Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  ‘Don’t look so grim…’ he told me.

  ‘Just a scratch,’ I said, lightly. ‘I’m going to help you lie down flat. Try not to move the knife.’

  Its blade was the only thing preventing him from bleeding to death. As long as it stayed where it was, it would act as a plug to slow his blood loss. But not for long.

  Grace was weeping more quietly now, the violence drained from her as she cradled her brother’s head on her lap. I tried to keep my anxiety from my face as I quickly ran through my options. There weren’t many. There were none of the facilities here that Strachan needed, and the only nurse on the island was lying dead in the other room. Unless we could get him evacuated, and soon, he was going to die whatever I did.

  Fraser rushed back in, skidding on the broken crockery and spilled food on the floor.

  ‘Jesus!’ he panted, seeing Strachan, then gathered himself. ‘The gas canisters are locked in a cage. I can’t open it.’

  Brody had been struggling to move the heavy pine dresser that was lying in front of the back door, partially blocking it. Now he abandoned the attempt, staring round the wrecked kitchen.

  ‘The keys for the cage must be here somewhere,’ he said, frustrated.

  But even if we’d known where Ellen kept them it wouldn’t have done any good. Every drawer had been pulled out and smashed, their contents scattered amongst the rest of the debris. The keys could be anywhere.

  Brody had reached the same conclusion. ‘We don’t have time to look. Let’s get everybody out while we break into the cage to turn off the gas.’

  There was no way Strachan should be moved, but the gas left us no choice. It was so thick now I could taste it. The atmosphere in the kitchen would soon be unbreathable. And propane was heavier than air, which meant it would be even worse on the floor where Strachan lay.

  I gave a quick nod of assent. ‘We can use the table to carry him.’

  Grace was still weeping as she cradled her brother’s head. Strachan had been watching us in silence. Even though he must have been in agony he seemed remarkably calm. Almost peaceful.

  ‘Just leave me here,’ he said, his voice already weakening.

  ‘Thought I told you to be quiet?’

  He grinned, and for a moment looked like the man I’d met when I’d first arrived on the island. Grace was keening, an almost animal sound of grief as she stroked his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…’

  ‘Shh. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.’

  Fraser and Brody were struggling to right the heavy table. I went to the kitchen’s window, hoping it hadn’t been painted shut. Even a little ventilation would be better than nothing. But I’d only taken a few steps when I saw Strachan grope for something lying in the broken crockery nearby.

  ‘Get away from there, David,’ he said, holding it up.

  It was the lighter for the gas range.

  He had his thumb poised on the ignition button. ‘Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere…’

  ‘Put it down, Michael,’ I said, trying for an assurance I didn’t feel. There was so much gas in the kitchen that one spark would set it off. I glanced uneasily at the portable heater that lay nearby. It had its own propane supply, and the cage containing the big cylinders was stored right against the kitchen wall. If the gas in here ignited they would all go up.

  ‘I don’t think so…’ Strachan’s pallid face shone with sweat. ‘Go on, get out. All of you.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Brody snapped.

  Strachan raised the lighter. ‘One more word from you, and I swear I’ll press it right now.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Brody, shut up!’ Fraser said.

  Strachan gave a death’s head grin. ‘Good advice. I’m going to count to ten. One…’

  ‘What about Grace?’ I said, stalling for time.

  ‘Grace and I stay together. Don’t we, Grace?’

  She was blinking through her tears, as though only now becoming aware of what was going on.

  ‘Michael, what are you going to do…?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Trust me.’

  Then, before anyone could stop him, Strachan wrenched the knife from his stomach.

  He screamed, seizing Grace’s arm as blood gushed from the wound. I started forward, but he saw me and raised the lighter.

  ‘Get out! Now!’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Oh, Jesus!’

  ‘Strachan-’

  Brody grabbed hold of me. ‘Move.’

