Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  With luck, her teeth might be the key to that.

  Not that I was overly optimistic. While a few back molars remained stubbornly in place in the jawbones, most of the teeth had fallen out when the fire had first burned away the gums, then desiccated the roots. Grey and cracked by the heat, the ones I’d managed to snatch up before the cottage roof collapsed looked like fossilised remnants of something long dead.

  I’d found that, even with my arm in the sling, I could still use my left hand to hold or support things. It made life a little easier as I spread a sheet of paper on the table and began arranging the teeth on it in two parallel rows, one for the upper jaw, one for lower. One by one, I laid them out in the order they would have been in the mouth, with the two central incisors in the middle, the lateral incisors next to them, followed by the canines, premolars and then the large molars themselves. It wasn’t a straightforward task. As well as damage from the fire, the woman’s teeth were so badly eroded it was difficult to determine whether some of them were from the upper or lower jaw, or even what type of tooth they actually were.

  Everything outside the clinic ceased to exist as I worked. The world shrank down to the circle of light from the halogen lamp. I took more photographs and sketched out a post-mortem odonto-gram: a dental chart detailing each crack, cavity or filling in every tooth. Under normal circumstances I would have taken X-rays of the teeth and jaws so that they could be compared with dental records of potential victims. That wasn’t an option now, so I did the only thing I could.

  I began to fit the teeth back into the empty sockets.

  Even using my left hand as much as the sling allowed, it was slow work. I’d lost track of how much time had passed when the lamp suddenly flickered. As though synchronised, a gust of wind rattled against the building, thrumming its structure like a bass note felt rather than heard.

  I straightened, groaning as my back muscles protested. God, I ached all over. As though it had only been waiting for me to take notice of it, my shoulder started throbbing. The wall clock told me it was almost five o’clock. It had grown dark outside, I saw. Massaging my back, I looked at the skull and jawbone as they lay on the steel trolley. After a few false starts, I’d fitted most of the teeth back into them. There were only a couple of molars and premolars left, and they wouldn’t affect what I had in mind. I was reaching out to turn off the lamp when I heard a noise from the community centre.

  The creak of a floorboard.

  ‘Hello?’ I called.

  My voice echoed in the cold air. I waited, but there was no answer. I went to the door and took hold of the handle. But I didn’t turn it.

  Suddenly, I felt certain someone was on the other side.

  The clinic seemed unnaturally quiet. The door into the community centre had a round window set in it, like a porthole. There was a Venetian blind on my side, but I hadn’t bothered to lower it.

  Now I wished I had. The hall beyond was in darkness. Anyone in there would be able to see into the clinic, but on my side the window was a circle of impenetrable black. I listened, hearing only the wind rushing outside. The silence was like a solid weight, poised ready to break.

  I felt the back of my neck prickle. I looked down at my hand, saw the hairs standing up on it.

  This is stupid. There’s nothing there. I tightened my grip on the door handle, but still didn’t turn it. There was a heavy glass paperweight on the desk. I picked it up, holding it awkwardly as I stooped down to take hold of the door handle with my strapped hand. Ready…

  I threw open the door and pawed for the light switch. I couldn’t find it, but then there was a click and the lights came on.

  The empty hall mocked me. I lowered the paperweight. The doors to the hall, and the glassed-in entrance porch beyond it, were closed. The noise must have been the building creaking in the wind. You’re turning into a nervous wreck. I was about to go back into the clinic when I looked down at the floor.

  Tracking across it was a trail of wet footprints.

  ‘You’re sure you didn’t make them?’

  Brody was considering the slowly drying puddles on the worn floorboards. The water had run too much to gauge what size shoe or boot had made them, but their path was clear enough. They ran from the community centre entrance across to the clinic door, stopping in front of the glass porthole. A pool had formed below it, where someone had stood while they’d watched me.

  ‘Certain. I hadn’t been outside since I arrived,’ I told him.

