Written in Bone (21 page)

‘What the hell was a tart from Lewis doing out here?’ Karen Tait called out. Her voice was already slurred.

Guthrie grinned. ‘Take a guess.’

No one laughed. The big man’s smirk slowly died. But I was more interested in another reaction. Kinross’s son Kevin had given a start at the mention of the dead woman. His mouth opened in a shocked ‘o’ before he realized I was watching him.

He quickly dropped his gaze.

Everyone else’s attention was still on Brody. ‘The police are going to be sending teams out here as soon as the weather allows. I’ll ask you all to cooperate with them when they arrive. Until then, we need you all to help us out. The cottage is a crime scene now, so please don’t go out there. When Scene of Crime get here, they don’t want to waste time chasing false leads. I know you’re going to be curious, but please keep away from it. And if any of you think you might have any information, you need to tell Sergeant Fraser over there.’

All eyes instinctively went to Fraser. He looked briefly surprised, then straightened almost imperceptibly, squaring his shoulders as he met the stares. It was a clever touch from Brody, a way of handing some self-respect back to Fraser, and reminding the islanders that there already was a police presence on Runa.

I thought the meeting would end there, but Cameron had other ideas. He’d been quiet so far, but now his orator’s voice filled the small room.

‘And meanwhile, are we expected to just sit tight and behave ourselves?’ He stood with his legs planted and his arms folded. He flicked Maggie a look of supercilious distaste as she pointed her tape recorder at him.

‘Unfortunately, there’s not much else we can do until the mainland police get here,’ Brody answered.

‘You tell us there’s a murderer loose on the island, practically accuse one of us, and then calmly tell us to do nothing?’ Cameron gave an incredulous snort. ‘Well, I for one don’t—’

‘Shut up, Bruce,’ Kinross said, without even bothering to look at him.

Cameron’s cheeks coloured. ‘I’m sorry, Iain, but I hardly think—’

‘Nobody here cares what you think.’

‘Well, excuse me, but who are you to…’

Cameron faltered to silence as Kinross’s icy stare swivelled to him. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he closed his mouth, swallowing whatever he had been about to say. I almost felt sorry for him. One way and another, the schoolteacher’s pride had taken a battering in recent days.

But no one was taking any notice of him now anyway. People were turning away, subdued conversations springing up again as they discussed what they’d just heard. Maggie lowered her dictaphone and gave me a troubled look before making her way out of the bar.

I looked over to where Kevin Kinross had been standing. But at some point the teenager had slipped away too.

We found an empty table when the bar started to thin out after the meeting. Fraser insisting on buying malts for himself and me and a tomato juice for Brody.

He raised his glass. ‘To Duncan. And to the bastard who killed him,
Gonnadh ort!
’

‘Oh, he’ll suffer, all right,’ Brody said, softly.

Solemnly, we toasted. Then I told them about Kevin Kinross’s reaction to the news that the murdered woman was a prostitute from Stornoway. Perhaps still smarting from his earlier loss of face, Fraser was dismissive.

‘Could be just excited at the thought of a prossie. A face like that, he’s probably still a virgin.’

‘Worth following up, even so,’ Brody mused. ‘Perhaps we should have a word with him tomorrow, if the support team still aren’t here.’

Fraser looked morosely into his glass. ‘I hope to Christ they are.’

So do I, I thought.
So do I.

I made my excuses not long after that. I’d still not eaten, and on an empty stomach the alcohol made me feel light-headed with exhaustion. All at once the events of the past forty-eight hours seemed to catch up with me. I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Ellen was still serving behind the bar as I made my way out, struggling to cope with the unexpected demand. I didn’t think she’d seen me, but then I heard her call as I started up the stairs.

‘David?’ She hurried out of the bar. ‘I’m really sorry, I’ve not had chance to get you anything to eat.’

‘That’s all right. I’m going to get some sleep.’

‘Do you want me to bring something up? Soup, or a sandwich? Andrew’s minding the bar for me.’

‘I’m fine, really.’

There was a creak on the landing above us. We looked up to see Anna. She was in her nightdress, her face pale and bleary with sleep.

