‘Better than it was.’
He nodded, managing to seem bored and self-satisfied at the same time. ‘You were lucky. You’ll need to have it X-rayed when you get back to the mainland, but I don’t think there’s any serious ligament damage.’
He made it sound as though I’d only have myself to blame if there were. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small bottle of pills and set them on the table.
‘These are ibuprofen. Anti-inflammatories. You might not need them now, but you will when the last of the sedative’s worn off.’
‘Sedative?’
‘You were rambling and your shoulder muscles were badly in spasm, so I gave you one to calm things down a little.’
That explained why I didn’t remember him working on my shoulder. And why I’d slept through most of the day.
‘What was it?’ I asked.
‘Don’t worry, I’m licensed to prescribe drugs.’ He glanced at Grace, with a half-smile I thought was meant to be self-deprecating but just looked smug. He’d made no offer to examine my shoulder, but then I was starting to think I wasn’t the real reason for his visit anyway.
‘Even so, I’d still like to know what it was,’ I said.
I didn’t want to seem churlish, but ever since I was almost killed by a deliberate overdose of diamorphine I’ve never liked being given drugs without knowing what they are. Besides, Cameron’s patronizing manner was starting to grate.
For the first time he seemed to fully register my presence. The look he gave me wasn’t friendly.
‘If you must know, I gave you ten milligrams of diazepam and anaesthetised locally with novocaine. Then I administered a shot of cortisone to reduce inflammation.’ He stared at me superciliously. ‘Does that meet with your approval?’
Strachan had been listening with amusement. ‘Did I mention that David used to be a GP, Bruce?’
He obviously hadn’t. Cameron blushed, and I regretted pushing. I hadn’t intended to embarrass him. At the same time, I wondered how Strachan knew. Not that it was a secret, but I wasn’t sure I liked relative strangers to know so much about my past.
He gave me an apologetic smile. ‘I did some checking up on the Internet. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m congenitally nosy when it comes to anything that affects Runa. And it is all public record.’
He was right, but that didn’t mean I liked his digging into my background. Still, he had taken me into his house the night before. I supposed he was entitled to display some curiosity.
‘I’ve been showing Bruce where the pens are going to be for my new project. Runa’s first fish farm,’ Strachan went on. ‘Atlantic cod. Organic, eco-friendly, and it’ll create at least six jobs. More, if it takes off.’ His enthusiasm was almost boyish. ‘Could be a real boost for the island’s economy. I plan to make a start in the spring.’
Grace had begun to debone a chicken, cutting the flesh with the practised ease of a chef. ‘I’m still not sure I’m keen on having a fish farm at the bottom of the garden.’
‘Darling, I’ve told you, there’s nowhere else sheltered enough on the island. And we’ve got the sea at the bottom of the garden anyway. It’s full of fish.’
‘Yes, but they’re visitors. These’ll be house guests.’
Cameron gave a sycophantic laugh. I saw a flash of irritation on Strachan’s face, then the rap of the door knocker came from the hallway.
‘We’re popular this afternoon,’ Grace said. She reached for a towel to dry her hands, but Strachan was already on his way out.
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Perhaps it’s one of your policeman friends,’ she said to me, as voices carried from the hall.
I hoped so. But instead of Duncan or Fraser, it was Maggie Cassidy Strachan had in tow when he returned.
‘Look who’s turned up,’ he said, with the faintest touch of irony. ‘You know Maggie, Rose Cassidy’s granddaughter, don’t you, Grace?’
‘Of course.’ Grace smiled. ‘How is your grandmother?’
‘Oh, muddling along, thanks. Hello, Bruce,’ Maggie said, receiving a grudging nod in return. She turned to me with a grin. ‘Nice to see you still in one piece, Dr Hunter. I heard about your adventure last night. You were quite the talk of the bar.’
I bet I was, I thought ruefully.
‘So what brings you out here, Maggie?’ Strachan asked. ‘Hoping for an exclusive with Dr Hunter?’
