“If you can show us where you found the remains. We’ll take it from there.”
I let Scott take the lead and together we watch the officers climb down into the cellar. Their flashlights bring much more light to the cellar than my oil lamps and Scottie’s lighter. My brain replays the image of a young woman kneeling in the damp cellar waiting for the deathblow.
I choke.
“I have to go back to the house.”
“Shall I come with you?” He studies me, his brows knitted with concern.
“I’ll be okay. I just can’t get the image of my aunt out of my mind. I should go inside.”
I flee back into the living room with Prince by my side. He seems to know that I am out of sorts because he doesn’t stop licking my hand. It may sound strange, but it seems to help. My breathing comes back to regular. I put my arms around him and my head on his strong, furry neck.
Not long after the female officer returns. She dusts off dirt and cobwebs from her suit and sits down at my humble dining table while Scott puts a mug with tea in front of her.
She pulls a small notebook out of her pocket and nods to me.
“This must have come as a shock to you. It doesn’t happen every day that one finds a skeleton in the basement. How about you tell me what you know?”
I want to shout at her that there’s my aunt bashed to death in my cellar, what do you think? But I can’t. People often talk of brain freeze. I don’t know exactly what that means. For me it’s not like the brain freezes, it’s more like a large nothingness occupies the space where my brain is supposed to be. It’s like floating in outer space. In the distance—so far away you’ll never reach it—are thousands and thousands of shiny dots. Nothing is around you but darkness and silence. If you fall into it, you’ll disappear and nobody will be the wiser. That’s me. Floating away without a trace.
I try to pull myself together and strain to come up with a thought or find the beginning of our story that would make sense to the Detective. But nothing. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears when I see Detective Smith studies me with a frown, while she makes short notes in her book. I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart.
“I … I. Didn’t. Do. It.” The words don’t come to me easily. I fashion each one by forming them on my tongue and letting them out one by one like marbles on a marble run.
At last, the Detective smiles. “Of course you didn’t. I know. You probably weren’t even alive when the murder happened.” She takes a sip of the coffee and nods a thank you to Scottie.
Oh, what a relief. Everything inside my brain goes back to function normally again. The terror I felt a moment ago dissipates like morning mist in the sun. A reminder of one of the little ones, I’m sure.
“Oh, yes, I was. I was ten when my parents died and I started living with my foster parents. My aunt must have been killed shortly after that.”
“You think the remains we found are your aunt?”
“Yes.” I pull out the old photo book from under the stack of books and papers on the table and open the page with Aunt Amanda’s photo.
“See, that’s a photo of her. This was her house. See the dress, it’s the same as the material bits scattered around the skeleton.”
“Hmm.” She takes the book and studies the picture. “You might be right. Did you touch anything or remove anything?”
I shake my head. “No. I was too stunned.”
Scottie shows her Auntie’s letter. “I found this next to the skeleton.”
At that moment Detective Inspector Grogan comes in through the back door.
“I think we’ve got everything for now. I secured the crime scene. You can’t go down the cellar until our forensic people have been here.”
“Ms. Seagar thinks the remains are her aunt. And they found this letter next to the remains.” She shows DI Grogan the letter and the photo of Aunt Amanda.
“The material of the dress seems to be the same. That solves one mystery.” He reads the letter and puts it aside. “This is intriguing. Do you know where August Wright lives now?”
“I have no idea. It’s the first time I’ve even heard that I have a brother. My aunt went missing in 1988. They found her car in the riverbed further down Flatbush Creek Valley with bloodstains. Back then it was assumed she had an accident, went into the bush, disoriented, and was never seen again. Years later she was declared dead but her body was never found.”
“Well, if the remains belong to your aunt, that theory no longer holds. We will look into the letter and your brother’s whereabouts. The person found in the cellar was killed with a blow to the back of the head with a sharp instrument. It would help if you could give the ESR team a sample of your DNA for testing. Just to be one-hundred percent sure.”
“ESR?”
“Environmental Science and Research team. They deal with all the evidence we find.”
“Anything I can help to clear up this murder.” It was strange to use the word murder, but that is what it was. Someone murdered my aunt.
“Thank you. We are done here for tonight. It’s late. I’ll be back tomorrow with the forensic team.” The officers stand up and are about to leave when Scott puts the empty mugs into the sink and turns around.
“It might be important to tell the police about the intruders.”
“What intruders? When?” DI Grogan stops.
“That’s how we found the cellar. We had no idea of its existence. Someone broke in four days ago. They were
