Written in Bone

by Simon Beckett

  ‘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. 156

  Simon Beckett

  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

  WRITTEN IN BONE

  157

  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?’

  158

  Simon Beckett

  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

  WRITTEN IN BONE

  159

  drive earlier. Force of habit. So at least we ’ve still got a photographic record.’

  ‘Better than nothing, I suppose,’ Brody sighed.

  ‘There ’s something else,’ I said. ‘I know who she was.’

  I told him how the flaws in the skull’s teeth had matched those in the photograph of Janice Donaldson, the missing prostitute from Stornoway. Brody gave the steering wheel a little punch of satisfaction.

  ‘Well done,’ he grinned, enthusiasm briefly overcoming his natural restraint.

  ‘Well, we ’ve only got the photos of the skull left, so it ’ll still be better if Forensics can confirm it. With luck they might be able to salvage enough undamaged soft tissue from the cottage to try for a DNA match.’

  ‘If you say you know who she is, that ’s good enough for me,’

  Brody said. The implied confidence was flattering. I only hoped Wallace would be as readily convinced.

  We were coming to the hotel now. A light on in the hallway told us that Ellen was still up. She ’d been woken by the sudden quiet as the blackout had silenced the hotel’s constant heartbeat of central heating and refrigerators. Now the steady background vibration announced that the back-up generator was doing its job.

  She looked horr
ified when she saw me. ‘Oh, my God, are you all right?’

  ‘I’ve had better nights,’ I admitted. I nodded at the light bulb, slightly dimmer than usual but still working. ‘That ’s a welcome sight.’

  ‘Aye. Provided we ’re careful, we ’ve enough oil to keep the generator running for three or four days. With luck the power will be back on by then. God willing,’ she added dryly. While Brody went to rouse Fraser, she ushered me into the kitchen and helped me off with my coat. It stank of smoke and was badly scorched, making her wrinkle her nose at the smell.

  ‘Shame it wasn’t fireproof as well as waterproof.’

  I looked at where the Teflon-coated fabric had charred on the 160

  Simon Beckett

  hood and shoulders. I could feel a corresponding sting on my own flesh, but nothing serious.

  ‘I’m not complaining,’ I said.

  Brody returned a few minutes later with a sleep-bleared Fraser, whisky-breathed and still buttoning his shirt.

  ‘He ’s not going to like it,’ he warned, when I asked him to radio Wallace.

  He was right. But the superintendent ’s anger was mollified to some extent when he learned I had a probable ID for the victim. I’d been going to ask when we could expect help to get here, but the connection was terrible. When it wasn’t cutting out altogether, his voice faded in and out of a wash of crackles.

  ‘We ’ll . . . alk . . . orrow,’ I heard him say.

  ‘Modern technology,’ Brody sniffed, when I ended the call.

  ‘They replaced the old analogue radios with digital, but they still piggyback the signal off the mobile phone network. Any problems with that and you’re liable to lose the lot.’

  Fraser made reluctant noises about going to examine the community centre, but there was no real point until the fire had died down. After taking a brief statement from me, he muttered excuses and went back to bed. Ellen had discreetly left the room when I’d called Wallace, but now she returned and began ushering Brody out as well.

  ‘Go and get some sleep. You look nearly as bad as David,’ she scolded.

  She was right. The ex-policeman was haggard and drawn. He managed a weak smile.

  ‘I’m not sure which of us should be more insulted. But perhaps I will. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘We ’ve another tomorrow,’ I told him.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, heavily. But I never doubted for a minute that he ’d be there in the thick of it.

  After he ’d gone, Ellen filled a basin with hot water and brought out antiseptic and cotton wool. ‘Right, let ’s get you sorted out, shall we?’

  WRITTEN IN BONE

  161

  ‘It ’s all right, I can do it myself.’

  ‘I’m sure you can. But you’re not going to.’ She began to clean the cuts and grazes on my face. ‘Don’t worry. I used to be the unofficial nurse here before Bruce Cameron arrived.’

  The wind moaned outside, but there was an easy silence between us as she worked. I wondered what a young woman like her, a single mother, was doing on a backwater like Runa. Eking out a living somewhere like this couldn’t be easy. Brody had told me she ’d met Anna’s father on the mainland, so she ’d obviously left at some point. Yet she ’d come back out here. Was that because she actually liked the island’s isolation, or was it a retreat from something that had happened out there? I thought again about the visitor who had been in the kitchen earlier, and who’d left her in tears. There couldn’t be many single men on an island this size, so it was hard not to draw conclusions about the reason for her secrecy.

  Then again, what did I know? If I’d any sense I’d have been back home with Jenny now. I wished I could talk to her, and regretted not asking to use Fraser’s radio when I’d had the chance. I wondered what she was doing, if she was worrying about me. Probably. You should never have agreed to do this. What the hell was I doing on a bleak island miles from anywhere, nearly having died of exposure and then being burned to death, instead of getting on with my own life?

  Except this was my life, I realized, in a moment of rare clarity. This was what I did. What I was. And if Jenny saw it as a problem, where did that leave us?

  Ellen’s voice pulled me back to the here and now. ‘Is it true what people are saying? About the body?’

  ‘What are they saying?’

  She gently swabbed a cut with antiseptic. ‘That it was murder.’

