The post-mortem results show that that Avril Flowers, like Samantha Wilson, died from ‘respiratory failure due to chemical overdose’. The scene-of-crime report comes in the next day. The most interesting finding, as far as the team is concerned, is the presence of a third set of fingerprints – besides Avril’s and Tina’s – on the handle and key of Avril’s bedroom door.
‘So someone did lock her in,’ says Tony. He seems fascinated by the case. Judy is finding it rather trying although she tells herself that being keen is not a crime. She was the keen youngster herself once.
‘There was no sign of a struggle,’ says Judy, scrolling through the report on her laptop. ‘Avril was lying peacefully on her bed.’
‘It’s a bungalow,’ says Tanya. ‘Avril could have locked the door and climbed in through the window. It would have been easy with the veranda running all the way round the house.’
Tanya really is obsessed with that veranda, thinks Judy.
‘Why would she do that?’ she says. ‘If Avril was going to commit suicide, why bother to make it look suspicious? And who did the third set of prints belong to?’
‘They don’t belong to anyone on our database,’ says Nelson. ‘That’s all we know. We need to talk to more of Avril’s friends and acquaintances. Judy, did you say she worked part time in the local library?’
‘Yes,’ says Judy. ‘I’ve got an appointment to see the librarian this morning. Avril was a regular churchgoer too. I’m seeing the vicar this afternoon.’
‘Good work,’ says Nelson. ‘Take young Tony with you as he seems to like locked room mysteries so much. Tanya, can you organise some door-to-door? Someone might have seen a stranger hanging around. It’s a nice area. There might even be CCTV.’
‘The average house price is £275,000,’ says Tanya.
Hunstanton Library is a low, modern building in a residential area. It’s nothing like the solid Carnegie-built library in King’s Lynn that Judy remembers from her school days. It looks more like a doctor’s surgery or a primary school.
‘I used to love visiting the library when I was a kid,’ says Tony. ‘My mum took us after school on a Thursday. I remember, when you were ten, you got a green library card which meant you could get six books instead of just three. It seemed the most exciting thing ever.’
Tony always keeps up a steady flow of chat, unless specifically requested to shut up. It’s like wading in his stream of consciousness. Judy knows that Tony was brought up in London and came to Norfolk to attend university. His parents are first-generation Chinese immigrants and he has a brother, Mike, who’s a junior doctor. Tony once told her that he had a sister who died of meningitis as a child, but Lily rarely features in the reminiscences.
‘My parents weren’t big readers,’ says Judy. ‘I can’t remember them ever taking us to the library. I went with the school though.’
‘My parents read in Chinese,’ says Tony. ‘We used to go to Charing Cross Library on Saturday mornings because they had a big Chinese books collection. Sometimes we’d go to the cinema afterwards.’
‘Sounds great,’ says Judy as she parks in front of the library. ‘Remember to let the interviewee get a word in edgeways, won’t you.’
Tony lapses into silence but is soon chatting to the librarian, Emma, about green library cards and Charing Cross.
‘I worked for Westminster Libraries for while,’ says Emma. ‘A funny little place in Mayfair. Interesting readers though.’
Emma is originally from Scotland.
‘It was a bond I had with Avril,’ she says. ‘We were both from near Edinburgh. I just can’t believe she’s gone.’
‘Avril’s death must have been a shock to you,’ says Judy. They are in the children’s section because the library isn’t open yet. It feels odd, talking about death whilst sitting on squashy cubes surrounded by primary-coloured book covers: Elmer the Patchwork Elephant, Spot, Dear Zoo, Happy Birthday, Tiger Twins.
‘It was a terrible shock,’ says Emma, the words bringing out her Scots accent. ‘Avril always seemed so cheerful. I looked forward to her days.’
‘How many days did she work in the library?’ asks Judy.
‘Just two days a week. Usually Mondays and Thursdays. She was a volunteer. We’re relying on them more and more these days. There aren’t enough trained librarians to go round.’
