JUST A FEW BONES
The Hi Lux slowed on the highway as the gravel track loomed up in the strong high beam. "Looks like new tracks. Hope there's not too many down here." The driver changed down as he hit the first pot hole. "Don't worry Gazo, it's a big ocean and there's lots of fish. After your effort two weeks ago, probably still be plenty left after tomorrow."
Gary stuck his finger up in the air and gave a short laugh. "You're on mate. A case of VB to who catches the most."
"To whom", came a voice from the seat in the back of the twin cab. "Don't you blokes know any English?" The comments from Ben and Gary made further talk on this subject unwise, or he would be doing the looking for firewood. Johnno had learnt the hard way. Not far down the bumpy track, it widened out and fingers of grassy areas poked out from clumps of paperbark trees that dotted the area. A tent appeared from one area but that was all. The boys drove to the far end and pulled up.
"Not as many as I thought," said Ben. "All the more fish for us."
Johnno just grunted. The tent was tossed out and soon erected and a scout around with torches found some timber, none too dry but with the help of some kerosene, soon caught. The beer supply was soon down by a few cans and with talk of the many fish that had got away or shrunk as they were landed, sleeping bags became refuges from the cool night.
Next morning was overcast and breezy and Ben who had been first up and by necessity out finding a handy tree, was not optimistic about the weather. With breakfast over and Johnno forcibly talked out of having a shave, they sorted the tackle and headed down the sandy track behind the tent, towards the beach.
"No sign of the other people," ventured Gary as he cast a glance back up the camping area. "Could be already out fishing."
Ben gave a chuckle. "Might be a bloke with his bird. Doubt if fishing has entered his mind."
"Why don't we bring along some chicks, then we could have the best of both worlds. Fishing in the day and company at night." Johnno had a grin from ear to ear.
Gary gave him a bash with his tackle box. "And what chick would you know let alone spend a night out here with you? Anyway, fishing is men's business. Would spoil if you had women along."
Johnno didn't turn around. "Guess who isn't getting any?" then ran a few steps to avoid any further assaults by the tackle box. But it was all good banter as the youths had been friends for years, and was soon forgotten as the beach came into view over a small sandhill. It was a long rugged beach disappearing into the distance to the north and ending nearby in a rocky headland, the other way. Behind the beach a long row of small sandhills covered in low vegetation acted as a barrier, keeping back the bush on one side and the never ceasing waves on the other. Not a soul was to be seen.
After an hour, the beach rods had produced only three Flathead of medium size and one large butterfly fish who had strayed from the rock foreshore nearby. It was tossed back, never really a suitable fish to eat. Ben and Gary decided to give the rocks a go, but Johnno who actually had a secret fear of waves sneaking up on you and slippery rocks in general, said he would give it a miss for a while and walk along the beach. "Might find a bottle with a message, or something."
"Come and save me from this nasty pirate man. You'll know the island, it has a big palm tree." The falsetto voice of Ben made Gary crack up and even Johnno couldn't refrain from smiling.
"If it's stuffed full of money, your loss." Then he turned around and headed north. The wind that had sprung up, picked up small particles of sand and stung his legs, and threatened to take his floppy hat at every puff. A big sea a few days before had scoured depressions in the sand and Johnno even noticed where some waves had groped at the sandhills then fell back. He walked on. Looking back his companions were becoming smaller as they stood on the rock shelf. He often felt the 'junior' member of this group and hoped that maybe he could boost his status by landing some decent fish. Some driftwood lay as he sauntered past, like some orphan or beggar in a foreign street, hoping for a handout or at least a second look. 'Wouldn't it be a laugh if he did find a bottle with a message. No, such things don't exist. Do they?'
A larger sand dune than the others appeared on his left and finding the eternal beach starting to lose it's appeal, he turned across the sand and started to climb over wax plants and salt resistant grass clumps, to the top. If the weather had been hotter, he would have sat in his shorts and soaked up a few rays, but today he was glad of his thick coat and beanie. The beach stretched onward to the north. Somewhere up there was town, but ever so far up there. The other way the cliffs that rose up to confront the sea were smaller at this distance. It took a couple of minutes to catch a movement and locate his friends. 'Pulling it in by the ton.' The thought flickered and then died. In front was the great ocean. There since the dawn of time almost, and yet no record of what sailed upon it remained, minutes after the happening. The heyday of coastal shipping from the big sailing vessels to the coastal steamers. Gone and you never knew it.