‘What have I told you about coming downstairs?’ Ellen scolded, as her daughter came down the rest of the way.

‘I had a bad dream. The wind took the lady away.’

‘What lady, sweetheart?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said querulously.

Ellen cuddled her. ‘It was just a dream, and it’s gone now. Did you thank Dr Hunter for the chocolate he bought you the other day?’

Anna considered, then shook her head.

‘Well, go on, then.’

‘But I’ve eaten it now.’

Ellen raised her eyes at me over her daughter’s head, suppressing a smile. ‘You can still say thank you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘That’s better. Now come on, young lady. Back to bed.’

The little girl was half asleep already. She slumped against her mother’s legs. ‘I can’t walk.’

‘And I can’t carry you. You’re too heavy.’

Anna lifted her head enough to regard me with a sleepy eye. ‘He can.’

‘No he can’t, madam. He’s got a poorly arm.’

‘It’s OK. I can manage,’ I said. Ellen looked doubtfully at my sling. ‘I’d be happy to. Really.’

I hoisted Anna up. Her hair smelled cleanly of shampoo. She snuggled down against my shoulder, just as my own daughter used to. The small, solid weight of her was upsetting and comforting at the same time.

I followed Ellen back to the attic floor, where there were two small private rooms. Anna barely stirred as her mother pulled back the sheets and I lowered her into her bed. I stood back as Ellen covered her again and smoothed her daughter’s hair before we crept out and went back downstairs.

She paused when we reached my floor, hand resting on the wooden banister as she looked at me. Her penetrating gaze was concerned.

‘Are you OK?’

She didn’t have to say what she meant. I smiled.

‘Fine.’

Ellen knew enough not to push. With a final goodnight she went back down to the bar. I went into my room and sank down on the mattress fully clothed. I could smell the stink of smoke on my clothes, but it seemed like too much effort to get into bed. I could still feel the phantom weight of Anna. If I closed my eyes I could almost pretend it was Alice’s. I sat there, thinking about my dead family as I listened to the wind howl outside. More than ever, I wished I could call Jenny.

But that was something else I couldn’t do anything about.

My head jerked up as there was a rap on the door. I’d started to drift off, I realized. I looked at my watch and saw it was after nine o’clock.

‘Just a second.’

Rubbing my eyes, I went to the door. I thought it might be Ellen, determined to feed me after all. But when I opened it I found Maggie Cassidy standing in the corridor.

She was holding a tray, on which was a bowl of soup and two thick chunks of home-made bread. ‘Ellen said if I was coming up anyway I had to bring you this. Said to tell you that you’d got to eat something.’

I took the tray and stepped back to let her in. ‘Thanks.’

She smiled, but there was a hesitancy about it. ‘Soup again. Been quite a day for it, eh?’

‘At least you didn’t drop it this time.’

I set the tray down on the cabinet. There was an awkwardness between us at finding ourselves alone in this context. Neither of us looked at the bed that dominated most of the room, but we were both conscious of its presence. I leaned against the windowsill while Maggie sat on the room’s only chair.

‘You look bloody awful,’ she said at last.

‘That makes me feel a lot better.’

‘You know what I mean.’ She gestured to the tray. ‘Go ahead, you might as well start.’

‘It’s all right.’

‘Ellen’ll kill me if you let it get cold.’

I didn’t have the energy to argue. I was still too tired to feel hungry, but the first mouthful changed that. Suddenly I was famished.

‘Quite a meeting tonight,’ Maggie said, as I tore off a hunk of bread. ‘I thought for a moment Iain Kinross was going to deck Cameron. Still, you can’t have everything, eh?’

‘You didn’t come here just to talk about that, did you?’

‘No.’ She toyed with the edge of the chair. ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

‘You know I can’t tell you anything.’

‘One question, that’s all.’

‘Maggie…’

She held up a finger. ‘Just one. And strictly off the record.’

‘Where’s your tape recorder?’

‘God, you’re a suspicious bugger, aren’t you?’ She reached into her bag and took out her dictaphone. ‘Turned off. See?’

She tucked it back into her bag. I sighed.

‘All right, one question. But I’m not promising anything.’