  Brody and Duncan had arrived while I’d still been debating what to do about the tracks, the young PC looking fresh-faced after a shave and a shower. Now Brody followed the trail to where it had pooled in front of the clinic door. He stared through the glass panel.

  ‘Somebody got a good look at what you were doing.’

  ‘Cameron, perhaps? Or Maggie Cassidy?’

  ‘It’s possible, but I can’t see it. And I don’t think any of the locals would sneak in like this, either.’

  ‘You think it was the killer?’

  Brody nodded slowly. ‘I think it’s something we have to consider. Bringing the remains here is bound to rattle him, let alone having a forensic expert examining them. What worries me is what he might decide to do about it.’

  It wasn’t a comforting thought. Brody let it hang there for a few seconds.

  ‘I think I’ll feel happier if we could lock the community centre tonight anyway,’ he went on. ‘The general store sells chain and padlocks. We could get something from there to make this place a bit more secure, at least. Can’t see any point in taking chances.’

  Neither could I, when he put it like that. Businesslike again, Brody nodded towards where the skull was lying on the steel table.

  ‘Intruders aside, how have you been getting on?’

  ‘Slowly. I’ve been trying to find some clue as to who she is.’

  ‘Can you do that from what’s left?’ Brody asked, surprised.

  ‘I don’t know. But I can try.’

  I went over to where the cranium lay on the trolley, switching on the halogen lamp as Brody and Duncan came to look.

  ‘The condition of her teeth is interesting. They’ve been cracked by the heat, but they were pretty rotten to begin with. Hardly any of them have fillings, and those that are there are all quite old. She obviously hadn’t been to a dentist for years, which suggests she was probably from a deprived social background. You’re more likely to look after your teeth if you’re middle class. And her teeth weren’t just bad; some of them were almost eroded down to the gum. In someone this young, that’s a strong sign of heavy drug use.’

  ‘You think she was an addict?’ Brody asked.

  ‘I’d say so.’

  Duncan looked up. ‘I thought most addicts were skinny. Didn’t you say this wick effect meant she was overweight?’

  It was an astute comment. ‘She probably had more body fat than average, yes. But a lot depends on metabolism and how heavily she was using. It doesn’t mean she didn’t have a drug habit. But there’s something else as well. Do you remember why I said her feet hadn’t burned?’

  ‘Not enough flesh on them?’ Duncan offered.

  ‘And no fabric to act as a wick. She had on training shoes, but no stockings or tights. Or socks, come to that. I’d guess she was wearing something like a skirt and jacket or a short coat. Cheap flammable fabric, probably, that would make a good wick.’

  I looked at the remains of the skull, saddened by the brutal way we were dissecting a life. But it was the only way we would catch whoever had done this to her.

  ‘So we’ve got a young woman who was a serious drug user, who’d let herself go enough for her teeth to rot, and who was skimpily dressed and bare-legged in February,’ I went on. ‘What does that suggest to you about her lifestyle?’

  ‘She was a prostitute,’ Duncan said, this time with more conviction.

  Brody rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Only one reason a working girl would have come all the way out here.’ />
  ‘You mean to see a client?’ I said.

  ‘I’m hard pushed to think of another reason. Ties in with what we already thought about her knowing her killer. And it’d explain why no one seems to have known she was on the island. Men who pay for sex don’t usually advertise the fact.’

  But something about that didn’t seem quite right to me. ‘Even so, it’s a hell of a long way for a home visit. And why risk bringing a prostitute out to Runa if you were worried about people finding out? It’d make more sense to go to her rather than bring her out here.’

  Brody looked thoughtful. ‘There’s another possibility. She wouldn’t be the first prostitute to try and blackmail a client. Given her drug habit, she might have thought it was worth the trip if there was money to be made out of it.’

  It was a plausible theory. Blackmail was a strong enough motive for murder, and it fitted the facts we had so far. Not that there were many of them.