‘Actually, it was you I wanted to see. And Mrs Strachan as well, obviously,’ Maggie added smoothly. She was looking at him with open-eyed candour, the picture of sincerity. ‘I’d like to write a feature on you for the Lewis Gazette. With Runa being in the news now, it’s the perfect time. We can talk about what you’ve done for the island, take a few photos of you both at home. It’ll make a great spread.’
Strachan’s good humour had faded. ‘Sorry. I take a lousy photo.’
‘Oh, come on, darling,’ Grace cajoled. ‘Sounds like fun.’
Cameron’s bass voice rumbled out. ‘Yes, I think it’s a great idea, Michael. I’m sure Grace is very photogenic, even if you aren’t. And it’d be good publicity for the fish farm.’
‘That’s right,’ Maggie said, pushing home her advantage. She gave Strachan the full wattage of her smile. ‘And I’ll bet you take a great photograph.’
I noticed Grace’s eyebrow go up at the reporter’s blatant flirting. Although Maggie wasn’t conventionally pretty, there was an energy about her that was undeniably attractive.
But Strachan seemed immune. ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘At least think about it for a day or two. Perhaps-’
‘I’ve said no.’ He didn’t raise his voice but there was no doubting the finality in it. ‘Was there anything else?’
His manner was still polite, but it was obviously a dismissal. Maggie did her best to hide her disappointment.
‘Uh…no. That was all. Sorry to have bothered you.’
‘It’s no bother,’ he said. ‘In fact, could I ask a favour?’
Her face brightened. ‘Sure, of course.’
‘Dr Hunter needs a lift back to the hotel. It’d save me turning out again if you could take him. Is that OK, David?’
I wasn’t delighted at the thought of sharing a car with a reporter who’d already played me for a fool once, but since she was going back to the village it made sense. And I was indebted enough to the Strachans already.
‘If Maggie doesn’t mind,’ I said.
She gave me a look that said she knew what I was thinking. ‘I’d love to.’
‘You must come out again before you go back,’ Grace said, kissing my cheek. Up close her perfume was a dizzying musk. The brief contact of her lips left a lingering memory on my skin. As she stepped back I looked across to find Cameron staring at me with unconcealed jealousy. His infatuation was so naked I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassment or pity for him.
Strachan seemed in a better humour again as he showed us into the hall. When he opened the front door a blast of freezing wind and rain greeted us. Outside, a mud-spattered mountain bike was propped against the wall by the door, wide panniers over its rear wheel giving it a cumbersome look.
‘Tell me Bruce didn’t ride all the way out here in this weather?’ Maggie said.
Strachan smiled. ‘He says it keeps him fit.’
‘Bloody masochist,’ she snorted. She held out her hand to Strachan. ‘Pleasure to meet you again, Michael. If you change your mind…’
‘I won’t.’ He smiled to soften the rejection. There was a glint of mischief in his eye. ‘Perhaps if you ask him nicely Dr Hunter will give you an interview instead. I’m sure he enjoyed reading about himself in yesterday’s paper.’
Her face coloured. She said nothing as we forged against the wind to where a rust-smeared old Mini was parked, looking like a poor relation next to Strachan’s Saab and a black Porsche Cayenne I took to be Grace’s.
Maggie was struggling out of her oversized red coat as I climbed into the car. ‘T
he heater’s stuck on full, so you’ll cook if you keep your coat on,’ she said, unceremoniously dumping hers on the back seat. The down-filled red fabric billowed obscenely, like a bag full of blood. I kept mine on. It had taken long enough for me to get it over my sling as it was.
Maggie scowled as she tried to start the car, tugging on the old-fashioned choke. ‘Come on, you bloody thing,’ she grumbled as the engine coughed and whined. ‘It’s my gran’s, but she never uses it any more. Heap of junk, but handy when I come back.’
The car chugged into life. She scraped into gear and set off down the drive towards the road. I stared through the window at where the windswept moors were already beginning to disappear in the gathering gloom.
‘Well, aren’t you going to say it?’ she said, suddenly.
‘Say what?’ I’d been so preoccupied thinking about what course the investigation would now take that I hadn’t really noticed the silence. But Maggie had obviously misread it.
