Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  Even so, he forced himself to shine the beam around one last time before heading back for the camper van. Reaching it, he hesitated, suddenly struck by the thought that someone might be in there waiting.

  If they are, I hope they’ve got the kettle on. Gripping the heavy Maglite, he pushed open the door.

  The camper van was empty. The hissing blue glow from the paraffin heater gave out a welcoming heat. Duncan hurried inside gratefully, and shut the door. Rubbing his icy hands to get some feeling back, he switched on the light and lifted the kettle to see if there was enough water in it. There was, but he reminded himself that they’d need to fill the plastic water container tomorrow. Fraser must have spent the entire day drinking tea, he thought glumly.

  Duncan put the kettle on the camper van’s small gas ring and picked up the box of matches. He took one out and struck it, the sudden flare releasing brimstone smoke.

  Someone banged on the door.

  Duncan jumped. The sting on his fingertips reminded him he still held the match. He shook it out, released from his surprise.

  He almost called out to ask who it was. But a trespasser would hardly walk right up and knock, he chided himself. Even so, he picked up the Maglite again. Just in case.

  Then, drawing confidence from the torch’s weight, he went to open the door.

  CHAPTER 15

  I WAS SITTING at the desk in the clinic. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldn’t see. A dusty twilight seemed to cover everything. The blinds on the window and door were drawn, and the skull and jawbone still sat on the steel trolley. On the desk in front of me was my laptop, its screen dark and dead. The halogen examination lamp was poised over the table where I’d left it, but now it was unlit.

  There wasn’t a sound. I looked round, taking in my surroundings. And, with the lack of surprise that sometimes accompanies such moments, I knew without thinking about it that I was asleep.

  I felt the presence in the corner of the room before I saw it. The figure was lost in shadow, but I could still see her. A woman, heavy-boned and fleshy. A round, attractive face marred by an underlying hardness.

  She looked at me, unspeaking.

  What do you want? The woman didn’t answer. I’ve done all I can. It’s down to the police now.

  Still looking at me, she pointed to the skull on the table.

  I don’t understand. What do you want me to do?

  She opened her mouth. I waited for her to speak, but instead of words smoke began streaming from her lips. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. Smoke was pouring from her now, from her eyes, nose and mouth, pluming from her fingertips. I could smell her burning, yet there were no flames. Only smoke. It was filling the room, obscuring my view of her. I knew I had to do something, try to help her.

  You can’t. She’s already dead.

  The smoke was getting thicker, starting to choke me. I still couldn’t move, but the need to act was overwhelming. I could no longer see the woman, no longer see anything. Move. Now! I lurched towards her…

  And woke up. I was still in the clinic, sitting at the desk where I’d fallen asleep. Now, though, the room was in darkness. A faint glow came from my laptop, where an infinity of stars raced into oblivion. The screensaver had turned itself on, which meant I’d been sleeping for at least fifteen minutes.

  The gale thrashed outside as I tried to shake off the effects of the dream. I felt short of breath, and my vision was blurred, as though there were a gauze veil in front of it. And I could still smell the acrid stink of smoke.

  I took a deep breath, and immediately started to cough. Now I could taste smoke as well as smell it. I tried the switch for the halogen lamp. Nothing happened. The storm must have finally succeeded in cutting off Runa’s electricity. My laptop was running on battery. I hit a key, bringing it out of the powersave mode. Its screen lit up, casting a dim blue light into the clinic. The haze in the air was more obvious now, and as the last vestiges of sleep fell away I realized I hadn’t just been dreaming after all.

  The room was full of smoke.

  Coughing, I jumped up and lunged for the door. I grabbed hold of the handle, but immediately snatched my hand away.

  It was hot.

  I’d lowered the blind over the glass panel in the door after the intruder’s visit that afternoon, but now I yanked it open. The hall beyond was swirling with a sulphurous orange light.

  The community centre was on fire.

