Written in Bone

by Simon Beckett

  I don’t know which was worse, the number or the fact that Strachan hadn’t even kept track of his sister’s victims.

  ‘Tell me about Ellen,’ Brody grated.

  Strachan closed his eyes. ‘Ellen was a mistake. There always was that . . . tension between us. I tried to avoid her, I daren’t make Grace suspicious. But a few months after we ’d arrived here, I found out Ellen was going to visit college friends in Dundee. So I made an excuse to be there as well. It only happened that once, Ellen insisted on that. When I found out she was pregnant, I tried to pay her to go away somewhere. Somewhere safe. But she refused. She said she wouldn’t take a penny off me, because I was married. Quite an irony, eh?’

  His bitterness quickly faded.

  ‘I’ve lain awake at night, terrified what would happen if Grace ever found out . . .’

  He tailed off. Now his house was visible up ahead. Both cars were still outside, and the lights still burned in the window. Seeing them I felt a faint hope.

  ‘Should we see if she ’s still there?’ Fraser asked.

  ‘She won’t be,’ Strachan said with certainty.

  Brody looked at the approaching house, torn. If Grace was still here we could end this now. But if she wasn’t we ’d have lost even more time.

  ‘What ’s that on the drive?’ I asked. A pale yellow shape was lying motionless in the driveway. I felt cold as I realized what it was. The body of Oscar, Strachan’s retriever.

  ‘She killed his dog?’ Fraser exclaimed. ‘Why the hell would she do that?’

  No one answered, but Strachan’s face was bleak as we left the house behind.

  ‘Drive faster,’ Brody told Fraser.

  Within minutes, the first houses had appeared ahead of us. The 296

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  light had almost gone as we entered the village. Its streets were ominously empty. Fraser barely slowed as he flung the Range Rover into the side road leading up to the hotel.

  The front door stood open.

  Strachan leaped out of the car even before it had stopped moving. He ran up the hotel’s steps to the entrance, but then stopped dead, his battered face suddenly leached of colour.

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ Brody breathed, staring inside.

  The hotel had been wrecked. Broken furniture littered the hall. The grandfather clock lay face down and smashed, the mirror torn from the wall and smashed into crazed shards of glass. It was frenzied, wanton destruction, but that wasn’t what had stopped Strachan. The hallway was covered with blood.

  The metallic stink of it thickened the air with a slaughterhouse taint. It was pooled on the wooden floorboards, spattered in abstract splashes across the panelled walls. It had sprayed highest just inside the doorway, jetting up the walls almost as far as the ceiling. This would have been where the attack first took place, but its progress afterwards was easy enough to follow. The blood formed a trail, big round splashes at first, then smeared tracks as its source had stumbled down the hallway.

  The trail disappeared into the bar.

  ‘Oh, no . . .’ Strachan whispered. ‘Oh, please no . . .’

  There was hardly any coagulation, which meant the blood was still fresh. Not very long ago it had been pumping round a living body. Both Strachan and Brody seemed paralysed by the sight of it. I forced myself to go past them and hurried down the hall, trying to avoid treading in the splashes on the floor. A bloody handmark stood out on the white doorframe, where someone had clutched it for support. It was too smudged to say how big or small the hand had been, but it was low down on the frame, as though whoever had made it had been crawling.

  Or a child.

  I didn’t want to see what was inside. But I’d no choice. I took a breath, trying to prepare myself, and stepped into the bar.

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  Nothing in it had been left intact. Chairs and tables had been tipped over and smashed, curtains slashed, bottles and glasses shattered in a frenzy. In the middle of it all was Cameron. Limbs splayed out in the relaxation of death, the schoolteacher lay slumped against the bar. His clothes were soaked through with blood that had only just begun to dry. A wide gash had opened a second mouth in his throat, slicing across his trachea as though trying to free the bulging Adam’s apple.

  The teacher’s eyes were wide with shock, as though unable to believe what Grace had done to him. Fraser appeared behind us. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he mumbled. The air was a nauseous cocktail of alcohol and blood. There was another odour as well, but even as my stunned senses began to recognise it, a sudden sound tore through the silence. A child’s scream.

