Written in Bone

by Simon Beckett

  I was saved from having to say anything by the sound of someone 206

  Simon Beckett

  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.

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  ‘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.

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  ‘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.

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  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 210

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  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.’

  Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, my God!’ She stared through the windscreen as it sank in. ‘I can’t believe it. I mean, he was . . . What the hell’s going on? This is Runa, for God’s sake, things like that don’t happen here!’

  ‘Apparently they do. Which is why you need to stop pulling stunts like this. Two people have been killed already. This afternoon it could easily have been three. Whoever’s doing this, doesn’t care who he hurts, Maggie.’

  She nodded, chastened. ‘Does anyone else know? About Duncan, I mean?’

  ‘Not yet. Kinross knows something’s going on, and so do some of the others. Brody or Fraser will probably have to tell people before much longer. But until they do, I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.’

  ‘I won’t say anything. I promise.’

  I believed her. For one thing, she couldn’t get word out to her newspaper, but for another Maggie looked stunned. She still seemed

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  shell-shocked as the headlights picked out a shape on the side of the road ahead of us. It was blurred by the squeaking windscreen wipers, then resolved into a figure crouched in a reflective yellow raincape.

  ‘Looks like Bruce has had an accident,’ Maggie said. As she slowed I could see it was Cameron, white face caught in the headlights as he worked over the chain of his mountain bike. There was mud smeared on the yellow fabric of his cape.

  ‘Don’t tell me he cycled out here in this?’ I said, realizing he must still be on his way back from Strachan’s house.

  ‘Aye. I passed him on the way out. Prides himself on being out in all weather. Bloody amadan.’

  I didn’t have to understand Gaelic to know an insult when I heard one. Cameron shielded his eyes against the car’s lights as we pulled up, a spanner still clutched in his hand. Maggie wound down the window and leaned out, screwing her face up against the rain.

  ‘You want a lift yet, Bruce?’ she called.

  The reflective cape thrashed around him in the wind, moulding to his skinny frame like a live thing and threatening to blow him off balance. No wonder he ’d come off his bike, I thought. He looked frozen and soaked, but when he saw me in the car his expression hardened.

  ‘I can manage.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Maggie muttered. She closed the window and pulled away. ‘God, but that man seriously gets up my nose. Got all snotty the other day when I asked to do a story about him. Just human interest stuff because he ’s a teacher and male nurse, but he acted like I was scum for suggesting it. I wouldn’t have minded, but he could hardly keep his eyes off my boobs. Randy bugger.’

  Cameron’s feelings for Grace evidently didn’t stop him ogling other women, I thought. And then I realized something else, something that hit me so hard I felt winded. He ’d been using the spanner with his left hand. I turned to look back through the rear window. But the darkness and rain had swallowed him up.

  CH APTER 20

  ‘CAMERON’S AN AWKWARD sod. But I don’t see him as a killer,’ Brody said, putting the kettle on the cooker and lighting the gas under it.

  We were in his small kitchen, sitting at his spotlessly clean table while he made tea. I’d had Maggie drop me off at the hotel, but only stayed long enough to collect Fraser. The Range Rover had been parked outside, and I’d expected to find him in the bar. Instead he ’d been in his room, and when I’d knocked I could hear him noisily blowing his nose before he came to the door. When he opened it his room was in darkness, and his face was blotched and red. But his manner was as gruff as ever as I said we needed to talk to Brody.

  ‘I’m not saying he is,’ I said, as the old DI shook out the match he ’d used to light the gas. ‘But he was using the bike spanner with his left hand. We know that whoever killed Duncan was left-handed. And Grace was hit on her right cheek, which suggests the same thing about her attacker.’

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  Frasers’ sniffed dismissively. ‘How can you be sure Strachan’s wife wasn’t given a backhand?’

  ‘I can’t,’ I admitted. ‘For all I know it could be two different people who attacked them, come to that. But Duncan was hit hard enough to punch a hole in his skull, and send impact fractures halfway across it. You can’t get that sort of force behind a backhanded swing.’

  Fraser’s mouth turned down so far the tips of his moustache touched either side of his chin. ‘Cameron’s a prick, I’ll grant you that. But I can’t see a runt like him getting the better of Duncan.’

