Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  ‘I just can’t believe it must have been someone I know! Why would anyone do something like that?’

  Strachan turned angrily to Fraser. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you see this is upsetting her?’

  ‘It’s all right, really. I’d rather finish.’ Grace wiped her eyes. ‘There’s not much more to tell anyway. I sort of passed out again after that. The next thing I knew was when you arrived.’

  ‘But you say you weren’t raped?’ Fraser asked, tactlessly.

  She looked at him levelly. ‘No. I can remember that much.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Strachan said, fervently. ‘The bastard must have heard us shouting for you and cleared out.’

  Fraser was laboriously making notes. ‘Can you remember anything else? Anything about who attacked you?’

  Grace thought for a while, then shook her head. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Was he tall, short? Was there any sort of smell about him? Aftershave, anything like that?’

  ‘I’m afraid all I could smell was rotting fish and oil from the sack.’

  I finished cleaning the graze on Grace’s cheek. ‘Is there another way out of the cove?’ I asked.

  ‘Apart from the sea, you mean?’ Strachan shrugged. ‘If you climb over the rocks at the base of the cliff there’s a shingle beach that runs halfway back to the village. Towards the end of it there’s a path leading up to the cliff top. It’d be a bit hairy in this weather, but not impossible.’

  That explained how the attacker had managed to get away without our seeing him. For all we knew he could have simply hidden until we’d gone into the house. We’d been more concerned with making sure Grace was all right than searching for whoever had assaulted her.

  Fraser didn’t have many more questions after that. I thought Brody might want to ask something himself, but the old DI remained silent as Grace excused herself. Strachan wanted to run a bath for her, but she would hear none of it.

  ‘I’m not an invalid,’ she smiled, with a touch of exasperation. ‘You stay here with our guests.’

  She came and kissed my cheek, the musk of her perfume distinctive even under the reek of antiseptic.

  ‘Thank you, David.’

  ‘Glad to help.’

  There were dark shadows under Strachan’s eyes, and a haunted look in them, as he watched her go out.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ I told him.

  He nodded, unconvinced. ‘Christ, what a day,’ he muttered, passing a hand over his face.

  Brody spoke for the first time since bringing Grace into the house. ‘Tell me again what happened.’

  Strachan looked taken aback. ‘I’ve already told you. I came home and she wasn’t here.’

  ‘And where had you been, exactly?’

  His tone wasn’t quite accusatory, but it didn’t leave much doubt why he was asking. Strachan regarded him with growing anger.

  ‘I’d gone for a walk. Up to the cairns, if you must know. I came home after I’d seen David at the cottage, but I was still upset over what had happened to the young constable. Grace was at the school, so I left the car here and went out again.’

  ‘To the mountain.’

  ‘Yes, to the mountain,’ Strachan said, his temper barely in check. ‘And believe me, I wish to Christ I hadn’t! So if that’s all, Brody, thanks for your help, but I think it’s time you went now!’

  The atmosphere in the kitchen fairly crackled. I was surprised at Brody myself. Even though there was no love lost between the two of them, that was no reason to imply that Strachan might have attacked his own wife.

  Getting to my feet, I broke the tense silence. ‘Perhaps we should all be going.’

  Strachan still looked angry, twin patches of colour on his face. ‘Yes, of course.’ But he hesitated. ‘Actually…I’d appreciate it if you’d stay for a while, David. Just to make sure that Grace is all right later.’

  I’d have expected him to want to be alone with his wife. I glanced at Brody. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘There’s nothing for you to do back at the village. We can meet up at my place later to talk things through.’

  I waited in the kitchen as Strachan showed the other two out. The front door closed. When he came back he seemed ill at ease. Almost embarrassed. But I realized that today had been traumatic for him too. Perhaps he wanted someone to reassure him that Grace would be all right, that what had happened wasn’t his fault. Or perhaps he just wanted company.

  ‘Thanks for staying. Just for an hour or so, until Grace goes to bed, then I’ll run you back to the hotel.’

  ‘Will she be all right left on her own?’ I asked.

