February 2014
London, England
A cold, miserable rain fell in sheets as Quinn dashed across the street and into Freestate Coffee, a cozy café chosen by Dr. Scott. The aroma of freshly-ground coffee beans overlaid by the smell of pastry made Quinn pause and inhale deeply. It was heavenly, especially on such a filthy morning. She ordered a cappuccino and an almond croissant and weaved her way between the tables toward the back where Colin Scott was sitting in the corner. He gave her a friendly wave and moved his coat from the chair that he’d been saving for her.
Seeing Dr. Scott outside the mortuary was a revelation. Gone were the green scrubs and surgical cap, replaced by black jeans, combat boots, and a designer hoodie. Colin’s hair, which was normally bound at work, hung to his shoulders, its sandy waves framing his face. Several women were giving Colin no-so-discreet looks of appreciation, their eyes drawn by his chiseled features and beautiful eyes. It always struck Quinn as odd that a man who looked as trendy and artistic as Dr. Scott would choose to dissect cadavers for a living.
“Mornin’,” Colin drawled as he waited for Quinn to get settled and stow her dripping umbrella beneath her seat. “Awful out there.”
“Better than snow, I suppose,” Quinn replied and took a sip of her coffee. “This place is a bit out of the way for you, isn’t it?”
“Not really. I live just around the corner. And I love their coffee. Best in London, in my opinion.”
“It really is good,” Quinn agreed, although at the moment, she would probably have enjoyed vending machine coffee in a Styrofoam cup as long as it was hot.
“So, which do you want first, information on your mysterious fourteenth-century remains or the results of the paternity test?”
“The remains please,” Quinn replied. She didn’t think she’d be able to concentrate on what Colin had to say after hearing the results of the DNA test. The answer seemed to surprise Dr. Scott, but he didn’t question it. He pushed his empty coffee cup out of the way and leaned forward, resting his folded hands on the table. The look on his face underwent an instant transformation, going from casual friendliness to one of barely-restrained enthusiasm. This was a man who was passionate about his job, someone who saw a body on a slab as more than just a corpse, but a puzzle to be solved, a story to be told. Quinn understood only too well. Her decision to become an archeologist was rooted in exactly the same desire. Every bone and artifact had a story to tell. They gave a voice to someone who was long gone, whose life might not have been extraordinary or rewarding, but worth remembering all the same.
“I’m sorry to report that the hair we found lacked a follicle, so we weren’t able to obtain any nuclear DNA. The only test we can perform on a hair shaft is the mtDNA test, which shows genetic information passed down the maternal line, and we didn’t run the full mitochondrial genome because it’s very costly and requires authorization,” Colin said, smiling apologetically.
“The only thing I can state with any certainty about your lady is that she was of Anglo-Saxon descent and was fair-haired and light-eyed. She was predisposed to seizures, cortical blindness, and sideroblastic anemia, which doesn’t mean that she suffered from any of those conditions. These predispositions would have been passed on down to her children, and her female children would, in turn, have passed them on to their own offspring.”
Quinn nodded. What Colin was saying fit right in with what she knew of Petra and her children already. Petra didn’t suffer from seizures, nor did her daughters, but she had passed on the predisposition to her son, Edwin. Quinn thought that Colin had finished, but he smiled at her triumphantly, having saved the best for last.
“The only real thing of interest that I can share with you is that based on the DNA sequencing we’ve done on the teeth of the child, we’ve been able to ascertain, with about ninety-percent accuracy, that the remains are those of mother and child. So, they weren’t two random people buried next to each other; they were related,” Colin concluded. “And whatever unforgivable sin the mother had been accused of, the son was likely party to the act since he’d been condemned to a prone burial in unconsecrated ground.”
Colin leaned back, the excitement fading from his face as he remembered the limitations imposed on him despite his desire to know more. “Unfortunately, given the historical obscurity of these people, we don’t have the funding to perform a full panel of genome and DNA sequencing. Someone would have to foot the bill, and your Mr. Morgan doesn’t have the authority to pay for this from the coffers of the BBC.”
