Written in Bone

by Simon Beckett

  CH APTER 23

  THE TEENAGER STOOD in the workshop, dripping water on the concrete. He was shivering, his eyes downcast, shoulders hunched in a posture of abject misery.

  ‘I’m only going to ask you once more,’ Fraser warned.

  ‘What were you doing out there?’

  Kevin didn’t answer. I’d covered the body with the tarpaulin again, but not before he ’d seen it lying on the floor when Fraser had dragged him inside. He ’d immediately jerked his gaze away as though scalded.

  Fraser glowered at him. This sort of policing was more his territory, an opportunity to assert his authority.

  ‘Look, son, you don’t cooperate, you’re going to be in a whole world of trouble. This is your last chance. This place is taped off, so what were you doing out there? Trying to listen in, is that it?’

  Kinross’s son swallowed, as though he were about to speak, but no sound came out. Brody interrupted.

  ‘Can I have a word with him?’

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  He ’d been silent so far, letting Fraser handle the questioning. But the sergeant’s bullying clearly wasn’t working. It was just intimidating the already cowed teenager still further. Fraser flashed him an irritated look, but gave a terse nod. Brody went and fetched a stool from the table where Mary Tait and her mother had been earlier. He set it down next to Kevin.

  ‘Here, sit down.’

  He perched himself on the corner of a workbench, his manner far more relaxed than Fraser’s confrontational interrogation. Kevin looked down at the stool uncertainly.

  ‘You can stand up if you’d rather,’ Brody told him. Kevin hesitated, then slowly lowered himself on to the stool. ‘So what have you got to tell us, Kevin?’

  The angry mounds of Kevin’s acne looked worse than ever against his pallor. ‘I . . . Nothing.’

  Brody crossed his legs, as though the two of them were having a friendly conversation. ‘I think we both know that’s not true, don’t we? I’m pretty sure you haven’t done anything wrong, except for sneaking around outside. And I’m fairly sure we can persuade Sergeant Fraser here to overlook that. Provided you tell us exactly why you were doing it.’

  Fraser looked tight-lipped at Brody’s assertion, but didn’t contradict him.

  ‘So, Kevin, how about it?’ Brody asked.

  The tension in the teenager was obvious as he fought between answering and maintaining his silence. Then his eyes went to the tarpaulin-covered body. His mouth worked, as though words were trying to force their way out.

  ‘Is it right? What everyone says?’

  He sounded agonised.

  ‘What are they saying?’

  ‘That that ’s . . .’ He darted another quick look at the tarpaulin.

  ‘That that ’s Maggie.’

  Brody paused, but then answered. ‘We think it might be, yes.’

  Kevin started to cry. I remembered the way he ’d behaved around 248

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  Maggie, how he ’d blushed whenever she ’d acknowledged him. His crush had been painfully apparent, and I felt more sorry for him than ever.

  Brody fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. Wordlessly, he went over and gave it to him, then returned to the workbench.

  ‘What can you tell us about it, Kevin?’

  The youth was sobbing. ‘I killed her!’

  The statement seemed to charge the air with an electric current. In the silence that followed, the stink of burned flesh and bone seemed stronger than before, overlying the smell of fuel oil, sawdust and solder. The workshop’s walls reverberated under the gale ’s assault, rain clattering like tin tacks against the corrugated roof.

  ‘What do you mean, you killed her?’ Brody asked, almost gently. Kevin wiped his eyes. ‘Because if not for me she wouldn’t be dead.’

  ‘Go on, we ’re listening.’

  Having come this far, though, now Kevin seemed to balk. But I was thinking about his reaction when Brody had revealed that the body found in the crofter’s cottage belonged to a prostitute from Stornoway. Not just shocked. Stunned. As though he ’d only just made a connection. What was it Maggie had said about her anonymous source? It’s not like it sounds. The person who told me . . . It was in confidence. And I don’t want to make trouble for them. They’re not in- volved.

  ‘You told Maggie the dead woman’s name, didn’t you?’ I said. Both Brody and Fraser looked at me in surprise, but that was nothing compared to Kevin. He stared at me, open-mouthed. He seemed to search for a way to deny it, then his will buckled. He nodded.

  ‘How did you know what the woman was called, Kevin?’ Brody asked, taking over.

  ‘I didn’t for sure . . .’

  ‘You were sure enough to give Maggie the tip. Why?’

  ‘I . . . I can’t tell you.’

  ‘You want to spend time in a cell, lad?’ Fraser cut in, oblivious to the angry look Brody shot him. ‘Because I can promise you that’s where you’ll be heading if you don’t talk.’

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  ‘I’m sure Kevin knows that,’ Brody said. ‘And I don’t think he wants to protect the person who did this to Maggie. Do you, Kevin?’

  The teenager’s gaze involuntarily twitched towards the tarpaulin again. His expression was anguished.