‘What do the volunteers do?’ asks Judy.
‘All sorts,’ says Emma. ‘Sometimes they deliver books to housebound readers or help with children’s activities. Avril did general administrative work – putting protective covers on books, that sort of thing – but she also helped out with IT support. She was proud of being a silver surfer.’
‘How did she seem when you last saw her?’ says Judy. ‘Did she seem anxious or depressed?’
‘Not at all,’ says Emma. ‘I saw her on Monday. She seemed her usual self.’
According to the post-mortem, Avril died sometime on Monday night or early on Tuesday morning. She was found by Tina the next morning. In a locked room.
‘Can you remember what you talked about?’ asks Tony. Obviously aimless chat is one of his specialist subjects.
‘We were laughing about something we saw on TV,’ says Emma. ‘I can’t remember what.’ She looks from Tony to Judy. ‘Is it true? That she committed suicide? That’s what people are saying but I just can’t believe it.’
‘We’re still investigating,’ said Judy. ‘I’m sorry. I know it must be distressing. Did Avril ever mention anyone or anything troubling her? Anyone hanging around the house, for example?’
‘No,’ says Emma, wide-eyed. ‘Avril got on with everyone.’
‘Is there anyone that we should be talking to? Her daughter mentioned someone called Hugh that Avril used to meet here?’
‘Oh, Hugh Baxter. He’s another volunteer. A lovely man. Very interested in local history and all that. I think he’s a bit sweet on Avril. He’ll be devastated when he hears.’
‘Do you have an address for Hugh?’ asks Judy.
Lovely man or not, he’s going on their list.
Hugh Baxter lives nearby so Judy and Tony leave the car and walk. It’s midmorning and the streets are very quiet. Tony stops to talk to a cat sunning itself on a wall but otherwise there is not a living creature to be seen. Is everyone staying inside because of the threat of coronavirus, thinks Judy, or is Hunstanton always like this?
Hugh’s house is an end-of-terrace cottage. The brickwork looks slightly shabby but the garden is immaculate. A birdbath stands in a perfect circle of lawn and early daffodils are pushing their way up through the soil.
‘My uncle Wang Lei loves gardening . . .’ Tony begins but Judy silences him with a look. The door is opened by a white-bearded man in the sort of clothes Judy’s grandfather wears for relaxing: shirt, tie, cardigan, neatly pressed trousers and slippers.
Judy had thought she would have to break the news about Avril. This is something she has been trained to do but it’s never pleasant. However, it’s clear that Hugh already knows. When Judy says why they have come, he rubs his eyes.
‘Poor Avril. Such a tragedy.’
Bad news travels fast, thinks Judy.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘Do you feel up to answering a few questions?’
Hugh ushers them into a small sitting room smelling strongly of furniture polish. ‘The cleaner’s just been,’ he says. ‘That’s why everything is so tidy.’
‘Who does your cleaning?’ asks Judy. Though she thinks she can guess.
‘Tina Prentice,’ says Hugh. ‘She’s wonderful.’
‘Was it Tina who told you about Avril?’
‘Yes. She rang yesterday. She knew Avril and I were close.’
‘How long have you known Avril?’ asks Judy.
‘About three years,’ says Hugh, picking imaginary fluff from the arm of the sofa. ‘When she started working at the library. We had a lot in common. She’d just been widowed. I lost my wife, Doris, ten years ago. We were both interested in gardening and local history.’
‘Your garden is lovely,’ says Tony.
‘Thank you,’ says Hugh. ‘It’s a great comfort. I like watching the birds too.’
Judy gives Tony a look to warn him not to start talking about Uncle Wang Lei.
‘We’re talking to everyone who knew Avril,’ says Judy. ‘Trying to get an idea of her state of mind. When did you last see her?’
‘I think it must have been on Monday morning,’ says Hugh, ‘after the library. We went for a walk on the beach.’