‘That I lied on the ferry. When I told you I was a novelist.’
It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. The pause seemed to make Maggie even more defensive.
‘I’m a reporter, I was just doing my job. I don’t have to apologise for it.’
‘I didn’t ask you to.’
She gave me an uncertain look. ‘No hard feelings, then?’
I sighed. Under the brash act there was an appealing vulnerability. ‘No hard feelings.’
She seemed relieved. The look of innocence I was coming to suspect spread over her features.
‘So, off the record, what do you think happened out at the cottage?’
I laughed despite myself. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’
She grinned sheepishly. ‘I was only asking. It was worth a try.’
The last of the reserve between us disappeared. I didn’t have the energy to be angry. And by this time tomorrow she’d find herself with a far bigger story than she’d imagined. I felt a stab of guilt at the secret knowledge of the chaos I’d called down on this remote island. Runa didn’t know it yet, but its peaceful existence was about to be shattered.
But even I had no idea just how shattering it would be.
CHAPTER 10
AFTER MAGGIE HAD dropped me back at the hotel, I’d gone looking for Ellen to apologise for running her car off the road. She’d waved away my apologies.
‘Don’t worry about that. The main thing is you’re all right. More or less,’ she’d added with a smile as she looked at my sling. ‘Not everyone who gets lost out on these islands is so lucky.’
I didn’t feel lucky as I flopped down on my bed. I felt tired and bruised, and my shoulder throbbed like toothache. I took a couple of the ibuprofen that Cameron had given me, and then tried once more to call Jenny on the hotel phone. There was still no answer from either her mobile or her flat.
I left messages on both, giving her the hotel number and asking her to call me. As I hung up I wondered where she could be. She should have been back from work now, and even if she was out she would have had her mobile with her.
Feeling flat and out of sorts, I went online to check my emails. I’d just finished replying to the last one when there was a knock on the bedroom door.
It was Fraser. He was still wearing his heavy coat, soaking wet and radiating cold from outside. He eyed my sling unsympathetically.
‘Made it back all right this time, eh?’
There didn’t seem much I could say to that. ‘Have you spoken to Wallace?’ I asked.
He gave a snort. ‘The likes of me don’t get to speak to superintendents. But he’s passed word down the line, let’s put it that way.’ He regarded me sourly. ‘So you’re saying it’s murder.’
I glanced along the hallway, but there was no one to hear. ‘That’s how it looks.’
He shook his head in disgust. ‘The shit’s really going to hit the fan now.’
‘Are the remains OK?’ I asked. I’d been worried about them lying out in the ruined cottage with only Duncan to watch over them.
‘Oh, aye, they’re peachy,’ Fraser grumbled. ‘I’ve had the station radioing every five minutes, yelling for me to make sure the site-sorry, “crime scene” now-is properly secured. You’d think we were guarding the crown jewels.’
I wasn’t in the best of moods to start with, and his carping was beginning to wear thin. ‘There’ve been enough mistakes made already.’
‘Not by me,’ he retorted. ‘I just follow orders. Speaking of which, Wallace wants this kept quiet until the support team gets here tomorrow. So that means Mr ex-DI Brody’ll have to be kept in the dark along with everyone else.’
There was a mean satisfaction in his voice. I didn’t think there would have been any harm in letting Brody know, but that wasn’t my decision. And I supposed everyone would find out soon enough.
Fraser was scowling. ‘Going to be a bloody nightmare trying to run a murder inquiry out here. Still, can’t see it being hard catching whoever did it.’
‘You think so?’
He missed the irony in my voice and rolled his shoulders authoritatively, warming to his theme.
‘Place this size, how hard can it be? Someone’s got to know something. And whoever killed her can’t be the sharpest tool in the box. Surrounded by bloody sea and moorland, and he burns the body and leaves it where it can be found?’ He gave a wheezing laugh. ‘Aye, that’s some genius, all right!’
I didn’t feel so complacent. This had come close to being dismissed as an accidental death. Whether her killer was cunning or just lucky, we couldn’t afford to take any more chances.
