Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  ‘Brody!’ I yelled, going after him.

  I doubt he heard. Only when the flames beat him back did he stop. I grabbed hold of him, flinching from the heat. We were close enough for our coats to steam. If the boat collapsed now we’d be caught in it.

  ‘Come on, get back!’

  ‘She was moving!’

  ‘It was only a reflex! It was the fire, that’s all!’

  He pulled away from me, staring into the flames as though trying to find a route into them. I grabbed him again.

  ‘Whoever it is, they’re dead! You can’t do anything!’

  What we’d seen wasn’t a sign of life. If anything it was just the opposite, a blind, mechanical motion caused by the arm’s tendons contracting in the intense heat. There was no chance anyone could have survived the fire for this long.

  The truth of what I was saying finally penetrated Brody’s frenzy. He allowed me to pull him away, stumbling like a man caught in a nightmare. What was left of the boat looked as though it could collapse any second. Shutting out thoughts of who the victim might be, I ran to where Kinross was still futilely spraying the fire extinguisher on to the flames. His face was savage and angry as he edged as close as he could. Nearby Guthrie’s meaty face was streaked with tears, either from the smoke or the sight of his dream going up in flames.

  ‘We need to get the body out!’

  ‘Get the fuck out of my way!’

  I grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t put it out! Get some poles! Now!’

  He wrenched free, and for a second I thought he might take a swing at me. Then he bellowed to the other men battling the fire, shouting for them to fetch scaffolding poles and long pieces of timber from the building supplies stacked nearby.

  Feeling helpless, I could only stand with Brody and watch as they began using them to try to snag the body from the flames. Guthrie and another man skittered back as part of the fire collapsed, sending sparks gyrating crazily into the sky. There was no way the body would survive such rough handling unscathed, but there was no alternative. If it wasn’t recovered now, the fire would destroy any forensic evidence that might be left anyway.

  More than that, though, it would have been unthinkable to simply wait until the fire had burned itself out.

  Brody’s face was haggard. It can’t be Ellen, I told myself, feeling an awful hollowness. I tried to think of where she could be, of another reason for her car to be missing. But that only raised even worse questions. Dear God, what about Anna? Where’s she?

  I knew I should go back to the hotel to see, but I was afraid of what I might find. Across the other side of the yard I caught a glimpse of Maggie’s bright red coat. Seeing her, I felt my anger start to rise. Whatever she’d kept from me earlier might not have been able to prevent this, but she’d hidden behind her profession for long enough.

  Skirting the burning boat, I started across the yard, and as I did I almost bumped into someone coming the other way.

  It was Ellen.

  She was carrying Anna on one shoulder. The little girl was half asleep as she stared at the flames.

  ‘What happened?’ Ellen asked, staring past me to the fire.

  Before I could answer Brody came running over.

  ‘Thank God you’re all right!’

  He seemed about to hug her but stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Ellen was looking bewildered.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been at Rose Cassidy’s. Look, why are you both staring at me like that? What’s going on?’

  ‘You were at Maggie’s grandmother’s?’ I asked, recognizing the name. Something dark and unsettling began to twitch in my subconscious.

  ‘Aye, she had a fall, so one of her neighbours came to fetch me. Rose isn’t fond of Bruce Cameron,’ she added, wryly. A crease of concern appeared between her eyes. ‘Poor woman’s worried more than anything. Maggie went out earlier and hasn’t come back.’

  The sense of foreboding was growing stronger. ‘I just saw her. She’s down here,’ I said, looking round.

  There was no longer any sign of Cameron, but Maggie was still where I’d last seen her, watching the boat burn with Karen Tait and a group of other islanders. She had her back to me, an unmistakable figure in her oversized coat. I went across, driven by an apprehension I still couldn’t name.

  ‘Maggie?’ I said.

  But at that moment a cry went up from the boat. ‘Over here. We’ve got it.’

  I looked over, saw that the men had succeeded in dislodging a still-burning shape from the fire. Kinross and the others pawed at the blackened object with poles, trying to drag it further away from the flames. It could almost have been a log, its smoking surface still licked by tongues of flame.

