Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘It was my first big story for the paper. So as you can imagine, I’m not exactly top of Fraser’s Christmas card list.’

Her smile was part rueful, part proud as she went to rejoin Guthrie and Kinross. As she made her goodbyes, I left the bar and headed up to my room. I hadn’t eaten since the omelette Grace had prepared, but I was more tired than hungry. And there was also a sneaking relief that Brody hadn’t arrived yet. Wallace was within his rights not to let the retired inspector know about the murder, but after all his help I would have felt uncomfortable keeping it from him.

I felt bone-weary as I made my way upstairs. This trip had been a disaster from start to finish, but I consoled myself that it was about to get back on track. This time tomorrow SOC would be here, and the full machinery of a murder investigation would belatedly be under way. Before much longer I’d be on my way home, and able to put the entire thing behind me.

But I should have known not to take anything for granted. Because that night the storm hit Runa.

THE STORM REACHED the island just after midnight. Later, I would find out that it was actually two fronts that had collided off the coast of Iceland, playing out their battle as they swept down the North Atlantic from the Arctic. Their assault would be credited as one of the worst the Western Isles had experienced for over fifty years, creating gale force winds that left a trail of roofless houses and flooded roads before battering themselves out against the British mainland.

I was in my room when the storm hit. Tired as I was, I’d found it hard to sleep. Jenny hadn’t called, and there was still no answer from either her flat or her mobile. That wasn’t like her. I was starting to feel a gnawing anxiety that something could have happened. To make sleep even harder, the wind was booming outside, rattling the window angrily, and my shoulder was aching despite the anti-inflammatories I’d taken. Each time I started to drift off, I would feel myself falling down the gully and jerk awake again.

I was considering whether I should get up and try to work when the bedside phone rang. I snatched up the receiver.

‘Hello?’ I said, the word rushing out.

‘It’s me.’

Tension I hadn’t even been aware of drained from me at the sound of Jenny’s voice.

‘Hi,’ I said, switching on the bedside light. ‘I’ve been calling you all day.’

‘I know. I got your messages.’ She sounded subdued. ‘I went out with Suzy and a few of the others from work. I turned my mobile off.’

‘Why?’

‘I didn’t want to speak to you.’

I waited, unsure what to say. A gust of wind wrapped itself round the house, its moan rising in pitch. The bedside lamp flickered as though in response.

‘I was worried when you didn’t call last night,’ Jenny said after a moment. ‘I couldn’t call you on your mobile, and I didn’t even know where you were staying. When I got your message this afternoon it was like…I don’t know, I just felt angry. So I switched off my phone and went out. But then I came in just now and I really wanted to talk to you.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…’

‘I don’t want you to apologize! I want you here, not out on some bloody island! And I’ve had too much to drink, and that’s your fault as well.’

There was a grudging smile in her voice. I was pleased to hear it, but it didn’t displace the heaviness in my chest.

‘I’m glad you called,’ I told her.

‘So am I. But I’m still pissed off with you. I’m missing you, and I’ve no idea when you’re coming back.’

There was a note of fear now. Jenny had recovered from an experience that would have destroyed most people. While she’d emerged stronger from it, it had left a residue of anxiety that still surfaced from time to time. She knew only too well how thin the line was that separated everyday life from chaos. And how easily it was crossed.

‘I’m missing you too,’ I said.

The silence on the line seemed hollow, broken only by static whispers.

‘You’re not responsible for everyone, David,’ Jenny said at last. ‘You can’t solve everyone’s problems.’

I wasn’t sure if it was resignation or regret I could hear. ‘I don’t try to.’

‘Don’t you? Seems like you do, sometimes. Other people’s anyway.’ She sighed. ‘I think we need to talk when you get back.’

‘What about?’ I said, feeling something cold brush against my heart.

A crackle of static cut out her answer. It faded, but not completely.

‘…still hear me?’ I heard her say through it.

‘Only just. Jenny? You still there?’

There was no answer. I tried calling her back, but there was no dialling tone.

The line was dead.

As though that had been its cue, the bedside lamp suddenly flickered. It steadied after a few seconds, but its light seemed dimmer than before. The phone lines obviously weren’t the only things affected by the storm.

Feeling leaden and frustrated, I put the receiver down. Outside, the wind seemed to roar with triumph, flinging rain in reckless bursts against the window. I made my way over to it and looked out. The gale had shredded the cloud cover, and a full moon bathed the scene with ghostly pale light. The street lamp outside was shaking in the wind.

A girl was standing underneath it.

She seemed frozen, as though the fluctuating power had taken her unawares. Her face tilted up when I appeared in the window, and for a second or two we stared at each other. I didn’t recognise her. She looked in her teens, and was wearing only a thin coat that offered no protection against the weather. Underneath it was what looked like a pale nightgown. I saw how the cloth was lashed by the wind, how her wet hair clung to her head. She was blinking the water from her eyes as she stared up at me.

Then she darted into the shadows beyond the street light, heading into the village, and was gone.

Any hope I might have had that the storm would have passed by morning was snuffed out as soon as I woke. The wind shook the window, rain beating against the glass as though frustrated at not being able to break it.

The memory of the unfinished conversation I’d had with Jenny lay heavily on me, but the phone was still dead when I checked it. Until the landlines were repaired, the digital police radios were now our only point of contact with the outside world.

At least the power was still on, although the fitful way the lights were flickering suggested it might not remain so for much longer.

‘One of the joys of living on an island, I’m afraid,’ Ellen said, when I went down for breakfast. Anna was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table, the portable gas fire filling the extension with pungent warmth. ‘The phones are always likely to go off when we get a real storm. Electricity too, if it’s a bad one.’

‘How long are they usually off for?’

‘A day or two, sometimes longer.’ She smiled at my expression. ‘Don’t worry, we’re used to it. Everyone on the island uses either oil or bottled gas, and the hotel’s got its own back-up generator. We won’t starve or freeze.’

‘What’s wrong with your arm?’ Anna piped up, staring at my sling.

‘I fell down.’

She thought about that for a second. ‘You should watch where you’re going,’ she said, confidently, going back to her cereal.

‘Anna,’ Ellen chided, but I laughed.

‘Yes, I suppose I should.’

I was still smiling as I went into the bar, my dark mood gone. So what if the phones were down for a day or two? It was an inconvenience, not life or death. Fraser was already eating through his breakfast, devouring a huge plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausage. He looked hungover but less so than he had on the previous mornings. No doubt the prospect of the support team’s arrival had cramped his enthusiasm.