  Fraser was already running for the door. I took one last look at where Strachan lay, teeth gritted in agony as he held the lighter raised in one hand and gripped his sister’s hand with the other. Grace’s expression was one of dawning incredulity. She looked across at me, her mouth opening to speak, and then Brody had hustled me out into the hall.

  ‘No, wait-’

  ‘Just run!’ he bellowed, giving me a shove.

  He kept hold of me as he pounded down the hallway, half dragging me outside. Fraser had reached the Range Rover and was fumbling for the keys.

  ‘Leave it!’ Brody snapped, without stopping.

  The nearest houses were too far away to reach, but there was an old stone wall much nearer. Brody dragged me behind it, Fraser throwing himself down beside us a moment later. We waited, panting.

  Nothing happened.

  I looked back at the hotel. It seemed familiar and mundane in the twilight, its front door banging forlornly in the wind.

  ‘Been more than ten seconds,’ Fraser muttered.

  I stood up.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Brody demanded.

  I shook him off. ‘I’m going to-’ I began, and then the hotel exploded.

  There was a flash, and a wall of noise almost knocked me off my feet. I ducked, covering my head as pieces of slate and brick rained down. As the thuds began to peter out, I risked a look back up the hill.

  Dust and smoke swirled around the hotel like a gauze veil. Its roof had been blown off, and bright yellow flickers were already visible inside the shattered windows, quickly spreading as the fire took hold.

  People were running out of the nearby houses as the hotel began to blaze. I could feel the intensity of the heat even from where I stood.

  I turned on Brody angrily. ‘I could have stopped him!’

  ‘No, you couldn’t,’ he said, tiredly. ‘And even if you could, he was a dead man as soon as he pulled out the knife.’

  I looked away, knowing he was right. The hotel was an inferno now, its timbered floors and walls reduced to so much kindling. Like everything else that had been inside.

  ‘What about Grace?’ I asked.

  Brody’s face was shadowed as he stared into the flames.

  ‘What about her?’

  CHAPTER 28

  TWO DAYS LATER, the sky dawned bright and clear over Runa. It was approaching midday when Brody and I left his car on the road above the harbour and walked up to the cliff top overlooking Stac Ross. Seabirds soared around the tall black tower, while waves shattered against the rock’s base, flinging slow-motion sheets of spray high into the air. I breathed in the fresh salt air, savouring the thin warmth of the sun on my face.

  I was going home.

  The police had arrived on Runa the previous morning. As though finally sated with the chaos it had overseen, the storm had blown itself out within hours after the hotel had burned down. Before the night was out, while the hotel ruins still smoked and smouldered, the phone lines had started working again. We’d finally been able to get word to Wallace and the mainland. Although the harbour was still too rough to allow anything in or out, the sky was still lightening when a coastguard helicopter clattered above the cliffs, carrying the first of the police teams that would descend on Runa in the next twenty-four hours.

  As the island found itself at the epicentre of frenzied police activity, I’d finally got a call through to Jenny. It had been a difficult conversation, but I’d reassured her that I was all right, promise
d I would be home in another day or so. Even though the island was swarming with police and SOC, I couldn’t leave straight away. Not only were there the inevitable interviews and debriefings to endure, but I still felt there was unfinished business. It would take days or perhaps even weeks to recover the bodies of Strachan, Grace and Cameron from the ruins of the hotel, assuming anything identifiable had survived its destruction. But there had still been Maggie’s and Duncan’s remains to attend to, and I wanted to be on hand while SOC examined them.

  It wouldn’t seem right to leave without see things through to the end.

  And now I had. Maggie’s body had been taken back to the mainland the evening before, while Duncan’s remains had been removed from the camper van in the early hours. So had his Maglite, bagged up ready for laboratory analysis. Not only was it the right shape to have made the injury to his skull, but SOC had found what appeared to be traces of blood and tissue baked on to its casing. It would have to be tested to make sure, but I was more convinced than ever that Grace had used his own torch to kill him.