  I backed away from the door and quickly looked round the clinic. The only other way out was the small window set high up in one wall. If I stood on a chair I should just be able to squeeze through. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. I saw the window locks and swore. I’d no idea where the key might be, and there was no time to look. I snatched the desk lamp to break the glass but stopped myself at the last second. Even opened, the window would be only just big enough for me to crawl through. If I broke it I’d never fit through the smaller gap. And although the clinic door was shut, the rush of oxygen-rich air from outside might still cause the fire to expand explosively. I daren’t risk that.

  The smoke had already grown thicker in the room, making it hard to breathe. Come on! Think! I snatched my coat off the wall hook and ran to the washbasin. Turning the tap on full I plunged my head underneath, then did the same with my scarf and gloves. Cold water streamed down my face as I struggled into my coat, cursing the sling’s clumsiness. Winding the wet scarf round my nose and mouth, I wriggled my right hand into my glove and then pulled up the coat’s hood.

  Grabbing my laptop from the desk, I spared a glance at the skull and jawbone lying on the steel trolley. I’m sorry, Janice.

  And at that moment the glass porthole exploded.

  The fact that my face was averted meant my hood and scarf protected me from most of the flying shards. I felt a few sting my exposed skin, but the sensation was dwarfed by the sudden blast-furnace wave of heat. I staggered back as smoke and flame billowed into the clinic. Any chance of my climbing from the window had now gone. Even if the fireball caused by breaking it didn’t kill me outright, I’d be burned to death before I could wriggle through.

  The smoke was already filtering through the scarf, smothering me. Hacking and coughing, I hunched my back against the heat coming through the shattered porthole and grabbed hold of the door handle. The water on my glove steamed, the heat striking right through the thick fabric, and then I’d yanked the door open and dashed through.

  It was like running into a wall of heat and noise. The piano was burning like a torch, discordant notes clamouring out a madman’s music as the fire plucked and snapped its wires. I almost retreated into the clinic again, but I knew if I did I would die in there. And now I saw that the community centre wasn’t completely ablaze. One half was engulfed in flames, yellow tongues chasing across the ceiling and floor, but the side where the exit was located hadn’t yet caught.

  Get out! Go! Eyes streaming, I stumbled through the smoke. Almost immediately I was lost and blind. I could smell my coat smouldering, a scorched-wool stink coming from the scarf over my face. Heart pounding from fear and lack of oxygen, I didn’t see the stack of chairs until I fell over them.

  Pain lanced through my shoulder and the laptop flew from my hands as I tumbled to the floor. But it was falling that saved me. Like suddenly swimming into a thermocline, there was a band of relatively clear air trapped against the floorboards. Stupid! Should have realized! I was panicking, not thinking clearly. Keeping my face pressed to the floor, I gulped in greedy breaths as I pawed around for the laptop. I couldn’t find it. Leave it! I began crawling towards the exit. An eddy in the smoke revealed the double doors right in front of me. Taking a last deep breath, I hauled myself to my feet and tugged at the handles.

  And heard the rattle of the padlocked chain.

  Shock and fear paralysed me. I’d forgotten all about the padlock. The key. Where’s the key? I couldn’t remember. Think! I’d given the spare to Brody, but where was mine? Tearing off my glo
ve with my teeth, I frantically searched my pockets. Nothing. Oh, Christ, it’s still in the clinic.

  Then I felt the thin metal shape in my back pocket. Thank God! I fumbled it out, knowing if I dropped it I was dead. The fire clawed at my back. My chest heaved as I tried to fit the key into the padlock, but I daren’t take a breath. If I did I’d be inhaling smoke, not air, and the heat would sear my lungs. My hand was clumsy, the lock stubbornly resistant.

  Then there was a snick and the hasp slid open.

  The chain rasped on the handles as I tore it free. I wrenched open the doors, hoping that the porch would act like an airlock, allowing me to get out before the fresh air fed the fire. It did, but only partly. There was an instant’s touch of cold against my face, then I was enveloped in a rush of heat and smoke. I stumbled out with it, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the labouring of my chest to draw breath.

  I’d no idea how far I’d gone before I collapsed. But this time it was on to blessedly cold, wet grass. I sucked in one breath after another, tasting cool air that was tainted by smoke, but air all the same.