‘That’s all I ask,’ she said. She seemed nervous. ‘Brody said the dead woman was a prostitute from Stornoway. Do you know her name?’

‘Come on, Maggie, I can’t tell you that.’

‘I’m not asking what it is. Just if you know it.’

I tried to see the trap. But provided I didn’t give any specifics, there wasn’t any harm in answering.

‘Not officially.’

‘But you’ve a pretty good idea who she is, right?’

I let my silence answer that. Maggie bit her lip.

‘Her first name…It wouldn’t be Janice, would it?’

My face must have been confirmation enough. I put the tray aside, my appetite gone.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Sorry, I can’t reveal sources.’

‘This isn’t a game, Maggie! If you know something you’ve got to tell the police.’

‘You mean Sergeant Fraser? Aye, right, that’s going to happen.’

‘Andrew Brody, then! There’s more at stake than a newspaper story, you’re playing with people’s lives!’

‘I’m doing my job!’ she flashed back.

‘And if someone else gets killed, what then? Chalk it up as another exclusive?’

That hit home. Maggie looked away.

‘You said yourself you’re from Runa,’ I pushed. ‘Don’t you care what happens here?’

‘Of course I bloody do!’

‘Then tell me where you got the name from.’

I could see conflicting emotions warring in her. ‘Look, it’s not like it sounds. The person who told me…It was in confidence. And I don’t want to make trouble for them. They’re not involved.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I
do
.’ She looked at her watch, then stood up. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.’

‘But you did. You can’t just walk away.’

Maggie’s face was still uncertain, but she shook her head.

‘Give me till tomorrow. Even if the police still can’t get out, I promise I’ll tell either you or Brody then. But I need to think it through first.’

‘Don’t do this, Maggie.’

But she was already heading for the door.

‘Tomorrow, I promise.’ She gave me a quick, embarrassed smile. ‘’Night.’

After she’d gone I sat on the bed, wondering how the hell she could have known the dead woman’s name was Janice. I’d told only Brody and Fraser, and I couldn’t see either the dour ex-inspector or the police sergeant confiding anything to Maggie.

I tried to puzzle it out, but I was too tired to think straight. And there was nothing I could do about it tonight anyway. The soup had gone cold, but I was no longer hungry. I undressed and washed as much of the smoke stink from myself as I could. Perhaps tomorrow I would see if the hotel’s generator would run to a hot shower. For now, though, all I wanted to do was sleep.

This time unconsciousness came like flicking a switch.

I woke once, just before midnight, jerking, gasping from a dream where I was chasing something and being pursued myself at the same time. But I couldn’t remember what I was running to or from. All that remained was a lingering sense that, however fast I ran, it wouldn’t make any difference.

I lay in the darkened room, listening as my heart rate gradually returned to normal. It seemed that the wind didn’t sound quite so bad, and as I drifted off again I allowed myself a faint stirring of optimism that perhaps the storm had peaked, that tomorrow the police would finally be able to make it out here.

I should have known better. Because the weather, like Runa itself, was just saving the worst till last.

CHAPTER 21

THREE O’CLOCK IN
the morning is the dead time. It’s the time when the body is at its lowest ebb, physically and mentally. The time when defences are lowest, when the promise of morning seems impossibly distant. It’s when worst imaginings seem inescapable, darkest fears about to be realized. Usually it’s just a state of mind, a biorhythmic trough we emerge from with the first paling of dawn.

Usually.

I surfaced from unconsciousness reluctantly, knowing I would find it hard to sleep again once I was fully awake. But as soon as I thought that, of course, it was too late. The bed springs squeaked under me as I looked at the clock.
Just after three.
I could feel the night-silence of the hotel all around me. Sinister creaks and groans as the building shifted and settled, like an arthritic old man. Outside the wind still blustered. I lay staring up at the ceiling, feeling sleep retreat further without knowing why. Then I realized what was different.

I could see the ceiling.

The room wasn’t dark. A faint glow was coming through the curtain. My first thought was that it was from the street lamp outside the hotel, that the power must be back on. I felt a surge of relief, thinking that if the electricity had been restored, then perhaps the phones had been too.

