Written in Bone (19 page)

‘And if she’s not?’ Fraser demanded, truculently.

‘Then we’ll wait at the house until one of them gets home,’ Brody grated, clearly not happy himself at having to ask anything of Strachan. ‘Unless you’ve any better ideas?’

Fraser hadn’t. We drove up through the village from the harbour, but when we reached the school Grace’s black Porsche wasn’t outside. The small building was unlit and empty.

‘They must have sent the kids home early because of the power cut. We probably missed her when we detoured to see Kinross,’ Brody said, his frustration evident.

There was nothing to do but head for Strachan’s house and hope she was there. Fraser drove in moody silence. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He wasn’t an easy man to like, but Duncan’s death had hit him hard. And he’d been out of his depth even before his colleague was murdered.

We were approaching the big house when the sergeant suddenly tensed.

‘What the hell’s he doing?’

Strachan’s Saab was tearing down the road directly towards us. Fraser swore and swerved into the side, stamping on the brake as the Saab skidded to a halt just a few feet away.

‘Bloody idiot!’ Fraser cursed.

Strachan had jumped out and was running towards us, not even bothering to close his car door. Fraser angrily wound down the window and yelled at him.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Strachan didn’t seem to hear. His face was shockingly pale, his eyes wide and scared as he bent to the open window.

‘Grace is missing!’ he gasped.

‘What do you mean, missing?’ Fraser demanded.

‘I mean she’s
missing
! She’s gone!’

Brody had climbed out of the Range Rover. ‘Slow down and tell us what’s happened.’

‘I’ve told you! Christ, are you all bloody deaf? We have to
find
her!’

‘We will, but you’re going to have to calm down and tell us what you know.’

Strachan made an effort to compose himself. ‘I got back a few minutes ago. Grace’s car was here, and there were lights on and music playing, so I thought she was in the house. She’d left a cup of coffee going cold in the kitchen, but when I called she didn’t answer. I looked in every room, but there’s no sign of her!’

‘Couldn’t she have gone for a walk?’ Fraser asked.

‘Grace? In this weather? Look, why are we just standing here, we’ve got to
do
something!’

Brody turned to Fraser, automatically assuming command. ‘We need to organize a search. Go back to the village and bring as many people back as you can.’

‘What about you?’ Fraser asked, not liking being told what to do.

‘I’m going to go up to the house and take a look.’

‘I’ve told you, she isn’t there!’ Strachan almost yelled.

‘We’ll take another look anyway. Dr Hunter, do you want to come with me?’

I’d been about to suggest it anyway. If Grace was hurt I’d be more use here than rounding up a search party in the village. We hurried over to the Saab as Fraser drove off in the Range Rover.

‘What do you think?’ I asked Brody, in a low voice.

He just shook his head, his expression grim.

Strachan had left the Saab’s engine running. He barely waited for us to get in before he set off, reversing back up the road and up the driveway before screeching to a halt next to Grace’s black Porsche SUV. Without waiting to see if we followed, he ran into the house shouting his wife’s name. The only response was frenzied barking from the dog in the kitchen.

‘See, she’s not here!’ he said, pushing his hand through his hair distractedly. ‘And Oscar was running around outside when I got back. If Grace had gone anywhere she wouldn’t have just left him outside like that!’

There was a knot of tension in my gut as I heard the catch in his voice. I knew what he was going through. I’d once gone to Jenny’s house and found the same terrible absence myself. There had been a killer loose then as well, and being here now, seeing the fear in Strachan’s eyes, gave me a terrible sense of déjà vu.

But Brody remained calm as we carried out a quick search of the house. There was no sign of Grace.

‘We’re just wasting time!’ Strachan said as we finished, his panic nearing the surface.

‘Did you look in the outbuildings?’ Brody asked.

‘Yes! There’s only the barn, and she’s not in there!’

‘What about the cove?’

Strachan just stared at him. ‘I…No, but Grace never goes down there, not without me.’

‘Let’s take a look anyway, shall we?’

Strachan led us into the kitchen. A half-drunk cup of coffee stood on the table, a book opened but face down next to it, as though Grace had merely stepped out for a moment. Impatiently pushing the retriever aside, Strachan went out through the back door and rushed for the steps leading down to the cove.

