Written in Bone dh-2

by Simon Beckett

  I nodded. ‘Don’t you?’

  Brody sighed. ‘Aye. But let’s see if we can be more sure.’ He glanced at me. ‘You ready?’

  The honest answer would have been no. You never can be, not when it’s someone you know. Someone you liked. But I just nodded and pulled back the tarpaulin. A waft of warm air greeted me, carrying with it an odour of overcooked meat. The way we respond to smells is largely a matter of context. Given its source, this one was nauseatingly out of place.

  I crouched down beside the body. Shrunken by the fire, it looked pitifully small. Whatever clothing it had worn had burned away, as well as much of the soft tissue. The flames had twisted and warped it, exposing caramelised bone and tendons, drawing up the limbs into the characteristic boxer’s crouch.

  It was a sight that was becoming sickeningly familiar.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Brody asked.

  An image of Maggie’s gamine grin rose up in my mind. Almost angrily, I pushed it away. Compartmentalise. This is work. Save the rest for later.

  ‘It’s female. The cranium’s way too small to be a man’s.’ I took a deep breath, looking at the smooth bone of the skull that was exposed beneath the blackened scraps of flesh. ‘Also, the chin is pointed, and the forehead and eyebrow ridge are both smooth. A man’s would be much heavier and more pronounced. Then there’s the height.’

  I indicated where the thigh bone was showing through the burned muscle tissue, aware of the awful intimacy of what we were doing.

  ‘It’s hard to be precise when the body’s drawn up like this, but judging by the length of the femur this was someone quite short, even for a woman. Five foot, perhaps a little less. Certainly no taller.’

  ‘Could it be a child?’

  ‘No, it’s definitely an adult.’ I peered into the silent scream of the mouth. ‘The wisdom teeth have broken through. That means she was at least eighteen or nineteen. Probably older.’

  ‘Maggie would have been what? Twenty-three, twenty-four?’

  ‘About that, I expect.’

  Brody sighed. ‘Right height, right age, right sex. There’s not much doubt, is there?’

  I found it hard to speak. ‘No.’

  Somehow, admitting it made it seem worse, as though I were letting Maggie down in some way. But there was no point in pretending. I forced myself to continue.

  ‘For what it’s worth, she was at least partially dressed when she was put on to the fire.’ I pointed to a tarnished metal disc that was embedded in the charred flesh between the hipbones. It was the size of a small coin. ‘That’s a trouser button. The fabric’s burned away, but it’s melted its way into the flesh. By the look of it I’d guess she was wearing jeans.’

  Just like Maggie had been, the last time I’d seen her.

  Brody pursed his lips. ‘So she probably wasn’t raped. That’s something, I suppose.’

  It was a fair assumption. Few rapists would bother to put their victim’s jeans back on before killing her. And certainly not afterwards.

  ‘Any idea about cause of death?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, from what I can see there’s no trauma to the skull. They got the body off the fire before cranial pressure caused a blow-out, which simplifies things a little. There’s no sign of any head injury as there was with both Janice Donaldson and Duncan. I suppose it’s possible that she just wasn’t hit as hard, although…’

  I trailed off, bending forward for a closer look. The fire had stripped away the skin and muscle of the throat to expose burned cartilage and tendon. I scrutinised it, then did the same to the arms and legs, and finally the torso. The soft tissue was charred enough to disguise the signs, but not hide them altogether.

  ‘What is it?’ Brody prompted.

  I pointed to the throat. ‘See here? The tendon on the left-hand side of the throat’s been severed. Both ends have contracted right back away from each other.’

  ‘Severed, as in cut?’ Brody asked, leaning forward to see.

  ‘Definitely as in cut. The fire might have caused them to snap eventually, but the ends are far too clean for that.’

  ‘You mean someone slit her throat?’

  ‘I can’t be sure without carrying out a proper examination, but that’s how it looks. There are what look like other puncture wounds as well. Here, on the shoulder. The muscle fibres are badly burned, but you can still make out a cut running across them. Same with the chest and stomach. I’d guess when I take X-rays we’ll find blade marks on the ribs, and probably other bones as well.’

  ‘So she was stabbed to death?’ Brody asked.

  ‘The fire’s made it hard to say if she was stabbed or hacked, but she was certainly attacked with a bladed weapon. I’ll need to examine the cuts to the bones in a lab before I can say for sure what type. But it’s more complicated than that.’

  ‘Complicated how?’

  ‘Her neck’s broken.’

  I kneaded my eyes as a wave of tiredness washed over me. Tired or not, though, there was no doubt about what I’d seen.

  ‘Look at the angle of her head. I don’t want to disturb the body too much, but if you look you can see the third and fourth vertebrae are visible. They’re splintered. And the left arm and right shin are broken as well. You can see the bones protruding through the burned tissue.’

  ‘Couldn’t that have happened when the boat collapsed in the fire, or when she was dragged out?’

  ‘That might have caused a few breaks, but not this many. And a lot of these look like compression fractures, so they were caused by an impact…’

  I stopped.

  ‘What?’ Brody asked.

  But I was going to the grubby window. It was too dark to see much, but in the dying light from the burning boat I could just make out the dark bulk of the cliff face, towering above the boatyard.

  ‘That’s how he got her body down here. He threw her off the cliff.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’d explain the fractures. She was attacked with a knife, and either fell or was thrown off the top. Then her killer came down and dragged the body from the foot of the cliff into the yard.’

  Brody was nodding. ‘There are steps at the end of the harbour that lead to the cliff top. With a torch you could just about manage them in the dark, and it’d be a lot quicker than taking the road back down through the village. Less chance of being seen, too.’

  That didn’t explain why Maggie would have been up there in the first place. But at least now we were starting to form a picture of what had happened, if not why.

  Brody rubbed his face wearily, his hand rasping on the grey stubble silvering his chin. ‘Do you think she was alive when she went over?’

  ‘I doubt it. Fall victims almost always have what are called Colles’ fractures in their wrists, where they’ve put out their arms to stop themselves. There’s nothing like that here. Only one arm’s been broken, and it’s above the elbow, in the humerus. That suggests she was either dead or unconscious when she fell.’

  He glanced out of the workshop’s window. It was still pitch black outside. ‘It’s too dark to see anything up there now. Soon as it’s light we’ll go up to the cliff top and take a look. In the meantime-’

  He broke off as there was a sudden commotion outside. There was a yell, then something clattered to the floor as we heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. Brody jumped up and ran for the door, but it was flung open before he reached it. A blast of icy wind roared into the workshop as Fraser burst in, dragging someone with him.

  ‘Look who I found snooping at the window!’ he panted, thrusting the intruder ahead of him.

  The figure stumbled into the centre of the workshop. Shocked and pale, the acne-scarred face of Kevin Kinross stared at us fearfully.

  CHAPTER 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?’

  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 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 involved.

  ‘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.’

  ‘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.

  ‘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 see 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 show
n 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.’

  ‘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.