mausoleum or family vault. He had to keep reminding himself that this was just a folly, a place of interest and amusement. Now, though, by a quirk of fate, this fun structure was surely serving as a tomb, however temporary it might be. He stood for a few minutes with his torch playing across the body, wafting his hat to frighten the determined and pestilent flies.
She would be in her late twenties, he estimated. A young woman with a beautiful body and a fine, shapely figure. Her legs were laid together; her arms were by her side, almost as if she was lying to attention. Her feet were not tied together, he noted. In some countries and even in parts of Britain, it was thought the spirit left the body via a route between the legs, thus if the feet were tied together, the spirit could not return, nor could the evil spirit of any other creature gain uninvited access to the corpse. Her large breasts appeared to be flat because she was lying on her back and the tuft of hair between her legs seemed darker because her surrounding flesh was so white.
Blonde hair, worn long, was spread about the stone shelf near her head and her face had been one of handsomeness, beauty and some intelligence. And she was totally naked. Apart from the fact that she wore no clothes, she did not even have any jewellery — no rings, no earrings, no watch or bracelet. Nothing. Not even a ribbon or clip in her hair, nor even a flower beside her body. He had never seen Millicent like this; she’d never allow him to view her nakedness. He sighed a sigh of lost passions.
Holding his hat and the torch in his left hand, he wondered whether she had died here. Peering closer, he noted that the body appeared clean and without wounds. Although he was unable to examine her back without moving her, he saw that all the visible parts of her body were free from cuts and bruises. And she was surprisingly clean; even her feet were clean except for a solitary brown fibre wedged in a slit in her left big toe nail. From a blanket, perhaps? Montague knew better than to turn her over; at this stage of the investigation she must be examined by experts in this place and in this position before anything else was done. Although there was no sign of blood, she might have been stabbed in the back, shot in the head or killed by other means which were not readily visible.
The absence of blood was no firm guide, but in spite of his eagerness to know, he must not move her. The pathologist would determine the cause of death — but the fact that she was unclothed in this dreadful place suggested that her demise was suspicious. That being so, it was time to have the death certified and arrange a full investigation, one of the first tasks being to establish her identity.
Alone in the chamber with the subject of his enquiries, Montague’s heart thumped as he felt tremors of excitement and nervousness. So much now depended upon him. To reach a successful conclusion to this mystery would indeed be a challenge — and a great responsibility. It would not be easy; he accepted that. Her killer had made sure that identification would be most difficult. Clothes and jewellery were vital to that process, but every scrap had been discarded. They must be found. The entire surrounds of this place would have to be searched for them and that search would have to be extended over a huge area of moor and woodland.
From what he had seen so far, he favoured the theory, that she had been killed elsewhere and brought here in death in the hope she might never be found. In Montague’s mind, whoever had killed her must have known of this remote tomb in the woods. It was not the sort of place you found accidentally, especially during those urgent moments when trying to dispose of a corpse. Having seen all that he wished, Montague emerged from the dank place, pleased to breathe warm but unsullied woodland air once again. Outside, in the shadows of the trees, he halted to replace his panama and approached
She would be in her late twenties, he estimated. A young woman with a beautiful body and a fine, shapely figure. Her legs were laid together; her arms were by her side, almost as if she was lying to attention. Her feet were not tied together, he noted. In some countries and even in parts of Britain, it was thought the spirit left the body via a route between the legs, thus if the feet were tied together, the spirit could not return, nor could the evil spirit of any other creature gain uninvited access to the corpse. Her large breasts appeared to be flat because she was lying on her back and the tuft of hair between her legs seemed darker because her surrounding flesh was so white.
Blonde hair, worn long, was spread about the stone shelf near her head and her face had been one of handsomeness, beauty and some intelligence. And she was totally naked. Apart from the fact that she wore no clothes, she did not even have any jewellery — no rings, no earrings, no watch or bracelet. Nothing. Not even a ribbon or clip in her hair, nor even a flower beside her body. He had never seen Millicent like this; she’d never allow him to view her nakedness. He sighed a sigh of lost passions.
Holding his hat and the torch in his left hand, he wondered whether she had died here. Peering closer, he noted that the body appeared clean and without wounds. Although he was unable to examine her back without moving her, he saw that all the visible parts of her body were free from cuts and bruises. And she was surprisingly clean; even her feet were clean except for a solitary brown fibre wedged in a slit in her left big toe nail. From a blanket, perhaps? Montague knew better than to turn her over; at this stage of the investigation she must be examined by experts in this place and in this position before anything else was done. Although there was no sign of blood, she might have been stabbed in the back, shot in the head or killed by other means which were not readily visible.
The absence of blood was no firm guide, but in spite of his eagerness to know, he must not move her. The pathologist would determine the cause of death — but the fact that she was unclothed in this dreadful place suggested that her demise was suspicious. That being so, it was time to have the death certified and arrange a full investigation, one of the first tasks being to establish her identity.
Alone in the chamber with the subject of his enquiries, Montague’s heart thumped as he felt tremors of excitement and nervousness. So much now depended upon him. To reach a successful conclusion to this mystery would indeed be a challenge — and a great responsibility. It would not be easy; he accepted that. Her killer had made sure that identification would be most difficult. Clothes and jewellery were vital to that process, but every scrap had been discarded. They must be found. The entire surrounds of this place would have to be searched for them and that search would have to be extended over a huge area of moor and woodland.
From what he had seen so far, he favoured the theory, that she had been killed elsewhere and brought here in death in the hope she might never be found. In Montague’s mind, whoever had killed her must have known of this remote tomb in the woods. It was not the sort of place you found accidentally, especially during those urgent moments when trying to dispose of a corpse. Having seen all that he wished, Montague emerged from the dank place, pleased to breathe warm but unsullied woodland air once again. Outside, in the shadows of the trees, he halted to replace his panama and approached
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