Johnno wondered about how many fish were out there, just beyond the breakers. Behind the sand hill was a small level patch, protected from the wind and he wondered what it would be like to be there, to be there with a girlfriend and only the sea gulls to see them. He'd never had a girl friend. Something caught his eye in the middle of that wishful spot. Something grey. He walked down and immediately it was so quiet out of the wind. The grey object was more white. When he tugged at it, there was resistance then it gave and he almost recoiled in horror when it became a
bony finger and then a bony hand. He dropped it and took a step back, heart racing. 'Take a hold boy' he said to himself, 'it's long dead.'
He picked it up and saw how bleached it was. Then kneeling down he started to scoop away the sand from the spot but nothing else appeared immediately. He widened the hole a little and felt a stick, only it was a bleached white stick of bone. Apprehension took the place of exploration and it was time to leave and get back as soon as he could. At the top of the dune he turned as the thought struck him that he would need some proof. Removing his coat and t-shirt, he replaced the coat and went back to wrap the hand in his shirt. Suddenly this idyllic spot where he may have
created life had become a place where life had been taken. Overhead the dark clouds gathered and he walked quickly along the beach front to where he would find comfort.
They were sitting on the sand, beach rods already back probing the waves. "About time you showed up. We need a beer and some lunch." Ben stood up and started reeling in.
Johnno lacked colour in his voice when he replied. "I was up behind a sand hill and found something."
"Lucky you. Want to share it....." Gary didn't finish his sentence for Johnno had unwrapped his t-shirt and just stood there exposing the bony hand. "Holy Hell!"
Rain was falling and had been for most of the day. The phone on David Myfield's desk rang. A balding man in his fifties gave a sigh and decided that it could continue to ring. The last autopsy had been finalised and the detectives were hounding him for
results. Then there was that test he needed to finish on that other case. The life of a forensic officer could be a pain sometimes. The phone continued to ring. Finally the fingers left the lap top and pressed rather heavily on the phone console. The noise had lost his train of thought.
An hour later, David Myfield and his younger colleague were in a 4x4 heading south from the city. The rain continued and both knew they would not be back until at least tomorrow. By the time they got to wherever this remote place was, it would be dark and all that could be done would be to rope off the area and wait for daylight. After all if it was a few bones then another few hours wouldn't change anything. In town they drove to the local police station, a small Federation brick building dating back to when robust sergeants kept the peace and kicked young offenders back into line before the system ruined them. The rain was still falling and night approaching as they moved quickly inside to be met by the only occupant, a middle aged woman in civilian clothes.
"Hello. I'm Moya. I'm a volunteer. The officers are down at the site, or scene or whatever you call it and I'm to tell you that they will stay there overnight. Bill Guinness has loaned them his off road camper. Wouldn't want to be sleeping out in this, would you?"
The forensic man nodded. He was dying for a toilet and then a whisky. "Any point going out tonight? The report said a few bones, a hand probably."
Moya waved her arms about. "No, for sure. If it's bones then a few more hours won't change anything." Then peering at them, said slowly, "will it?"
"No. If we can get DNA from dinosaur bones then a human bone
won't mind waiting a little longer."
She looked at them and smiled. "Whatever you say, you're the doctor. Room in the 'Blue Lagoon' reserved for you although at this time of the year why reserve it. Track into Bungey Beach is about 15km south. Tom left a piece of police tape on a tree. Not far. He asked the boys who found whatever it was, to stay. Well if that is all I'll lock up and you have a nice trip. Avoid the chicken mornay. Word is she uses dead pelicans."
Myfield groaned inwardly and they left. The service station down the road provided directions and a toilet. Now he could enjoy that whisky. Actually he didn't know if young Jason was a whisky man, but he seemed pretty normal, if being a forensic person, you were able to maintain that perception. Next morning the skies had that leaden look but no rain was falling. Jason had a liking for Bourbon and Coke which suited Myfield but also a liking for two hours of rugby on the room's TV which didn't suit Myfield. Still there could be worse things in life. All this way for a hand! They made sure they had a good breakfast on the expense account then left, finding the marker tape and a track full of mud puddles.