  It came from the kitchen. Strachan was running even before it had died. Brody and I were just behind him as he burst through the kitchen’s swing door, but the scene inside halted us all in our tracks.

  The devastation we ’d found before was nothing compared to this. Broken crockery crunched underfoot, while spilt food littered the floor in dirty snowdrifts. The kitchen table had been upended and its chairs smashed, the tall pine dresser pushed over on to the floor. Even the ancient cooker had been wrenched away from the wall, as though someone had tried to tip that over as well. But right then none of that really registered. Ellen was backed into a corner, terrified and bloodied, but alive. She clutched a heavy saucepan, gripping it white-knuckled in both hands, ready to ward off or swing.

  Standing between her and the door was Grace. She clutched Anna tightly to her, one hand clamped over the little girl’s mouth. The other held a kitchen knife to her throat.

  ‘ Get back, don’t go near her! ’ Ellen screamed. We didn’t. Grace ’s clothes were mud-spattered and wet from the walk to the village. Her raven hair was wild and windblown, her face 298

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  puffy and streaked with tears. Even dishevelled as she was, she was still beautiful. But now her madness was all too apparent. So, too, was something else. The smell I’d noticed in the hallway and bar was instantly identifiable in here, thick enough to clog the throat.

  Gas.

  I looked again at how the cooker had been pulled away from the wall, and glanced at Brody. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

  ‘The cylinders are round the back,’ he murmured to Fraser, not taking his eyes from Grace. ‘There should be a valve. Go and turn it off.’

  Fraser slowly backed out, then disappeared down the hallway. The door swung shut behind him.

  ‘She was waiting when we came back from Rose Cassidy’s,’ Ellen sobbed. ‘Bruce came in with us, and when he tried to talk to her she . . . she . . .’

  ‘I know,’ Strachan said, calmly. He took a step closer. ‘Put the knife down, Grace.’

  His sister stared at his bloodied face. She looked taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

  ‘Michael . . . What happened to you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Just let the girl go.’

  Mentioning Anna was a mistake. Grace ’s face grew ugly.

  ‘Don’t you mean your daughter?’

  Strachan’s poise faltered. But he quickly recovered. ‘She ’s done nothing to you, Grace. You’ve always liked Anna. I know you don’t want to hurt her.’

  ‘Is it true?’ Grace was crying. ‘Is it? Tell me they were lying!

  Please, Michael!’

  Do it, I thought. Tell her what she wants. But Strachan hesitated for too long. Grace ’s face creased up.

  ‘No!’ she moaned.

  ‘Grace . . .’

  ‘ Shut up! ’ she screamed, the tendons in her neck standing out like cords. ‘You fucked this bitch, you chose her over me?’

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  ‘I can explain, Grace,’ Strachan said, but he was losing it. Losing her.

  ‘ Liar! All this time, you’ve been lying! I could forgive you the others, but this . . . How could you?’

  It was as though no one else existed any more except her and her brother. The smell of gas was growing stronger. What the hell was Fraser doing? Brody began edging neare
r to Grace.

  ‘Put the knife down, Grace. No one ’s going to—’

  ‘Don’t come near me!’ she screamed.

  Brody backed off. Chest rising and falling, Grace glared at us, her face contorted.

  The silence was suddenly broken by a metallic clatter. Ellen had let the saucepan drop. As it bounced on the floor, the sound of it shockingly loud, she stepped slowly towards Grace.

  ‘Ellen, don’t!’ Strachan ordered, but there was more fear than authority in his voice. She ignored him. All her attention was fixed on his sister.

  ‘It ’s me you want, isn’t it? All right, I’m here. Do what you like to me, but please don’t hurt my daughter.’

  ‘For God ’s sake, Ellen,’ Brody said, but he might as well not have spoken either.

  Ellen spread her arms in invitation. ‘Well, come on! What are you waiting for?’

  Grace had turned to face her, a tick working one corner of her mouth like broken clockwork.

  Strachan broke in, desperately. ‘Look at me, Grace. Forget her, she ’s not important.’