  ‘So come on, Kevin,’ Brody coaxed. ‘Tell us. Where did you get the name from? Did someone tell you? Or do you know someone who knew her? Is that it?’

  Kinross’s son hung his head. He mumbled something none of us could hear.

  ‘Speak up!’ Fraser barked.

  Kevin’s head jerked up angrily. ‘My dad!’

  The cry rang out in the confines of the workshop. Brody’s face had stilled to immobility, masking any emotion.

  ‘Why don’t you start at the beginning?’

  Kevin hugged himself. ‘It was last summer. We ’d taken the ferry across to Stornoway. My dad said he had some business to see to, so I walked into town. I thought I might go and see a film, or something . . .’

  ‘We don’t care what you watched,’ Fraser interrupted. ‘Get to the point.’

  The look Kevin gave him suggested he might be his father’s son after all.

  ‘I cut through some back streets, near the bus station. There were these houses nearby, and when I got nearer I saw my dad standing outside one of them. I was going to go over, but then this . . . this woman opened the door. She was just wearing a short bathrobe. You could see nearly everything.’

  Kevin’s pocked face had gone crimson.

  ‘When she saw my dad she grinned . . . sort of a dirty smile. And then he went inside with her.’

  Brody nodded patiently. ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘Well . . . like she was a . . . you know . . .’

  ‘A prostitute?’

  That earned a shamed nod. Brody looked as though this new development was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. 250

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  ‘Can you describe her?’

  Kevin’s fingers went unconsciously to rub the livid bumps on his face. ‘I don’t know . . . Dark hair. Older than me, but not that old. Pretty, but . . . like she didn’t look after herself.’

  ‘Was she short, tall . . . ?’

  ‘Tall, I think. Big. Not fat, but not skinny.’

  He could be shown photographs later to see if he recognised Janice Donaldson. But his description fitted her so far.

  ‘So how did you know what she was called?’ Brody asked. The teenager’s face flamed an even deeper red. ‘After he ’d gone in, I . . . I went over to the doorway. Just to see. There were a few buzzers, but I’d seen he ’d pressed the top one. It just said “Janice”.’

  ‘Did your dad ever know that you’d seen him?’

  Kevin looked appalled. He shook his head.

  ‘So did he go to see her again?’ Brody asked.

  ‘I don’t know . . . I think so. Every few weeks he ’d say he ’d got some business to s
ee to, so I . . . I guessed that was where he was going.’

  ‘Some business,’ Fraser muttered.

  Brody ignored the interruption. ‘And did she ever come to see him here? On the island?’

  The question was met with another quick shake of the head. But I was recalling the curt way Kinross had silenced Cameron in the bar earlier. At the time I’d thought he ’d simply been irritated by Cameron’s officious manner, but now the way he ’d effectively ended the meeting was shown in an altogether more sinister light. Brody kneaded the bridge of his nose, wearily. ‘How much of this did you tell Maggie?’

  ‘Only her name. I didn’t want her knowing my dad went with . . . you know. I just thought . . . her being a reporter, she ’d be able to write a story saying who the woman was. I thought I was doing her a favour! I didn’t know it would end up like this!’

  Brody patted the youth’s shoulder as he started crying again. ‘We know you didn’t, son.’

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  ‘Can I go now?’ Kevin asked, wiping his eyes.

  ‘Just a couple more questions. Do you have any idea how Mary Tait might have got Maggie ’s coat?’

  Kevin lowered his head, avoiding anyone ’s eyes.

  ‘No.’

  The denial was too rushed. Brody regarded him expressionlessly.

  ‘Mary’s a pretty girl, isn’t she, Kevin?’

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose.’

  Brody let the silence build for a few seconds, waiting until Kevin had started to shift uncomfortably before asking the next question.

  ‘So how long have you been seeing her?’

  ‘I haven’t!’

  Brody just looked at him. Kevin dropped his gaze.

  ‘We just . . . meet up. We don’t do anything! Not really. We haven’t . . . you know . . .’

  Brody sighed. ‘So where do you “meet up”?’

  The teenager’s embarrassment was painful. ‘On the ferry, sometimes. The kirk ruins, if it’s dark. Or . . .’

  ‘Go on, Kevin.’

  ‘Sometimes out at the mountain . . . At the old cottage out at the croft.’

  Brody looked surprised. ‘You mean where the body was found?’

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know anything about that. Honest! We haven’t been there for ages! Not since summer!’

  ‘Does anyone else go out there?’

  ‘Not so far as I know . . . That ’s why we use it. It ’s private.’

  Not any more. I thought about the empty cans and remains of campfires we ’d found. Nothing to do with the murdered prostitute after all, only the detritus of sneaked encounters between a handicapped girl and a scarred and frustrated boy. 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?’

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  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

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  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.’

  CH APTER 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

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  with Maggie ’s grandmother. Walking in, I’d been struck by t
he 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 256

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  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.