The camp complete with Bill's camper was located and three youths sitting around a very smoky fire, gave a wave. The two policemen had already gone up to the scene with spades in case any fishermen came along the beach, and a couple of the boys would take Myfield and his assistant. They were offered a mug of tea from the billy on the fire and forensic officer thought the police could wait a little longer. Finally they walked to the beach and then along the sand that seemed to David Myfield to stretch on forever. Jason carried his pathology kit and camera, for him. The two policemen were waiting, rugged up in thick coats for the cold on shore wind had not abated.
Tom, the senior constable, led the way and soon they were all standing around the long bone that Johnno had started to pull out.
"How'd you come to find the hand?" the forensic officer asked of the young fisherman.
Johnno coloured a little. "I was sitting on the top up there looking for fish. Sorry, just sitting there and I looked down here and thought. Anyway I saw something white. No grey, only it was really white." He coloured more at his flustering. Authority did that to him. There was silence as everyone waited for him to continue. A sea gull shrieked overhead. "I pulled it up and it became a skeleton, well a hand skeleton, if that's what you call it. Then I dug a bit and found that arm thing and got out of
here. I took the hand and wrapped it my t-shirt. Probably shouldn't have touched it."
He stuck out his fingers. "You can take my finger prints if you want, for elimination if it....." He trailed off, lost for words.
"It won't be necessary, John. Johnno. I doubt if there would have been any on the bones. The corrosive forces of nature have seen to that. Myfield looked at the policemen. "Well, lets carefully dig and see if the rest of Mr.X is still here. Or Mrs.X. You look around, senior, for anything of interest. Weapon maybe? Clothing?"
"Did that last evening when the boys rang in and called us out. And again this morning, as best we could without trampling everywhere. Nothing caught our eye. Looks like it could be months or even years ago."
They started digging. Two hours later they had radioed Area for assistance. By lunch time they had unearthed eight skeletons. Myfield didn't need a degree in forensic medicine to soon tell him that most, if not all, of the persons whose bones were now
before them, had died violently. Smashed skulls, broken ribs and other bones indicated this. They were not spread out too far except for two who were lying on their fronts. These were only located when Myfield decided to widen the dig. How long they had been there would need laboratory testing. The fears of a serial killer's burial or killing ground was foremost in their thoughts.
By afternoon, some twenty people were engaged in various activities, widening the area of the dig and carefully removing bones and skeletons for transfer to Sydney. Until the age of the bones could be ascertained, whether it was a recent crime or not, could not be established. By night, no further remains could be located and it was assumed that what they had was it. David Myfield and Jason spent another night at the Blue Lagoon and came back next morning. More police arrived and they extended the area further, but apart from lots of old timber and bits of metal, it appeared yesterday's count was all that the sand would reveal.
A new theory was emerging that if the bones were many years old, these could be aboriginal, perhaps a battle site. Myfield let it go because none of the skulls he had seen had that characteristic outline for aboriginals. The wide nose cavity and high cheek bones were absent. Whether Asian or European, would only be found back in Sydney. Once before he had made a snap statement at a crime scene only to be proved wrong. Now he let the facts speak.
Back in Sydney, Jason started laying out the bones as close as he could to individual skeletons. They had tried to keep each lot of bones in tact when removing a find from the sand. There wasn't a lot of space in the laboratory, but a meeting room had been co-opted and with another table, five remains were laid up here. David Myfield was in early the next morning and nodded approval at his assistant.
The reference books confirmed that these were not aboriginal nor Asian, but definitely European. Also seven of them were male, the other only consisted of a head and the top part of it's spine, so sex could not be determined immediately. Probably male. The media were having a field day with as many stories as grains of sand. Missing Person files were being re scrutinised and the serial killer theory became the hot favourite. Belangalo State Forest and it's dark past, surfaced from the media vaults and every one wanted results, whatever they were.