Duty done, Fraser bad-temperedly stomped off to take Duncan’s supper out to the camper van. There was no reason for me to go with him, so I went back to my laptop, hoping to distract myself with work.
But my heart wasn’t in it. The bedside cabinet made a poor desk, and the small room had started to crowd in on me like a monk’s cell. As I stared blankly at the screen, I caught a faint scent of Grace Strachan’s perfume on my clothes, and what little concentration I’d been able to muster vanished.
Closing my laptop with a snap, I took it downstairs. There was no point sitting in my room waiting for Jenny to call. If she did, Ellen would let me know.
It was still early and the bar was almost empty. The two old domino players sat at what was obviously their customary table. They gave cautious nods as I went in.
‘Feasgar Math,’ one of them said, politely.
I said good evening in return, and they went back to their game as though I didn’t exist. The only other person there was Guthrie, the big man who Brody had told me was the island’s odd-job man, and Kinross’s occasional helper on the ferry. He was slumped at the bar, staring morosely into his half-empty beer glass. The flush on his face told me he’d probably been there for some time already.
He gave me a baleful glance as I chalked up a whisky for myself on the slate, then went back to staring into his glass. I took my drink over to the table by the fire that I’d shared with first Brody and then Strachan two nights before.
Opening my laptop, I positioned it so no one else could see the screen, and called up the missing persons files I’d received from Wallace. I’d not had a chance to look at them yet, and though I doubted I’d find anything useful at this stage I’d nothing better to do right then.
Trails of smoke flowed sinuously across the peat slab in the hearth. Its dark surface glowed with traceries of fire, giving off a spiced, earthy fragrance. The heat made me drowsy. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus my thoughts. But as I was about to open the first file, a shadow fell across the table.
I looked up to find the hulking figure of Guthrie looming over me. His gut hung over the low-slung trousers like a water-filled sack, but he was still a powerful man. The rolled sleeves of his sweater revealed hairless, beefy forearms, and the almost empty pint glass looked tiny in his wind-chapped hand.
‘’S that you got there?’ he slurred. His face was slackened
by alcohol, suffused with a beer and whisky blush. He gave off an odour of solder, oil and old sweat.
I closed the laptop. ‘Just work.’
He blinked slowly, processing that. I remembered Brody telling me it was best to avoid him when he was drunk. Too late.
‘Work?’ he spat, flecking the table with spittle. He glared disdainfully at the laptop. ‘That’s not work. Work’s what you do with these.’
He held up a balled fist in front of my face. It was the size of a baby’s head, the fingers thickened with scar tissue.
‘Work’s getting your hands dirty. You ever get your hands dirty?’
I thought about sifting through the ashes of an incinerated body, or trying to exhume a corpse from frozen moorland. ‘Sometimes.’
His lip curled. ‘Bollocks. You don’t know what work means. Like those bastards who took my boat. Sat behind their desks in their fucking banks, laying down the law! Never done a fucking day’s work in their lives!’
‘Why don’t you sit down, Sean?’ one of the old domino players said gently. It didn’t do any good.
‘I’m just talking. Get back to your game,’ Guthrie muttered sullenly. He glared down at me, swaying slightly. ‘You’re here with the police. For that body.’ He made it sound like an accusation.
‘That’s right.’ I was expecting him to ask who it was or how they’d died. Instead he surprised me.
‘So what’s on this, then?’ he said, reaching for my laptop.
I put my own hand on top of it. My pulse had started to pound, but I kept my voice level.
‘Sorry, it’s private.’
I kept hold of the laptop, resisting the exploratory pressure he was exerting. Guthrie was easily strong enough to take it from me. But he hadn’t quite got to that point, but I could see his drink-addled mind turning over the possibility.
‘I just want to take a look,’ he said, and now the threat was heavy in his voice.
Even if I’d been fully fit I wouldn’t have been any match for him. He was a good head taller than me, with the look of a brawler about him. But I was past caring. I’d had a bad enough twenty-four hours as it was.
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