Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

Duncan felt a mix of relief and anticlimax. And guilt. As he helped the reporter to her feet, he realized she barely reached his shoulder.

‘You frightened me to death, yelling like that!’ she grumbled. ‘You’d just better hope my leg’s not broken, or I’m suing.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Duncan asked, trying not to sound defensive.

There was only a second’s pause. ‘I thought I’d come and see how you were getting on.’ Maggie gave him a smile. ‘Can’t be much fun being stuck out here in this.’

‘So why were you looking through the cottage window?’

‘There wasn’t a light on in the camper van. I thought you might be in there.’

‘Aye, course you did.’ He noticed her trying to slip something into her pocket. ‘What have you got there?’

‘Nothing.’

But he was shining his torch on to it, revealing a mobile phone clasped in her hand.

‘You’ll not have much luck calling anyone from here,’ he said. ‘You weren’t planning on taking any pictures with that, now were you?’

‘No, of course not…’

He held out his hand.

‘Look, I wasn’t able to get anything, all right?’ she protested.

‘Then you won’t mind showing me, will you?’

Maggie’s shoulders slumped. She let him see the screen.

‘They were rubbish anyway,’ she muttered, bringing up two blurred and bleached-out images.

As he would explain later, Duncan didn’t think they would be any use. Even he couldn’t make out what they were. But he made her delete them anyway.

‘And the rest.’

‘That’s it, I told you.’

He just looked at her. With an irritated sigh she showed him the other pictures in the memory.

‘Must have forgotten about that one, hey?’ he said, cheerfully, as another blurred shot of the cottage appeared.

‘Happy now?’ she demanded, deleting it. ‘So now what are you going to do? Arrest me?’

Duncan had been asking himself the same question. Offhand, he wasn’t even sure she’d broken any law. She hadn’t actually crossed the incident tape.

Besides, he had to admit there was something he liked about her.

‘Will you give me your word you won’t try this again?’ he asked, in what he hoped was an authoritative voice.

‘I won’t, honest. Ouch.’ She winced as she put her weight on her leg. ‘You all right?’ Duncan asked.

‘I can walk, no thanks to you. So can I go now?’

He hesitated. ‘Where’s your car?’

She gestured back down the track. ‘I left it back near the road.’

‘You sure you can manage?’

‘Like you care,’ she retorted. ‘I can manage.’

Grinning to himself, Duncan watched her small figure hobbling off down the track, torch beam bobbing in front of her. When he was satisfied she’d gone, he started back to the camper van. As he went inside, he noticed a patch of mud in the doorway. He hadn’t noticed it before. Bloody Fraser. Too much to ask for him to wipe his feet.

Thinking about Maggie Cassidy, he went to put the kettle on.

Maggie’s car was parked about fifty yards along the track. Her limp had vanished as soon as Duncan was out of sight, but she was still scowling when she reached the old Mini. It was her grandmother’s: a tub of junk, but better than nothing.

She flopped down into the driver’s seat and examined her mobile phone. Even though she’d deleted the pictures herself, she still couldn’t help making sure they were really gone. They were.

‘Bollocks,’ she said out loud.

Throwing the phone into her handbag in disgust, she took out her Dictaphone and starting recording.

‘Well, a right waste of time that was,’ she said into it. ‘And I still didn’t manage to get a proper look at the body. Last time I try to play at commandos.’

The scowl faded, replaced by a reluctant smile.

‘Still, gave me quite a rush, I have to admit. I’ve not been that scared since I wet myself playing hide-and-seek at junior school. God, when that young PC jumped out at me! What was his name? Duncan, I think they called him. Keen bugger, but at least he seemed human. Cute, too, come to think of it. Wonder if he’s single?’

She was still smiling as she saved the recording and started the car. Its headlights split the darkness as she pulled away in a belch of exhaust. The unhealthy rattle of its engine quickly receded once she reached the road, and, after a final crunch of gears, the night settled back into silence.

For a heartbeat nothing stirred. Then a shadow detached itself from the ground next to where the Mini had stood and slowly headed off into the dark.

A GRUDGING DAYLIGHT was only just seeping into the sky as I showered and shaved next morning. There had been no let-up in the rain overnight, and I hoped the remains were still all right. I knew they’d lain there for several weeks already, and there was no reason to suppose the cottage’s crumbling roof wouldn’t survive a few more days, even in this weather. Even so, I’d be relieved when they could be moved somewhere safer.

I hadn’t slept well after waking from the dream. I felt grainy and tired as I accessed my emails to see if the missing persons files from Wallace had finally arrived. They had, five of them in all. There was no time to look at them now, so after transferring them on to my laptop’s hard drive I went down for breakfast.

The bar doubled as the dining room, and I’d nearly finished eating by the time Fraser trudged in. He looked red-eyed and hungover, the smell of unmetabolized alcohol noticeable even across the table. After he’d returned from the cottage the evening before, he’d settled himself in the bar with the air of a man getting down to business. I’d left him there when I’d gone to bed, and judging from his appearance he’d obviously made a night of it.

I tried not to smile as he gingerly sipped his tea. ‘I’ve some aspirin in my bag,’ I offered.

‘I’m fine,’ he growled.

He queasily regarded the plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausage that Ellen set down in front of him. Then, taking up his knife and fork, he set about eating it with the determination of a marathon runner.

‘How long will you be?’ I asked. I was keen to make a start, conscious of how short the days were up here at this time of year.

‘Not long,’ he muttered, hand shaking as he forked up a spoonful of dripping egg.

Ellen was clearing my breakfast plate from the table. ‘If you want, you can take my car. I won’t be using it today.’

‘Good idea,’ Fraser agreed quickly, through a full mouth. ‘There’s things I need to do in the village anyway. Start asking round, see if anyone knows who the dead woman is.’

It hadn’t been made public yet that the body was a woman’s. I glanced at Ellen, and saw the slip hadn’t gone unnoticed. She gave me a knowing look as he carried on eating, oblivious.

‘If you’re ready I’ll get you the car keys.’

I followed her from the bar. ‘Look, about what Sergeant Fraser said…’ I began.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,’ she smiled as she went into the kitchen. ‘You run a hotel, you learn to keep secrets.’

The kitchen was a single-storey extension, much newer than the rest of the hotel. Heavy saucepans stood on an old gas cooker, blackened with use, while a tall pine dresser was laden with mismatched crockery. A small portable gas fire hissed next to a big wooden table, on which sat a child’s colouring book and set of crayons. Ellen rooted in a drawer for the car keys, then led me out through a door into a small yard. Propane gas cylinders stood against the wall in a wire safety cage, looking like upright orange bombs. Parked in the lane just beyond them was an old VW Beetle.