The normal testing of the bones to determine their age was inconclusive. If anything, it seemed to indicate the bottom end of the scale, that is fifty years at least, maybe even a hundred. The causes of death were a little more obvious. Heavy blunt instrument and some sort of thick blade, maybe a bayonet. The detectives talked to locals including aboriginals, but no one knew anything about missing people or the site.
The Sydney Maritime Museum was asked about shipwrecks in the area, as far back as they had records. Any stories of massacres of survivors by local natives, was eagerly sort, but nothing matched. All that was left was to send down some university types to start a dig and sieve operation and hope something turned up. Myfield had little else to go on. The skeletons all had one thing in common, their size. Most were around the 5' to 5'2" height. As Australians had now surpassed this mark, it lead to suppose they were European and at least 100 years old. It was now up to longer pathology tests to see what the bones contained. The next day the results were not encouraging. The limited testing facilities in this area had found little.
"Jason, my lad, any brain waves?"
"Well they had a lot of salt and iodine in them. Mean anything?"
Myfield rolled his eyes. "Yes. It means they've been buried in a sand dune for a hundred years, next to the ocean."
Jason gave a sheepish grin. "Of course. Just testing you."
"Well your testing has cost you a malt blend, nay, pure malt, after work and then you can clean up this museum of bones and...." He stopped talking and looked into space. Jason felt it wise to keep his lip buttoned.
"Museum. There's a try. No my lad, leave all as it is today. I think we just might pass all this lot on," then with a grin, he turned away.
Jean Silvers smiled that smile of a contented and happy woman. It probably had something to do with the bare chest of the person lying next to her and upon which she had her head. Life was good. Another year's funding from the Faculty to continue her archaeology post graduate work. A soul mate in Ray who shared her zeal and passion for work, although his was in other directions, and somewhere decent, for a change, to live. Actually it was Ray's place originally, but after six months of going together, he just said one night that if she wanted to stay permanently, she could. No strings. She needed some time to think about this development. After all it was like, well like a commitment. And there was her life in archaeology. Admittedly this was people but old people and old animals and she needed also to have a life with living people. She rang his door bell at nine one night and with nothing but a toothbrush in her hand, asked if the offer still stood. That was four months ago.
He stirred and she knew it was time to get up and go to work. The hot shower refreshed her skin and then a vague outline outside the screen door. She smiled but she needed to get an early start today.
"Phone call. Don't rush, he's gone."
Jean turned off the water and opened the door. "Who was it?"
Ray smiled. "It will come to me. You could help me to remember."
But she was out and towelling herself. "Some of us have to work for a living, unlike the History Department. It amazes me how you people can get any money each year to do what ever you do."
"Talent my dear. Said his name was Myfield and to ring him when you got in."
'Now what would the police forensic poo bah want me for? Interesting.'
At the university, she checked her programme for the day and asked her assistant about research data that had been promised from Birmingham University two weeks ago. Then she fished out David Myfield's telephone number and gave him a ring. It was an interesting 15 minutes. She had naturally heard about the skeletons found on the south coast but like most, it was an item to take in then move on.
"Ange," she yelled. A head popped around the corner of the partition that separated her cluttered desk from the rest of the small research area. "You rang?"
“No, I yelled actually. There's some bones coming by courier from Sydney. A whole skeleton in fact. New South Wales Police want our help. Should be here late today, We need to do some testing including a CD and maybe a profile. Organise a String
Analysis as well."
Ange raised her eyebrows. "I hope they are paying."
"They are. On another direction, what have we got on that fire place dig from Mungo?"
"On your desk, somewhere, if you didn't stop covering it with more junk."
The phone rang and ignoring the laconic remarks from her offsider, Jean picked it up. "Hello. Bones are us."
"Great advertisement." It was Ray's voice. "You alone?"
"No, there's this weirdo on the phone. I'm about to be verbally molested." She saw Ange stick her tongue out at her then walk away.
"This could go on forever, but I'm actually working. A seminar on Greek cultural diversity in the 2nd century BC awaits me."
"Fascinating I'm sure. Any thing else while I have ten seconds?"
"Yes. Billy and Doreen want us over for dinner Saturday night. Yes? No? Hope it's yes 'cause they have a pool."