But even as I was thinking that I noticed how the light coming through the window wasn’t constant. It had a febrile, flickering quality, and when I saw that my relief died.

I hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain. The rain had stopped, but the street lamp outside was dead and dark, quivering in the wind like a limbless tree. The light I’d seen was coming from the harbour, a sickly yellow glow that reflected from the wet rooftops of the houses, growing brighter every second.

Something was on fire.

I quickly pulled on my clothes, wincing as my injured shoulder complained. I hurried down the hall and banged on Fraser’s door.

‘
Fraser!
Wake up!’

There was no answer. If he’d stayed in the bar all night as I’d expected, trying to drown his guilt and grief over Duncan, there was no way I’d raise him.

Leaving him, I ran downstairs. I expected Ellen to have been woken by the commotion, but there was no sign of her. The wind tried to rip my coat from me as I rushed outside, struggling to fasten it over my arm. Further down the hill people were emerging from houses and banging on doors, their voices calling urgently to each other as they hurried towards the harbour.

As I passed the lane that ran behind the hotel, I noticed that Ellen’s old Beetle wasn’t there. I guessed she’d already gone to investigate the blaze, but there was no time to give it much thought. The glow in the sky was brighter now, shining on the rain-slick street. I thought it might be the ferry that was burning, but when I reached the quayside I saw it was still moored safely out on the jetty, caught in the dancing light from the shore.

The fire was in the boatyard.

Guthrie’s derelict fishing boat was ablaze. Its stern was already engulfed, the small wheelhouse on its deck burning fiercely. Flames were flowing over its half-timbered hull with a sinuous grace, hiding it behind fluid black smoke. Figures were scurrying about, snatching up buckets and yelling at each other over the din of the flames. Guthrie was bellowing frantic instructions, and I saw Kinross emerge from the workshop with a heavy fire extinguisher, hunching against the heat as he ventured as close to the flames as he could.

A hand fell on my shoulder. I turned and saw Brody, face jaundiced by the yellow light.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘No idea. Where’s Fraser?’

‘Guess.’

We broke off, coughing as a sudden shift in wind sent the smoke over us. The wind was shredding the flames into a wildly flapping sheet. It seemed like most of the village was there now, either watching helplessly or trying to fight the blaze. Buckets were being passed along a line, and a hose had been rolled out, its thin jet vanishing ineffectively into the flames. It was obvious they couldn’t save the boat, but the priority now was making sure the fire didn’t spread.

Across the yard, I caught a glimpse of Maggie’s distinctive red coat as she stood with a group of onlookers. Standing by himself, a little way from everyone else, was Cameron, his face hollowed and shadowed as he stared at the flames. I looked around for Ellen, but couldn’t pick out her face in the crowd. I’d assumed she’d come down to the harbour, but now I thought about it, it seemed odd that she hadn’t woken Fraser or me first.

Brody saw me looking round. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Have you seen Ellen?’

‘No, why?’

‘Her car had gone from the hotel. I thought she must have come down here.’

‘She wouldn’t have left Anna,’ Brody said, scanning the crowd. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

Even now I can’t remember when I became aware of a sudden tension in the air. It was like a ripple of communal unease, spreading as quickly as the flames themselves. I looked back towards the boat, already feeling a dawning presentiment of disaster without knowing why. It was fully ablaze now, flames funneling into the gap formed by the missing hull timbers. And then the wind gusted, lifting the veil of smoke to reveal something moving inside.

Cocooned in fire, a human arm was slowly lifting, as though in salute.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Brody breathed.

Then, with a flurry of sparks, the deck collapsed and buried the awful sight from view.

Pandemonium broke out. People were crying and yelling instructions, shouting for someone to do something. But I knew better than anyone there that there was nothing anyone could do.

I felt a sudden grip on my shoulder, strong enough to hurt even through my coat. Brody was staring at me, his face etched with an unforgettable expression. He uttered just one word, but it was enough.

‘Ellen.’

Then he was barging people aside as he ran towards the burning boat.

‘Brody!’ I yelled, going after him.

I doubt he heard. Only when the flames beat him back did he stop. I grabbed hold of him, flinching from the heat. We were close enough for our coats to steam. If the boat collapsed now we’d be caught in it.

