Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  Fraser’s contempt was plainly written on his face, but at least he’d the sense to keep quiet. Whatever Brody was thinking was impossible to tell. He kept his expression professionally neutral.

  ‘Is that where Mary goes when she wanders off? To meet you?’

  Kevin stared down at his hands. ‘Sometimes.’

  Brody thought for a moment. ‘Was she at your house when we called round to see your dad?’

  Until then I’d thought nothing of how Kevin had peered out through a gap in the front door, holding it closed so we couldn’t see inside. He bowed his head, his silence confirmation enough.

  ‘And how about tonight? Did you meet her then, as well?’

  ‘No! I…I don’t know where she went! I went home after I told Maggie! Honest!’

  He seemed on the verge of tears again. Brody considered him for a few seconds, then gave a short nod.

  ‘You’d better get on home.’

  ‘Now, just wait a second…’ Fraser objected.

  But Brody had anticipated him. ‘It’s all right. Kevin’s not going to say anything about what he’s told us. Are you, Kevin?’

  The youth shook his head, earnestly. ‘I won’t. I promise.’ He hurried to the door, then stopped. ‘My dad wouldn’t have hurt Maggie. Or the other woman. I don’t want to get him into trouble.’

  Brody didn’t respond. But then there wasn’t much he could say. There was a brief glimpse of lashing rain as Kevin went out, then the door swung shut and he was gone.

  Brody went over to the table and pulled back a chair to sit down. He looked drained. ‘Christ, what a night.’

  ‘You think we can trust the lad to keep quiet?’ Fraser asked doubtfully.

  The former detective passed his hand across his face. ‘I can’t see him running home to confess this to his father, can you?’

  Fraser seemed about to concede the point, but then he suddenly looked aghast. ‘Christ, what about the girl? Kinross knows she was a witness! No wonder he was so keen to stay while we questioned her!’

  His words sent a chill through me. But Brody didn’t seem concerned.

  ‘Mary’s not in any danger. Even assuming Kinross is the killer-and we still don’t know that he is-he’s going to be satisfied that she didn’t see anything that could incriminate him. He knows she’s no threat.’

  Fraser looked relieved. ‘So what now? Arrest him? Be a pleasure to slap cuffs on that bastard!’

  Brody was silent. ‘Not yet,’ he said at last. ‘All we have against Kinross is the fact he knew Janice Donaldson. That’s not enough to arrest him. We’d only be tipping our hand, and giving him time to prepare his story before Wallace’s team get here.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Fraser exclaimed. ‘You heard what his own son said! And that bastard probably killed Duncan as well! We can’t just sit on our arses!’

  ‘I didn’t say we should!’ Brody rapped back, suddenly heated. He made an effort to calm himself. ‘Look, I’ve worked murder investigations before. You jump in half-cocked, you risk letting the killer walk. Is that what you want?’

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ Fraser persisted.

  ‘And we will.’ Brody looked across at the tarpaulin-covered shape, thinking. ‘David, do you still believe Maggie’s body was thrown off the cliff?’

  ‘I’m sure of it,’ I said. ‘Hard to see how she could have got all those injuries otherwise.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘It’ll be light in a couple of hours. As soon as it is, I say we take a look up there. See if there’s any sign of what happened. In the meantime, I suggest you two go back to the hotel and try to get some sleep. We’ve got a busy day ahead of us.’

  ‘What about you?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t sleep much. I’ll stay here and keep Maggie company.’ He gave a smile, but his eyes looked haunted. ‘I couldn’t stop her from getting killed. Seems the least I can do for her now.’

  ‘Shouldn’t one of us stay with you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Brody said, grimly. He picked up a crowbar from the workbench and hefted it, testing its weight. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  CHAPTER 24

  DAWN ROSE ALMOST as an afterthought next morning. There was no daybreak as such. Just an imperceptible lightening that crept up on you unawares, until you realized that night had been replaced by a murky twilight, and that it was officially morning.

  I’d not gone straight to bed from the boatyard. Instead, I’d had Fraser take me to Maggie’s grandmother’s. Ellen had said earlier that she’d gone to the old woman’s because she’d had a fall. I doubted I’d be able to do much for her, but I felt I ought to see her anyway.