  But it wasn’t.

  I’d actually started to go over when Maggie turned round, and shock rooted me to the spot.

  The face gazing back at me from inside the red hood wasn’t Maggie’s. It was a teenage girl’s, blank and uncomprehending.

  Mary Tait. The girl I’d seen outside my window.

  CHAPTER 22

  AN EERIE SILENCE had descended in the boatyard, a collective hush as people saw what had been pulled from the blaze. Then the spell broke. A fresh clamour erupted all around me as people jostled to either get away from the sight, or to get a better look.

  But I was still struggling to recover from the shock of seeing Karen Tait’s daughter wearing Maggie’s coat. Because it obviously was Maggie’s. The distinctive red coat had seemed huge on the reporter, but Mary Tait was much bigger. Large as the coat was, it looked almost too small for her heavy frame.

  Karen Tait, Mary’s mother, had turned to glare at me, but by now Brody had followed me over.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  I found my voice. ‘That’s Maggie’s coat.’

  ‘He’s lying!’ Karen Tait bridled drunkenly. But there was a shrillness to the accusation that didn’t ring true.

  Kinross had broken away from the group of men by the fire and was pushing his way towards us. His son trailed behind, the firelight cruelly highlighting his pockmarked features with shadowed craters. At the sight of Kevin, Mary’s face broke into a beaming smile, but it wasn’t returned. When the teenager saw where his father was heading he dropped back. Mary’s smile faded as he slunk away into the crowd.

  Kinross was blackened and stinking of smoke, still clutching the charred pole he’d used to drag the body from the fire. He hawked and spat a glob of sooty phlegm on to the floor.

  ‘We’ve got it out, like you asked.’ He looked from me to Karen Tait. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘It’s them, they’re calling Mary a thief!’ Tait cried.

  Brody didn’t react to the accusation. ‘That’s Maggie’s coat Mary’s wearing.’

  Tait’s face contorted. ‘That’s a lie! Don’t believe him!’

  But Kinross was staring at the girl’s coat with recognition. I remembered how he and Maggie had bantered on the ferry. There had been real affection there. He looked back at where the other firefighters had gathered to stare at the smouldering body they’d pried from the flames, and I saw him make the same connection I already had.

  ‘Where is Maggie?’ he asked sharply.

  No one answered. Something in Kinross’s expression seemed to close down. He swivelled his gaze back towards Karen Tait.

  ‘We don’t have time for this now,’ I said quickly, trying to ignore my own fears for Maggie. ‘We need to get this place secured, and get the body somewhere safe.’

  Brody nodded. ‘He’s right, Iain. This can wait. We have to get everyone out of here. Will you help?’

  Kinross didn’t respond. He continued to stare at Karen Tait, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He levelled a finger at her.

  ‘We haven’t finished,’ he warned. Then, turning his back, he began yelling instructions to clear the yard.

  Leaving Brody to watch Karen Tait and her daughter, I pushed my way through to the body as Kinross and a handful of other men began herding people away
. It lay charred and twisted on the dirty concrete floor of the yard, a sight that was both pitiful and horrific. Rain had puddled nearby, and in the light from the burning boat oil glistened on the water like a dead rainbow. Tendrils of steam rose from the cooked flesh, and I could feel the heat still radiating from it, like a joint left too long in the oven. The mouth had pulled open as though in a rictus of agony. I knew that was fanciful, that it was an inevitable effect of the tendons contracting in the fire, but somehow I couldn’t shake the image.

  Please, let me be wrong.

  I turned to Guthrie as he went past, ushering a huddle of people from the yard. ‘Can I have a sheet of plastic or tarpaulin?’

  I thought he either hadn’t heard or was ignoring me. But a few moments later the big man returned with a bundled-up piece of dirty canvas. He thrust it out at me.

  ‘Here.’

  I started to open it out, struggling in the high wind with only one arm. To my surprise Guthrie came to help. As we wrestled with the flapping canvas, a figure emerged from the shadows. In the flickering light from the flames, I saw it was Cameron. He stared down at the body.

