Page 12 of The Vanished

“If she jumped in, then, of course, she would go in feet first. But if someone threw her in, they could have angled the body either way, so the position doesn’t prove either case.”

Quinn tore her gaze away from the still face and looked at Colin. “Was there anything at all on the body?”

“I thought you might ask. Was the claddagh ring not sufficient, then?”

“Turns out it didn’t belong to her. I drew a blank when I held it.”

Colin’s expression became pained. “You could have told me, you know,” he chided. “I would have kept your secret. And knowing would have explained so much.”

“I’m sorry, but at the time I had made the decision to keep my psychic ability to myself. I simply wasn’t ready to tell everyone.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t believe you or would have derided your gift?” Colin asked, obviously hurt by the lack of trust.

Quinn sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s a difficult thing to share, especially with someone who’s dedicated his life to science and the pursuit of irrefutable facts.”

“A pathologist cannot ascertain psychic ability based on the postmortem, since the individual’s brain is not noticeably different, but I believe that some people possess abilities that the majority of the population are not blessed with.”

“I don’t know how much of a blessing it is, to be honest. To relive the worst moments of someone’s life is not without its trauma, but it is gratifying to clear someone’s name or to offer them the justice they did not receive in life.”

“So, how did the person who posted the tweet find out?” Colin asked.

“As with any secret, there are still a few people who know. And then the circle grows wider, and eventually someone betrays one’s confidence.”

“That must have been devastating.”

“What was unexpectedly painful was the ugly things people said, particularly people I had called my friends. But I’m relieved not to have to hide anymore.”

“There will be more hurtful comments once you’re back on TV,” Colin pointed out.

“Yes, but as long as I can support my findings with scientific data, there’s little they can do to hurt me. And as long as there’s social media, there will always be trolls.”

Colin sighed. “As much as I can appreciate the benefits of the internet, sometimes I think the world was a kinder place before social media. We were all excited to reconnect with old friends and see what everyone was up to, but good intentions quickly turned into self-involvement and offered the ability to hurt people anonymously and avoid the consequences.”

Quinn chuckled. “Before there were keyboard warriors, there were gossips and poison pen letter writers. As long as there are people, there will be those who spread malicious rumors and lies, and take pleasure in causing someone pain.”

“Very true. There’s no running away from human nature, is there? Just as there’s no getting away from malicious intent. People were likely murdering each other before they even had a word for the act.” Colin looked down at the body, then met Quinn’s gaze. “So, if the ring did not belong to her…”

“I’m flying blind,” she admitted.

Colin grinned, and a spark of hope flared in Quinn’s chest. He walked over to the counter, where the tools of his trade were displayed on a stainless-steel tray, and picked up a small plastic container. Inside was an earring, and Colin held it up to the light. A dozen tiny amethysts glowed like captured twilight, the stones nestled in a spiderweb of filigreed gold.

“It was caught in her hair,” Colin said. “I expect she lost its mate before she went into the well, or maybe it’s resting at the bottom. I do hope this will tell you what you need to know. But even if you never discover who she was, you have still given her a chance at eternal life. The body is sure to become the subject of a case study for pathology students and might be left on display.”

“I highly doubt that was the afterlife she aspired to,” Quinn said sadly.

“She was so young, she probably never gave death a thought,” Colin mused.

“Whether we find out who she was or not, I think she should be allowed to rest in peace.”

“I suppose at this juncture the decision is up to Rhys. He’s already invested a considerable amount to transport and analyze her remains. But I’m sure you can sway him should he decide to donate her body to science.”

“I intend to,” Quinn said. “Thank you for this.”

Quinn scooped up the container and stowed it in her bag. As much as she wished she could test the earring right away, she would have to wait to find out if it had belonged to the Lady of the Well. She might have a few minutes in the afternoon, but she didn’t want to rush it. She intended to do this properly.

EIGHT

When Quinn got home, Emma was in the lounge. Her friend’s mum had collected her from school and dropped her off, something she did several times a week. Quinn returned the favor on alternate days. Gabe had offered to get Alex and Mia since Quinn hadn’t known how long she would be. Emma’s feet were on the coffee table, and she wore pearly pink Beats headphones—last year’s Christmas present and Emma’s most prized possession. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun atop her head, and her blue gaze was fixed on nothing in particular as she bobbed her head in time to the music.