Written in Bone (12 page)

‘Is that her and your daughter?’ I asked, indicating the photograph.

He looked at it himself, unconsciously turning a cigarette in his fingers. ‘Aye, that’s Ginny and Rebecca. Becky would be…oh, about ten there. Her mother and I split up a year or so later. She ended up marrying an insurance broker.’

He gave a what-can-you-do shrug.

‘What about your daughter?’

Brody didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘She’s dead.’

The words were like a punch in the stomach. Fraser had said Brody’s daughter had run away, but nothing else.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ I said awkwardly.

‘No reason why you should. I don’t have any proof myself. But I know she is. I can feel it.’ He gave me a look. ‘Wallace told me a little about you. You were a father yourself, so you know what I mean. It’s part of you that’s gone.’

I wasn’t happy that Wallace had seen fit to tell him about my background. Even now, having other people talk about Kara and Alice’s deaths felt like an intrusion. But at the same time, I knew what Brody meant.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. ‘We didn’t get on. Becky always was rebellious. Headstrong. Like me, I suppose. I lost touch with her when her mother died. When I took early retirement I started searching for her. Bought the camper van, so I could save on hotel bills. Not that it did any good. I’m a policeman. Used to be a policeman,’ he amended. ‘I know how easy it is for someone to disappear. But I know how to look for them, as well. There comes a point when you know they aren’t going to be found. Not alive, at least.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.

‘It happens.’ Any emotion he felt was blanked from his face. He raised the cigarette. ‘Don’t mind, do you?’

‘It’s your house.’

He nodded, then with a smile put it back in the packet. ‘I’ll wait till I go out. Old habits, like I say.’

‘Look, this might sound a bit…strange,’ I began. ‘But last night I saw a girl outside my hotel room. Must have been after midnight. Early or mid-teens, soaking wet, and just wearing a thin coat.’

Brody chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, you weren’t seeing things. That’d be Mary Tait, Karen’s daughter. You know, the loud-mouthed woman from the bar? I think I mentioned her girl’s a bit…Well, in the old days we’d say “retarded”, but I know that’s not the word to use now. Her mother lets her run wild. You see her out all times of the day and night, wandering all over the island.’

‘And nobody says anything?’

‘She’s harmless enough.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ Mentally handicapped or not, physically the girl was an adult. She would be easy prey for anyone who was prepared to exploit that.

‘No,’ Brody agreed. ‘I’ve thought about contacting the social services. But I don’t think anyone on Runa would hurt her. They know what’d happen to them if they did.’

I thought about the woman’s body out at the cottage. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Brody inclined his head. ‘Fair point. Perhaps I’d better—’

He broke off as there was a knock on the door. The old border collie pricked up its ears, giving a low growl.

‘Shush, Bess,’ he said, going to answer it.

There were voices. A moment later Brody returned. With him was Fraser, looking wet and unhappy. The sergeant shook water off his arms.

‘We’ve got a problem.’

Duncan was waiting anxiously outside the camper van when we arrived. It was much more exposed out here, away from the shelter of houses and cliffs. The wind seemed to gather pace, flattening the grass as it hurled itself down the side of Beinn Tuiridh and across the dark peat moors.

The constable hurried over to the car as we climbed out. The wind pressed our coats against us, threatening to snatch the car door from my hand when I opened it.

‘I radioed as soon as it happened,’ he said, having to almost shout to make himself heard. ‘I heard it go about half an hour ago.’

By that time we could see for ourselves. The gale had ripped a section of the cottage roof clean off. What was left was hanging precariously, creaking and shifting as the wind tried to finish the job. If the woman’s remains were still intact inside, they wouldn’t be for much longer.

‘I’m sorry,’ Duncan said, as though he’d let us down.

‘Not your fault, son,’ Brody told him, giving his shoulder a pat. ‘Call DS Wallace and let him know we’ve got a situation here. Tell him we’ve got to get the remains out before the rest of the roof comes down.’

Duncan glanced uncertainly at Fraser, who gave a reluctant nod. As the PC took out his radio, the rest of us headed for the cottage. The incident tape that sealed the doorway was still in place, thrumming in the wind, but the door itself lay on the floor of what had been the kitchen. Shattered roof tiles were scattered everywhere, and rain fell freely through the gaping hole. We all ducked as another tile was ripped away.