"I know they have a pool and yes. Now go away, I have work to do."
"Love you," and he was gone.
She mused for a minute and thought, 'yes life was good.'
The activity at the that lonely beach hill had now moved from one of major frenzy to one of quiet pecking. Only one policeman remained, mostly sitting in a chair or occasionally walking along the beach. His job was to give an official presence to the work of the three others from one of the Sydney universities who were meticulously turning over small areas with short spades and sieving through a rectangular mesh screen. A camp had been set up back at the end of the track from the highway including Bill's camper which was the official residence of whatever policeman was on duty.
Public interest had slightly waned as the days wore on and even a reference in the newspapers was limited to a couple of lines. Until something major like, more bodies or a sensational capture of the perpetrator in a Kings Cross hotel, it would remain this
way. There was so little evidence, other than the bones, that the police soon exhausted avenues of exploration and it became a case 'under investigation'. There were more recent cases of bones, with flesh still attached, in other places that required a more urgent presence. Sadly the act of killing still happened in human society.
David Myfield had organised his only remaining examination of the remains, that of determining if the bones had their present corrosion accelerated due to the presence of wind and sand blasting and the dozens of minerals found in sea water. Maybe they were not that old and only gave an appearance of such. A private laboratory did this and returned his specimen, along with a hefty bill, a few days later. No. If the external forces of nature had sped up the process, the core was already old. He was back to 50 year old, plus, bones.
The wait for the ANU team to finish their stuff was forgotten as other work crowded the daily schedule. Then he had to fly to Adelaide for a three day seminar on cell regeneration under changed lymphatic conditions, and the bones were put out of sight as the on board whisky came in view. On the way to the dinner party, Jean mentioned about the bones, to Ray, who politely replied that without some decent meat attached and well marinated, he had no interest. Still, from an historical point of view, if they were shipwrecked sailors of a coastal vessel, it became historical, and therefore meat of a different kind to him. Still his current work was on the Sumerians and hence just a little before Australian history.
On Monday, Jean Silvers found the results of the CD testing on her desk, prominently displayed.
"Thought you might miss them," said Ange. "I think something is not au fait in what they say." Her sense of humour sometimes just had to be ignored.
"Why?" There was no reply and Jean scanned to the relevant parts, then slowly went over them again. "These can't be right. Settings must be wrong or something. Did you check the input parameters?"
"Yep. And the co-ordination logs. Either we have a serious equipment condition or the theory of 50% in carbon dating has just gone out the window."
Jean sighed. "Unlikely. The government is paying, so lets do it all again and we both check each other all the way. Do we have access?"
Two days later, the revised results were laying on the table. The faculty head stood with his hands behind his back looking at the spectrograph equipment. He turned around. "Beats me, Jean. If all is as it should be, and you assure me it is, them you have some meat on your plate that needs some thought. Or more accurately, a lack of meat on your plate. "
She gave a limp smile.
"Your baby. Best of luck when you talk to that forensic fellow." Then he gave a wave to both of them and strode out of the room.
There was silence for a while, then Jean picked up the phone as her assistant discreetly made herself absent. Myfield was out but was expected back in a few minutes so she hung up and waited, turning the papers around in front of her. The String analysis had to go to Britain but she expected something in the next day or two by fax.
The coffee had barely been sipped when the phone buzzed. She picked it up. "Yes, Doctor, thanks for calling back. I guess you are waiting on some results. Not that they may help. The String is due in two or three days but the CD has been finalised. We actually had to do it twice, but I'm sure the New South Wales government has some spare money." There was a pause. "No, it was necessary." Another pause then, "How old? Well according to modern science, your bones are not very old, that is in archaeological terms. CD analysis puts them at between two and three......thousand years." She waited.
The conversation went on and a confused Myfield said he would wait until she had the String. Jean made another coffee.
Ange poked her head around the partition. "Not happy, was he?"
"What do you think. Ring Birmingham and hurry them along."
Ange looked at the clock. "It's dark over there." The look on her boss's face was enough. "OK. OK. I ring," and she disappeared.
Ray's interest was captured as she talked over a glass or red that night. "Very odd. Definitely not aboriginal you say?"