  I owed Maggie that much.

  Rose Cassidy lived in a small, semi-detached stone cottage rather than a prefabricated bungalow like most of the neighbouring houses. It was ramshackle, with net curtains and an antiquated look that hinted at an elderly tenant. There was the flicker of candles in a downstairs window, and also one upstairs. Candles for the dead.

  The house had been full of women, gathered to keep vigil with Maggie’s grandmother. Walking in, I’d been struck by the smell of old age, that particular fustiness that seems equal parts mothballs and boiled milk. Maggie’s grandmother was as frail as a baby bird, a scribble of blue veins visible under the parchment-thin skin. She already knew that her granddaughter was dead. The body still had to be formally identified, but it would have been wrong to offer that as false hope.

  Surprisingly, Fraser had elected to come in with me to find out what the old woman knew of the hours leading up to Maggie’s death. Her granddaughter had seemed excited earlier, she’d told him, in a quavering voice. But she hadn’t explained why. After cooking them both an evening meal-like most of the other houses, the oven used bottled gas-Maggie had left the house to go to the meeting in the hotel bar.

  ‘It was after half past nine when she got back,’ Rose Cassidy recalled, gesturing with a shaking hand to a clock with oversized numerals on the mantelpiece. Her reddened eyes were opaque with cataracts. ‘She seemed different. As if there was something on her mind.’

  That fitted what we already knew. This would have been after she’d been told the dead woman’s name by Kevin Kinross, and then visited my room at the hotel.

  But there had also been something else troubling Maggie besides whether or not to betray Kinross’s son’s confidence. Whatever it had been, she hadn’t revealed it to her grandmother. The old woman had heard her leaving later, at around half past eleven, and called to ask where she was going. Maggie had shouted upstairs that she was taking the car, that she was meeting someone to do with work, and that she wouldn’t be long.

  She never came back.

  By two o’clock her grandmother had known that something was wrong. She’d fallen from bed as she was banging on the wall to rouse her neighbour. It was another indication of Cameron’s standing on the island that Ellen had been sent for rather than the island’s nurse. Not that there was much anyone could do for her anyway. She hadn’t been badly hurt by the fall, but like many other old people I’d seen, her body was slowly winding down, trapping her in a life that was no longer wanted. And now she’d outlived her own granddaughter.

  It seemed an unnecessarily cruel longevity.

  It had been after six before I’d got back to the hotel. Still dark, but there was no point in going to bed. I sat on the hard chair, listening to the moaning of the gale until I heard sounds of movement downstairs and knew Ellen was up. Feeling more tired than I could ever remember, I plunged my head into cold water in an effort to wake myself up, then knocked on Fraser’s door and went down to the kitchen.

  Ellen insisted on cooking a full breakfast-a steaming plateful of eggs, bacon, toast, and sweet, scalding tea. I hadn’t felt hungry, but when it came I ate ravenously, feeling energy slowly seep back into my limbs. Fraser came downstairs after a few minutes and sat opposite me, his face pouchy from lack of sleep. But at least this morning he was sober.

  ‘Radio
’s still out,’ he grunted, without being asked.

  I’d not expected otherwise. I was long past optimism or disappointment. Now all I wanted to do was see this through.

  Dawn had broken, and light was seeping into the sky as we drove back down to the boatyard. It was another filthy day. Waves pounded the shingle and cliffs, flinging sheets of spray high into the air to be carried inland. Kinross’s ferry was still moored in the harbour, bucking violently on the angry sea. At least its owner wouldn’t be taking it anywhere this morning, no matter how badly he might want to. Beyond it, white-tops crashed against the pinnacle of Stac Ross, foaming against each other as though frustrated by their failure to smash its dark rock.

  And over it all, the wind ruled. Far from dying down, the storm had gained in intensity. Elemental in its savagery, it buffeted the Range Rover, flinging the rain against the windscreen in such torrents that the wipers struggled to clear the glass. When we climbed out of the car it harried us over to the boatyard. The ashes and skeletal spars of the burned fishing boat stood like a remnant of a Viking funeral, a stark reminder of the night’s events.