Duncan came hurrying back over, shaking his head. ‘Can’t reach him. I’ve spoken to the station in Stornoway, and they’re going to try to get word through.’

Brody looked at the mess inside the cottage. Rain ran unheeded down his face as he turned to me.

‘We don’t have any choice, do we?’

‘No,’ I said.

He gave a nod, then strode forward and began tearing the incident tape from the doorway.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Fraser demanded.

‘Getting the remains out before the roof comes down,’ Brody answered without stopping.

‘This is a crime scene! You can’t do that without clearance!’

Brody ripped the last of the tape free. ‘No time for that.’

‘He’s right,’ I told Fraser. ‘We need to salvage what we can.’

‘I’m not taking responsibility for this!’ Fraser protested.

‘Nobody asked you to,’ Brody said, going inside.

I went after him, picking my way across the broken tiles that littered the kitchen floor. The inner room where the remains lay wasn’t as badly damaged, but almost half of the roof had fallen in. The floodlight lay smashed on its side while the grid was now a tangle of knotted string. Rain had turned the ashes on the floor to a puddle of black slurry.

The evidence bags of ash and bones I’d collected before I’d broken off my examination were sitting in pools of water, but otherwise looked unharmed.

‘Let’s get the bags out of here,’ I told Brody. ‘I’ll need my flight case from the camper van.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Duncan offered from the doorway.

I hadn’t realized he’d followed us in. There was no sign of Fraser.

‘Take as many bags with you as you can carry,’ I told him. I flinched as a sudden gust of wind made the surviving roof creak above us. ‘And hurry.’

As Brody and Duncan took the evidence bags out to the camper van, I turned my attention to the rest of the remains. There was something infinitely sad about a life reduced to this, a few carbonised fragments about to be sluiced away by the elements. At least the photographs I’d taken when I’d first arrived would provide a visual record. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

When Duncan returned with my flight case, I wrestled a pair of overalls on over my sling, then pulled on a surgical glove and hurried over to the body. Working as fast as I could, I put the skull and jawbone into evidence bags and began collecting up the fragments of cranium and loose teeth from the floor.

I’d only just finished when the roof gave a groan. A tile fell to shatter on the floor only a few feet from me.

‘I think you need to hurry,’ Brody said from the doorway.

‘I am.’

All at once the wind seemed to still. A sudden quiet descended, broken only by the cascade of rain on to the floor.

‘Sounds like it’s easing,’ Duncan said, hopefully.

But Brody had his head cocked to listen. There was a distant rushing sound, like a train roaring towards us.

‘No, it’s changed direction,’ he said, and then the wind slammed into the cottage again.

I was sprayed with ash and slurry as it seemed to descend right into the room. Above us, the roof responded with a groan of protesting timbers, sending tiles tumbling to the floor.

‘Let’s go,’ Brody shouted above the din, shoving Duncan towards the doorway.

‘Not yet,’ I yelled. I still hadn’t bagged the surviving hand or feet, and we needed those for fingerprint and soft tissue analysis. But before I could do anything there was a loud bang as the roof began to rip free.

‘Move!’ Brody shouted. I made a grab for the hand as he pulled me to my feet.

‘The flight case!’ I yelled.

Brody snatched it up without stopping. Debris rained down around us as we ran back through the kitchen. From behind us there was an almighty crash, and for a heart-stopping instant I thought the whole place was coming down. Then we were outside and in the clear.

Breathless, we turned and looked back. The whole of the cottage roof had gone. Part of it had been torn clean off, while the rest had fallen in, bringing down most of one wall as well. The room where we’d been standing only seconds before was now buried under rubble.

Along with the rest of the dead woman’s remains.

Fraser and Duncan were standing nearby, their faces shocked.

‘Jesus Christ,’ breathed Fraser, staring at me.

I looked down at myself. My white overalls were splashed and covered with wet ash. I could feel it on my face, smearing it like a penitent’s at Easter. But it wasn’t that he’d been staring at.

Still clutched in my fist, like part of a showroom dummy, was the dead woman’s hand.