  ‘You could be right,’ I said, too tired to try to make sense of it any more. ‘But we’re just guessing. We don’t really know enough to speculate at this stage.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right,’ Brody agreed heavily. ‘But I’ll lay odds that when we find out who she came out here to see-and why-we’ll have found her killer.’

  Looking at the wet footprints drying on the floor, I wondered if the killer hadn’t already found us.

  Brody volunteered to stay at the clinic while I went back to the hotel for something to eat, and bought a padlock and chain from the village store.

  ‘You need a break. You look all in,’ he said, moving a chair in front of the door and settling down.

  I certainly felt it. My shoulder hurt, I was tired and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Duncan gave me a lift in the Range Rover as far as the store, which Brody thought would still be open. The rain had stopped but the wind still rocked the car as we drove through the village. Brody had told me the phones were still off, so I’d borrowed Duncan’s radio to try to call Jenny. Digital or not, the signal was still patchy, and when I finally got through I reached her voicemail yet again. What did you expect? She’s not going to sit around waiting for you to call.

  Disappointed, I gave Duncan the radio back. He took it absently, lost in thought. Except for when I’d explained my findings earlier, he’d been unusually quiet. Almost pensive, in fact, and when he drove past the store I had to remind him to stop.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling over.

  He still seemed distracted as I got out of the car, but I put it down to his not relishing another night alone in the camper van.

  ‘No need to wait, I’ll walk back from here,’ I told him. ‘The fresh air will do me good.’

  ‘Dr Hunter?’ he said, before I could close the door.

  ‘Yes?’ I said, bracing myself against the wind.

  But whatever he had been about to say, he’d evidently thought better of it. ‘Nothing. Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Aye. Just me being daft.’ He gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I better be getting back to relieve Sergeant Fraser. He’ll kill me if I’m late.’

  I nearly pressed him. But whatever was on his mind, I supposed he’d tell me when he was ready.

  I raised my hand in acknowledgement as he drove off, but I don’t know if he saw me. I turned to the store. A light still burned inside, and the sign on the door said Open. It announced my entry with a tinkle of bells. Inside was a crammed treasure trove of tinned food, hardware and groceries. The smell took me back to my childhood: heady scents of cheese, candles and matches. Behind the worn wooden counter a woman was bending over to unpack tins of soup from a box.

  ‘With you in a second,’ she said, and as she straightened I recognised Karen Tait.

  I’d forgotten that Brody had said she ran the general store. Without the artificial flush of alcohol she looked more worn down than ever, with only a ghost of a lost prettiness remaining in her puffy features. Her smile was a grudging thing to start with, but it faded altogether when she saw who her customer was.

  ‘Do you have any padlocks?’ I asked.

  She jerked her chin towards a shelf on the back wall, where there was a selection of ironmongery stacked haphazardly in boxes.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  She didn’t reply. I felt her gaze on me as I sifted through the boxes of bolts, screws and nails, hostile and resentful. But I found what I was looking for: a heavy-duty padlock, and a spool of chain.

  ‘I’ll take a metre of this, too, please.’

  ‘The cutters are there as well.’

  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cut the chain one-handed, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking for help. I hunted around before eventually finding a pair of bolt cutters on another shelf, next to an old wooden yardstick. I measured out the chain, then cut it by bracing one handle of the cutters on my thigh. Putting everything back as I’d found it, I took the length of chain and the padlock over to the counter.

  ‘And I’ll take this as well,’ I said, selecting a large bar of chocolate from the display.

  She rang the items into the till in silence, watching as I took a note from my wallet.

  ‘I’m not changing that.’

  The till drawer was open, revealing a selection of coins and smaller notes. She stared back at me, defiantly.

  I put my wallet back and rummaged in my pocket. She watched me count out the money, then banged it into the till. I was owed change, but it wasn’t worth arguing about. I picked up my buys and headed for the door.

