CHAPTER 1
A Body Is Found

The mournful dirge of church bells echoed back from the towering peaks that surrounded the small village nestled at the base of their snow-covered grandeur. The harsh clanging sent flocks of starlings spiraling into the clear night air, their raucous cries adding to the cacophony of doom. This was the second time in less than a week the bells had disturbed the birds, and that was unusual. Normally the bells rang only on the Sabbath to summon the faithful to worship–today was Wednesday, and nobody went to the church during the week.

A solitary light shone from the ancient stone bell tower, casting long shadows over the weathered stone slabs that marked the last resting places of the departed in the cemetery encircling the church. The village had stood for many centuries while it stoically survived the endless conflict between Man and Nature, adapting to meet the demands of both, but bowing to neither.

Tears rolled down the sexton's face as he hauled on the single rope at the base of the tower, his ears deaf to the booming echo of the mighty bells only meters above his head. He was used to the noise and ignored it the same as he did on Sundays, but now his mind was filled with the image of the once-beautiful face of the young girl he had helped drag from the still waters of the lake only hours before. She lay at the foot of the altar, covered by a simple white sheet, the water still dripping to form pools on the pitted stone floor.

Her face had been peaceful, relaxed in the arms of death, when they gently lifted her from the cold water, but her body bore the marks of a recent beating, one of the most severe the rescue party had ever seen.

Who could have been driven to act with such savagery on one who looked so young and innocent? She had been found floating naked in the water, her eyes looking blankly into the heavens, her long black hair gathered around her like a mirage, accentuating the pallid white flesh. That was where the serenity of death ended; bruises and welts covered her naked back and thighs, burns crisscrossed her breasts and stomach. Her hands were lashed tightly behind her back, the rough rope cutting into the soft flesh. Her ankles were similarly secured. Carved into her stomach was a left-handed swastika, the top arm starting in the valley between her firm breasts.

Had the girl been dead when she had been thrown into the water, or had she been left to drown?

The sexton prayed she had been dead. He had been trapped under an upturned boat the previous summer and, while in no immediate danger of drowning, his mind had refused to accept that truth and he had responded in panic. He could imagine the girl's torment if she had been conscious when tossed into the water. He could imagine how she would have struggled to survive, unable to force her arms and legs to respond to her commands, knowing death was the inevitable winner if she was unable to keep afloat.

Where had she been thrown into the lake? It was obvious she hadn't entered the lake of her own free will. Suicide demanded freedom of choice, but the way she had been secured left her no choice between life and death. The decision had been made by someone else, someone who must have hated her to have inflicted such horrendous wounds to her body.

The clanging bell brought the other villagers out from their houses. They gathered in the churchyard, their curiosity roused, but the solemn figure of the rector blocked their entry into the church. Beside him stood the village constable, his uniform dripping. The villagers looked at each other as if to ask, why was the constable drenched? It hadn't rained for several days, and their fields and gardens lay dry and parched. The constable shouldn't be wet.

Constable Kapov's eyes lighted on the approaching figure of the elderly doctor. He pushed through the gathering crowd to grab the physician by the hand and drag him forward.

"Don't be in such a damned hurry, Vincent," Dr. Matthews said testily. "If the girl is dead, she is not going to leave us. Remember, I am old and not as fast as you in covering the ground."

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I still can't get used to death."

"Who is this young woman you found, and where did you find her?"

"I don't know who she is. I've never seen her before. I was taking a walk beside the lake–"

"Alone?"

Kapov blushed.

"I thought not," Dr. Matthews growled. "Why don't you marry my maid, then you won't have to keep her out at all hours–and wake me up when you whisper together under my bedroom window. Well, where did you find the body?"

"She was floating in the lake, not far from the jetty."

Copyright © 2005 by Alan M. Brooker