CHAPTER 12

WE TOOK THE
evidence bags back to the village. The only other option was leaving them in the camper van, but while the bone and ashes could have been stored there the woman’s hand needed to be kept at a low temperature to preserve the decaying tissue. And the camper van didn’t have a fridge.

It was Duncan who thought of the medical clinic. We would have to clear it with Cameron, and probably Strachan as well, since he’d funded it. But now we’d had no choice but to remove the remains from the crime scene, it was the obvious place to take them.

Fraser was still grumbling. He made it plain that he was absolving himself of any involvement in what we’d done.

‘I didn’t say you could do this,’ he reminded us, as we loaded the evidence bags into the Range Rover. ‘This was your call, not mine.’

‘You’d rather we’d left them in there then, would you?’ Brody asked, jerking his head towards the roofless cottage. ‘Explain to SOC that we’d stood by and watched the body be buried under the rubble?’

‘I’m just letting you know I’m not taking the blame for it. You can tell Wallace yourself.’

We still hadn’t been able to contact the superintendent. I could almost—though not quite—feel sorry for Fraser. Behind the bluster was a man desperate not to admit he was out of his depth.

‘Oh, don’t worry. I will.’ Brody spoke mildly enough, yet somehow managed to make his contempt plain. ‘And seeing how you’re washing your hands of it, you might as well relieve Duncan out here. He can clean himself up at my place after he’s helped take the bags to the clinic.’

‘Stay out here?’ Fraser barked, incredulously. ‘What for? There’s nothing left!’

Brody shrugged. ‘It’s still a crime scene. But if you want to explain to Wallace why you left it unattended, that’s up to you.’

Duncan had been listening, uneasily. ‘I don’t mind staying.’

‘You’ve been on duty all night,’ Brody said, before Fraser could respond. ‘I’m sure Sergeant Fraser wouldn’t ask a junior officer to do anything he’s not prepared to do himself.’

The expression on Fraser’s face was poisonous. ‘Aye, all right.’ He jabbed a finger at Duncan. ‘But I want you back no later than six. You’ll be staying out here again tonight.’

He shot Brody a triumphant look.

‘Can’t leave a crime scene unattended, can we?’

I saw the older man’s prominent jaw muscles bunch, but he said nothing as Fraser stalked off to the camper van. He gave the still worried-looking Duncan a smile.

‘Come on, son. You could do with a shower, if you don’t mind my saying.’

I went in the Range Rover with Duncan, while Brody followed in his own car. It was a relief to get out of the wind and rain. My shoulder was hurting, probably jarred as I’d hurried out of the cottage. I put my head back and closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew Duncan was waking me.

‘Dr Hunter? Should I stop for her?’

I sat up, blinking. Ahead of us the Porsche Cayenne I’d seen at Strachan’s house was pulled to the side of the road. Flagging us down from beside it, unmistakable in her white parka, was Grace.

‘Yes, you’d better.’

The wind was whipping her hair as we pulled up alongside. I wound down my window.

‘David, thank heavens!’ she said, giving me a beaming smile. “This is a dreadful bore, but I was just on my way to the village and the bloody car’s run out of petrol. Would you mind giving me a lift?’

I hesitated, thinking about the evidence bags visible behind the rear seat. By now Brody had pulled up behind us, the road being too narrow to allow him to pass. I considered suggesting she ride with him, but given the frosty relationship Brody had with her husband I thought better of it.

‘If it’s a problem I’ll walk,’ Grace said, her smile fading.

‘It’s no problem,’ I said, and turned to Duncan. ‘Is that OK by you?’

He grinned. ‘Aye, great.’ It was the first time he’d seen Strachan’s wife. ‘I mean, sure, no problem.’

I went to sit in the back, letting Grace have the front seat despite her protests. The delicate musk of her perfume filled the car, and I tried not to smile when I saw that Duncan was sitting noticeably straighter.

Grace gave him a dazzling smile when I introduced them. ‘You must be the young man they’ve got staying in the camper van.’

‘Uh, yes, ma’am.’

‘Poor you,’ she said, sympathetically touching his arm. Even from the back seat I could see Duncan’s ears turn crimson. I don’t think Grace even realized the effect she had on him. She turned round to talk to me as Duncan tried to concentrate on driving.