  There were hands on me now, dragging me away from the centre. My eyes were streaming too much to see, but I recognised Brody’s voice saying, ‘It’s all right, we’ve got you.’

  I looked up, coughing and wiping the tears from my eyes. He was supporting me on one side, the even bigger figure of Guthrie on the other. There were people all around, their stunned faces lit by the flames. More were still arriving, flapping overcoats hurriedly thrown on over pyjamas and nightgowns. Someone was shouting for water; a moment later a mug was thrust into my hands. I drank thirstily, the coldness of it wonderfully soothing on my throat.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Brody was saying.

  I nodded, turning round to look back at the community centre. The whole building was blazing, sending up sheets of flame and sparks that the wind instantly whipped away. The clinic extension, where I’d been only minutes before, was also burning now, gouts of smoke streaming from the shattered window.

  ‘What happened?’ Brody asked.

  I tried to speak, but another coughing spasm seized me.

  ‘All right, take it easy,’ Brody said, urging me to drink again.

  Another figure was barging towards us through the gathering crowd. It was Cameron, staring with open-mouthed disbelief at the burning centre. His gaze was manic as he turned it on me.

  ‘What have you done?’ he demanded, bass voice quivering with rage.

  ‘For God’s sake, give him a chance, can’t you?’ Brody said.

  Cameron’s Adam’s apple jerked under the skin of his throat like a trapped mouse. ‘Give him a chance? That’s my clinic going up in flames!’

  I tried to control my coughing. ‘I’m sorry…’ I croaked.

  ‘You’re sorry? Look at it! It’s gone, the whole place! What the hell did you do?’

  The veins in his temples pulsed in a calligraphy of anger. I forced myself to stand, wiping my streaming eyes.

  ‘I didn’t do anything.’ My throat felt full of gravel. ‘I woke up and the hall was on fire. It started in there, not the clinic.’

  Cameron wasn’t about to back down. ‘Oh, so it started by itself, did it?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ I broke off, coughing again.

  ‘Leave him alone, he only just made it out himself,’ Brody warned.

  A harsh laugh came from nearby. It was Kinross, standing at the front of the crowd. With his dark hair and oilskins he looked like a figure from a wilder, darker age.

  ‘Aye, made sure he was all right, didn’t he?’

  ‘Would you rather he’d still been in there?’ Brody snapped.

  ‘Do we get a choice?’

  I realized that attention was shifting from the fire to us. I glanced round, saw that we’d been hemmed in by the islanders. They were gathered in a circle round us, their faces harsh and unforgiving in the flames.

  ‘It didn’t just burn down by itself,’ one man muttered.

  Other voices began to call out as well, wanting to know why we’d used the centre, who would pay for it to be replaced. I could feel the mood shifting from shock to anger.

  Then the crowd began to part, making way for a tall figure. With relief I saw it was Strachan. And just like that, the tension subsided.

  He strode up to us, hair thrashing in the wind as he stared at the blazing community centre. ‘Christ! Was anyone inside?’

  I shook my head, trying to stifle the coughs. ‘Only me.’

  And Janice Donaldson. I looked at the flames wrapping themselves round the building, feeling as though I’d let her down.

  Strachan took the empty mug from me. ‘Some more water here, please.’

  He held it out, not even bothering to see who took it. Almost immediately the mug was refilled and pressed back into my hand. I gulped at the icy water gratefully. Strachan waited until I’d lowered it.

  ‘Any idea how it started?’

  Cameron had been watching with barely concealed anger. ‘Isn’t it obvious? He was the only person in there!’

  ‘Don’t talk rubbish, Bruce,’ Strachan told him impatiently. ‘Everyone knows the place was a fire trap. The wiring was ancient. I should have insisted on tearing down the whole thing when we built the clinic.’

  ‘And that’s it, is it? We’re supposed to just let it go?’ Cameron asked, tight-lipped.

  Strachan gave an easy grin. ‘Well, you could always lynch Dr Hunter, I suppose. There’s a street lamp over there, and I’m sure you could find some rope. But why don’t we wait until we know what caused it before we start blaming anyone?’