  ‘Stay out of this,’ Ellen warned.

  But Strachan took one pace forward, then another. He held out his hands as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal.

  ‘You’re all that matters to me, Grace. You know that. Let Anna go. Let her go, and then we ’ll get away from this place. Go somewhere else, start again. Just me and you.’

  Grace was staring at him with such naked yearning it felt obscene to see it.

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  ‘Put the knife down,’ he told her, softly.

  Some of the tension seemed to drain out of her. The smell of leaking gas seemed to grow heavier as the moment hung, poised to go either way.

  Then Anna chose that moment to wriggle free of Grace ’s hand.

  ‘Mummy, she’s hurting—’

  Grace slapped her palm back over Anna’s mouth. The madness was a white heat in her eyes.

  ‘You shouldn’t have lied, Michael,’ she said, and pulled back Anna’s head.

  ‘ No! ’ Strachan cried, flinging himself at her as the knife swept down.

  Brody and I lunged forward as Strachan struggled with his sister, but Ellen was faster than either of us. She snatched Anna away as Grace screamed, a cry of pure fury. Leaving Brody to help Strachan, I rushed to where Ellen was clutching her daughter.

  ‘Let me see her, Ellen!’

  She wouldn’t let go. She hugged Anna to her, both of them smeared with blood and weeping hysterically. But I could see that the blood was from Ellen’s cuts, that the little girl wasn’t hurt. Thank God. As I sagged with relief, Brody’s voice came from behind me.

  ‘David.’

  He sounded odd. He had hold of Grace, pinning her arms behind her back, but she wasn’t struggling any more. They were both staring at Strachan. He stood nearby, looking down at himself with a faintly surprised expression.

  The knife handle was jutting from his stomach.

  ‘Michael . . . ?’ Grace said, in a small voice.

  ‘It ’s all right,’ he told her, but then his legs gave way.

  ‘ Michael! ’ Grace screamed.

  Brody held her back as she tried to go to Strachan. I managed to reach him, trying to take his weight on my good shoulder. ‘Get Anna outside. Take her to a neighbour’s,’ I told Ellen, as he sank to the floor.

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  ‘Is he . . .’

  ‘Just take her, Ellen.’

  I wanted them well away from here. The stink of gas had become so thick it was nauseating. I glanced at the portable heater that lay on its side nearby, relieved that at least it wasn’t still on. With so much propane leaking into the room the last thing we needed was naked flame. I wondered again what was taking Fraser so long. Grace was still being restrained by Brody, sobbing, as I knelt by Strachan. His face had gone shockingly white.

  ‘You can let go of my sister now,’ he said, voice hoarse with pain.

  ‘She ’s not going anywhere.’

  I gave Brody a nod when he hesitated. As soon as he released her Grace dropped down beside Strachan.

  ‘Oh God, Michael . . .’ Her face was a mask of anguish as she turned to me. ‘Do something! Help him!’

  He tried to smile as he took hold of her hand. ‘Don’t worry, everything’ll be all right. I promise.’

  ‘Don’t talk,’ I told him. ‘Try to keep as still as you can.’

  I started to examine his wound. It was bad. The knife blade was fully lodged in his stomach. I couldn’t even begin to guess what internal damage it had caused.

  ‘Don’t look so grim . . .’ he told me.

  ‘Just a scratch,’ I said, lightly. ‘I’m going to help you lie down flat. Try not to move the knife.’

  Its blade was the only thing preventing him from bleeding to death. As long as it stayed where it was, it would act as a plug to slow his blood loss. But not for long.

  Grace was weeping more quietly now, the violence drained from her as she cradled her brother’s head on her lap. I tried to keep my anxiety from my face as I quickly ran through my options. There weren’t many. There were none of the facilities here that Strachan needed, and the only nurse on the island was lying dead in the other room. Unless we could get him evacuated, and soon, he was going to die whatever I did.

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  Fraser rushed back in, skidding on the broken crockery and spilled food on the floor.