I’d been half afraid we’d see Grace’s broken body lying on the shingle below us. But except for the yacht moored at the short jetty, the cove was empty. It was a beautiful boat, its hull squeaking against the rubber fenders as the sea threw it about, tall mast swinging back and forth like the arm of a broken metronome.

Strachan hurried along the jetty towards it. He bounded up the gangplank and ran to the cockpit. I was slower to board, struggling for balance with one arm strapped up. As I stepped on to the deck Strachan threw back the cockpit hatch and suddenly froze.

When I reached him I saw why.

Like the rest of the yacht, the cockpit was beautifully equipped: teak panels, stainless steel fittings, and an elaborate instrument console. Or what was left of it. The radio and satcom had been smashed to pieces, the deck below them littered with torn wires and broken circuitry.

Strachan stared at it for a moment, then rushed through the cockpit to the main cabin.

‘Grace? Oh, God,
Grace
!’

She lay on the cabin’s floor. Her head and shoulders were covered with a sack, but below that Grace’s white parka was clearly visible. She lay curled on her side, arms pulled behind her and tied behind her back.

From the waist down she was naked.

Or almost. Her feet hadn’t been bound, but her jeans had been left pulled down around her ankles, tethering them as securely as a rope. Her pants were around her knees, as though her attacker had been interrupted in the act of removing them.

She looked obscenely vulnerable lying there, her long legs bare and blue-white with the cold. She wasn’t moving. I thought we were too late, but then Strachan touched her and she suddenly began to thrash around.

‘Hold her, don’t let her hurt herself!’ I warned, trying to catch her feet.

‘It’s all right, Grace, it’s me! It’s me!’ Strachan said, yanking the sacking from her head.

Underneath it her hair was a tangled mess, obscuring her face. A piece of dirty cloth had been crammed into her mouth. Above it her eyes were wide and terrified, but then they fixed on Strachan and she immediately stopped struggling.

‘It’s all right, I’m here, it’s all right!’ he chanted, easing the gag from her mouth. She sucked in a breath, sobbing.

‘
Michael, oh, thank God, Michael!
’

Her face was flushed and puffy, the skin imprinted with the rough hessian pattern of the sack. Her right cheek was discoloured by a livid bruise, and her mouth was swollen and bloody. But other than that there were no obvious injuries I could see.

‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’ Strachan was asking her, his voice cracked.

‘No, I…I don’t think so.’

‘Did he sexually assault you?’ Brody asked bluntly.

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Strachan exploded. Even I was shocked at the question.

But Grace was shaking her head. ‘No…no, he didn’t…I wasn’t raped.’

Thank God, I thought. At least she’d been spared that. And it was probably better to deal with the issue now and get it out of the way. Perhaps Brody wasn’t being insensitive after all.

Tears were running down Strachan’s face as he tenderly brushed the hair from his wife’s face. ‘Who did it? Did you see him?’

‘I don’t know, I…I…’

He hugged her. ‘Shh, it’s all right, it’s over now. It’s over.’

Brody and I gave them as much privacy as we could while Strachan drew up Grace’s underwear and jeans. I tried to unfasten the rope binding her wrists, but it had been tied too tightly for me to manage with one hand. The skin was chafed and abraded, her hands white from restricted circulation. Brody had to search for a knife to cut it, then we stood back as Strachan helped Grace to her feet.

‘Help me carry her,’ Strachan said to Brody, their feud temporarily forgotten.

‘I can walk,’ Grace said.

‘I don’t think—’

‘I’m all right, I can walk!’

She was still crying, but there was none of the hysteria I’d feared. Brody and I stayed a discreet distance behind them as Strachan supported her along the jetty. Grace huddled against him, the two of them so oblivious to anyone else that I felt like an intruder.

As we climbed the steps out of the cove, the seagulls’ lonely cries sounded like mocking laughter on the wind.

