Free The Blood Pit by Kate Ellis Page B

the team, a quiet woman, introspective and intense, who didn’t talk much
     to the paying volunteers. He was afraid he’d made a mistake taking her on without an interview but he was new to this game.
     Dealing with the public was an unknown country … to be explored carefully and full of pitfalls and snares for the unwary.
    ‘Right,’ Neil said. ‘Everything cleared up out there?’
    ‘Yes.’ Diane hesitated for a moment. Neil could tell by the look on her face that she had something out of the ordinary to
     report. ‘Could you have a look at something in trench three? I’d like your opinion.’
    Neil followed her out into the open air. It was starting to drizzle, a fine, soft mist, but he didn’t bother about going back
     for something waterproof. Trench three was on the edge of the site. The sort of place a midden would be found filled with discarded
     rubbish. Archaeologists can discover an awful lot through examining the rubbish of previous generations and Neil had located
     the trench carefully. So far it had yielded a good harvest in the form of animal bones, oyster shells and broken medieval
     pottery. Today it had been extended and Diane led him to this new area.
    ‘What do you make of that?’ She pointed to a circle of rough stones, about two feet across. ‘I thought it was some sort of
     well at first but the deposits inside seem all wrong.’ The earth inside the circle was a deep reddish brown, almost black,
     contrasting with the rich pink earth in the rest of the trench.
    Neil squatted down and studied it for a few moments.‘Haven’t a clue. Too small for a filled in well and it doesn’t really look like burning or a post hole, does it?’
    ‘It’s on the edge of the site near the midden. Could it be some kind of pit they used to dispose of waste from some industrial
     process or …’ Diane suggested nervously, as though she wasn’t sure of herself.
    ‘Got a trowel?’
    Diane produced one from the pocket of her cagoule. It was a large, kangaroo-style pocket which held a multitude of items.
     Neil took the trowel and traced around the edge of the circle. Then he started to scrape away the soil very carefully. But
     after a while he stopped. ‘It seems to go down a fair way. I think you should record it first thing and then you and Barbara
     can dig further down tomorrow. Get Muriel and Norman to help.’
    ‘Lenny was working in this trench.’
    ‘Not Lenny,’ Neil said quickly. ‘Put him in trench one.’
    Diane raised her eyebrows. ‘You’re the boss.’
    Neil didn’t feel like making explanations – he wasn’t really sure why he’d made the decision to exclude Lenny from this new
     find himself. Until now he’d hardly dared to acknowledge his suspicion that Lenny might be the author of his strange letter.
     It was just his style. Dramatic. Self-important.
    And if the pit was what Neil suspected it was, he didn’t want Lenny anywhere near it.
    Without further discussion he helped Diane cover the open trenches with plastic sheeting to keep the rain out before climbing
     into his Mini and heading back home.
    Wesley woke up early. Five thirty. It wasn’t often he surfaced before the children but today the sound of the milkman clattering
     the bottles by the front door disturbed him and he lay there thinking, his mind too active to return to sleep.
    The previous evening, Maritia and Mark had called roundfor a meal – a lasagne Pam had made during the school holidays and stored in the freezer for just such an occasion. But Wesley
     hadn’t been able to give the family reunion his undivided attention. He had the murder of Charles Marrick on his mind, waking
     and sleeping. He’d even dreamed about it – seeing the dead man grinning at him, blood gushing like a fountain from his throat.
    At six thirty Wesley climbed out of bed and went downstairs to make a pot of tea and some toast. By the time he was creeping
     upstairs with the tray, the children had started to wake, Michael