Page 37 of The Forsaken
“I reserve the right to strip-search him before he enters the premises,” Gabe had threatened.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Quinn retorted. “Sylvia said Jude is clean.”
“About as clean as a fireship,” Gabe replied, still annoyed.
“Gabe, that’s uncalled for. Comparing Jude to a pox-ridden prostitute is beneath you,” Quinn said, putting her hands on her hips for emphasis.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I just worry about Emma.”
“I know you do, but give Jude a chance. You did misjudge the situation last time.”
“I made a judgement call based on the facts I had available to me. And I would call the coppers on him again,” Gabe said. “Now, can we drop this? I’ll be nice to Jude and his friends, but I will keep an eye on them. You can be sure of that.”
“This ought to be fun,” Quinn muttered but allowed the subject to drop.
TWENTY-THREE
“I’ll never get used to this smell,” Quinn said as she followed Gabe down the corridor to the mortuary. The usual stench of carbolic, decay, and desperation hung over the premises, making her wince. She felt sorry for the poor people who had to come to the mortuary to identify the remains of their loved ones. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was usually the result of either suicide or violence, and the sight wasn’t for the faint of heart, even when only the face of the victim was visible.
“You’re not meant to be used to it,” Gabe replied. “It’s revolting.”
Quinn knocked on the door and poked her head in. Sarita Dhawan was seated in front of the computer, typing rapidly. Her ebony hair was wound into a bun atop her head and her stylish glasses appeared to be sliding down her nose.
“Hello there,” Sarita called out. “Dr. Scott said you’d be stopping by. He’ll be back shortly. He just popped out to get a sandwich. Give me a moment to finish entering these autopsy results and I’ll walk you through to the lab.”
“Find anything interesting?” Gabe asked as they followed Sarita into an adjoining room where their skelly was laid out on a metal slab, completely reassembled and thoroughly cleaned.
“I’ll let Dr. Scott fill you in,” Sarita replied. “He’d have his nose out of joint if I stole his thunder.”
“Ooh, there’s thunder,” Quinn said, rubbing her hands in anticipation. “I can’t wait.”
“Did you work with Colin on this?” Gabe asked, standing over the bones gleaming beneath fluorescent lights.
“I ran tests on the fabric, leather, and hair,” Sarita replied. “Fascinating stuff.”
“Sorry I’m late,” Colin called out as he walked into the lab. He shook hands with Gabe and kissed Quinn’s cheek before pulling on a pair of latex gloves and approaching the remains.
“So, what can you tell us about him?” Gabe asked.
Colin smiled happily, his eyes crinkling with good humor. “The first thing I can tell you about him is that he is a she,” he announced, looking gratified by Gabe’s shocked reaction.
“Are you sure?” Gabe asked. “I’ve never come across a Christian woman buried with a sword. Of course, there were Saxon women, and Celts, who were warriors, but women of the Middle Ages didn’t often go into battle.”
“It’s not her sword,” Colin replied, grinning as though he were thoroughly enjoying himself.
“How can you tell?” Gabe inched closer to the skeleton and stared down at the bones, as if they would suddenly reveal all to him. Of course, he already knew that the sword didn’t belong to the woman on the slab, but scientific proof was what counted in archeological circles.
“Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
Quinn and Gabe nodded eagerly.
“What we have here is a female, aged between twenty and twenty-five.” Colin pointed to the bone at the base of the spine. “The shape of the pelvic cavity, the angle of the greater sciatic notch, and the mandible shape and its ramus all prove that she was indeed female. I have determined her age by scoring the epiphyseal closure of the sacrum at the time of death. Her humerus bone is a maximum of thirty centimeters and the femur is a maximum of forty-three centimeters, which tells me that she was between four foot seven and five foot two.”
“Fascinating,” Gabe said as he studied the remains. “Go on.”
“Based on carbon-14 dating, I’d say she lived in the mid-to-late fifteenth century. And she was no warrior; she was a lady. If you look at her wrists, you’ll see that they are very delicate. A person who routinely performs hard physical tasks, such as wielding a sword, develops ridges at the site where the muscle was attached to the bone and pulled over the years. I see no such ridges here. I think this woman came from a wealthy family. Her teeth are in excellent shape, which means she enjoyed a varied and plentiful diet. The bits of fabric and leather support my theory. The fabric is a fine velvet, which was dark blue in color originally. There are tiny bits of gold thread, and the stiches, or what’s left of them, are very fine. A woman who wasn’t well-to-do would be wearing homespun, dyed with basic dyes obtained locally. The homespun would have disintegrated after all these centuries, being more loosely woven and much thinner in texture. I would also venture to suggest that she had well-made shoes, not the coarse leather shoon worn by the poor, where both shoes were exactly the same and could go on either foot. The leather is from a calf, not a fully grown cow. Also a luxury.”
“And her DNA?” Quinn asked. She’d seen strands of hair still clinging to parts of the scalp, which was now washed clean.
