Trapped (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 5) Page 17

  “Okay,” Zack said, laying various instruments on the ground. “I brought some clippers, a hand trowel and a shovel. I figure that will be good.”

  Jenny nodded her approval. “I guess step one is to clear out all this brush.” Looking at the mess she added, “I wish we had some gloves.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” Zack proposed. “You clip, I’ll pull.”

  She glanced at him with love in her eyes, but he was too focused on the ground to notice. She reached down to grab the clippers and began to snip as closely as she could to the surface. As promised, Zack reached his hands into the brush and removed the pieces.

  Before long an area was cleared, exposing hard, dark soil. Putting her hand to her chin, Jenny posed, “If Samuel is buried here, how deep do you think he would be?”

  “That’s a good question,” Zack replied. “I would imagine it might have to do with what time of year he passed away. If it was winter, it would be hard to dig very deep.”

  “As much as I hate to say this, I think we should err on the side of caution and skip the shovel in favor of just the hand trowel.”

  “Well,” Zack countered, “if I use the shovel at the right angle it won’t go very deep, but I’ll be able to move a lot more dirt at a time than if I used the trowel.”

  “Okay,” Jenny conceded, “just be careful. I wouldn’t want to damage anything.”

  Jenny watched as Zack removed thin layers of dirt. Before long, however, she started to feel queasy. “I think I need to go in and get a snack.”

  “Go ahead,” Zack said without looking up. “I’ve got this for a while.”

  After a couple of pieces of toast, Jenny walked back out to the woods to see Zack had made a fair amount of progress. “Well done, chief,” she said as she approached. “I assume you haven’t found anything yet?”

  “Nope, not yet. Are you sure this is the right spot?”

  “I’m still feeling a pull,” Jenny assured him. “There’s something about this spot.”

  Zack wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Okay, then. I’ll keep going.”

  “Do you want me to take a turn?”

  “Nah,” Zack replied, “I’ve got it. I don’t want you to do anything that might hurt little Steve.”

  Hearing Zack call the child by name—if, in fact, it was a boy—gave Jenny an undeniable twinge of happiness. There was a human being inside of her…a person whom she would eventually know as her child. Someone she would love more than life itself. She placed her hand on her belly with a distant smile.

  As Zack planted the shovel just below the surface, a definite scraping sound emerged. They looked at each other with wide eyes. “What was that?” Jenny asked.

  “I don’t know,” Zack admitted, “but I think it might be time to trade the shovel for the trowel.”

  After some careful dirt removal, a human skull became visible under the ground. Jenny’s emotions ran the spectrum from excited to devastated, but ultimately the logical part of her brain took over. “So who do we call about this?”

  “I looked this up earlier, just in case we found something,” Zack replied. “We need to call the police first, who will send out a medical examiner. If the medical examiner decides the remains are over seventy-five years old, they will call an archeologist. You and I both know what’s going on here, but we have to go through the proper channels. We can’t just skip straight to the archeologist.”

  Jenny thought for a moment. “Is this a job for 9-1-1? Or do we use the non-emergency number?”

  “I think finding human remains qualifies as an emergency.”

  Jenny dialed the police, who were out in force within minutes. Despite Jenny telling them otherwise, they feared the body was related to the missing women discovered off the highway. Car after car arrived on scene, full of uniformed officers who worked furiously to cordon off the area.

  The commotion caused Jessica to come running out of the inn. “What’s going on out here?” she demanded. “Is everyone okay?”

  Jenny felt bad for not having given her fair warning. “Everything’s fine, Miss Jessica,” she said as she raised her hands in a calming gesture. Once Jessica got closer, Jenny whispered, “I think I just found Samuel; that’s all.”

  Jessica looked over Jenny’s shoulder toward the crime scene tape. “He’s out there?” she asked with a sad look on her face. “In the woods?”

  Jenny nodded. “But hopefully not for much longer. I want to make sure he gets buried with the rest of his family.”

  Looking concerned, Jessica brought her gaze back to Jenny. “And how do you go about doing that?”

  “I have no idea,” Jenny replied, “but I know someone who does.”

  Ingunn responded to the quiet knock on her door. “Come in.”

  “Hi Amma,” Jenny said as she ducked her head through the small opening she made with the door.

  Ingunn was looking out the window at the flurry of activity below. “You found Samuel.”

  With a nod Jenny whispered, “I believe we did.”

  “That’s good.” Ingunn let the curtain fall back into place as she stepped toward the bed. Sitting on the edge she added, “Although it will be a while before he can rest.”

  Jenny sat next to her grandmother. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. If this does turn out to be Samuel—and I can’t imagine it won’t—how can I make sure he gets buried with his family?”

  “Persistence. Patience.” Ingunn folded her hands on her lap. “The first step in the process will be conclusively identifying the remains. That in and of itself will take a long time.”

  Although she had an idea of how it would be done, Jenny asked, “Does that involve DNA?”

