silent. Delilah is Cathbad’s ex-girlfriend and they have a child together, though she must be almost grown-up now. But that’s not what is making Ruth’s heart beat so fast. Delilah was the mother of Scarlet Henderson, the little girl whose disappearance first led to her collaborationwith DCI Harry Nelson. It was
Ruth thinks of Erik, her tutor at university and once the man she admired most in the world. It was Erik who discovered the Bronze Age henge on the beach near the Saltmarsh. The henge dig, which took place thirteen years ago, is still a golden memory for Ruth. The wide clear sands in the early morning light, the tide rushing in across the marshes, the first sight of the wooden henge, the sacred circle still complete after some four thousand years. Some local people – Cathbad included – wanted the henge to stay where it was, exposed to the wind and the tides. Erik had sympathised. ‘Sometimes the best thing we can do is to leave something where it was meant to be.’ But higher authorities had prevailed and the timberswere removed to a museum. Would Erik approve of Ruth removing Jemima Green’s medal? He would probably think that it should remain with the dead woman, her one pathetic example of grave goods. But, on the other hand, he certainly wouldn’t have approved of
Women Who Kill
and would definitely have considered Ruth a more fitting guardian than Mark Gates or Phil.
Thinking of Erik makes Ruth feel restless. When she gets home, rather than going into the house, she decides to walk with Kate across the sand dunes to the sea. It’s a beautiful evening, limpid pools of blue and gold, the seagulls flying low over the waves. The walk across the marsh can be dangerous but Ruth takes a path discovered long ago, two thousand years ago in fact. It’s an Iron Age causeway, constructed many years after the henge but, in Erik’s opinion, connected to it. ‘This is sacred land, Ruthie. A crossing place. A bridge between land and sea, between life and death. People have known that for thousands of years.’ All that is left of the causeway is a series of wooden posts sunk into the earth. Ruth follows these now, Kate skipping along at her side, thinking of the time when she first found the path, lost on the marshes at night. And Cathbad, of course, had known all along. She is so deep in the past – recent and ancient – that the sound of her phone is a shock. But when she looks to see who’s calling, it’s not a surprise at all. Cathbad.
‘Hi Cathbad. I’m walking across the Saltmarsh with Kate.’
She thought he would respond to this – the Saltmarsh is one of his favourite places and Kate is one of his favourite people – but Cathbad’s voice is tough, businesslike.
‘Ruth. Have you heard about Liz Donaldson?’
‘Who?’
‘Liz Donaldson. The woman accused of killing her three children.’
For a moment Ruth is no wiser and then she sees a woman’s face, a laughing blonde-haired woman holding a baby.
‘She was on the news the other night,’ she says.
‘Yes. There’s been a lot of coverage. It’s Nelson’s case you know.’
‘I know.’ She thinks of something. ‘I didn’t think she’d actually been accused. The report I saw just said she was being questioned. Nelson refused to comment.’
Cathbad laughs, rather bitterly. ‘Yes, he’s doing that a lot at the moment. They took her in for questioning. There was no evidence so they had to let her go again. But it’s obvious what they think. The police think she did it.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘No. I know she didn’t do it. I know Liz. She’s a friend of Delilah’s, she used to babysit for the kids. She’s a lovely woman. She would never harm anyone.’
Ruth is silent. Delilah is Cathbad’s ex-girlfriend and they have a child together, though she must be almost grown-up now. But that’s not what is making Ruth’s heart beat so fast. Delilah was the mother of Scarlet Henderson, the little girl whose disappearance first led to her collaborationwith DCI Harry Nelson. It was
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