  Thanks to Fraser, there probably wasn’t any harm in confirming what everyone on Runa almost certainly already knew, but I still felt reluctant to talk about it, even with Ellen.

  162

  Simon Beckett

  ‘It ’s all right, I know I shouldn’t ask,’ she said, quickly. ‘I just can’t believe anything like that could happen here. The bar was full of talk about it earlier. No one can think who the victim can be, let alone imagine anyone from here being involved.’

  I gave a non-committal murmur. This was exactly what we ’d hoped to avoid. Now gossip and rumour would fill the vacuum left by the absence of hard fact, muddying the water and stirring up a silt of mistrust. And the only person to benefit would be the killer.

  ‘So will you be coming back to Runa for your next holiday?’

  Ellen asked, deliberately lightening the mood. I started to laugh. It hurt. ‘Don’t,’ I told her, wincing. She smiled. ‘Sorry. But are you always as accident prone as this?’

  ‘Not usually. Must be this place.’

  Her smile faded. ‘Aye, I can believe it.’

  It was too good an opening to miss. ‘So what about you? Do you like it out here?’

  She suddenly became preoccupied with a cut. ‘It’s not so bad. You should be here in summer. The nights are glorious. Makes up for days like this.’

  ‘But . . .’ I prompted.

  ‘But . . . it ’s a small island. You see the same faces all the time. A few contractors or the occasional tourist, but that ’s all. And, financially, it ’s a struggle keeping your head above water. Sometimes I wish . . . ah, well, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Unguarded, her face showed the sadness I guessed she normally kept in check. ‘I wish I could get away from here. Leave this place—

  the hotel, the island—behind me, and take Anna and just go. Anywhere. Somewhere where there are decent schools, and shops, and restaurants, and people you don’t know, who don’t know you and your business.’

  ‘So why don’t you?’

  There was defeat in the way she shook her head. ‘It isn’t that easy. I grew up on Runa, and everything I’ve got is here. Besides, what would I do?’

  WRITTEN IN BONE

  163

  ‘Andrew Brody told me you’d been to college on the mainland. Isn’t that something you could use?’

  ‘Been telling tales, has he?’ She looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to be angry or amused. ‘Aye, I spent a couple of years at catering college in Dundee. That’s where I learned first aid, all that Health and Safety nonsense. Fancied myself as a chef at one point. But then my father was taken ill, so I came back. Only temporarily, I thought. But then I found myself with a child to support, and jobs aren’t exactly plentiful round here. So when he died I carried on running this place.’

  She raised an eyebrow at me.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask?’

  ‘Ask what?’

  ‘About Anna’s father.’

  ‘Not when you’re putting antiseptic on my cuts, no.’

  ‘Good. Just so you know, let’s just say there was never any future there.’ Her tone made it clear the subject was closed. She went back to her swabbing. ‘So what else did Andrew Brody tell you?’

  ‘Not much. I’d hate to get him barred from the hotel.’

  ‘Not much danger of that.’ She laughed. ‘Anna’s too fond of him. I suppose I am as well, though don’t go telling him that, mind. He ’s protective enough as it is.’

  She paused. I guessed what was coming.

  ‘Do you know abou
t his daughter?’ she asked.

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘He must like you. It isn’t something he talks about as a rule. The girl was a bit wild, from what I gather. Still, I can’t imagine what it must be like for him, not knowing what happened to her. He tried to track her down after he ’d retired, but he never found her. So then he came out here.’

  Her expression softened.

  ‘Don’t take this wrong. But in a way all this has been good for him. Given him a new lease of life. Some people aren’t made for retirement, and Andrew’s one of them. I think he must have been a pretty good policeman.’

  164

  Simon Beckett

  So did I. I was glad he was here. More so now than ever. Ellen dropped the bloodied cotton wool into a bowl. ‘There you go. Best thing you can do now is have a hot shower and get some sleep. I’ll give you some salve to put on your burns.’

  A sudden gust of wind struck the hotel, making the entire structure seem to vibrate. Ellen cocked her head, listening.

  ‘Storm’s getting up,’ she said.

  CH APTER 16

  THE RAIN STARTED again during what was left of the night, reducing what remained of the community centre to an uneven mound of grey and black ash. Wraiths of smoke rose from it to be whipped away in the wind. One corner remained partially intact, a few feet of scorched wood that petered out to nothing. In places recognizable shapes still protruded through the wreckage: the corner of a fire-buckled steel cabinet, or skeletal chair legs that poked through the ash like dead branches through a grey snowdrift.

  It was a dismal scene, made even more depressing by the dark, heavy clouds that obscured the tops of the low hills. The rain was coming down in near-horizontal sheets. And the gale seemed to have worsened, lashing everything in its path with what seemed like deliberate malevolence.

  Brody, Fraser and I had gone out to the community centre as soon as it was light. I felt exhausted. I’d had less than four hours’ sleep and I ached all over. My shoulder throbbed relentlessly, wrenched during my escape from the fire. I’d hardly 166

  Simon Beckett

  recognized myself in the shaving mirror that morning. The skin of my face felt sunburned, peppered with small gashes from the flying glass. My eyebrows and eyelashes had been singed off, giving me a strange, startled expression.