THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END by Elly Griffiths Read Free Book Online Page A

her again?’ asks Nelson. His voice seems to come from a long way away.
    ‘Sure,’ says Ruth. ‘Cathbad’s talking about having a naming ceremony. You and Michelle can both come.’
    This time she looks up and meets Nelson’s eyes. Dark eyes, more black than brown, eyes that he has passed on to Kate.
    ‘Thanks,’ says Nelson. Then he turns away and strides off along the cliff path, towards the excavation.

CHAPTER 5
     
    By sunset, all six skeletons have been excavated. The carefully logged bones, packed in boxes marked ‘Pathology’, are waiting to be winched up the cliff by Ted and Craig. The tide is almost upon them. Trace, standing higher up the beach, is up to her ankles in water. Sly little waves are lapping at the edges of the trench. The sea is blue in the setting sun yet Sea’s End House, high on the cliff, is already in darkness. Ruth is in the trench, getting a last look before the sea destroys it. Examining the context in which a body is buried – the earth filling a grave and any objects (glass, fibres, animal bone, coins, pottery) found within that earth – is central to a forensic archaeologist’s work. In normal circumstances Ruth would spend days in the trench taking soil samples, making detailed plans and drawings, but now she knows that in five minutes the whole area will be full of salty water and any remaining clues will be lost forever. She remembers the dig ten years ago when Erik discovered the wooden Bronze Age henge on the Saltmarsh beach. Every day, Erik had had someone on ‘tide watch’. Even so, Peter, Ruth’s ex-boyfriend, had nearly died when, with terrifyingswiftness, the sea had flooded the marshland, leaving him cut off from the others. Erik had saved him. One good deed to set against other, darker, actions. Ruth hopes that this was taken into account when Erik faced his maker. Not that she believes in any such thing, of course.
    ‘Better hurry, Ruth,’ shouts Trace, looking at the path where the waters are now swirling and foaming. ‘We’ve got to wade across the beach before it gets too deep.’
    ‘Okay.’ Ruth takes a last photograph. ‘A grave is a footprint of disturbance,’ she tells her pupils; the natural layers destroyed, soil and stones churned up together, vegetation growing differently. Someone dug this hole deliberately and, judging from its position, they hoped that it would never be found. If she had more time she might be able to tell exactly which digging implement was used, but now all she can do is note the way that the strata have been sliced through: the ‘grave cut’ it’s called. She bags some soil and a few fragments of wood and glass, worn smooth by sand and sea. She has already removed what may prove to be their most significant find – a single bullet. Then she climbs, rather awkwardly, out of the trench.
    The last box is being hauled up the cliff, swaying wildly in the wind as the two men pull on the ropes. Ruth squints up at the dark shape, strangely reluctant to leave until the last skeleton has left its resting place. ‘Come on!’ yells Trace. There is only a thin line of pebbles left, and in places the waves are already pounding against the rocks. Trace and Ruth run along the narrow strip of land, hugging the cliff, trying to dodge the waves. As they reach Sea’s End House, they have to wade out to the stone jetty. Trace surges ahead,creating a wake in the churning water. ‘Jesus,’ she shouts, above the noise of the sea. ‘It’s deeper than it looks.’
    They have an anxious few minutes, struggling against the surprisingly strong undertow. The wind sounds loud and angry and it is nearly dark. Twice Ruth almost loses her footing. She can feel water seeping unpleasantly over the tops of her wellingtons. She should have worn waterproof trousers. She tries not to think that the reason she didn’t was because they make her look like a Michelin man and she knew that she would be seeing Nelson.
    At three o’clock Ruth had rung