‘And how did she seem?’
‘Her usual self,’ says Hugh. ‘Avril was always cheerful, always put a brave face on things. Look.’ He fetches a framed photograph from the mantelpiece. It shows Hugh and Avril laughing on a pier. Cromer, Judy thinks. Avril is wearing a blue and white striped dress. Hugh is debonair in a panama hat.
‘She thought that dress made her look fat,’ says Hugh. ‘But I loved it. She looks bonny.’
He uses the Scottish word unselfconsciously. Emma was right; Hugh was sweet on Avril.
‘Isotope analysis,’ says Ruth, ‘is a particularly useful tool for archaeologists. Many different materials, such as bone, hair or organic residues, can serve as substrates for isotopic analysis. Teeth are particularly important. Can anyone tell me why?’
She looks at the earnest faces of her students. On the screen behind her is a photograph of the Tombland skeleton, still lying in the middle of the Norwich roundabout, measuring rod beside it. She has decided to use this case as a way of teaching stable isotope analysis to the first years. After all, they were there when the body was discovered, that should make the information more relevant. Also, David is always moaning that the course doesn’t have enough on the latest forensic techniques.
It’s the bearded student, Joe McMahon, who answers. ‘Because once we get our adult teeth, they’re there for life.’
‘Exactly,’ says Ruth. ‘Bones renew themselves, teeth don’t. Isotope analysis of teeth gives us a good idea of where a person lived. In this case, our skeleton seems to have had a diet that was high in meat and dairy, which suggests that she was a fairly high-status individual.’
Eileen Gribbon puts up her hand. ‘Does that mean that she was buried in the churchyard and not in a plague pit?’
Ruth sighs inwardly. She blames herself for first mentioning the P word but some of her students really seemed obsessed. She answers, patiently. ‘The location of the body, and the way it’s laid out, does suggest a formal burial. We also found some fibres which could indicate the presence of a linen shroud. Wrapping the body in cloth would also limit the movement of the bones as the cadaver decomposed, which could account for the skeleton’s well-preserved appearance.’
The deceased. The cadaver. The skeleton. As always, Ruth feels the inadequacy of words for the dead. But at least they know the sex. She clicks onto her next slide.
‘We’ve been able to extract DNA from the bones,’ she says. ‘Until quite recently, DNA extracted from skeletal remains often turned out to be from the parasites that fed on the soft flesh.’ She looks at her students to check for signs of squeamishness, but they are all listening intently. ‘But then it was discovered that the petrous portion of the temporal bone,’ she points, ‘is the best place to take samples for DNA testing. We did this with our skeleton and, as I suspected from the pelvic bones, she is female. What’s more, we think that she had dark hair and blue eyes.’
The students gasp. Ruth smiles; she, too, can never get over the fact that DNA can yield such intimate secrets. At the end of the session, she suggests that they give their subject a name.
‘Ruth,’ says someone.
‘Martha,’ says Joe, with such emphasis that all the other students immediately agree with him. So the Tombland skeleton is now named Martha, the sister of Lazarus, who rose from the dead. It’s quite fitting, thinks Ruth.
The vicar calls herself Mother Wendy. When she invites them to use this form of address, Tony has a sudden choking fit.
‘It’s the dust,’ says Judy, slapping him – hard – on the back. But the church isn’t particularly dusty. Maybe Tina cleans here too? St Andrew’s is a handsome building, with a square tower and Gothic windows. Like a lot of Norfolk churches, it looks rather too grand for its surroundings. Wendy says that, these days, it’s only full for weddings and funerals. Will Avril Flowers be buried here? Judy assumes so.
‘We have our regulars, of course,’ says Wendy. ‘Some people come to the Eucharist every day.’
‘Was Avril one of your regulars?’ asks Judy. They are sitting at the back of the church by a display showing the repairs needed for the tower. Judging by the graphs, the work will be completed some time in the next century.