  That didn’t seem to have occurred to him. ‘Well…You can always stay here, I suppose. Or take my car. It’s an automatic, so you should be able to drive it one-handed.’

  I’d already had one accident on Runa, and the prospect of trying to drive in my sling didn’t appeal. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

  ‘Anyway, I’m forgetting my manners,’ Strachan went on. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve a bottle of twenty-year-old malt waiting to be opened.’

  ‘Don’t open it on my account.’

  He grinned. ‘It’s the least I can do. Come on, let’s go into the sitting room.’

  He led me out across the hallway into a large sitting room. It displayed the same restrained taste as the rest of the house. Two black leather sofas faced each other across a smoked glass coffee table, and the parquet floor was covered with thick rugs. There was another abstract oil painting of Grace’s above the fireplace, flanked on either side by floor to ceiling bookshelves. A glass case of flint tools and arrowheads stood against one wall, and there were other archaeological artefacts-fragments of ancient pottery, stone carvings-placed strategically around the room, each subtly picked out by a concealed light.

  I browsed the bookshelves while Strachan opened a black lacquered drinks cabinet. Most of the titles were non-fiction. There were a few biographies of explorers such as Livingstone and Burton, but most were academic texts on archaeology and anthropology. There were several on primitive burial traditions, I noticed. I took down one called Past Voices, Past Lives and started leafing through it.

  ‘The chapter on Tibetan sky burials is interesting,’ Strachan said. ‘They used to take their dead up on mountains and feed them to the birds. Thought they’d carry their spirits to heaven.’

  He set a bottle of malt on the coffee table with two thick tumblers and sat down on one of the leather sofas.

  ‘I didn’t think you drank,’ I said, putting the book back and going to the other sofa.

  ‘I don’t. But right now I feel like breaking my rule.’ He poured the whiskies and handed one to me. ‘Slainte.’

  The malt was peaty but mellow. Strachan took a drink and began to cough.

  ‘Christ! Is it any good?’ he asked, eyes watering.

  ‘Very.’

  ‘That’s all right, then.’

  He took another drink.

  ‘You could do with getting some rest yourself,’ I told him. ‘Today’s been rough on you as well.’

  ‘I’ll cope.’

  But his words couldn’t disguise his exhaustion. He put his head back on the sofa, resting the nearly empty glass on his chest.

  ‘My father always used to say that it’s the things you never see coming you have to watch out for.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Now I know what he meant. You think you’re finally in control of your life, and then-bam! Something you never expected suddenly blindsides you.’

  ‘That’s just life. You can’t guard against everything.’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’ He stared broodingly into his glass. I had the feeling he was about to broach the real reason he’d asked me to stay. ‘This assault…do you think Grace’ll be all right? I don’t mean physically. Do you think there’ll be any…I don’t know. Psychological scars?’

  I chose my words carefully. ‘I’m not a psychologist. But I’d say she’s handling it pretty well
so far. And she strikes me as being pretty resilient.’

  He still seemed troubled. ‘I hope you’re right. It’s just that…Well, a few years ago Grace had a breakdown. She’d been pregnant, and she miscarried. There were complications. The doctors told her she couldn’t have any children. It hit her hard.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I thought of the wistfulness I’d seen on his wife’s face when she’d talked about children the other day. And the way she loved working at the school. Poor Grace. And poor Strachan, I thought. I’d envied them their relationship, forgetting that tragedy was no respecter of wealth or glamour. ‘Did you ever consider adopting?’

  Strachan gave a quick shake of his head and took another drink of whisky. ‘It wouldn’t be right for us. It’s fine, though, really. She’s OK. But that’s why we left South Africa and did so much travelling. We wanted a fresh start. That’s why we settled here. Runa seemed like a sort of…of sanctuary. Somewhere we could pull up the drawbridge and feel safe. And now this happens.’

  ‘It’s a small island. Whoever did it won’t get away.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But Runa won’t feel the same. And I worry what it’ll do to Grace.’

  He was slurring his words slightly, fatigue and reaction compounding the effect of the alcohol. He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. ‘Another?’

