Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘Is that her and your daughter?’ I asked, indicating the photograph.

He looked at it himself, unconsciously turning a cigarette in his fingers. ‘Aye, that’s Ginny and Rebecca. Becky would be…oh, about ten there. Her mother and I split up a year or so later. She ended up marrying an insurance broker.’

He gave a what-can-you-do shrug.

‘What about your daughter?’

Brody didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘She’s dead.’

The words were like a punch in the stomach. Fraser had said Brody’s daughter had run away, but nothing else.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know,’ I said awkwardly.

‘No reason why you should. I don’t have any proof myself. But I know she is. I can feel it.’ He gave me a look. ‘Wallace told me a little about you. You were a father yourself, so you know what I mean. It’s part of you that’s gone.’

I wasn’t happy that Wallace had seen fit to tell him about my background. Even now, having other people talk about Kara and Alice’s deaths felt like an intrusion. But at the same time, I knew what Brody meant.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. ‘We didn’t get on. Becky always was rebellious. Headstrong. Like me, I suppose. I lost touch with her when her mother died. When I took early retirement I started searching for her. Bought the camper van, so I could save on hotel bills. Not that it did any good. I’m a policeman. Used to be a policeman,’ he amended. ‘I know how easy it is for someone to disappear. But I know how to look for them, as well. There comes a point when you know they aren’t going to be found. Not alive, at least.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.

‘It happens.’ Any emotion he felt was blanked from his face. He raised the cigarette. ‘Don’t mind, do you?’

‘It’s your house.’

He nodded, then with a smile put it back in the packet. ‘I’ll wait till I go out. Old habits, like I say.’

‘Look, this might sound a bit…strange,’ I began. ‘But last night I saw a girl outside my hotel room. Must have been after midnight. Early or mid-teens, soaking wet, and just wearing a thin coat.’

Brody chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, you weren’t seeing things. That’d be Mary Tait, Karen’s daughter. You know, the loud-mouthed woman from the bar? I think I mentioned her girl’s a bit…Well, in the old days we’d say “retarded”, but I know that’s not the word to use now. Her mother lets her run wild. You see her out all times of the day and night, wandering all over the island.’

‘And nobody says anything?’

‘She’s harmless enough.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant.’ Mentally handicapped or not, physically the girl was an adult. She would be easy prey for anyone who was prepared to exploit that.

‘No,’ Brody agreed. ‘I’ve thought about contacting the social services. But I don’t think anyone on Runa would hurt her. They know what’d happen to them if they did.’

I thought about the woman’s body out at the cottage. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Brody inclined his head. ‘Fair point. Perhaps I’d better-’

He broke off as there was a knock on the door. The old border collie pricked up its ears, giving a low growl.

‘Shush, Bess,’ he said, going to answer it.

There were voices. A moment later Brody returned. With him was Fraser, looking wet and unhappy. The sergeant shook water off his arms.

‘We’ve got a problem.’

Duncan was waiting anxiously outside the camper van when we arrived. It was much more exposed out here, away from the shelter of houses and cliffs. The wind seemed to gather pace, flattening the grass as it hurled itself down the side of Beinn Tuiridh and across the dark peat moors.

The constable hurried over to the car as we climbed out. The wind pressed our coats against us, threatening to snatch the car door from my hand when I opened it.

‘I radioed as soon as it happened,’ he said, having to almost shout to make himself heard. ‘I heard it go about half an hour ago.’

By that time we could see for ourselves. The gale had ripped a section of the cottage roof clean off. What was left was hanging precariously, creaking and shifting as the wind tried to finish the job. If the woman’s remains were still intact inside, they wouldn’t be for much longer.

‘I’m sorry,’ Duncan said, as though he’d let us down.

‘Not your fault, son,’ Brody told him, giving his shoulder a pat. ‘Call DS Wallace and let him know we’ve got a situation here. Tell him we’ve got to get the remains out before the rest of the roof comes down.’

Duncan glanced uncertainly at Fraser, who gave a reluctant nod. As the PC took out his radio, the rest of us headed for the cottage. The incident tape that sealed the doorway was still in place, thrumming in the wind, but the door itself lay on the floor of what had been the kitchen. Shattered roof tiles were scattered everywhere, and rain fell freely through the gaping hole. We all ducked as another tile was ripped away.

Duncan came hurrying back over, shaking his head. ‘Can’t reach him. I’ve spoken to the station in Stornoway, and they’re going to try to get word through.’

Brody looked at the mess inside the cottage. Rain ran unheeded down his face as he turned to me.

‘We don’t have any choice, do we?’

‘No,’ I said.

He gave a nod, then strode forward and began tearing the incident tape from the doorway.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Fraser demanded.

‘Getting the remains out before the roof comes down,’ Brody answered without stopping.

‘This is a crime scene! You can’t do that without clearance!’

Brody ripped the last of the tape free. ‘No time for that.’

‘He’s right,’ I told Fraser. ‘We need to salvage what we can.’

‘I’m not taking responsibility for this!’ Fraser protested.

‘Nobody asked you to,’ Brody said, going inside.

I went after him, picking my way across the broken tiles that littered the kitchen floor. The inner room where the remains lay wasn’t as badly damaged, but almost half of the roof had fallen in. The floodlight lay smashed on its side while the grid was now a tangle of knotted string. Rain had turned the ashes on the floor to a puddle of black slurry.

The evidence bags of ash and bones I’d collected before I’d broken off my examination were sitting in pools of water, but otherwise looked unharmed.

‘Let’s get the bags out of here,’ I told Brody. ‘I’ll need my flight case from the camper van.’

‘I’ll get it,’ Duncan offered from the doorway.

I hadn’t realized he’d followed us in. There was no sign of Fraser.

‘Take as many bags with you as you can carry,’ I told him. I flinched as a sudden gust of wind made the surviving roof creak above us. ‘And hurry.’

As Brody and Duncan took the evidence bags out to the camper van, I turned my attention to the rest of the remains. There was something infinitely sad about a life reduced to this, a few carbonised fragments about to be sluiced away by the elements. At least the photographs I’d taken when I’d first arrived would provide a visual record. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

When Duncan returned with my flight case, I wrestled a pair of overalls on over my sling, then pulled on a surgical glove and hurried over to the body. Working as fast as I could, I put the skull and jawbone into evidence bags and began collecting up the fragments of cranium and loose teeth from the floor.

I’d only just finished when the roof gave a groan. A tile fell to shatter on the floor only a few feet from me.

‘I think you need to hurry,’ Brody said from the doorway.

‘I am.’