CHAPTER 19

I CLEANED AND
dressed Grace’s wounds while Fraser took her statement. He’d arrived with a convoy of cars from the village shortly after we’d taken Grace back to the house. Strachan had objected to his wife being questioned so soon, but I’d suggested that it was best to get it over with. She would have to tell her story again when the mainland police arrived, but meanwhile it was better for her to describe what had happened while the memory was still fresh. Not only could early debriefing help avoid psychological trauma in assault victims, at least this way I’d be able to make sure Fraser didn’t push her too hard.

Somehow I didn’t think he’d be the most sensitive of interviewers.

Strachan had sent everyone who’d come to help search for Grace back home again, after he’d distractedly thanked and reassured them that she wasn’t badly hurt. Shock and anger was visible on all their faces. Even though news of Duncan’s death hadn’t yet spread, by now everyone had heard that the body found at the cottage had been murdered. But shocking as that might be, what had happened to Grace was even more so. The murder victim was unknown to them, whereas Grace was the wife of Runa’s benefactor, respected and well liked. An attack on her struck right at the heart of the community.

Kinross and Guthrie had been amongst those who’d come out to help with the search. As he’d prepared to leave, the look on the ferry captain’s face promised slaughter.

‘Whoever did this, he’s a dead man when we find him,’ he’d vowed to Strachan.

I didn’t think it was an empty threat. Emotions were running high all round. Given his infatuation with Grace, it was no surprise that Cameron had also rushed out to help with the search. He’d been the last to leave, stridently insisting that he had to see her. His protests had carried from the hallway into the kitchen where Brody and Fraser waited as I cleaned Grace’s wounds.

‘If she’s been injured I need to examine her,’ Cameron boomed, indignantly.

Strachan’s voice remained unmoved. ‘There’s no need. David’s doing that.’

‘Hunter?’ Cameron fairly spat the word. ‘With all due respect, Michael, if anyone’s going to treat Grace it should be me, not some…some ex-GP!’

‘Thanks, but I’ll decide who’s going to look after my wife.’

‘But Michael—’

‘I said no!’ There was a shocked pause. When Strachan spoke again it was with more restraint. ‘Go home, Bruce. If I need you, I’ll let you know.’

‘I seem to be causing trouble,’ Grace said, ruefully, as we heard the front door close. She had been stoically enduring my one-handed attempts to dab antiseptic on her injuries.

‘I expect he just wants to help,’ I said, putting down the wad of cotton wool. ‘Excuse me.’

Leaving her with Brody and Fraser, I went out of the kitchen to intercept Strachan as he came back across the large hall.

‘I heard what Cameron said,’ I told him. ‘He’s got a point. He’ll have more experience at treating wounds than I do.’

The events of the last hour had taken their toll on Strachan. He looked better than he had, but the chiselled features were drawn, and some of the vitality had drained from him.

‘I’m sure you’re more than capable of putting a dressing on,’ he said tiredly.

‘Yes, but he’s the nurse…’

His face hardened. ‘For the time being.’

I didn’t say anything. Strachan glanced at the kitchen doorway and lowered his voice. ‘You must have seen how he looks at Grace. I’ve put up with it in the past, because I thought he was harmless. But after this…’

I’d wondered how Strachan felt about Cameron’s feelings for his wife. Now I knew.

‘You don’t think it was him who attacked her?’ I said, doubtfully.

‘Somebody did!’ he flashed. But the vehemence soon passed. ‘No, I’m not saying it was Bruce. I just…well, I’d rather he didn’t go near her right now.’

He gave an embarrassed smile.

‘Come on, let’s get back. They’ll think we’re plotting something.’

We joined the others in the kitchen. Fraser was waiting with his notepad, while Brody sat staring into his cooling mug of tea with a faint frown. The old DI had been unusually quiet since we’d come back to the house, apparently content to let Fraser ask most of the questions.

Strachan sat beside Grace, holding her hand as I finished treating her wounds. None were serious, mainly cuts and abrasions. The worst was the darkening bruise on her face where she’d been hit. It was on her right cheek, which meant whoever had struck her was probably left-handed.

The same as Duncan’s killer.

I began to dab the broken skin with antiseptic as she told Fraser what she could remember.

‘I’d not been back from school long. I’d just made myself a coffee.’ Her hand trembled as she held a glass of brandy and water I’d given her in lieu of any other sedative. There was a faint quaver in her voice, but otherwise she seemed to be coping well with her ordeal.