"No. It seems all wrong. DNA will be in tomorrow. How you placed for this weekend?"
"He drained his glass and looked at her. "I'm doing reserves for our match against Medicine on Saturday. Some papers to finish whenever. More?" He offered the bottle.
"No thanks. Get someone else on the reserve list. How about a dirty weekend away?"
"He blinked. "We don't have to go away, remember. We live here."
"No, I mean dirty as in digging up the South Coast. I want to have a nose about. I thought it would be right up your ally."
Ray sucked his breath. "Actually it has interested me. Two thousand year old bones in our own backyard and not indigenous. Or so they say. Could be some a historical link here that just might....."
"What? Might be what?"
"Just a wild theory. We go. I'll ring Bennsy and ask him to stand in for me on Saturday. Now, any immediate plans?"
"Yes, the dishes."
The String Analysis arrived by fax on Friday and confirmed that the bones were over one thousand years old. Not as exact as Dating but the two together would seal the age. However DNA could do other things. It could give the medical condition of the owner and to some degree, his ancestry. Amino acids etc. indicated a long diet of fish based meals without much greenery. Vitamin C deficiency was in the infant stages. Iodine content of the bone was high and some traces of palaeolithic residue, also linoleic. Jean was no medical person, but the report contained a suggestion. An early diet of wheat or barley, but more recently a prolonged diet of fish products and no vegetables of note. The person could have been a sailor on an extended sea voyage.
It also told her that the owner had black hair from his, yes it was a male, genetic make up, and with that type of hair structure and the bone structure, definitely was European. More precisely, southern European or Mediterranean.
She rang Myfield but he was out, so she left a brief summary with his offsider, and more confused then ever, got back to more regular and known fields of endeavour. On Friday night, she and Ray headed south and stopped after a long trip at a motel who still had some lights on. Ray had gone quiet when she told him about the String analysis earlier.
"Just thinking," he replied. "What about Maoris?"
"I doubt it. Must be different in bone structure. I'm not sure to be honest. Anyway the DNA said Mediterranean."
Only the odd passing truck, and a persistent cricket, disturbed the night. "Still," Ray continued," it's all an inexact science. After all, a big war canoe could make the twelve hundred miles across the Tasman. They found New Zealand all that way from
Hawaii so Australia would be easy. Can't be any other answer. Blast."
"What?"
"Nothing. What I was thinking the other day, is further away. Give me a cuddle and think about digging. Might find some buried pirate treasure."
"You seem," she murmured," to have forgotten about pirate treasure pretty quickly."
They found the beach site next morning and after introducing themselves and convincing the team that they had some 'official status' by a liberal use of David Myfield's name, took stock of the situation. The coast looked pretty from the top of the sand hill. The relentless waves and an unending procession of yellow sand that seemed to go on until it ran out. The headland to the south dropped sharply into the sea and was covered with some low bushes and one solitary tree. A pair of sea eagles soared overhead, emitting their distinctive shrill cry.
Jean held on to Ray's arm. "Nice isn't it? So remote. Yet behind us, so sad. What happened Ray? We have to find out."
Her passion was expected. It was in her make up. He nodded. 'We must try' he thought. They looked at what was turned over. Bits of natural items, sticks and pebbles and old plant life. Unrecognisable bits of old flotsam. A plastic bottle top and some metal pieces, two or three about 15cm long. These had been discarded, but Ray held them for some time, turning them over and over, then put them aside. More digging produced more metal and two spear heads. Some sort of stone. Then another spear head with a very short shaft still attached, about three inches at that. The digger who located it, brought it over to Jean and looked puzzled. "Another spear top but the others were stone or petrified wood. This is bendable almost. Looks like metal." He gave it to her.
Jean looked for Ray and attracted his attention. He came over with something in his hand. She showed him the last spear head and he felt it's texture. "Brass."
"Is that possible?" said the young worker, "I thought the blacks were stone people."
"You're right. No metal." He took Jean's arm and led her away. "My cuckoo idea has just come to roost. See these bits of metal. Some sort of brass also but I know what they're off. I'm not a member of the History department for nothing."
She noticed his hands had a slight tremble.
"Spill it."<