  “I’m sure these days it would,” Ingunn replied. “They were just learning about that when your grandfather died and I quit the mortuary business. It’s nice that they now have a way to conclusively identify a body, but from what I understand it’s not a quick process. In this case it will be even longer since there are no living relatives to compare his DNA to. To prove he’s a Davies, they’ll most likely have to exhume his parents.”

  Jenny put her head in her hands. “Do you think that will be necessary? Can’t they just look at the evidence and decide that it must be him?”

  “I don’t know. That will be up to someone else to decide.”

  “Okay,” Jenny said as she sat up straighter, “after they figure out that it’s him, then what?”

  “Then you can claim the remains. At that point you can make his final arrangements.”

  After thinking for a moment, Jenny nodded with understanding. “I still might like to talk to someone from a funeral home around here before we head home; then I can see if I have the ability to bury Samuel in his family plot. If that’s going to involve any red tape, I’d like to get that out of the way while his remains are being identified. We might as well have two long processes going on at once. The way I see it, the poor kid has already waited so long; I don’t want to postpone this any longer than necessary.”

  A quiet rap on the open door distracted the women from their conversation. “Hello?” Zack called.

  “Hey, we’re in here,” Jenny said. “What’s up?”

  “The medical examiner is here.”

  “Has he said anything?”

  “Not yet,” Zack explained. “They’re still trying to expose more of the remains. They did uncover some of the clothes he was wearing, though, which is a strong indication that this is not a recent burial. People from this century don’t wear stuff like that. I imagine it won’t be too long before they all leave and a team of archeologists come out.”

  “That’ll be good…for Jessica, I mean,” Jenny said. “I’m sure it would look a lot better for her inn to have archeologists in the back as opposed to having a bunch of cops swarming around.”

  “Yeah,” Zack agreed, “that can’t be good for business.”

  “Speaking of Jessica, is she still outside?” Jenny posed. �
�I want to ask her something.”

  “Last I saw she was,” Zack said.

  Jenny excused herself and headed back into the yard, where Jessica was indeed watching all of the activity. Roy and Florence had since joined her.

  “You didn’t tell us you’re a psychic,” Florence said immediately upon Jenny’s arrival.

  Jenny glanced quickly at Jessica before saying with a modest smile, “I generally don’t tell people that. I know it’s weird.”

  “It’s not weird,” Florence assured her. “It’s fascinating.”

  Clearly feeling the need to explain, Jessica said, “I told them what was going on and how this is unrelated to the findings off the highway.”

  Suddenly Jenny understood why Jessica had disclosed the secret; a haunting from a homesick child was far less disturbing than the notion of a serial killer on the property.

  Roy shifted his weight on his cane. “So tell me…that slave woman you painted—she was more than just an image you made up, wasn’t she?”

  Jenny bit her lip as she looked down. “Yes, sir.”

  “So, who was she?”

  “I believe that woman took care of Samuel when he was dying. I’m under the impression that the rest of his family succumbed before he did, and this woman stayed by his bedside while he was ill.”

  “And how do you know that?” Florence asked. Her voice reflected awe as opposed to skepticism.

  “I saw it,” Jenny explained. “I saw her, through Samuel’s eyes. She was singing to him as he lay in bed, and she had the most amazing voice.” She smiled lovingly despite her emerging sadness. “It brought him a lot of comfort.”

  “That’s truly beautiful,” Florence replied. “I can imagine that poor little boy was frightened.” She shook her head with dismay. “No child should have to go through that. It’s bad enough that he caught a fatal disease, but to have to face it without his parents…that’s just awful.”

  Perhaps it was the pregnancy, but Jenny could feel the tears fill her eyes. With any luck, her own child would never have to walk in those shoes. “What makes this even more remarkable, in my opinion, is that this woman could have left. If our theory is correct and there were no adults around, the slaves could have easily escaped.” Jenny turned to Roy. “Or would they have been free? Did slaves become freed when their…owners died?” She had a difficult time saying the word owner.

  “No, they wouldn’t have been free unless the family specified that in their will,” Roy explained. “Slaves were considered property, so they were generally left to surviving family members as part of an inheritance.”

  “Property,” Jenny whispered. That gracious woman with the beautiful voice was anything but property.

  Roy continued, “However, it is possible that the family died before any of the heirs would have even known about it.”

  Jenny raised her eyes to look at him.

  “While typhoid would have taken a few weeks to kill the members of the Davies family, the mail could have easily taken longer. And if the Davies family died of cholera instead of typhoid, that would most certainly have been true. Cholera took its toll much more quickly.”

  Jenny considered all of the possibilities about what could have happened to the slaves after Samuel died, fully realizing she would most likely never know the truth. “Well,” she added, “I’m going to operate under the assumption that the slaves were able to find freedom after the Davies family passed away.”

  “You realize that’s a longshot…”

  Jenny stuck her fingers in her ears and playfully said, “La la la la la. I can’t hear you.” She turned to Roy with a smile. “They found freedom. That’s my story, and I’m sticking with it.”

  Taking the hint, Roy remained quiet; he simply nodded with a wink.

