The Janus Stone

He sighs. He can hear the Sex and the City music coming from the sitting room which means, at least, that he’s not tempted to go in. His wife and daughters are addicted to the programme which is on every night on Sky. To him it seems sheer unadulterated filth combined with the most bizarre-looking women he has ever seen. ‘It’s fashion Dad,’ Rebecca had explained. But, if it’s fashion, how come he’s never sees anyone else dressed like that? Maybe it’s American fashion. Apart from a trip to Disneyland, which hardly counts, Nelson has never been to America and has no desire to go. Unlike some cops, he does not have a secret FBI fantasy which involves guns, fast cars and improbably glamorous settings. Life as a cop in America, he is sure, is much the same as anywhere – ten per cent excitement, ninety per cent mind-numbing boredom.

‘Dad!’ A shout from the sitting room. ‘Your phone’s ringing.’ Grumbling Nelson goes into the hall, where his phone is ringing from his jacket pocket. Of course, it stops as soon as he lays hands on it. ‘One missed call from Ruth.’ Nelson presses call back.

‘Ruth? What is it?’

She sounds very distant but he knows, from her voice, that she has made some sort of breakthrough.

‘I’ve had a call from Debbie Lewis. She’s the forensic dentistry expert I mentioned.’

‘Bloody hell. That sounds a fun job.’

‘It’s fascinating. Anyway she’s come back with some interesting results. Apparently there are traces of stannous fluoride on the teeth.’

‘So?’

‘Well stannous fluoride was first introduced by Crest toothpaste as a trial in 1949. But they found that it stained the teeth so, in 1955, they switched to sodium monofluorophosphate.’

‘So what?’ Nelson’s head is starting to swim.

‘So the skull must be from a child who was alive before 1955. When was the girl born? The girl in the children’s home?’

‘Elizabeth Black?’ Nelson rifles through the papers on his desk but he thinks he already knows the answer.

‘1968,’ he says.

CHAPTER 18

Nelson calls a special team meeting in the morning. Working on Saturday means overtime, which won’t please Whitcliffe, but he knows it is imperative that they make some headway on the case before the press get hold of it. Nelson arrives at the station in a mood of manic efficiency. He bounds upstairs, crashes open the door to the incident room, rips the picture of Father Patrick Hennessey off the pinboard and barks, ‘Right, the priest’s in the clear. Any other ideas?’

The effect is rather ruined because Judy and Clough are the only people in the incident room. Clough is eating a McDonald’s breakfast burger and Judy is reading the Mail.

‘What did you say?’ asks Clough, screwing up greaseproof paper and throwing it in the bin.

‘The priest.’ Nelson puts the picture on the table. Father Hennessey’s blue eyes stare blandly up at him. ‘He’s innocent. Ruth Galloway has identified traces of fluoride on the skull that could only have come from before 1955. Elizabeth Black was born in 1968.’

‘Fluoride?’ Clough still looks blank.

‘In the teeth. Apparently there’s some special sort of flu oride that was only used between 1949 and 1955. So that’s our range.’

‘Don’t they put fluoride in the water anyway?’ asks Clough.

‘Not in Norfolk,’ offers Judy, folding away the paper. ‘Fluoride occurs naturally in our water. There’s no need to add it to the supply.’

‘Anyway, this is different stuff. Stannous fluoride, it’s called. Apparently they don’t use it any more because it stains your teeth. Or rather they do but only in one specialised brand.’

‘So Holy Joe didn’t do it?’ Clough sounds disappointed.

‘No.’

‘I never thought he did,’ says Judy.

‘Well, you’re another one of them.’

‘What?’

‘Catholics.’

‘They’re everywhere, Cloughie,’ says Nelson, ‘except in the Masons. Now, come on, we’ve got work to do.’

Ruth also wakes in an optimistic frame of mind. It is Saturday so she can have a lie-in. Light filters in through the curtains and onto the bed where Flint sleeps stretched out, his claws twitching. Ruth stretches too, touching the cat with her toes. It had been a good night last night. The meal on the boat, getting the pregnancy thing off her chest, the breakthrough in the case. The perfect evening in fact. After the call from Debbie and Ruth’s call to Nelson, she and Max had chatted some more and then he had driven her back to her car. Drinkers were still sitting outside the pub and the moon was high above the treetops. He had kissed her cheek and told her to take care. ‘See you soon,’ Ruth had said. ‘I hope so,’ Max had replied.