Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘It’s not much to look at, but it’s reliable enough,’ she said, giving me the keys. ‘And I’ve made a flask of tea and sandwiches for you all. I’d guess you won’t want to be running back here to eat.’

I thanked her as I took them. The VW grated and whined when I started it, but it rattled along happily enough. The weather hadn’t improved since the day before: grey skies, wind and rain. But at least the village was more alive this morning. There were people in the street, and children were filing through the gate towards the small but new-looking school. I looked for Anna but couldn’t make her out amongst the parkas and duffel coats. A man wearing a peaked woollen hat, emaciated-looking even in a thick coat, was ushering them inside. He paused to stare at me as I drove past. When I nodded to him he looked away without acknowledgement.

Then I was leaving the village, passing the hill where Bodach Runa, the ancient standing stone Brody had pointed out, stood watch. The island could never be described as picturesque, but it was starkly impressive: a landscape of hills and dark peat moors, dotted with sheep. The only sign of habitation was the big house I now knew belonged to the Strachans. Lights no longer burned in every window, but it was still by far the most imposing building I’d seen on the island. Its turreted granite walls and mullioned windows had been weathered by the Atlantic winds, but there remained an air of permanence about them.

Brody’s Volvo was already parked outside the cottage when I arrived. The ex-inspector and Duncan were in the camper van, a kettle hissing away on the small cooking ring. The cramped cabin smelled of stale bodies and paraffin fumes.

‘Morning,’ Brody said when I went in. He was sitting on a tattered padded bench that butted up to a fold-down table, his old dog asleep at his feet. Somehow, I wasn’t surprised to find him here. He might have retired, but he hadn’t struck me as the type who would simply be able to let go after calling this in. ‘Sergeant Fraser not with you?’

‘He had things to do in the village.’

I saw disapproval register on his face, but he made no comment. ‘Don’t mind my coming out again, do you?’ he asked, as though reading my mind. ‘I spoke to Wallace this morning. He said it was your call.’

‘In that case it’s fine by me.’

Now that Wallace knew that Brody hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d reported the body, I guessed he was probably glad the former DI was prepared to stick around. If it came to that, so was I. It might have ruffled Fraser’s feathers, but it didn’t hurt to have someone with Brody’s experience on hand.

Duncan yawned. He looked as though he hadn’t slept well, and began unwrapping the bacon and egg sandwich that Ellen had sent with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas.

‘Apparently we had a visitor last night,’ Brody told me, giving him a meaningful look.

Through mouthfuls of sandwich, Duncan described Maggie Cassidy’s attempt to take photographs of the remains. ‘She didn’t get any,’ he insisted. ‘And I made her promise she wouldn’t try again.’

Brody raised an eyebrow sceptically, but said nothing. A thick criminology textbook sat on the table in front of Duncan, a bookmark tucked into the first few pages.

‘Been studying?’ I asked.

He blushed. ‘Not really. Just something to read, you know.’

‘Duncan was just saying he wants to apply for CID,’ Brody added.

‘Eventually,’ Duncan said quickly, still looking embarrassed. ‘I’ve not put enough time in yet.’

‘Doesn’t hurt to know what you want to do,’ Brody said. ‘I’ve been telling him about a couple of cases I worked with his father, but it doesn’t seem to have put him off.’

Duncan grinned. Leaving them to it, I opened the flight case I’d brought with me. Inside was my field kit, the basics I always took with me on a job. A dictaphone to record notes, disposable overalls, shoes and masks, latex gloves, trowels, brushes, as well as two different-sized sieves. And plastic evidence bags. Lots and lots of evidence bags.

I was down to my last few pairs of disposable gloves and overalls, having used most of them on the Grampian job. The overalls were extra-large, so they would fit over my coat. I struggled into them and snapped protective overshoes over my boots, then pulled on the latex gloves over a pair of silk liners. Normally I carried chemical hand warmers for when I worked outside, but I’d already used them all in the Grampians. For the time being I’d just have to put up with cold fingers.

Duncan had been watching me get ready. Now he put down his sandwich.

‘Doesn’t it bother you? Working with dead bodies, I mean?’

‘Don’t be impertinent, lad,’ Brody said, reprovingly.

The PC looked embarrassed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean…’

‘That’s all right,’ I reassured him. ‘Someone needs to do it. As for the rest…You get used to it.’

But his words stayed with me. Doesn’t it bother you? There was no easy answer. I was well aware of what many people would regard as the gruesome nature of my work, but it was what I did. What I was.

So what did that make me?

The question was still troubling me as I stepped out of the camper van and saw a sleek silver-grey Saab coming along the track towards the cottage. Drawn by the sound of its approach, Brody and Duncan came out as it pulled up next to Ellen’s VW.

‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Brody asked, irritably, as Strachan climbed out.

‘Morning,’ he said, as his golden retriever jumped out of the Saab after him.

‘Get that dog back in the car!’ Brody snapped.

The retriever was sniffing the air intently. Strachan reached to take hold of it, but before he could it suddenly caught a scent and bounded straight for the cottage.

‘Bloody hell!’ Brody swore, and raced to cut it off.

He was surprisingly fast for a man his size and age. He grabbed hold of the dog’s collar as it tried to dodge past, almost yanking it off its feet as he pulled it back.

Strachan ran up, his face shocked. ‘God, I’m sorry!’

Brody kept hold of the retriever’s collar, suspending its front paws off the ground as it yelped and struggled.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ll take him now.’

Strachan held out his hand but Brody didn’t relinquish his hold. It was a big dog but the ex-inspector held it without effort, gripping its collar so tightly it was starting to choke as it wriggled to free itself.

‘I said I’ll take him now,’ Strachan repeated, more firmly this time.

For a moment I thought Brody wasn’t going to hand it over. Then he thrust the animal at Strachan. ‘You shouldn’t be out here. You or your bloody dog!’

Strachan soothed his pet, keeping hold of its collar. ‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to let him out. I just wanted to see if I could do anything.’

‘You can get back in your car and leave. This is police business, not yours!’

But now Strachan was starting to grow angry himself. ‘Funny, I thought you’d retired.’

‘I’ve got clearance to be here. You haven’t.’

‘Perhaps not, but that still doesn’t give you any legal right to tell me what to do.’

Brody’s jaw muscles bunched with the effort of restraint. ‘Constable McKinney. Why don’t you escort this gentleman back to his car?’

Duncan was looking worried, out of his depth as the two of them confronted each other.

‘No need. I’m going,’ Strachan said. There were twin patches of colour on his cheeks, but he was more composed now. He gave me a shamefaced smile, studiously ignoring Brody.

‘Morning, Dr Hunter. Sorry about this.’