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 98
Simon Beckett
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!’
WRITTEN IN BONE
99
‘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.
And this was my work.
I pulled the laptop from his hand. ‘I said no.’
My voice was unsteady, but it was from anger more than anything else. Guthrie ’s mouth had fallen open in surprise, but now it clamped shut. He balled his fists, and I felt my stomach tighten, knowing there was nothing I could do or say that would head off what was about to happen.
‘Hey, you big lump, you causing trouble again?’
Maggie Cassidy had appeared in the doorway. She was heading straight for Guthrie, and I felt a moment of alarm as I saw how small she looked against his bulk. Then his face split in a huge grin.
‘Maggie! Heard you were back!’
He enveloped her in a bear hug. She looked smaller than ever clutched in Guthrie ’s embrace.
100
Simon Beckett
‘Aye, well, I thought I’d better look in and see how you were doing. Come on, put me down, you great oaf.’
They were both grinning now. Guthrie had forgotten about me already, the threat of barroom violence replaced with a childlike enthusiasm. Maggie prodded his bulging stomach, shaking her head in mock-regret.
‘You been on a diet, Sean? You’re practically wasting away.’
He roared with laughter. ‘Pining for you, Mags. Will you have a drink with me?’
‘Thought you’d never ask.’
Maggie gave me a quick wink as she led him to the bar, smiling a greeting at the domino players. My hand was trembling slightly as I raised the whisky glass, the adrenalin rush slowly beginning to fade. Just what I needed to round the day off. The place was beginning to fill up now. Kinross and his eighteenyear-old son came in, joining Maggie and Guthrie at the bar. There were more friendly jibes and laughter. I watched how the cruel bumps of acne flared red on Kevin Kinross’s face whenever Maggie spoke to him. He hardly took his eyes off her as she chatted to his father, but quickly dropped his gaze when she glanced his way. Bruce Cameron wasn’t the only one who was infatuated, I reflected. Watching them all, warmly at ease with each other, I was suddenly acutely aware that I didn’t belong. These were people who had been born and raised here, who would probably die within this same closed community. They shared an identity and kinship that overrode other ties. Even Maggie, who had left the island years before, was still a part of it in a way an outsider like me—or even ‘incomers’ like Brody and the Strachans—could never be.
And one of them was a killer. Perhaps even someone in this room. Looking at the faces in front of me, I recalled what Fraser had said about finding the dead woman’s murderer. Place this size, how hard can it be? Someone’s got to know something. But knowing and revealing were different things.
WRITTEN IN BONE
101
Whatever secrets Runa held, I didn’t think it would give them up easily.
I didn’t feel like staying downstairs any longer. But as I was about to go back to my room, Maggie caught my eye and excused herself from the group at the bar. I saw Kevin Kinross watching her furtively as she came over to my table. Then he realized I had seen him and hurriedly looked away.
Maggie plonked herself down and gave me a grin. ‘You and Sean getting acquainted earlier, were you?’
‘That ’s one way of
putting it.’
‘He ’s harmless enough. You must have rubbed him up the wrong way.’
I stared at her. ‘How exactly did I do that?’
Maggie counted off on her fingers. ‘You’re a stranger, you’re English, and you’re sitting in the bar with a hi-tech laptop. If you wanted to blend into the woodwork you’re going the wrong way about it, if you don’t mind my saying.’
I gave a laugh. It was close enough to my own thoughts to strike home. ‘And here ’s me thinking I was minding my own business.’
She smiled. ‘Aye, well, Sean has been known to get a little tetchy when he ’s in his cups. But you can’t altogether blame him. He used to be a good fisherman until the bank claimed back the loan on his boat. Now he ’s reduced to odd jobs and trying to fix up some old hulk he salvaged.’ She sighed. ‘Don’t think too badly of him, that’s all I’m saying.’
I could have pointed out that I hadn’t been the one picking the argument, but I let it go. Maggie glanced at her watch.
‘I’d best be off. My gran’ll be wondering where I am. I only called in to show my face, and it’s probably best if I make myself scarce before Sergeant Fraser shows up.’
She obviously wanted me to ask. And I’d been curious anyway, ever since their exchange on the ferry.
‘So what is it between you two? Not an ex-boyfriend, I take it?’
‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,’ she said, grimacing. ‘Let’s say 102
Simon Beckett
there ’s a bit of a history between us. A couple of years ago the good sergeant was suspended for assaulting a woman suspect when he was drunk. The charges were dropped, but he was lucky not to be demoted. The Gazette found out and ran the story.’
She shrugged, but not as casually as she tried to make out.
‘It was my first big story for the paper. So as you can imagine, I’m not exactly top of Fraser’s Christmas card list.’
Her smile was part rueful, part proud as she went to rejoin Guthrie and Kinross. As she made her goodbyes, I left the bar and headed up to my room. I hadn’t eaten since the omelette Grace had prepared, but I was more tired than hungry. And there was also a sneaking relief that Brody hadn’t arrived yet. Wallace was within his rights not to let the retired inspector know about the murder, but after all his help I would have felt uncomfortable keeping it from him. I felt bone-weary as I made my way upstairs. This trip had been a disaster from start to finish, but I consoled myself that it was about to get back on track. This time tomorrow SOC would be here, and the full machinery of a murder investigation would belatedly be under way. Before much longer I’d be on my way home, and able to put the entire thing behind me.
But I should have known not to take anything for granted. Because that night the storm hit Runa.
CH APTER 11
THE STORM REACHED the island just after midnight. Later, I would find out that it was actually two fronts that had collided off the coast of Iceland, playing out their battle as they swept down the North Atlantic from the Arctic. Their assault would be credited as one of the worst the Western Isles had experienced for over fifty years, creating gale force winds that left a trail of roofless houses and flooded roads before battering themselves out against the British mainland.