‘Come on, get back!’

‘She was moving!’

‘It was only a reflex! It was the fire, that’s all!’

He pulled away from me, staring into the flames as though trying to find a route into them. I grabbed him again.

‘Whoever it is, they’re dead! You can’t do anything!’

What we’d seen wasn’t a sign of life. If anything it was just the opposite, a blind, mechanical motion caused by the arm’s tendons contracting in the intense heat. There was no chance anyone could have survived the fire for this long.

The truth of what I was saying finally penetrated Brody’s frenzy. He allowed me to pull him away, stumbling like a man caught in a nightmare. What was left of the boat looked as though it could collapse any second. Shutting out thoughts of who the victim might be, I ran to where Kinross was still futilely spraying the fire extinguisher on to the flames. His face was savage and angry as he edged as close as he could. Nearby Guthrie’s meaty face was streaked with tears, either from the smoke or the sight of his dream going up in flames.

‘We need to get the body out!’

‘Get the fuck out of my way!’

I grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t put it out! Get some poles! Now!’

He wrenched free, and for a second I thought he might take a swing at me. Then he bellowed to the other men battling the fire, shouting for them to fetch scaffolding poles and long pieces of timber from the building supplies stacked nearby.

Feeling helpless, I could only stand with Brody and watch as they began using them to try to snag the body from the flames. Guthrie and another man skittered back as part of the fire collapsed, sending sparks gyrating crazily into the sky. There was no way the body would survive such rough handling unscathed, but there was no alternative. If it wasn’t recovered now, the fire would destroy any forensic evidence that might be left anyway.

More than that, though, it would have been unthinkable to simply wait until the fire had burned itself out.

Brody’s face was haggard.
It can’t be Ellen
, I told myself, feeling an awful hollowness. I tried to think of where she could be, of another reason for her car to be missing. But that only raised even worse questions.
Dear God, what about Anna? Where’s she?

I knew I should go back to the hotel to see, but I was afraid of what I might find. Across the other side of the yard I caught a glimpse of Maggie’s bright red coat. Seeing her, I felt my anger start to rise. Whatever she’d kept from me earlier might not have been able to prevent this, but she’d hidden behind her profession for long enough.

Skirting the burning boat, I started across the yard, and as I did I almost bumped into someone coming the other way.

It was Ellen.

She was carrying Anna on one shoulder. The little girl was half asleep as she stared at the flames.

‘What happened?’ Ellen asked, staring past me to the fire.

Before I could answer Brody came running over.

‘Thank God you’re all right!’

He seemed about to hug her but stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Ellen was looking bewildered.

‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been at Rose Cassidy’s. Look, why are you both staring at me like that? What’s going on?’

‘You were at Maggie’s grandmother’s?’ I asked, recognizing the name. Something dark and unsettling began to twitch in my subconscious.

‘Aye, she had a fall, so one of her neighbours came to fetch me. Rose isn’t fond of Bruce Cameron,’ she added, wryly. A crease of concern appeared between her eyes. ‘Poor woman’s worried more than anything. Maggie went out earlier and hasn’t come back.’

The sense of foreboding was growing stronger. ‘I just saw her. She’s down here,’ I said, looking round.

There was no longer any sign of Cameron, but Maggie was still where I’d last seen her, watching the boat burn with Karen Tait and a group of other islanders. She had her back to me, an unmistakable figure in her oversized coat. I went across, driven by an apprehension I still couldn’t name.

‘Maggie?’ I said.

But at that moment a cry went up from the boat. ‘Over here. We’ve got it.’

I looked over, saw that the men had succeeded in dislodging a still-burning shape from the fire. Kinross and the others pawed at the blackened object with poles, trying to drag it further away from the flames. It could almost have been a log, its smoking surface still licked by tongues of flame.

But it wasn’t.

I’d actually started to go over when Maggie turned round, and shock rooted me to the spot.

The face gazing back at me from inside the red hood wasn’t Maggie’s. It was a teenage girl’s, blank and uncomprehending.

Mary Tait. The girl I’d seen outside my window.