‘When was this?’ Fraser asked, writing ponderously in his notebook.

‘I don’t know…about two, two thirty, I think. Bruce decided to close the school early because of the power cut. We’d got heating but no lights.’ She broke off to speak to her husband. ‘Michael, we really need to see about getting a back-up generator for the school as well, you know.’

‘I know, we will.’

Strachan smiled, but he still looked awful. He seemed to blame himself for what had happened, for not being there when she’d needed him.

Grace took a sip of brandy and gave a shudder. ‘Oscar was barking at the kitchen door. He wouldn’t shut up, and as soon as I opened it he shot off for the cove. I didn’t want him going on the jetty in this weather, so I went after him. When I got down there he was barking like a mad thing at the yacht, and I saw the cockpit hatch was open. Even then, I didn’t think anything about it. It’s never locked, and I thought Michael must have forgotten to close it. I started to go into the cockpit, but there was no light on and I couldn’t see. Then…then something hit me.’

She faltered, her hand going to the bruise on her right cheek.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ Strachan told her.

‘I’m fine. Really.’ Grace gave him a small smile. She looked shaken, but there was a determination about her as she continued. ‘Everything got a bit blurry then. I realized I was on the floor and my hands had been tied behind me. There was something over my head, as well. I thought I was going to suffocate. The sack or whatever it was stank of fish and oil, and a horrible piece of cloth had been stuffed in my mouth. I could feel cold air on my legs, and realized I didn’t have my jeans on. I tried to yell or kick out, but I couldn’t. Then I felt…I felt my pants being pulled down…’

She broke off, her control slipping.

‘I just can’t believe it must have been someone I
know
! Why would anyone
do
something like that?’

Strachan turned angrily to Fraser. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you see this is upsetting her?’

‘It’s all right, really. I’d rather finish.’ Grace wiped her eyes. ‘There’s not much more to tell anyway. I sort of passed out again after that. The next thing I knew was when you arrived.’

‘But you say you weren’t raped?’ Fraser asked, tactlessly.

She looked at him levelly. ‘No. I can remember that much.’

‘Thank God,’ Strachan said, fervently. ‘The bastard must have heard us shouting for you and cleared out.’

Fraser was laboriously making notes. ‘Can you remember anything else? Anything about who attacked you?’

Grace thought for a while, then shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘Was he tall, short? Was there any sort of smell about him? Aftershave, anything like that?’

‘I’m afraid all I could smell was rotting fish and oil from the sack.’

I finished cleaning the graze on Grace’s cheek. ‘Is there another way out of the cove?’ I asked.

‘Apart from the sea, you mean?’ Strachan shrugged. ‘If you climb over the rocks at the base of the cliff there’s a shingle beach that runs halfway back to the village. Towards the end of it there’s a path leading up to the cliff top. It’d be a bit hairy in this weather, but not impossible.’

That explained how the attacker had managed to get away without our seeing him. For all we knew he could have simply hidden until we’d gone into the house. We’d been more concerned with making sure Grace was all right than searching for whoever had assaulted her.

Fraser didn’t have many more questions after that. I thought Brody might want to ask something himself, but the old DI remained silent as Grace excused herself. Strachan wanted to run a bath for her, but she would hear none of it.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ she smiled, with a touch of exasperation. ‘You stay here with our guests.’

She came and kissed my cheek, the musk of her perfume distinctive even under the reek of antiseptic.

‘Thank you, David.’

‘Glad to help.’

There were dark shadows under Strachan’s eyes, and a haunted look in them, as he watched her go out.

‘She’ll be all right,’ I told him.

He nodded, unconvinced. ‘Christ, what a day,’ he muttered, passing a hand over his face.

Brody spoke for the first time since bringing Grace into the house. ‘Tell me again what happened.’

Strachan looked taken aback. ‘I’ve already told you. I came home and she wasn’t here.’

‘And where had you been, exactly?’

His tone wasn’t quite accusatory, but it didn’t leave much doubt why he was asking. Strachan regarded him with growing anger.