  I’d done as much as I could. There was no reason for me to remain on Runa any longer. I’d said what few goodbyes I had to make; shared an awkward handshake with Fraser, then called to see Ellen and Anna. They were staying at a neighbour’s house for the time being, bearing up surprisingly well after what they’d been through.

  ‘The hotel was only bricks and mortar. And Michael…’ There were shadows in Ellen’s eyes as she watched Anna play nearby. ‘I’m sorry he’s dead. But I’m more thankful for what was saved than what was lost.’

  Another coastguard helicopter was due within the hour, and once it had discharged its cargo of police officers it would take me back to Stornoway. From there I’d fly to Glasgow and then London, finally completing the journey I’d started a week ago.

  Not before time.

  Still, I didn’t feel as elated as I’d expected. Even though I was looking forward to seeing Jenny, I felt oddly flat as Brody and I walked up to the cliff where the helicopter would put down. Brody, too, was silent and lost in his thoughts. Although I’d been sleeping in his spare room, I’d not seen much of him since the mainland police teams had arrived. Ex-inspector or not, he was a civilian now, and he’d been politely excluded from the investigation. I felt sorry for him. After all that had happened, it must have been hard for him to be brushed on to the sidelines.

  When we reached the cliff top we rested. The stone monolith of Bodach Runa stood some distance away, the Old Man of Runa still keeping his lonely vigil for a lost child. The dip where we’d found Maggie’s car was out of sight, but the Mini itself had been moved. Gulls and gannets wheeled and cried in the bright winter sunlight. The wind still gusted, but less strongly, and the clouds that had seemed a permanent cover were gone, replaced with high white wisps of cumulus that skated serenely across the blue sky.

  In some regards, at least, it was going to be a beautiful day.

  ‘This is one of my favourite views,’ Brody said, looking out at the sea stack that rose like a giant chimney from the waves. The wind ruffled his grey hair, mirroring the movement of the waves two hundred feet below. He reached down to stroke his dog’s head. ‘Been a while since Bess has had a chance to stretch her legs up here.’

  I rubbed my shoulder through my coat. It was still painful, but I’d almost grown used to it. I’d be able to get it X-rayed and properly looked at once I was back in London.

  ‘What do you think will happen now? To Runa?’ I asked.

  At the moment the island was still in a state of shock. In the space of a few days it had lost four members of its community, including its main benefactor; a tragedy made all the harder to accept because of the shocking manner of their dying. The gale, too, had added to the tally, swamping a fishing boat in the harbour and causing Strachan’s yacht to slip its chain. Wreckage from the beautiful boat would be found days later, but that was the least of the island’s losses. It was the others from which it would struggle to recover.

  Brody turned down his mouth. ‘God knows. Might keep going for a while. But the fish farm, the new jobs, the investment, all that’s gone. Can’t see it surviving without them.’

  ‘You think it’ll become another St Kilda?’

  ‘Not for a few years, perhaps. But eventually.’ His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Let’s hope they don’t drown their dogs when they go.’

  ‘Will you stay?’

  Brody shrugged. ‘We’ll see. Not as though I’ve any reason to go anywhere else.’

  The border collie had crouched at his feet, head down on its paws as it stared up at him, intently. Smiling, he took an old tennis ball from his pocket and tossed it for the dog. It trotted after it, legs too stiff to run, then brought it back, tail wagging.

  ‘I just wish we’d been able to talk to Grace, find out why she did what she did,’ I said, as Brody threw the ball again.

  ‘Jealousy, like Strachan said. And hate, I expect. You’d be surprised how powerful that can be.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain everything. Like why she clubbed Janice Donaldson and Duncan, but used a knife on Maggie and Cameron. And the others that Strachan told us about.’

  ‘Means and opportunity, I expect. I don’t think she really planned anything, just acted when she got the urge. Duncan’s Maglite was probably lying to hand, and I dare say something similar happened with Donaldson. But we’ll never know now.’

  The collie had dropped the ball at his feet again. Brody picked it up and threw it, then gave me a rueful smile.