  Inside the workshop, Brody was sitting in an old car seat. The crowbar was laid across his lap as he faced the door, coat collar turned up against the chill. Behind him, Maggie’s tarpaulin-shrouded body looked childlike and pathetic on the concrete floor.

  He smiled wanly when Fraser and I went in. ‘Morning.’

  He seemed to have aged overnight. His face was haggard, the flesh more tightly stretched over the bones; new lines were etched in the skin round his eyes and mouth. A frost of silver stubble clung to his chin.

  ‘Any problems?’ I asked.

  ‘No, it’s been quiet enough.’

  He stood up, joints cracking as he stretched. He gave a little sigh of appreciation as he took a bite from the bacon sandwich Ellen had sent for him. I poured him a mug of tea from the Thermos flask she’d also packed while I told him what we’d learned from Maggie’s grandmother.

  ‘If Maggie took the car that should make it easier to find where she went. Assuming it hasn’t been moved,’ he said when I’d finished. Neatly dusting crumbs from his fingers and mouth, he drained his tea and stood up. ‘Right, let’s take a look at the cliff.’

  ‘What about…about that?’ Fraser asked, jerking his head uneasily at the body. ‘Shouldn’t one of us keep an eye on it? In case Kinross decides to do anything.’

  ‘Are you volunteering?’ Brody asked. He smiled thinly at the reluctance on Fraser’s face. ‘Don’t worry. I found a padlock in one of the drawers. We can lock the doors, and I can’t see Kinross-or anyone else-risking anything in broad daylight anyway.’

  ‘I don’t mind staying,’ I offered.

  Brody shook his head. ‘You’re the only forensic expert we’ve got. If there’s any evidence up there, I’d like you to see it.’

  ‘That sort of thing isn’t really my field.’

  ‘It’s more yours than mine or Fraser’s,’ he said.

  There was no arguing with that.

  Brody hurried home to check on his dog while Fraser and I secured the doors with the oil-smeared padlock. The metallic snick brought an unwelcome flashback of being trapped in the burning community centre. I was glad when Brody returned a few minutes later, and we could set off for the foot of the cliffs.

  At their closest point, they lay only thirty or forty yards from the boatyard, but the rain battered us relentlessly as we crossed the open ground.

  ‘Christ on a bicycle!’ Fraser exclaimed, hunching against it.

  The cliffs themselves afforded some protection once we reached them. A strip of shingle ran along their base, broken with jagged outcrops of rock. Leaning into the wind, we made our way along it, treading carefully as we scanned the rain-slick pebbles.

  After a few yards Brody stopped. ‘Here.’

  He pointed to a rock protruding from the shingle. It had been sluiced almost clean by the rain, but a smear of something dark clung to it. I crouched down for a better look. It was a clot of bloodied tissue, veined and torn. The shingle around it was disturbed, a depression that could have been left by the impact of something heavy. What might have been drag marks ran from it towards the boatyard, disappearing where the shingle gave way to firmer ground.

  I’d brought more freezer bags from the hotel to use as stand-ins for evidence bags. Taking one from my pocket, I used the blade of my penknife to scrape up a sample of bloody tissue. If the rain kept up it would have washed most of the blood away by the time the police got here, and the gulls would have scavenged what was left.

  Brody was looking up at the top of the cliff, about a hundred feet above us. ‘The steps are further along, but there’s no point all three of us climbing up.’ He turned to Fraser. ‘Makes more sense for you to take the car and meet us at the top.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ Fraser hurriedly agreed.

  Giving him the plastic bag to take back to the Range Rover, Brody and I crunched along the shingle to the steps. They were cut into the cliff face, steep and winding. There was an old handrail, but it didn’t inspire confidence.

  Wiping the rain from his face, Brody regarded them, then looked at my sling. ‘Sure you’re up to it?’

  I nodded. I wasn’t going to back out now.

  We started up. Brody went first, leaving me to follow at my own pace. The steps were slippery with rain. Seabirds huddled against the cliff, feathers ruffling in the wind. The higher we climbed, the more exposed to it we became. It shrieked and flailed at us, as though wilfully trying to fling us off.