  ‘Dear God,’ he whispered. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘What can I do?’

  There was none of his usual bombast, and I wondered if he was only now starting to realize what was at stake. I might have accepted his offer, but Guthrie didn’t give me the chance.

  ‘Fuck all, as usual,’ he rumbled dismissively. You think a bandage is going to do any good here?’

  Cameron looked as though he’d been struck. Without a word he turned and made his way out of the yard with the rest. At another time I might have felt sorry for him, but there were more urgent matters just then.

  A decision would have to be made eventually about what to do with the body, but for now it needed to be covered. Without asking, once we had the tarpaulin open Guthrie helped me start to spread it over the blackened form.

  ‘Who do you think it is?’ he asked.

  I might have imagined it, but I thought there was an almost fearful note in his voice. I just shook my head as we lowered the canvas and hid the body from sight.

  But the heaviness in my heart told me that Maggie finally had her front-page story.

  The fire had all but burned itself out. What had once been a boat was now a mound of glowing ash and embers, still guttering fitfully with flame. The wind kept it alive for the time being, but it was rapidly dying, beaten by its own fury as much as the efforts of the islanders. The entrance to the boatyard was now cordoned off with a pitifully inadequate strip of police tape, the last that Fraser had left. Tied to two posts, it thrummed like a live thing in the wind, little more than a token obstruction.

  Most of the islanders had gone home. Brody had asked Ellen to wake Fraser when she got back to the hotel, and the police sergeant had appeared not long afterwards, sheepish and rumpled. He’d tried to grumble that I should have tried harder to wake him, but no one was in the mood to listen to either his complaints or his excuses.

  We’d eventually decided on taking the body into the workshop. There was still no way of knowing when SOC would arrive, and the protocol that said a crime scene should be left undisturbed hardly seemed to apply here. Dozens of people had been milling around the boatyard, and after it had been manhandled from the fire there was no longer any point worrying about contaminating the body. I would have to take a look at it later, but in the meantime the best we could do was make sure it was kept safe.

  The body was far too badly burned to be recognizable, but I don’t think anyone really doubted any more who it was. There had still been no sign of Maggie, and for all her faults she wouldn’t have abandoned her grandmother like that. Guthrie and Kinross had carried the body inside using the tarpaulin as a stretcher, and set it at the back of the workshop. Guthrie had gone straight home, subdued and sombre-faced. But Kinross had flatly refused to leave.

  ‘Not until I’ve heard what she’s got to say,’ he declared, jerking his chin towards where Karen Tait waited miserably with her daughter.

  Brody hadn’t argued, but I thought I knew why. Tait might not respond to pressure from him or Fraser, but Kinross was a different matter. He was one of her own, and I didn’t think she’d be able to hold out against him.

  Mother and daughter were sitting at the same table where the men had been playing cards that afternoon, out of view of where the body now lay. Mary’s features bore the same vacant expression as when she’d looked up at my window from the street. She’d been persuaded to take off Maggie’s coat. Wrapped in a bin-liner, it was now locked out of sight in the back of the police Range Rover. There had been nothing in its pockets, and no visible bloodstains or signs of damage, but Forensics would still need to examine it for trace evidence. Perhaps it was my imagination, but as I’d watched the girl take it off it already seemed to have lost some of its brightness, the vivid red starting to look faded and worn.

  Kinross had given Mary his heavy oilskin to wear instead. Apparently oblivious to the cold, he’d helped her on with it almost tenderly. But there was no tenderness in his face as he stared at her mother.

  Karen Tait stared resolutely down at the table’s cigarette-burned Formica, refusing to look at any of us. Brody took the chair opposite her, and I noticed that Fraser no longer made any objection to him taking over. The retired detective looked tired, but there was no hint of it when he spoke.

  ‘All right, Karen. Where did Mary get the coat?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Come on, we all know it belongs to Maggie Cassidy. So why is Mary wearing it?’

  ‘I told you, it’s hers,’ she said dully, and flinched as Kinross suddenly slammed his hand down on the table.