I was in my room when the storm hit. Tired as I was, I’d found it hard to sleep. Jenny hadn’t called, and there was still no answer from either her flat or her mobile. That wasn’t like her. I was starting to feel a gnawing anxiety that something could have happened. To make sleep even harder, the wind was booming outside, rattling the window angrily, and my shoulder was aching despite the anti-inflammatories I’d taken. Each time I started to drift off, I would feel myself falling down the gully and jerk awake again.
104
Simon Beckett
I was considering whether I should get up and try to work when the bedside phone rang. I snatched up the receiver.
‘Hello?’ I said, the word rushing out.
‘It ’s me.’
Tension I hadn’t even been aware of drained from me at the sound of Jenny’s voice.
‘Hi,’ I said, switching on the bedside light. ‘I’ve been calling you all day.’
‘I know. I got your messages.’ She sounded subdued. ‘I went out with Suzy and a few of the others from work. I turned my mobile off.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want to speak to you.’
I waited, unsure what to say. A gust of wind wrapped itself round the house, its moan rising in pitch. The bedside lamp flickered as though in response.
‘I was worried when you didn’t call last night,’ Jenny said after a moment. ‘I couldn’t call you on your mobile, and I didn’t even know where you were staying. When I got your message this afternoon it was like . . . I don’t know, I just felt angry. So I switched off my phone and went out. But then I came in just now and I really wanted to talk to you.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘I don’t want you to apologize! I want you here, not out on some bloody island! And I’ve had too much to drink, and that’s your fault as well.’
There was a grudging smile in her voice. I was pleased to hear it, but it didn’t displace the heaviness in my chest.
‘I’m glad you called,’ I told her.
‘So am I. But I’m still pissed off with you. I’m missing you, and I’ve no idea when you’re coming back.’
There was a note of fear now. Jenny had recovered from an experience that would have destroyed most people. While she ’d emerged stronger from it, it had left a residue of anxiety that still surfaced from time to time. She knew only too well how thin the line was that separated everyday life from chaos. And how easily it was crossed.
WRITTEN IN BONE
105
‘I’m missing you too,’ I said.
The silence on the line seemed hollow, broken only by static whispers.
‘You’re not responsible for everyone, David,’ Jenny said at last.
‘You can’t solve everyone ’s problems.’
I wasn’t sure if it was resignation or regret I could hear. ‘I don’t try to.’
‘Don’t you? Seems like you do, sometimes. Other people ’s anyway.’ She sighed. ‘I think we need to talk when you get back.’
‘What about?’ I said, feeling something cold brush against my heart.
A crackle of static cut out her answer. It faded, but not completely.
‘. . . still hear me?’ I heard her say through it.
‘Only just. Jenny? You still there?’
There was no answer. I tried calling her back, but there was no dialling tone.
The line was dead.
As though that had been its cue, the bedside lamp suddenly flickered. It steadied after a few seconds, but its light seemed dimmer than before. The phone lines obviously weren’t the only things affected by the storm.
Feeling leaden and frustrated, I put the receiver down. Outside, the wind seemed to roar with triumph, flinging rain in reckless bursts against the window. I made my way over to it and looked out. The gale had shredded the cloud cover, and a full moon bathed the scene with ghostly pale light. The street lamp outside was shaking in the wind.
A girl was standing underneath it.
She seemed frozen, as though the fluctuating power had taken her unawares. Her face tilted up when I appeared in the window, and for a second or two we stared at each other. I didn’t recognise her. She looked in her teens, and was wearing only a thin coat that offered no protection against the weather. Underneath it was what looked like a pale nightgown. I saw how the cloth was lashed by the wind, how her 106
Simon Beckett
wet hair clung to her head. She was blinking the water from her eyes as she stared up at me.
Then she darted into the shadows beyond the street light, heading into the village, and was gone. Any hope I might have had that the storm would have passed by morning was snuffed out as soon as I woke. The wind shoo
k the window, rain beating against the glass as though frustrated at not being able to break it.
The memory of the unfinished conversation I’d had with Jenny lay heavily on me, but the phone was still dead when I checked it. Until the landlines were repaired, the digital police radios were now our only point of contact with the outside world. At least the power was still on, although the fitful way the lights were flickering suggested it might not remain so for much longer.
‘One of the joys of living on an island, I’m afraid,’ Ellen said, when I went down for breakfast. Anna was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table, the portable gas fire filling the extension with pungent warmth. ‘The phones are always likely to go off when we get a real storm. Electricity too, if it ’s a bad one.’
‘How long are they usually off for?’
‘A day or two, sometimes longer.’ She smiled at my expression.
‘Don’t worry, we ’re used to it. Everyone on the island uses either oil or bottled gas, and the hotel’s got its own back-up generator. We won’t starve or freeze.’
‘What ’s wrong with your arm?’ Anna piped up, staring at my sling.
‘I fell down.’
She thought about that for a second. ‘You should watch where you’re going,’ she said, confidently, going back to her cereal.
‘Anna,’ Ellen chided, but I laughed.
‘Yes, I suppose I should.’
I was still smiling as I went into the bar, my dark mood gone. So what if the phones were down for a day or two? It was an inconven-
WRITTEN IN BONE
107
ience, not life or death. Fraser was already eating through his breakfast, devouring a huge plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausage. He looked hungover but less so than he had on the previous mornings. No doubt the prospect of the support team’s arrival had cramped his enthusiasm.
‘Have you spoken to Duncan yet?’ I asked as I sat down. I’d been wondering how the camper van would hold up in this wind. It wouldn’t be very comfortable for him, to say the least.
‘Aye, he ’s fine,’ he grunted. He slid his radio across to me. ‘The super wants you to call him.’
Written in Bone Page 11