  “So, Miss Jessica, I wanted to ask you something,” Jenny began. “But I don’t want to put you on the spot, so I’ll wait until later.”

  “I can assure you, you won’t be putting me on the spot,” Jessica replied with a smile. “I have no problem saying no to unreasonable requests, believe me.”

  Jenny briefly pursed her lips, jealous of that ability. She had yet to master that art. Dismissing the notion, she posed, “Well then, if I pay for it, would you be willing to allow a monument to the slaves be built on the property?”

  “A monument?”

  “Yes, a monument. Something to acknowledge that they lived here too.” Jenny looked down. “And something to recognize them as more than just property.”

  “How big are you thinking?” Jessica asked.

  “Nothing huge. I actually have something in mind. I could sketch if it you’d like, and then you can tell me what you think.”

  “If you want my two cents,” Roy said, “I think it’s a fabulous idea.”

  “Oh, I do too,” Jessica assured them. “I guess I should have made that clear right away. I was just jumping straight to logistics.” She sighed and shook her head before she continued, “This whole episode has made me realize that I’ve been neglecting a very important part of this house’s history. Yes, it was once a Confederate hospital, and that is a big commercial draw, but it had a story before that—and apparently a very rich one. I think it’s time I start paying more attention to the years before the war.”

  “If you’d like,” Jenny proposed, “I can also draw what the yard used to look like based on my vision. For instance, there was a well right about here.” She pointed to an area not far from the shed. “I think that was the Davies’ well, and then back there was the well used by the slaves.” She gestured in the direction of the investigation and noticed that a lot of the officers were beginning to walk away from the scene. “Oh,” she said with surprise, “it looks like something is happening.”

  After a moment, one of the police officers approached Jessica and offered an explanation. “The medical examiner has sufficient reason to believe the remains are old enough to warrant a call to the archaeology team. We still want to keep the area cordoned off and have an officer on scene until they can arrive.”

  Jessica nodded with understanding. “Thank you for letting me know.”

  “Most of the officers will be heading out of here,” the policeman explained. “It appears there’s a new development in the Highway Killer case, so we need as many officers as possible to work on that.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened. “A new development?”

  “It appears that way, yes ma’am.”

  He continued to talk to Jessica, but Jenny took several steps away and quickly dialed her phone. “Officer Howell,” she said as soon as he answered. “I hear there’s something happening in the Highway Killer case.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Howell remained silent for what felt like an eternity. “A dark-haired woman was just reported missing in Richmond.”

  Chapter 18

  “Oh God,” Jenny said. “Who is she?”

  “A twenty-seven year old prostitute named Michelle who works the downtown area.”

  “A prostitute got reported missing?” she posed. “Isn’t that unusual?”

  “Yes, under normal circumstances it would be. However, streetwalkers have been told about this man who has been preying on dark-haired prostitutes, and they’ve been directed to be on high alert. This particular woman reportedly has a best friend that she works with, and the friend hasn’t seen her in two days. According to the friend, that’s out of character. She and Michelle usually spend their days sleeping in the same motel room.”

  Jenny rubbed her eyes with her free hand as she spoke on the phone. “Do you have any leads on this case?”

  “Unfortunately, no. But I am glad you called. If I give you a picture of this woman, do you think you can try to get a feel for whether she’s alive or dead?”

  “That’s actually not how I operate,” she confessed, “but my father might be able to give you some insight on that. If he can get a reading from her picture, that will unfortun
ately mean she’s passed away, but at least it will tell you something.”

  “Well, let’s hope he can’t get a reading,” Howell said with a disgruntled sigh. “So can I have his contact information? Or might you be willing to pass along the photograph if I send it to you?”

  “Honestly, I don’t have his number committed to memory; I’d need to look at my phone to give it to you, and I obviously can’t do that right now. Maybe you should just send it to me?”

  “Absolutely,” Howell said. “Give me two minutes and it’ll be in your inbox.”

  After hanging up with Howell, Jenny gave a quick call to Roddan, letting him know that he would be receiving a message that needed immediate attention. As promised, the picture appeared quickly in Jenny’s phone, and she sent it on to her father right away.

  Once Roddan had the photograph in his possession, Jenny decided to take a look at Michelle’s image herself. The picture featured a painfully thin, dark-haired woman with a pleasant smile but distant eyes. Jenny assumed the picture had been taken somewhat recently, perhaps by her prostitute friend, and the glossy eyes were the result of drug use. She shook her head, wondering what could have become of Michelle if she had decided to decline that first offer of drugs. Would she have been a teacher? A businesswoman?

  A mom?

  Jenny couldn’t help but think of Michelle’s mother—a woman who rocked this baby to sleep and taught her the ABCs. Jenny was sure that like any parent, Michelle’s mother wanted the best for her, only to have her turn out to be a prostitute and the potential victim of a twisted serial killer. Moments like this caused Jenny to second-guess her optimism about becoming a mother. What kind of world was she bringing a baby into? And how would she handle it if her own child went down the wrong path?