  ‘Don’t lie! We’ve all seen Maggie wearing it!’

  ‘Easy,’ Fraser growled. But he backed off when Brody gave a small shake of his head.

  ‘You saw what was on the fire, Karen!’ Kinross’s voice held part warning, part entreaty. ‘For Christ’s sake, tell us where Mary got the coat!’

  ‘It’s hers, Iain, honestly!’

  ‘Don’t fucking lie to me!’

  Tait’s resistance abruptly collapsed. ‘I don’t know! I only saw it tonight! I swear, that’s the God’s honest truth! She must have found it.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘How do I know? You know what she’s like, she wanders all over the island. She could have got it anywhere!’

  ‘Jesus, Karen,’ Kinross said in disgust.

  ‘It’s a good coat! Better than I can afford! You think I’m going to throw it away? And don’t you look at me like that, lain Kinross! You never worried about Mary being out on the nights you’ve wanted to come round!’

  Kinross started towards her, but Brody put out a restraining arm.

  ‘Calm down. We need to find out where she found it.’ He turned back to Tait. ‘What time did Mary go out?’

  She gave a sullen shrug. ‘I don’t know. She was out when I got back from the hotel.’

  ‘Which was when?’

  ‘Half past eleven…twelve o’clock.’

  ‘And what time did she get in?’

  ‘How should I know? I fell asleep.’

  ‘So when did you see her again?’ Brody asked, patiently.

  Tait gave an irritable sigh. ‘Not until all the commotion with the fire woke me up.’

  ‘And she had the coat then?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve already told you!’

  If he felt any contempt for the woman, Brody didn’t show it as he switched his attention to her daughter.

  ‘Hello, Mary. You know who I am, don’t you?’

  She looked at Brody without comprehension, then went back to the small torch she’d been playing with. It was a child’s, plastic and brightly coloured. A few flyaway strands of hair had fallen down across her eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice as she shone the torch beam into her face, switching it on and off.

  ‘You’re wasting your time,’ Kinross said. Despite
his words, his tone wasn’t unkind. ‘She probably doesn’t remember where she got it herself.’

  ‘No harm in trying. Mary? Look at me, Mary.’

  Brody spoke gently. Finally, she seemed to notice him. He gave her a smile.

  ‘That’s a nice coat, Mary.’

  Nothing. Then, suddenly, a shy smile lit her face.

  ‘It’s pretty.’ Her voice was soft, like a little girl’s.

  ‘Yes, it’s very pretty. Where did you get it?’

  ‘It’s mine.’

  ‘I know. But can you tell me where you got it from?’

  ‘From the man.’

  I felt rather than saw Brody stiffen. ‘Which man was that? Is he here now?’

  She laughed. ‘No!’

  ‘Can you tell me who he is?’

  ‘The man.’

  She said it as though it were obvious.

  ‘This man…Will you show me where he gave you the coat?’

  ‘He didn’t give it to me.’

  ‘You mean you found it?’

  She nodded, absently. ‘When they ran off. After all the noise.’

  ‘Who ran off? What noise, Mary?’

  But he’d lost her. Brody continued to try for a while, but it was obvious that Mary had told us as much as she was going to. He told Fraser to drive them home, and then come straight back. Kinross also left, but before he did he gave one last look towards the back of the workshop where he and Guthrie had laid the body.

  ‘She always was one for getting into trouble,’ he said, sadly. Then he went out, letting the workshop door bang shut behind him.

  Outside, the wind’s banshee wail seemed louder than ever. The rain had started again, thundering against the corrugated roof and almost drowning out the chug of the workshop’s generator. Brody and I went over to the body. Covered by the tarpaulin, it looked like a primitive sarcophagus as it lay on the concrete floor.

  ‘You think it’s her?’ Brody asked.

  I’d told him about Maggie’s visit to my room earlier that night. How she’d known Janice Donaldson’s first name, but wouldn’t say who had told her. I remembered the pensive smile she’d given me as she’d left my room. Tomorrow, I promise. Except there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow for Maggie.