  ‘Jesus!’ he panted, seeing Strachan, then gathered himself. ‘The gas canisters are locked in a cage. I can’t open it.’

  Brody had been struggling to move the heavy pine dresser that was lying in front of the back door, partially blocking it. Now he abandoned the attempt, staring round the wrecked kitchen.

  ‘The keys for the cage must be here somewhere,’ he said, frustrated. But even if we ’d known where Ellen kept them it wouldn’t have done any good. Every drawer had been pulled out and smashed, their contents scattered amongst the rest of the debris. The keys could be anywhere.

  Brody had reached the same conclusion. ‘We don’t have time to look. Let’s get everybody out while we break into the cage to turn off the gas.’

  There was no way Strachan should be moved, but the gas left us no choice. It was so thick now I could taste it. The atmosphere in the kitchen would soon be unbreathable. And propane was heavier than air, which meant it would be even worse on the floor where Strachan lay.

  I gave a quick nod of assent. ‘We can use the table to carry him.’

  Grace was still weeping as she cradled her brother’s head. Strachan had been watching us in silence. Even though he must have been in agony he seemed remarkably calm. Almost peaceful.

  ‘Just leave me here,’ he said, his voice already weakening.

  ‘Thought I told you to be quiet?’

  He grinned, and for a moment looked like the man I’d met when I’d first arrived on the island. Grace was keening, an almost animal sound of grief as she stroked his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry . . .’

  ‘Shh. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.’

  Fraser and Brody were struggling to right the heavy table. I went to the kitchen’s window, hoping it hadn’t been painted shut. Even a

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  little ventilation would be better than nothing. But I’d only taken a few steps when I saw Strachan grope for something lying in the broken crockery nearby.

  ‘Get away from there, David,’ he said, holding it up. It was the lighter for the gas range.

  He had his thumb poised on the ignition button. ‘Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere . . .’

  ‘Put it down, Michael,’ I said, trying for an assurance I didn’t feel. There was so much gas in the kitchen that one spark would set it off. I glanced uneasily at the portable heater that lay nearby. It had its own propane supply, and the cage containing the big cylinders was stored
right against the kitchen wall. If the gas in here ignited they would all go up.

  ‘I don’t think so . . .’ Strachan’s pallid face shone with sweat. ‘Go on, get out. All of you.’

  ‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Brody snapped.

  Strachan raised the lighter. ‘One more word from you, and I swear I’ll press it right now.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Brody, shut up!’ Fraser said. Strachan gave a death’s head grin. ‘Good advice. I’m going to count to ten. One . . .’

  ‘What about Grace?’ I said, stalling for time.

  ‘Grace and I stay together. Don’t we, Grace?’

  She was blinking through her tears, as though only now becoming aware of what was going on.

  ‘Michael, what are you going to do . . . ?’

  He smiled at her. ‘Trust me.’

  Then, before anyone could stop him, Strachan wrenched the knife from his stomach.

  He screamed, seizing Grace ’s arm as blood gushed from the wound. I started forward, but he saw me and raised the lighter.

  ‘Get out! Now!’ he hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Oh, Jesus!’

  ‘Strachan—’

  Brody grabbed hold of me. ‘Move.’

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  Fraser was already running for the door. I took one last look at where Strachan lay, teeth gritted in agony as he held the lighter raised in one hand and gripped his sister’s hand with the other. Grace ’s expression was one of dawning incredulity. She looked across at me, her mouth opening to speak, and then Brody had hustled me out into the hall.

  ‘No, wait—’

  ‘Just run!’ he bellowed, giving me a shove.

  He kept hold of me as he pounded down the hallway, half dragging me outside. Fraser had reached the Range Rover and was fumbling for the keys.

  ‘Leave it!’ Brody snapped, without stopping.

  The nearest houses were too far away to reach, but there was an old stone wall much nearer. Brody dragged me behind it, Fraser throwing himself down beside us a moment later. We waited, panting. Nothing happened.

  I looked back at the hotel. It seemed familiar and mundane in the twilight, its front door banging forlornly in the wind.

  ‘Been more than ten seconds,’ Fraser muttered. I stood up.