  ‘No thanks.’

  I was starting to think that I should be going. He needed to be with his wife, not down here getting drunk and maudlin with me. And driving one-handed would be hard enough without two whiskies inside me.

  I was saved from having to say anything by the sound of someone hammering on the front door. Strachan frowned and put the bottle of whisky back down.

  ‘Who the hell’s that? If it’s bloody Bruce Cameron again…’ He stood up, swaying. ‘Now I remember why I don’t drink.’

  ‘Shall I see who it is?’ I offered.

  ‘No, I’ll go.’

  Still, he didn’t object when I went with him into the hallway. The events of the last few hours had rattled everyone. I hung back as he opened the door, and it was only when I recognised Maggie Cassidy’s red coat and relaxed that I realized how keyed up I was myself.

  But Strachan wasn’t pleased to see her. ‘What do you want?’ he asked without inviting her in.

  The rain blustered through the open doorway as Maggie stood framed in it. Her elfin face looked tiny inside the hood of her outsized coat. She gave me a glance that was almost furtive, then addressed Strachan.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, but I heard about what happened. I just wanted to see how your wife was.’

  ‘We’ve nothing to say, if that’s why you’re here.’

  She shook her head earnestly. ‘No, I…I brought this.’ She held up a cloth-covered basin. ‘It’s chicken soup. My gran’s speciality.’

  That obviously wasn’t what Strachan expected. ‘Oh. Well…thank you.’

  Maggie gave an embarrassed smile as she held out the soup. It reminded me of the way she’d smiled at Duncan just before she’d tricked him by dropping her shoulder bag, and I suddenly knew what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to warn him, but as Strachan started to take it from her the basin slipped between their hands. Soup and broken crockery went everywhere as it shattered on the floor.

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry…’ Maggie stammered. She avoided looking at me as she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. Pale splashes of soup dotted the bright red of her coat as well as Strachan’s clothes.

  ‘Leave it, it doesn’t matter,’ he said, irritably.

  ‘No, please, let me clean it up…’

  Her face had gone almost the same colour as her coat, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of what had happened, or because she was conscious of me watching her. Strachan crossly took hold of her wrists as she began dabbing ineffectively at the front of his shirt.

  ‘Michael? I heard something breaking.’

  Grace was coming downstairs, wrapped in a thick white towelling bathrobe. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, the ends of it still damp.

  Deliberately pushing Maggie’s hands away, Strachan stepped back from her. ‘It’s all right, darling.’ He gestured ironically at the mess. ‘Miss Cassidy here just brought you some soup.’

  Grace gave a wry smile. ‘So I see. Well, don’t keep her standing outside.’

  ‘Actually, she was just leaving.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, not when she’s come all this way.’

  Reluctantly, Strachan moved aside to let Maggie in. As he closed the door behind her, she finally acknowledged me.

  ‘Hello, Dr Hunter,’ she said, with a look of studied innocence, before quickly turning back to Grace. ‘I’m really sorry, Mrs Strachan. I didn’t mean to bother you.’

  ‘It’s no bother. Come on through into the kitchen while I get a cloth for the mess. Michael, darling, why don’t you see to Maggie’s coat? There’s a sponge you can use in the utility room.’

  ‘At least let me clean the floor…’ Maggie protested. She was convincing, I’d give her that.

  ‘Nonsense, Michael can see to that as well. He won’t mind, will you, Michael?’

  ‘No,’ Strachan said stonily.

  Maggie shrugged out of her coat and gave it to him. Without its bulk she looked even tinier than before, yet she still seemed to fill the room with an energy that belied her size.

  She didn’t look at me as we went into the kitchen. Grace started to fill the kettle.

  ‘I feel really bad about this,’ Maggie said to her. ‘Especially at a time like this. Being attacked like that…it must have been awful for you.’

  It was time I intervened. ‘Grace, you really should be taking it easy. Maggie and I will be fine by ourselves for a few minutes. Won’t we, Maggie?’