  ‘Duncan was hit from behind. He didn’t get a chance to defend himself,’ I reminded him. ‘We already know that Cameron’s got a thing about Grace, and he also fits the blackmail theory. He ’s the schoolteacher, so he ’d hardly want it known if he was using a prostitute. If Janice Donaldson threatened to tell he might have killed her to keep it quiet.’

  Brody dropped tea bags into a pot. ‘Perhaps. But assuming you’re right, how did he get from the school to the yacht in time to attack Grace?’

  ‘For all we know he could have left before her. He could have taken his mountain bike along the coastal path that Strachan told us about. Dangerous in this weather, but he might have chanced it if he was desperate.’

  The kettle set up a mournful whistling as steam began to trail from the cap on its spout. Brody turned off the flame and poured the boiling water into the teapot. With his right hand, I noticed. I was getting obsessive.

  He brought the teapot and three mugs over to the table. ‘It ’s possible. But let’s forget Cameron for now and look at what else we ’ve got,’ he said, setting the pot down on a place mat and putting cork coasters in front of each of us for the mugs. ‘The body of a murdered prostitute turns up, badly burned. Whoever killed her was apparently unconcerned about it being found, until word gets out it ’s being treated as a murder inquiry.’

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  He didn’t look at Fraser as he spoke, but he didn’t have to.

  ‘The killer panics and decides to get rid of the remains properly this time, as well as whatever other evidence might be left. In the process he kills a police officer, and very nearly the forensic expert as well.’ He stirred the teapot, then replaced the lid and looked questioningly at us. ‘Any comments?’

  ‘Bastard obviously gets off on fire,’ Fraser said. ‘Pyromaniac, or whatever it’s called.’

  I wasn’t so sure. ‘Have there been any other arson attacks or fires on the island?’ I asked Brody.

  ‘None that I know of. Not since I’ve been living here, anyway.’

  ‘So why now? I’m no psychologist, but I don’t think people just turn into fire-starters overnight.’

  ‘Could just be a way for him to hide his tracks,’ Fraser suggested.

  ‘Then we come back to why Janice Donaldson’s body was left in the cottage instead of being buried or thrown off a cliff. Chances are it would never have been found then. We ’re missing something here,’

  I insisted.

  ‘Or just complicating
things when there ’s no need,’ Fraser countered. Brody looked thoughtful as he poured the tea. ‘Let ’s go back to the attack on Grace. My feeling is that it was opportunistic. That she walked in on somebody as they were smashing the yacht ’s comms system. So whoever it was, it had to be someone who knew we can’t use the police radios.’

  ‘That rules out Cameron,’ Fraser said, spooning sugar into his tea. ‘None of us told him. Had to be someone from the boatyard, if you ask me. Kinross or one of those other bearded bastards. They all knew our radios weren’t working. One of them could have legged it up to the yacht while we were on the ferry. They’d just about have time to smash up the comms and do the business with Strachan’s wife before they were disturbed.’

  He put the wet spoon down on the table. Without a word, Brody picked it up and took it to the sink, then brought a cloth over to wipe up the tea stain.

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  ‘Could be,’ he said, sitting back down. ‘But we can’t just assume it was one of them. We don’t know who else they might have told. And let’s not forget there ’s someone else who knew we wanted to use the yacht ’s radio.’

  I could guess what was coming. ‘You mean Strachan?’

  He nodded. ‘You asked him about it when he came out to the cottage. He ’s not stupid; he ’d have put two and two together.’

  I’d come to respect Brody’s instincts, but I was starting to think he was letting his animosity cloud his judgement where Strachan was concerned. I’d seen his reaction when he ’d realized Duncan was dead. Even if his shock had been feigned, I didn’t think anyone could make themselves throw up to order, no matter how good an actor they were.

  Fraser obviously shared my doubts. ‘No way. We all saw the state he was in. The man was in bits. And why the hell would he attack his own wife and then come running for help? Doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘It does if he wanted to divert suspicion from himself,’ Brody said, mildly. Then he shrugged. ‘But you could be right. For all we know it could have been someone else entirely, who trashed the yacht ’s communications just to be on the safe side. I just don’t think we can afford to rule anyone out at the moment, that ’s all.’