‘Yes, she was,’ says Wendy. ‘She was very devout in her quiet way.’
‘Did she ever seem worried about anything?’ asks Judy.
‘Of course she was worried,’ says Wendy. ‘That’s what the church is here for. For worried people. That’s why we’ll always be here.’
‘Was she worried about anything in particular?’ asks Judy.
‘I can’t really say,’ says the vicar.
Is this because she doesn’t know, wonders Judy, or because of the seal of the confessional? Do Protestants even go to confession?
‘Avril seemed like a very nice lady,’ says Tony. Judy sees that his guileless charm is the right tack to take. Mother Wendy visibly relaxes.
‘She was. She was the sort who always kept busy. Doing the flowers, helping with the cleaning rota, collecting for charity.’
‘My mum’s the same,’ says Tony. ‘Always doing things for other people. I think she forgets to look after herself sometimes.’
Is this too heavy-handed? No, Wendy is smiling mistily at Tony. ‘That’s just it. Sometimes we forget to love ourselves.’
‘Is that what Avril was like?’ says Judy. ‘A bit hard on herself?’ She remembers Hugh saying that Avril ‘put a brave face on things’.
‘A bit,’ says Wendy. ‘She came from the Scottish Presbyterian tradition, of course. It’s all very Calvinistic and strict. Unlike us lot in the C of E.’ She laughs, sending a pigeon flying from the rafters.
‘Did Avril ever have suicidal thoughts?’ asks Judy.
‘She never mentioned suicide to me,’ says Mother Wendy, serious again. ‘But that doesn’t mean that she didn’t think about it.’
‘Do you know if Avril ever attended the service for the Outcast Dead in Norwich?’ asks Judy.
Wendy looks surprised. ‘Yes. There’s a group of us from the church who go every year. Such a lovely idea. To remember all those poor plague victims.’
‘Avril’s daughter mentioned a friend called Maggie,’ says Judy. ‘She said she was another churchgoer. Do you know who she meant?’
‘Poor Maggie,’ says Mother Wendy. ‘It was such a shock when she went.’
It turns out that where Maggie ‘went’ was to the afterlife. To heaven, if that’s the way your mind works. She died suddenly of a heart attack in January. ‘I think Avril was very upset about it,’ said Mother Wendy. ‘We all were.’
‘How old was Maggie?’ asked Judy.
‘Seventy but that’s no age these days,’ said Wendy, ‘and she was as fit as a fiddle, always exercising. Not a couch potato like me.’
‘Do you think that Maggie’s death might be suspicious?’ asks Tony as they drive back to the station.
‘I think we ought to investigate a little,’ says Judy, ‘but the coroner obviously didn’t see any cause for an inquest.’
‘Maybe losing Maggie is what pushed Avril over the edge.’
It’s rather a violent image, thinks Judy. She sees a figure teetering on a precipice. A shadowy figure appears behind them and sends them tumbling to their death. She suddenly thinks of Samantha Wilson and the demise of her cat, Trudy. According to her daughter, Saffron, Samantha had been ‘devastated’. Could these two bereavements have been triggers for suicide? Thinking of Samantha reminds Judy of something else.
‘Samantha Wilson went to the service for the Outcast Dead,’ she says. ‘Like Avril Flowers.’
‘What does that mean though,’ says Tony, ‘other than they were both religious?’
‘Suicides could be considered outcast dead,’ says Judy. ‘Their graves used to be unmarked, outside consecrated ground. It could show that Avril and Samantha were already thinking that way.’
‘Mother Wendy talked about plague victims,’ says Tony. ‘That made me think about coronavirus.’
Judy gives her colleague a sharp look. It’s unlike Tony to be so melodramatic but, then again, his family are originally from China where, it seems, the virus originated. He might know more than she does.
‘It’s hardly the bubonic plague,’ she says.
‘I expect that’s what they thought about the bubonic plague once,’ says Tony.
The rest of the drive passes in silence.