“Thank you, Colin. I understand. Every little bit helps. I’m sure Rhys will find a way to spin this into a story his audience will love. The episodes of Echoes from the Past are rooted in reality, but are, for all intents and purposes, a work of fiction. We take a few basic facts and create a reenactment of what might have happened to our victims. At this stage, no one can say with any certainty what actually did happen to them, so it’s less documentary and more historical fantasy.”
“I’m glad I could help,” Colin replied. “I’m a scientist; I don’t feel comfortable dealing in speculation, but I suppose you don’t require cold, hard facts in this case. One theory is as good as another when it comes to how they died. They were definitely murdered, but we’ll never know why or by whom. Given the circumstances of their burial, the Church was clearly involved in some way.”
“Perhaps not in the murder itself, but in the events that led up to it,” Quinn agreed. An image of Petra and sweet-faced Edwin popped into her mind, but she pushed it back, unable to reconcile their living, breathing selves with the two dried-up skeletons in Colin’s lab. Now that the tests were complete, their bones would be boxed up, labeled, and stored in some back room, where no one would ever look at them again. Petra and Edwin Ordell wouldn’t even get a proper burial or a headstone, since as far as everyone was concerned, no one knew exactly who they were.
“Now, are you ready for the other set of results?” Colin asked, his eyes twinkling with ill-concealed curiosity.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Quinn replied. She pushed away her croissant, having suddenly lost her appetite. She could feel the onset of a headache and her stomach clenched in anticipation of the news, her mind screaming that perhaps she didn’t want to know after all. Ignorance was bliss, or so some believed, and in this case, that just might be true.
Colin shook his head, his eyes never leaving Quinn’s face. “Not a match. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
Quinn let out the breath she’d been holding and smiled at Colin. “On the contrary, I’m giddy with relief. The man is odious.”
“Quinn, please forgive my curiosity, but how many candidates are there?”
Quinn’s eyes slid away from Colin’s face as her cheeks colored with embarrassment. She would have resented the intrusive question from anyone else, but not from Dr. Scott. She liked this man, and felt she could trust him with the truth. Quinn lifted her face, meeting his gaze head on.
“My mother was raped by three men at a party when she was a teenager. I’m the product of that night.” Quinn tried to sound light-hearted, but she could hear the bitterness in her voice. Sylvia might have moved on, but Quinn hadn’t. Not yet.
“So, now you have your answer,” Colin said. “It was the third man.”
“Yes, I suppose it was.”
“What will you do now? Will you track him down?” Colin asked.
“To be perfectly honest; I don’t know. In theory, I’d like to meet him and possibly get to know him, but given the experience I’ve had with the first two, I’m not sure that would be wise. Besides, he’s not as accessible. He is American.”
Colin nodded. “I never knew my father. He left when I was two. I’ve seen photos, of course, and heard stories, but I never actually saw him after he left.”
“Did you never try to find him?” Quinn asked, curious. She would have tried.
“No. I always felt that if my father didn’t care enough to maintain a relationship with his children, he didn’t deserve us. I saw no reason to hunt him down. My sister tried when she was going through her rebellious stage, but didn’t get very far. He left the country shortly after walking out on us. Immigrated to Australia, of all places. He might be dead for all I know.”
“Perhaps you have the right attitude. I can’t imagine that meeting my birth father will make me happy. The dad who raised me is a wonderful man. I couldn’t have asked for a better father.”
“Then you are luckier than most.”
Quinn was about to reply when Colin’s face lit up with a joyful smile. His eyes were on the door of the café, so Quinn turned to see who hijacked Colin’s attention from her. A dark-haired man made his way toward their table, a matching smile on his face. The man was wearing scrubs under his coat, and a camouflage cap was pulled low over his face. Quinn noticed the tattoos snaking up his arms as he shrugged off his coat. They started at the wrist and covered his forearms, making him look surprisingly macho.
“This is my partner,” Colin said, accepting a warm kiss from his boyfriend and scooting over to make room at the table. “Dr. Quinn Allenby, meet Logan Wyatt.”
Quinn and Logan stared at each other, the penny dropping simultaneously. Logan held out his hand, smiling widely and revealing straight white teeth. “A pleasure to meet you at last, sister dear.”