‘Thanks ever so much for stopping. I feel so stupid, running out of petrol like that. There’s no garage on the island, so we have to top up from containers. But I’m sure Michael said he’d filled up the cars last week. Or was it the week before?’ She puzzled over it for a second, then airily dismissed it. ‘Oh, well. Teach me to check the gauge in future, I suppose.’

‘Where would you like us to drop you?’ I asked.

‘At the school, if that’s no bother. I’m teaching a painting class this morning.’

‘Will Bruce Cameron be there?’

‘I should think so. Why?’

Without going into details, I explained what had happened at the cottage, and why we needed to use the clinic.

‘God, how gruesome,’ Grace said with a grimace. ‘Still, I’m sure Bruce won’t mind.’

I wasn’t so confident, but I couldn’t see Cameron refusing her. When we reached the school Grace hurried inside, while I left Duncan guarding the remains and went to tell Brody what was happening.

‘This should be interesting,’ he said, climbing out of the car.

We went up the path to the school. It was a new building, small and flat-roofed. A few wooden steps ran up to the door, which opened straight into a classroom that took up most of the interior. Computer monitors lined one wall, and desks were arranged in neat lines facing a board at the front.

But at the moment the pupils were all gathered round a large table at the back, busying themselves with pots of paint, brushes and water. There were about a dozen in all, their ages ranging from about four to nine or ten. I recognised Anna amongst them. She smiled shyly when she saw me, then returned to arranging a sheet of paper exactly to her liking.

Grace had already taken off her coat and was busy organizing her class. ‘I hope we’re not going to have another water-spilling crisis this week, are we? And yes, I’m looking at you, Adam.’

‘No, Mrs Strachan,’ a young boy with a shock of ginger hair said, smiling bashfully.

‘Good. Because if anyone misbehaves, I’m afraid they’ll have to have their face painted. And we wouldn’t want to have to explain that to your parents, would we?’

There were delighted giggles, a chorus of ‘No, Mrs Strachan.’ Grace looked animated and alive, even more beautiful than usual. Cheeks flushed, she turned to us with a smile, motioning with her head to a door at the far side.

‘Go on through. I’ve told Bruce you wanted a word.’

She turned back to the children as we crossed the room, already forgetting about us. The office door was closed, and when I knocked on it there was no answer. I began to wonder if Cameron had slipped out until his bass voice peremptorily drawled a command.

‘Come.’

Glancing at Brody, I opened the door and went in. A desk and filing cabinet took up most of the room. Cameron was standing with his back to us, staring out of the window. I wondered if he’d done it for effect, knowing he was backlit. He turned and favoured us with an unfriendly look.

‘Yes?’

I reminded myself this would be easier if we had his cooperation. ‘We need to use the medical clinic. The storm brought down the cottage roof, and we need somewhere to store what we salvaged.’

The bulbous eyes considered us, coldly. ‘You mean you want to keep human remains in there?’

‘Only until they can be taken to the mainland.’

‘And in the meantime what about my patients?’

Brody spoke up. ‘Come on, Bruce. You only hold a clinic twice a week, and the next one isn’t for another two days. We should be out of the way long before then.’

Cameron wasn’t appeased. ‘So you say. But what if there’s an emergency?’

‘This
is
an emergency,’ Brody snapped, losing patience. ‘We’re not here from choice.’

The teacher’s Adam’s apple bobbed angrily. ‘There must be somewhere else you can take them.’

‘If you can think of anywhere feel free to tell us.’

‘And if I say no?’

Brody regarded him with exasperation. ‘Why should you do that?’

‘Because it’s a medical clinic, not a morgue! And I don’t think you have any right to commandeer it!’

I opened my mouth to object, but before I could Grace’s voice came from behind us.

‘Is there a problem?’

She stood in the doorway, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. Cameron blushed like a schoolboy caught out by his teacher.

‘I was just telling them—’

‘Yes, I heard you, Bruce. So did the rest of the class.’

Cameron’s Adam’s apple worked. ‘I’m sorry. But I don’t really think the medical clinic should be used for something like this.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well…’ Cameron was visibly squirming. He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘I am the nurse after all, Grace. I ought to be able to decide what happens in my own clinic.’