  ‘There aren’t always answers to everything, no matter how hard we look. Sometimes you have to learn to just let things go.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  He took out his cigarettes and lit one, drawing on it with satisfaction. I watched as he put the pack away.

  ‘I didn’t know you were left-handed,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You threw the ball with your left hand just now.’

  ‘Did I? I didn’t notice.’

  My heart had begun to thump. ‘A few days ago in your kitchen you used your right hand. It was when I told you and Fraser that whoever killed Duncan was left-handed.’

  ‘So? I’m not with you.’

  ‘So I just wondered why you used your right hand then, but your left now.’

  He turned to look at me, quizzical and a little exasperated. ‘Where are you going with this, David?’

  My mouth had dried. ‘Grace was right-handed.’

  Brody considered that. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘When she had hold of Anna, the knife was in her right hand. I’d forgotten about it till I saw you just now. I knew something still jarred, but I didn’t know what. And when I saw Grace preparing food earlier she used the same hand then. Her right, not her left.’

  ‘Perhaps your memory’s playing tricks.’

  I wished it was. For a moment or two I even allowed myself to hope. But I knew better.

  ‘No,’ I said, with something like regret. ‘But even if it was, we can check to see which hand the fingerprints on her paintbrushes and knife handles are from.’ Even if the prints weren’t clear, their angle would reveal that much.

  ‘She could have been ambidextrous.’

  ‘Then we’ll find equal numbers of both.’

  He took a long draw of his cigarette. ‘You saw what Grace was like. You can’t seriously think Strachan was lying?’

  ‘No. I don’t doubt she murdered Maggie, and God knows how many others before they came here. But Strachan just assumed she’d killed Janice Donaldson and Duncan as well. He might have been wrong.’

  I was still willing Brody to laugh it off, to point out a fatal flaw in my reasoning. He just sighed.

  ‘You’ve been here too long, David. You’re looking for things that aren’t there.’

  I had to moisten my mouth before I could get the next words out.

  ‘How did you know Duncan was killed with his own Maglite?’

  Brody f
rowned. ‘Wasn’t he? I thought that’s what you said.’

  ‘No, I never mentioned it. I’d wondered, but only to myself. I didn’t say anything about the Maglite until SOC got here.’

  ‘Well, I must have heard it from one of them.’

  ‘When?’

  He gestured with the cigarette, vaguely irritated. ‘I don’t know. Yesterday, perhaps.’

  ‘They only removed the torch during the night. And no one’s going to know for sure that’s what killed him until lab tests have been carried out. They wouldn’t have said anything.’

  Brody stared out across the sea at the black pinnacle of Stac Ross, squinting in the bright sunlight. Two hundred feet below us I could hear the waves crashing on the rocks.

  ‘Let it go, David,’ he said, softly.

  But I couldn’t. My heart was banging so hard now I could hear it.

  ‘Grace didn’t kill Duncan, did she? Or Janice Donaldson.’

  The only answer was the crying of gulls, and the distant crashing of the waves below the cliffs. Say something. Deny it. But Brody might have been carved from the same stone as Bodach Runa, silent and implacable.

  I found my voice. ‘Why? Why did you do it?’

  He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his foot, then picked up the stub and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Because of Rebecca.’

  It took a moment for the name to register. Rebecca, the estranged daughter who had gone missing. Who Brody had spent years trying to find. His words came back to me now, clear and awful in their implication: she’s dead. And suddenly everything sprang into focus.

  ‘You thought Strachan had murdered your daughter,’ I said. ‘You killed Janice Donaldson to try and frame him.’

  The pain in his eyes was confirmation enough. He took out another cigarette and lit it before he answered.

  ‘It was an accident. I’d been trying to put together evidence against Strachan for years. That’s the only reason I moved out to this godforsaken island, so I’d be close to him.’

  A gull soared overhead, wings tilting as it caught the air currents. Standing there in the cold winter sun, I felt a rush of unreality, like plunging too fast in a lift.