‘I’d gone for a walk. Up to the cairns, if you must know. I came home after I’d seen David at the cottage, but I was still upset over what had happened to the young constable. Grace was at the school, so I left the car here and went out again.’

‘To the mountain.’

‘Yes, to the mountain,’ Strachan said, his temper barely in check. ‘And believe me, I wish to Christ I hadn’t! So if that’s all, Brody, thanks for your help, but I think it’s time you went now!’

The atmosphere in the kitchen fairly crackled. I was surprised at Brody myself. Even though there was no love lost between the two of them, that was no reason to imply that Strachan might have attacked his own wife.

Getting to my feet, I broke the tense silence. ‘Perhaps we should all be going.’

Strachan still looked angry, twin patches of colour on his face. ‘Yes, of course.’ But he hesitated. ‘Actually…I’d appreciate it if you’d stay for a while, David. Just to make sure that Grace is all right later.’

I’d have expected him to want to be alone with his wife. I glanced at Brody. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

‘There’s nothing for you to do back at the village. We can meet up at my place later to talk things through.’

I waited in the kitchen as Strachan showed the other two out. The front door closed. When he came back he seemed ill at ease. Almost embarrassed. But I realized that today had been traumatic for him too. Perhaps he wanted someone to reassure him that Grace would be all right, that what had happened wasn’t his fault. Or perhaps he just wanted company.

‘Thanks for staying. Just for an hour or so, until Grace goes to bed, then I’ll run you back to the hotel.’

‘Will she be all right left on her own?’ I asked.

That didn’t seem to have occurred to him. ‘Well…You can always stay here, I suppose. Or take my car. It’s an automatic, so you should be able to drive it one-handed.’

I’d already had one accident on Runa, and the prospect of trying to drive in my sling didn’t appeal. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

‘Anyway, I’m forgetting my manners,’ Strachan went on. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve a bottle of twenty-year-old malt waiting to be opened.’

‘Don’t open it on my account.’

He grinned. ‘It’s the least I can do. Come on, let’s go into the sitting room.’

He led me out across the hallway into a large sitting room. It displayed the same restrained taste as the rest of the house. Two black leather sofas faced each other across a smoked glass coffee table, and the parquet floor was covered with thick rugs. There was another abstract oil painting of Grace’s above the fireplace, flanked on either side by floor to ceiling bookshelves. A glass case of flint tools and arrowheads stood against one wall, and there were other archaeological artefacts—fragments of ancient pottery, stone carvings—placed strategically around the room, each subtly picked out by a concealed light.

I browsed the bookshelves while Strachan opened a black lacquered drinks cabinet. Most of the titles were non-fiction. There were a few biographies of explorers such as Livingstone and Burton, but most were academic texts on archaeology and anthropology. There were several on primitive burial traditions, I noticed. I took down one called
Past Voices, Past Lives
and started leafing through it.

‘The chapter on Tibetan sky burials is interesting,’ Strachan said. ‘They used to take their dead up on mountains and feed them to the birds. Thought they’d carry their spirits to heaven.’

He set a bottle of malt on the coffee table with two thick tumblers and sat down on one of the leather sofas.

‘I didn’t think you drank,’ I said, putting the book back and going to the other sofa.

‘I don’t. But right now I feel like breaking my rule.’ He poured the whiskies and handed one to me. ‘
Slàinte.
’

The malt was peaty but mellow. Strachan took a drink and began to cough.

‘Christ! Is it any good?’ he asked, eyes watering.

‘Very.’

‘That’s all right, then.’

He took another drink.

‘You could do with getting some rest yourself,’ I told him. ‘Today’s been rough on you as well.’

‘I’ll cope.’

But his words couldn’t disguise his exhaustion. He put his head back on the sofa, resting the nearly empty glass on his chest.

‘My father always used to say that it’s the things you never see coming you have to watch out for.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘Now I know what he meant. You think you’re finally in control of your life, and then—bam! Something you never expected suddenly blindsides you.’

‘That’s just life. You can’t guard against everything.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ He stared broodingly into his glass. I had the feeling he was about to broach the real reason he’d asked me to stay. ‘This assault…do you think Grace’ll be all right? I don’t mean physically. Do you think there’ll be any…I don’t know. Psychological scars?’