  We were only a few yards from the top when Brody’s foot slipped on a broken step. He skidded back into me, knocking me out against the handrail. I felt the rusted metal give under my weight, and for a moment looked directly down into the open drop. Then Brody grabbed me by the scruff of my coat and hauled me back to safety.

  ‘Sorry,’ he panted, letting go. ‘You OK?’

  I nodded, not trusting my voice. My pulse was still racing as I started after him again. But as I did, I noticed something on the rock face a few yards away.

  ‘Brody,’ I called.

  When he turned I pointed to where another dark smear tufted a bulging outcrop on the cliff face. It was too far out of reach for me to get a sample, but I could guess how it got there.

  This was where Maggie’s body had struck the rock on its way down.

  We reached the top of the cliff a few minutes after that. Emerging on to it, we were hit by the full force of the gale. It tore at our coats, filling them like kites and threatening to fling us back over the edge.

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Brody exclaimed, bracing himself against it.

  Below us, Runa’s harbour was revealed as a shallow horseshoe of churning water, hemmed in by cliffs. The view was vertiginous, wind-lashed grey sea and sky blurring together on an indistinct horizon. One or two lone gulls braved the wind, their plaintive caws coming to us as they futilely tried to ride the currents before being swept away. Inland, the brooding slopes of Beinn Tuiridh looked in the distance, while a hundred yards away Bodach Runa, the island’s standing stone, rose from the turf like a crooked finger. Other than that, all there was to see was the treeless moor, grass flattened by the wind. There was nothing to suggest that Maggie, or anyone else, had ever been up here.

  The rain slashed against us like buckshot as we made our way to the spot where Maggie must have fallen from. I was beginning to think we were wasting our time when Brody pointed.

  ‘Over there.’

  A couple of yards in front of us the ground had been disturbed. The turf was flattened and torn, and when I looked more closely I could see gouts of viscous black clotting the grass.

  Even after all the rain, there was a lot of it.

  ‘This is where she was killed,’ Brody said, wiping rain from his face as he bent down to examine it. ‘The amount of blood that’s here, she must have practically bled out.’

  He stood up, scanning the ground around us.
r />   ‘There’s more over there. And there.’

  The patches were smaller than the one by the cliff ’s edge, already almost washed away. They formed a trail of blood that led away from the drop. Or, more likely, towards it.

  ‘She was running away,’ I said. ‘She was already injured before she got to the edge.’

  ‘Could have been trying to reach the steps. Or just running blindly.’ He gave me a look. ‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘About what Mary Tait said?’ I nodded. They ran off. After all the noise. Perhaps the people she’d seen hadn’t just run off. Perhaps one of them had been chasing the other.

  But where had they come from?

  Brody looked round the empty cliff top, shaking his head in frustration. ‘Where the hell’s her car? It’s got to be around here somewhere.’

  But I’d been considering the windswept cliff top myself. ‘Remember when you asked Mary where she’d got the coat? What did she say, exactly?’

  Brody gave me a puzzled look. ‘That a man gave it to her. Why?’

  ‘No, she didn’t say a man. She said the man.’

  ‘So?’

  I pointed at the standing stone, now no more than fifty yards away. ‘You told me Bodach Runa meant the Old Man of Runa. Perhaps that’s the man she meant. Mary had a torch. She could have got up here using the steps, the same as us.’

  Brody stared off at the standing stone, thinking it through. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’

  The police Range Rover was visible perhaps a quarter of a mile away, snaking its way towards us as we set off for the stone. The road dipped out of sight occasionally, but Bodach Runa itself was hard to miss. Fraser would be able to see where we were heading and meet us there.

  Brody walked at a fast pace across the uneven terrain. Shivering from the cold and rain, the ache already beginning to make its presence felt again in my shoulder, I was hard pushed to keep up with him. The ground rose up in a ridge between us and the standing stone, so that we could only see its upper half. But as we drew nearer I could make out something in a dip behind it. Gradually, the roof of a car came into view.