Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

He paused, giving me a chance to comment. When I didn’t he went on anyway.

‘What was it, some kind of accident?’

‘Sorry, I can’t really say.’

Strachan gave an apologetic smile. ‘No, of course. You’ll have to excuse my curiosity. It’s just that I’ve got what you might call a vested interest in this place. I’m responsible for a lot of redevelopment here. It’s brought more people to the island than we’re used to-contractors and so on. I’d hate to think I’d imported big-town troubles as well.’

He seemed genuinely concerned, but I wasn’t going to let myself be drawn. ‘You don’t sound like a local,’ I said.

He grinned. ‘The accent’s a bit of a giveaway, eh? My family’s Scottish originally, but I grew up near Johannesburg. My wife and I moved to Runa about five years ago.’

‘It’s a long way from South Africa.’

Strachan tousled his dog’s ears. ‘I suppose it is. But we’d been travelling round a lot, so it was time to put down roots. I liked the remoteness of this place. Reminded me in some ways of where I grew up. Place was pretty depressed back then, of course. No local economy to speak of, population in decline. Another few years and it could have been another St Kilda.’

I’d heard of St Kilda, another Hebridean island that had been abandoned in the 1930s, and lain unoccupied ever since. Now it was a ghost-island, tenanted only by seabirds and researchers.

‘You seem to have helped turn it round,’ I said.

He looked embarrassed. ‘We’ve still got some way to go. And I don’t want to make out it’s all down to me. But Runa’s our home now. Grace, my wife, helps out at the school, and we do what we can in other ways as well. That’s why I worry when I hear about something like this happening. Hello, what’s up, Oscar?’

The golden retriever was looking expectantly at the doorway. I hadn’t heard anyone come into the hotel, but a moment later there was the sound of the front door opening. The dog gave an excited whine, its tail thumping against the floor.

‘I don’t know how he does that, but he always knows,’ Strachan said, shaking his head.

Knows what? I wondered, and then a woman came into the bar. I didn’t need to be told to know that she was Strachan’s wife. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, although she was certainly that. Her white Prada parka was flecked with rain, setting off thick, shoulder-length hair that was raven black. It framed a face whose skin was flawless, with a full mouth it was hard to take your eyes from.

But it was more than that. There was an energy to her, a sheer physical presence that seemed to draw all the light in the room. I remembered Fraser’s envious comment earlier: His wife’s supposed to be a stunner.

He was right.

She’d had a tentative smile as she came into the bar, but when she saw Strachan it bloomed into something dazzling.

‘Caught you! So this is where you end up when you go out on “business”, is it?’

She had the same faint South African accent as her husband. Strachan rose to give her a kiss.

‘Guilty. How did you know I was here?’

‘I came to get some things from the store, but it was shut,’ she said, taking off her gloves. They were fur-lined black leather, unobtrusively expensive. On her left hand she wore a plain gold wedding band, and a diamond ring whose single stone danced with blue light. ‘Next time you want to sneak a drink, don’t leave your car outside.’

‘Blame Oscar. He dragged me here.’

‘Oscar, you bully, how could you?’ She fussed the dog, which had started to prance excitedly around her. ‘All right, calm down.’

She looked across at me, waiting for an introduction. Her brown eyes were so dark they were almost black.

‘This is David Hunter,’ Strachan said. ‘David, this is my wife, Grace.’

She smiled and held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, David.’

As I took it I could smell her perfume, subtle and delicately spiced.

‘David’s a forensic expert. He’s come out with the police,’ Strachan explained.

‘God, what an awful business,’ she said, growing serious. ‘I just hope it’s no one from here. I know that sounds selfish, but…well, you know what I mean.’

I did. When it comes to ill fortune we’re all selfish at heart, offering up the same prayers: not me, not mine. Not yet.

Strachan had got to his feet. ‘Well, nice meeting you, Dr Hunter. Perhaps I’ll see you again before you leave.’

Grace arched an ironic eyebrow. ‘Don’t I even get a drink now I’m here?’

‘I’ll buy you a drink, Mrs Strachan.’

The offer came from Guthrie, the man with the ponderous gut. I had the impression he’d beaten Kinross and several others to the punch. Beside them, all but forgotten, Karen Tait’s blowsy face was pinched with jealousy.

Grace Strachan gave the big man a warm smile. ‘Thank you, Sean, but I can see Michael’s raring to go.’

‘Sorry, darling, I thought you wanted to get back,’ Strachan apologized. ‘I was planning to cook mussels for dinner. But if you’re not hungry…’

‘Sounds like blackmail to me.’ The smile she gave him had become intimate.

He turned to me. ‘If you get a chance before you leave, you should take a look at the burial cairns on the mountain. There’s a group of them, which is unusual. Neolithic. They’re quite something.’

‘Not everyone’s as morbid as you, darling.’ Grace shook her head in mock-exasperation. ‘Michael’s fond of archaeology. I think he’d rather have old ruins than me, sometimes.’

‘It’s just an interest,’ Strachan said, growing self-conscious. ‘Come on, Oscar, you lazy brute. Time to go.’

He raised his hand in response to the respectful goodnights that accompanied them to the door. As they went out they almost bumped into Ellen coming the other way. She checked, almost spilling the steaming plate of stew she was carrying.

‘Sorry, our fault,’ Strachan said, his arm still round Grace’s waist.

‘Not at all.’ Ellen gave them both a polite smile. I thought I saw a flicker of something else on her face as she looked at the other woman, but it was gone before I could be sure. ‘Evening, Mrs Strachan.’

It seemed to me there was a reserve there, but Grace didn’t appear to notice. ‘Hello, Ellen. Did you like the painting Anna did at school the other day?’

‘It’s on the fridge door, with the rest of the gallery.’

‘She’s got real promise. You should be proud of her.’

‘I am.’

Strachan moved towards the door. He seemed impatient to leave. ‘Well, we’ll let you get on. Night.’

Ellen’s face was so devoid of emotion it might have been a mask as she set the plate in front of me. She acknowledged my thanks with a perfunctory smile, already turning away. As she went out I reflected that Brody wasn’t the only person on Runa who didn’t seem overly impressed by the island’s golden couple.

‘Bitch!’

The word seemed to ring in the quiet of the bar. Karen Tait’s mouth was pressed tight with bitterness as she glared at the door, but it wasn’t clear which of the two women who’d just left the insult was aimed at.

Kinross levelled a warning finger at her, eyes angry above the dark beard. ‘That’s enough, Karen.’

‘Well, she is. Stuck up-’

‘Karen.’

She subsided resentfully. Gradually, the ordinary sounds of the bar began to fill the silence. The clicking of the domino players’ pieces resumed, and the tension that seemed to have momentarily been present was dissipated.

I took a forkful of the mutton stew. Ellen was as good a cook as Brody had said. But as I ate, I suddenly felt someone’s eyes on me. I looked up, and saw Kinross staring at me from across the bar. He held my gaze for a moment, his expression coldly watchful, before he slowly turned away.