Page 7 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Does that mound look weird to you?” Maddie comments, tilting her head in puzzlement as she peers over my shoulder. “It’s like the ground just–”
“Spit the bones out?” I finish for her. I’d been thinking the same thing. There are no signs of digging or any other displacement of the ground except in this one spot right in the middle of an abandoned rugby pitch. Which begs the question, how the hell did someone find these bones unless they knew where to look, and why now? It almost looks like they’ve been neatly presented for us.
“Can you tell how old the bones are?” I ask Dr O’Hara.
“’Fraid not.” He shakes his head, his glasses sliding down the damp skin of his prominent nose. “I can’t tell the age or gender of the bones, or the cause of death, until I get them back to the lab and reassemble them.” He pushes his glasses back up.
We turn as the tent flap is once again unzipped and one of the drenched officers sticks his head through. “Sir, the groundskeeper is here.”
I nod. “Send him in.”
I push myself back up to standing as an older gentleman enters the tent. His posture is hunched—I imagine from age as well as the weather—and his white hair is just visible under the plastic rain hat anchored to his head by a thin piece of elastic tucked under his chin. He wears an army green raincoat with matching wellies.
“Mr?” I offer my hand.
“Mr Nutter,” he greets us, his gnarled and bony hand taking mine and shaking.
His cheeks are hollow, his mouth is puckered, and his bottom jaw juts out, causing his speech to twang with a slight lisp, as if he’s forgotten to put his dentures in.
“Mr Nutter,” I repeat politely even as my mouth wants to twitch in amusement at his name. “You’re the groundskeeper here?”
“Was,” he corrects. “Over forty years. Took care of this place until it closed. Still got keys though. No one ever came to collect them.”
“Were you the one who called in to report the body?”
“Body? What body?” His eyes widen.
“The bones that were buried beneath the pitch,” I say, watching him.
He blinks. “Crikey, are there really?”
“Mr Nutter, am I to understand it wasn’t you who called it in?”
“Nope, not me.” He shakes his head emphatically. “I’m never over here. I retired when this place closed back in… oh…” He pauses to do the math, squinting up at the roof of the tent. “Back in ninety… seven,” he decides, his watery gaze sliding back to me. “Closed in ninety-seven, and like I said, no one ever bothered to collect the keys from me. A couple of times after, we had teens climbing the fence to get pissed in the stands on cheap cider. Found plenty of empty bottles of Diamond White.”
“Jesus,” Maddie snorts behind me. “I remember that stuff. It was evil.”
“Were the break-ins ever reported?” I ask Mr Nutter.
He shrugs. “Nah. Like I said, just kids. I cleaned up after them a few times because I have a soft spot for the old place, used to come down every Sunday before it closed to watch the matches too. But it got too hard. The place was beyond saving, and I couldn’t do anything about it. My back went, so I haven’t set foot inside this place since the end of ninety-nine. Don’t even know who owns the grounds anymore.”
“I would’ve thought it was owned by the local council,” Maddie mused.
“I doubt it.” I glance over at her. “A prime piece of land like this? They’d have sold it off years ago and built a block of flats on top of it.”
“Well, best of luck to you, but I must be off now,” Mr Nutter says. “I was on my way to Mr Lal’s corner shop for a pint of milk when I saw the police cars. The wife will be desperate for a cuppa by now.”
I nod and Maddie unzips the tent flap to let the old man out.
“Has everything been documented?” I ask Dr O’Hara.
“Certainly has,” he replies as he eyes the strange bulge of earth at our feet. “Your lot were in here earlier taking photographs and samples. Nothing left to do but excavate the bones and get them back to the lab.” He continues to stare, mesmerised, at the ground. “Very strange indeed,” he mutters to himself. “Bones must’ve been close to the surface.”
I can’t help but stare at the ground as well, studying the part that’s been peeled back. “Do you think the rain might’ve caused this?” I wonder aloud. “I mean, with the heavy rainfall this storm brought in such a short amount of time, do you think the ground got waterlogged and just… I don’t know… burst open?”
“Can’t say from a scientific standpoint.” Dr O’Hara adjusts his glasses yet again. “Not my area of expertise, but I don’t see how.”
I shudder violently as the chill from my saturated clothes seeps right down to my bones. All I want is a warm cup of tea and some clean clothes. As much as I love my job, I’d much rather be at home with Tristan, curled up and watching bad daytime TV.