Dead Secret (35 page)

Epilogue

Charlotte Hawkins, the Druid from England and claimant to the Moonhater Cave bones, and Charlotte’s friend Caitlin Shanahan, the Wiccan from the United States, sat in front of Diane’s desk in the museum. Caitlin unconsciously fingered the meditation fountain near Diane’s desk, moving her fingers in and out of the clear water.

“I hope you’ve been having a good time in the U.S.,” Diane said to Charlotte.

“A wonderful time. Caitlin has been a most gracious host. You’ve found out something about the bones, haven’t you? Are you going to give them to me?”

“I have indeed found out something about the bones. We performed several analyses—one dating the bones and another to establish their origin.”

“We know where they’re from,” said Caitlin. She was still ready for a fight. Charlotte patted her arm gently.

“You know partly where they’re from,” said Diane. “It’s a young girl.”

“Woman,” said Caitlin.

Even Charlotte rolled her eyes at that one.

Diane smiled. “She was between fourteen and eighteen. She was healthy and well nourished. Her bones had indeed been in the cave, probably since the second century, and she was run through from back to front with a sword.”

Caitlin almost jumped out of her chair. “It’s her, it’s Annwn. That’s what happened to Annwn.”

Charlotte’s eyes glittered, but she said nothing.

“And,” said Diane, “she was Roman.”

They both looked dumbfounded. “Roman?” they said together.

“She can’t be,” said Caitlin. “She’s Celtic. . . .”

Charlotte sighed and looked at her hands. “So she isn’t my ancestor after all.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Diane.

Both of them looked up sharply.

“You mean she is?” said Charlotte.

Diane nodded. “We were able to get DNA from her tooth, and matched her mitochondrial DNA to yours. You both are descended from the same female ancestor.” Diane reached beside her desk and handed Charlotte a beautiful painting done by Neva. “This is a reconstruction of her face. Neva, the artist, researched the hairstyle and fashion of the times for the painting.”

“Well . . . ” whispered Charlotte, “she looks a bit like my granddaughter Brenna.” She shook her head and frowned. “I always thought we were descended from the Celts.”

“You are,” said Diane, running her fingers through her hair as a gesture to Charlotte.

“Oh, of course, how silly of me,” said Charlotte, touching her own red hair. She caressed the face in the painting, stroking the face. “I wonder what her story is?”

“Maybe there are other families around the area with stories that can shed some light on hers,” said Diane. “John Rose would love to sit down and talk with you about trying to research her history. He only wants to know who she is and what happened to her. Whatever happened to her is the history of the whole region. He was very excited to find out that you are related.”

Charlotte nodded. “She was a pretty little thing.”

“Yes, she was,” said Diane.

“I’ll go see John again. We’ll talk. I would like to know what happened to her.”

Caitlin stood up abruptly. “In light of everything, I’ll take the curse off the museum,” she said.

“Caitlin!” admonished Charlotte. “You didn’t. What a naughty girl you are.”

“Woman.”

Charlotte clucked. “You’re a girl, dear. You’ll see when you get to my age.”

“It’s all right,” said Diane. “The museum is immune to curses. She has a goodness all her own, and it usually rubs off on people. You are welcome to visit while you are here.”

It had been three months since Mike’s stabbing. He was now fit and raring to go. Diane and her caving buddies were on their first outing since finding Caver Doe, and she was thrilled to be here. Among all the other things to celebrate, she and Mike were celebrating the negative results from the blood tests they’d had to take because of their stabbings. She had told Andie that if there was any crisis, to tell the perpetrators to wait until she returned.

Diane stood in the cave tunnel by the passage entrance where she had first heard the waterlike noise, waiting for the others. MacGregor was with them. He had lost weight so that he could fit through the squeeze.

“He doesn’t look half-bad,” Neva had told her. “He’s real proud.”

The others came down the tunnel shortly, catching up.

“This is fun,” said Jin, who this time was dressed in clothes that fit and had a reasonably sized backpack picked out for him by Mike.

“Okay, Diane has point,” said Mike. “I’ll take up the rear.”

The flashing, bobbing lights from their five headlamps lit the tunnel walls. The surface was gritty under Diane’s touch, the texture of sandstone. Rocks of all sizes filled the passage. They looked stable, but Diane tested them before she committed herself. The only egress for several of the large boulders was to climb over them. It was exhilarating. Halfway down the passage, Diane smelled damp soil, and she could hear a waterfall. A waterfall! The thought excited her. She watched the rocks around her and the ground under her, alert for the unexpected.

The tunnel was like a round rabbit hole going gently downward to a wonderland. Just ahead she spotted an offshoot tunnel. Another temptation. This was a great cave.

She arrived at the new tunnel entrance—and suddenly a strong and distinctive odor hit her. She stopped and stared, seeing nothing but the upward-sloping passage filled with rocks. The others stopped and looked in.

“What is that smell?” said MacGregor. “It’s not bat dung.”

“No,” said Mike. “I don’t know what it is.”

But Diane knew. So did Jin. They looked at each other. Diane felt sick, as though someone had desecrated a church or the museum.

“Wait here,” she told the others. “Jin and I will go.”

But they didn’t wait for her and Jin. They followed close behind them into the tunnel. The smell increased until all of them had trouble controlling their gag reflex. The tunnel suddenly widened into a room, littered with storage, or . . .

“Oh, my God,” cried Neva.

MacGregor ducked away and leaned against a wall, heaving. Mike grabbed Neva and held her.

Diane and Jin stared at what was before them. She understood now. It was as clear as bright daylight. When they had entered the cave and found Caver Doe, it was like stumbling over a tripwire that set in motion all the events that culminated in the shooting of Emmett Taggart. What they didn’t realize at the time, what Diane saw now with lightning clarity, was that they had touched off another tripwire completely unknown to them. The first time in the cave they had almost stumbled upon what they had now discovered: The other entrance to the cave and the lair of a serial killer.

Sunlight filtered in through the cracks of an ancient wooden door to one side. Metal tables lined the stone walls of the room. Chained on top of the tables were rotting dismembered female corpses. These were Jermen Sutcliff’s rabbits.

Beverly Connor
is the author of the Diane Fallon Forensic Investigation series and the Lindsay Chamberlain Mystery series. Before she began her writing career, Beverly worked as an archaeologist in the Southeastern United States specializing in bone identification and analysis of stone tool debitage. She weaves her professional experiences from archaeology and her knowledge of the South into interlinked stories of the past and present.
One Grave Too Many
was the first book in the Diane Fallon series. Five of her titles have been translated into Dutch and are available in countries of the Europeon Union.