  Maggie gave me a look of daggers. ‘Well…’

  ‘Actually, I do feel a little washed out,’ Grace said. And it was true she was looking pale. She gave a wan smile. ‘If you’re sure you don’t mind keeping Maggie company, David, I’ll see how Michael’s doing, and then I think I’ll go to bed.’

  I told her I didn’t mind at all. Maggie watched her go, then her shoulders slumped. She turned to me, angrily.

  ‘Happy now? I was only being sociable.’

  Instead of answering I went to the sink and pulled a sheet of kitchen paper from a roll. ‘You’ve got soup on your jeans,’ I said, handing it to her. I watched as she angrily started to wipe it off. ‘Your gran’s name isn’t Campbell, by any chance?’

  ‘Campbell? No, she’s a Cassidy, same as…’

  Her face fell as she realized.

  ‘I practically lived on the stuff when I was a student,’ I told her. ‘Cream of chicken was my favourite. It’s the sort of smell you never forget.’

  ‘All right, so my gran didn’t make it. So what? It’s the thought that counts.’

  Her defiance was wafer-thin, but before either of us could say anything else we heard Grace scream. I ran out into the hallway to find her staring towards the open front door, anxiously hugging herself.

  A few seconds later Strachan came back inside.

  ‘It’s all right, David. False alarm,’ he said, closing the door.

  Grace wiped her eyes and gave a tremulous smile. ‘Sorry. I’m jumping at my own shadow.’

  ‘Can I do anything?’ I asked.

  Strachan had gone to put his arms round his wife. ‘No. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  ‘Actually, we were just leaving,’ I said. ‘Maggie’s offered to drive me back to the hotel. Haven’t you, Maggie?’

  The reporter managed a strained smile. ‘Aye. I’m a regular bus service.’

  Neither of us spoke as Strachan helped Grace upstairs, then came back down and collected Maggie’s coat from the utility room. There were darker patches of red where he had sponged the soup from it.

  ‘Thank you,’ Maggie said in a small voice. She looked down at the floor, where the shards of broken crockery lay amongst the spatters of soup.
‘I’m sorry about the mess. And I’m really glad your wife is all right.’

  Strachan gave her a cold nod. I told him I’d call out the next day to check on Grace, and ushered Maggie outside. Night had fallen as we hurried to the Mini, leaning into the wind as the rain was driven against us in sheets. It was still warm inside the car, and I belatedly remembered her warning about the broken heater. But that was the least of my concerns as I slammed the car door and turned to her angrily.

  ‘So are you going to tell me what you thought you were doing back there?’

  Maggie was struggling out of her coat and thrusting it on to the back seat. ‘Nothing! I told you, I just came out to-’

  ‘I know why you came, Maggie. Christ, Grace was attacked! She might have been killed, and you pull a trick like that? Just so you can get your name on the front page?’

  Maggie was on the verge of tears as she rammed the car into gear and headed for the road. ‘OK, so I’m a cow! But I can’t just sit at my gran’s pretending nothing’s happening. Whatever’s going on here, a story like this could be a big deal for me! All I want is a few words from one of them.’

  ‘Is that all this is? Just a career opportunity?’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t! I was born here, I know these people!’ Her chin came up. ‘And I left you alone when you asked me to this morning, didn’t I? I could have followed you, but I didn’t. Give me that much credit, at least!’

  Her small face was pinched and intense. I still didn’t like what she’d done, but her need to be believed seemed genuine. And she was right; she had kept her word that morning. The wind shook the Mini as I debated what to do. If I could trust her. What do your instincts say?

  I just hoped I could trust them, as well.

  ‘This is in confidence, Maggie. Strictly off the record, OK? People’s lives are at stake.’

  She nodded, quickly. ‘Aye, of course. And I know I shouldn’t have come out to see Grace…’

  ‘This isn’t just about Grace…’ I paused, uncertain even now. But it was going to come out soon anyway. Better to tell her now than have her keep snooping around. And perhaps getting herself-or someone else-hurt because of it.

  ‘Duncan, the young constable, was murdered last night.’