Ana called. Reception was bad in the parking garage, so Alexa backed up and stood on the sidewalk.
“How’s Shelby?” Alexa asked. “Does she still have the stomach bug?”
“She’s better. Now I have it. Saw you on TV.” Her voice was weak. “What a mess. Mum and I can’t believe The Hammer is innocent.”
“They’re bringing in a fresh forensics team. I’m off both cases.”
“Holy hell.”
Alexa didn’t want to wallow. She launched into the DNA revelations and the connection to the skeleton.
“Holy hell again. Our S2 shares genes with Cindy Mulligan’s murderer?”
“The crazy part is that this person, or someone closely related, recently did a family genealogy kit that links back to S2. But privacy laws protect her.”
“Her?”
“No Y chromosome.”
“A woman? That’s a shock. I always expect murderers to be male.”
“Eighty percent are,” Alexa said.
“My head is swimmy. Our female skeleton is related to whomever killed Cindy Mulligan. That must mean the murderer is from a family that has lived in the area since gold rush times.”
“And maybe still does. I’ll head to the museum and dig into the archives again.”
“Aren’t you off the case?”
Alexa sidestepped.
“Are you coming back to the cottage?”
“I don’t want to get you sick. Can you meet Olivia at the cemetery this afternoon? She’s removing the vandalized tent and our supplies. Mr. Sun and the benefactor are at the morgue, wrapping S1’s bones in calico. Mrs. Wong is having a ceremony at the cemetery tomorrow afternoon. Then she’s taking S1 home to China. You’ll be there, won’t you?”
Dan would want her back in Auckland. She was surprised he hadn’t already called. She’d request some comp days since she’d worked straight through the weekend. “I’ll be there.”
“He’ll finally rest in peace,” Ana said. “Oh. Would you stop by the Gold Shoppe? They have that gold chain that was buried with S1. It belongs to the benefactor.”
She agreed. “Remember how S1 was positioned in the grave? Pointing at something?”
“Probably pointing the way home,” Ana said.
Alexa heard Shelby singing in the background as they said goodbye.
She drove the familiar road back to Arrowtown, letting the anger and shock of being dismissed slide through the cracked-open window. She was free to snoop, attend S1’s farewell ceremony, and head home to Auckland.
To Bruce.
The sign above The Gold Shoppe door said “Specialists in Natural Gold Jewelry.” Inside, Alexa was drawn to three gold nuggets in a glass case. The middle one was fifteen ounces and had been found in the Arrow River. The other two came from the West Coast. The man behind the counter—close-cropped brown hair and ruddy face—waited on two customers while simultaneously watching her move to a display of jewelry. She wasn’t in the market for a locket of gold flakes for two thousand dollars. She waited until the man finished and then introduced herself. A gold signet ring gleamed from his ring finger. “Dr. Luckenbaugh said you’d be by. She asked me to examine this artifact from a miner’s grave. I had a look. Let me show you.”
He reached under a counter and retrieved a clear plastic bag with the chain in it. It had been cleaned and glistened enticingly. “A lovely piece, very pure, maybe ninety-five percent gold.”
“Can you tell how old it is?”
“It was part of a single-strand Albert chain, and that style was popular in Victorian days.”
“I’ve never heard of an Albert chain.”
“They were named after Queen Victoria’s husband Prince Albert. He was keen on them.”
Wasn’t there a joke about letting Prince Albert out of a can? She didn’t mention it. “So it’s gold rush-era?”
“Most likely. See the T-bar? That was used to affix the chain to a vest buttonhole.”
“Chinese miners wore chains like that. I’ve seen them in photographs.”
“European gold miners wore them too.” He poured the chain onto a velvet-covered pad. “The other end would have had a swivel hook to attach to a pocket watch which would be tucked into the vest pocket. This one is severed. The link here is wrenched apart.”
Like someone jerked it, Alexa thought.
“Albert chains had small chains added to display a decorative fob or gold sovereign. That’s missing also.” A man and woman entered the shop. He followed them with his eyes. “A single strand like this probably belonged to a working-class gent, could be a miner. Sometimes men wore them with the swivel chain attached to an empty pocket. To make it look as if he had a watch. I hope I’ve been of assistance.”
He bagged the chain and handed it to her. It shimmied at the bottom of the bag, expectantly. “If this belonged to a Chinese miner, he had made the decision to stay in New Zealand instead of sending all his money home.”