  Turning his back on Cameron, he addressed the gathered islanders.

  ‘I promise we’ll find out what happened. And we’ll build a new and better clinic and community centre, you have my word on that. But there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Everyone should go on home now.’

  Nobody moved. Then, as if on cue, what was left of the hall suddenly collapsed in a shower of sparks and flame. Gradually at first, then more steadily, the crowd began to break up, the men grim-faced, many of the women wiping their eyes.

  Strachan spoke to Kinross and Guthrie. ‘Iain, Sean, will you get a few men together and stay for a while? I can’t see that it’ll spread, but I’d appreciate your keeping an eye on things.’

  It was a deft way of defusing the remaining tension. Kinross and Guthrie looked taken aback, but flattered to have been asked. Strachan turned to Cameron as they moved off.

  ‘Why don’t you take a look at David’s cuts and burns?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ I said, before Cameron could respond. Nurse or not, I’d had enough of the man for one night. ‘There’s nothing I can’t see to myself.’

  ‘I still say we should-’ Cameron began, but Strachan spoke over him.

  ‘No need for you to stay either, then, Bruce. You’re teaching in a few hours. You might as well go home too.’

  His tone didn’t brook any argument. Cameron stalked off, his expression thunderous. Strachan watched him go, then turned to me.

  ‘OK, so what happened?’

  I took another drink of water. ‘I must have dozed off. When I woke up the lights were off and the clinic was full of smoke.’

  He nodded. ‘The power went off all over the island about an hour ago. The blackout must have caused some sort of short.’

  For the first time I noticed that the village was in darkness beyond the yellow glow of the flames. No street lamps, no lights showing in windows.

  ‘It’s been a hell of a night. Still, it could have been a lot worse.’ Strachan paused, a subtle change coming over his manner. ‘I heard a rumour earlier. That the police are treating the body that was found as murder. Do you know anything about that?’

  Brody spoke up before I could answer. ‘You shouldn’t take any notice of rumours.’

  ‘So it isn’t true?’

  Brody just stared back at him, stonily. Strachan gave a tight smile.

  ‘That’s what I
thought. Well, I’ll say goodnight, then. I’m glad you’re all right, David.’

  Brody waited until he was turning away. ‘I’m curious. You can’t see the village from your house. So how did you know about the fire?’

  Strachan faced him. His expression was controlled, but I could see the anger under it.

  ‘There was a glow in the sky. And I’m a poor sleeper.’

  The two of them held each other’s stare, neither of them giving an inch. Then, with a final nod in my direction, Strachan walked off into the dark.

  Brody drove me back to the hotel. Since his house was down by the harbour, he’d rushed up to the community centre in his car when he saw the blaze from his bedroom window.

  ‘I don’t sleep much either,’ he told me, wryly.

  Exhaustion gave me a sense of unreality as we drove through the blacked-out streets. I resisted the urge to lean back against the headrest and shut my eyes. Reaction was starting to set in, and the cuts and burns I hadn’t noticed before had begun to make themselves felt. The stink of smoke and burning clogged my nose and throat. I wound down the window, but the force of the wind made me wind it up again.

  ‘So how do you think it started?’ Brody asked, after a while.

  ‘I suppose Strachan could be right.’ My throat was still raw. ‘The power cut could have caused an electrical short or surge. The centre was a fire trap.’

  ‘Just a coincidence, then, that it burned down a few hours after we’d had an intruder? And after Fraser let slip this was a murder inquiry?’

  I felt too shattered to think clearly. ‘I don’t know.’

  He didn’t push the point. ‘Did we lose everything?’

  Most of what mattered, I thought. As well as Janice Donaldson’s remains, my flight case and equipment had been in the clinic. My camera, my laptop containing all my notes and files, my tape recorder, all gone up in smoke.

  But even as I was thinking that, I was already feeling in my pockets.

  ‘Not quite,’ I said, pulling out the USB bar. ‘I backed up my hard drive earlier. Force of habit. So at least we’ve still got a photographic record.’