  ‘Think a bar of chocolate will get your feet under that table, do you?’

  ‘What?’ I asked, not quite believing I’d heard right.

  But she only stared at me sourly. I went out, resisting the temptation to slam the door.

  Still fuming, I debated going straight back to the clinic with the chain. But Brody had been adamant I should get something to eat first. I knew he was right, and somehow I didn’t think anyone would try anything as long as the old DI was standing guard.

  The walk back to the hotel did me good. Windy as it was, at least the rain was holding off, and the air was cold and fresh. By the time I’d reached the side street leading to the hotel my temper had started to subside. Light shone welcomingly from the windows, and the smell of fresh bread and burning peat greeted me when I stepped inside. The grandfather clock clunked majestically as I went down the hallway to find Ellen. The bar was untended, but there were low voices coming from the kitchen.

  Ellen’s and a man’s.

  When I knocked on the door the voices stopped. ‘Just a minute,’ Ellen called out.

  After a few moments she opened the door. The yeasty scent of warm bread enveloped me.

  ‘Sorry. Just getting the loaves out of the oven.’

  She was alone. Whoever she’d been talking to must have left through the back door. Ellen busied herself turning out the bread from the tins, but not before I’d seen that she’d been crying.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine.’ But she kept her back to me as she spoke.

  I hesitated, then held up the chocolate bar. ‘I brought this for Anna. Hope you don’t mind her having sweets.’

  She smiled, sniffing away the last of her tears. ‘No, that’s very good of you.’

  ‘Look, are you…?’

  ‘I’m fine. Really.’ She gave me another smile, stronger this time.

  I came away. I didn’t know her well enough to do anything else. But I couldn’t help but wonder who Ellen’s visitor had been, and why she should want to keep his identity a secret.

  Or what he’d done to make her cry.

  CHAPTER 14

  I FELT BETTER after a hot shower and a change of clothes. I’d already worn everything I’d packed for the trip to the Grampians, and I made a note to ask Ellen if there was anything I could do about my laundry. My shoulder still hurt, but the shower had helped, and the two ibuprofen I’d taken were starting to kick in as
I went downstairs to get something to eat.

  Outside the bar, though, I stopped, reluctant to go in. I’d felt like an outsider even before this, but now the extent of my isolation suddenly hit home. Even though I’d already been sure that the woman’s killer must still be on the island, might even be someone I’d met, it hadn’t seemed to have any direct bearing on me personally. I was there to do a job. Now, though, someone had crept into the community centre to spy on me, and I’d no idea who, or why.

  Somehow it seemed that a line had been crossed.

  Don’t start getting paranoid. And remember what Brody said: until the support teams get here, the best defence is not to let on what we know.

  I pushed open the door to the bar. At least the weather seemed to have thinned out some of the customers. Guthrie and Karen Tait were nowhere to be seen, I was relieved to see, and only one of the domino players had turned out. He sat forlornly at their table, the box of dominoes waiting in front of him.

  But Kinross was there, staring silently into his pint while his son hunched self-consciously on a bar stool next to him. Fraser was there too, sitting at a table by himself as he attacked a plate piled with sausages and mashed vegetables. He obviously hadn’t wasted any time in getting back once Duncan had relieved him at the camper van. A glass of whisky stood next to his plate, announcing that he considered himself off duty, and from the flush on his face I doubted it was his first.

  ‘Christ, I’m starving,’ he said, shovelling up a forkful of potato as I sat down at his table. There were flecks of food in his moustache. ‘First I’ve had to eat all day. No joke being out in that camper van this bloody weather, I can tell you.’

  He hadn’t seemed so bothered when it had been Duncan out there, I thought wryly. ‘Did Duncan tell you we had an intruder?’ I said, keeping my voice down.

  ‘Aye.’ He waved his fork dismissively. ‘Bloody kids, probably.’

  ‘Brody’s not convinced that’s all it was.’