Grace regarded him coolly. ‘Actually, Bruce, it belongs to the island. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that.’

‘No, of course, but—’

‘So unless you can suggest somewhere else they can use, I don’t really see that there’s an alternative.’

Cameron made an effort to hold on to his tattered dignity. ‘Well…in that case, I suppose…’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ Grace gave him a smile. ‘Now why don’t you run over there and show them where everything is? I’ll look after things here until you get back.’

Cameron stared down at his desk as she went back to her class. The flush had gone from his face, leaving him white and tight-lipped. Grace might help him out at the school, but he’d just had a public reminder that it was her husband’s money that paid his wages. Wordlessly, he snatched his coat down from where it was hanging and walked out.

‘I’d have paid to see that,’ Brody said in a low voice, as we went after him.

The medical clinic was a short distance from the school. It was little more than a small extension tacked on to one end of the community centre, with no external door of its own. Cameron had ridden there on his mountain bike, forging against the wind. By the time we arrived he was already going into the glassed-in porch that covered the community centre’s entrance. Leaving Duncan in the car with the evidence bags, Brody and I followed him inside.

The community centre looked like a throwback to the Second World War, a long wooden structure with a low asphalt roof and panelled windows. Most of the inside was taken up by a large hall. Our footsteps echoed hollowly on its unvarnished floorboards, on which the ghostly markings of a badminton court had faded almost to invisibility. Posters advertising dances and the now-past Christmas pantomime were pinned to the walls, and old wooden chairs were stacked untidily at one side. The island’s redevelopment evidently hadn’t extended this far.

‘Strachan wanted to build a new community centre, but everyone liked this as it is,’ Brody said, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Familiarity, I suppose. People like some things to stay the same.’

Cameron had stopped by a new-looking door and was searching irritably through a jangling key ring. While we waited, I went to a scuffed upright piano that stood nearby. The lid was raised, exposing ivory keys that were cracked and yellow with age. When I pressed one a deep, broken note rang out, fading discordantly into silence.

‘Would you mind not doing that?’ Cameron said, waspishly, unlocking the door and going into the clinic.

It was only small, but well equipped, with pristine white walls and shining steel cabinets. There was an autoclave for sterilizing instruments, a well-stocked medicine cabinet and a fridge. Best of all, from my point of view, was the large stainless steel trolley and powerful halogen lamp. There was even a large magnifying lens on an adjustable stand, for examining and stitching wounds.

Cameron had gone to a desk and was making a point of checking that its drawers were locked. Brody and I watched as he did the same with the filing cabinet. That finished, he confronted us with ill-concealed dislike.

‘I expect you to leave everything exactly as you found it. I’ve no intention of cleaning up any mess you make.’

Without waiting for us to answer he started to leave.

‘We’ll need the key,’ Brody said.

Tight-lipped, Cameron unhooked one from the bunch he carried and slapped it down on the desk.

‘What about one for the community centre?’ I asked.

‘We don’t keep it locked,’ he responded primly. ‘It belongs to everyone on the island. That’s why it’s called the
community
centre.’

‘I’d still prefer to have a key.’

He gave a condescending smile. ‘Well, that’s too bad. Because if there is one I’ve no idea where it is.’

He seemed to take a petty satisfaction from being able to deny us that much, at least. Brody watched him go out.

‘That man is a royal pain in the arse.’

I’d been thinking along the same lines myself. ‘Come on, let’s get the evidence bags inside,’ I said.

I had an unpleasant conversation with Wallace while Brody and Duncan carried the evidence bags of bone and ashes into the clinic. Word had belatedly reached the detective superintendent that we’d been trying to contact him. Unfortunately, he’d called Fraser rather than Duncan, and the sergeant had lost no time in giving his side of events.

Consequently, Wallace was incandescent, demanding to know why we’d violated a crime scene without his permission. In no mood to be shouted at, I angrily pointed out that we’d had no choice, and that none of this would have happened if he’d sent SOC in the first place.

It was Brody who calmed things down, taking the radio to talk to Wallace out of earshot. When he handed it back to me, the superintendent was grudgingly apologetic. He told me to go ahead and continue my examination of the remains.