Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

We went up the path to the school. It was a new building, small and flat-roofed. A few wooden steps ran up to the door, which opened straight into a classroom that took up most of the interior. Computer monitors lined one wall, and desks were arranged in neat lines facing a board at the front.

But at the moment the pupils were all gathered round a large table at the back, busying themselves with pots of paint, brushes and water. There were about a dozen in all, their ages ranging from about four to nine or ten. I recognised Anna amongst them. She smiled shyly when she saw me, then returned to arranging a sheet of paper exactly to her liking.

Grace had already taken off her coat and was busy organizing her class. ‘I hope we’re not going to have another water-spilling crisis this week, are we? And yes, I’m looking at you, Adam.’

‘No, Mrs Strachan,’ a young boy with a shock of ginger hair said, smiling bashfully.

‘Good. Because if anyone misbehaves, I’m afraid they’ll have to have their face painted. And we wouldn’t want to have to explain that to your parents, would we?’

There were delighted giggles, a chorus of ‘No, Mrs Strachan.’ Grace looked animated and alive, even more beautiful than usual. Cheeks flushed, she turned to us with a smile, motioning with her head to a door at the far side.

‘Go on through. I’ve told Bruce you wanted a word.’

She turned back to the children as we crossed the room, already forgetting about us. The office door was closed, and when I knocked on it there was no answer. I began to wonder if Cameron had slipped out until his bass voice peremptorily drawled a command.

‘Come.’

Glancing at Brody, I opened the door and went in. A desk and filing cabinet took up most of the room. Cameron was standing with his back to us, staring out of the window. I wondered if he’d done it for effect, knowing he was backlit. He turned and favoured us with an unfriendly look.

‘Yes?’

I reminded myself this would be easier if we had his cooperation. ‘We need to use the medical clinic. The storm brought down the cottage roof, and we need somewhere to store what we salvaged.’

The bulbous eyes considered us, coldly. ‘You mean you want to keep human remains in there?’

‘Only until they can be taken to the mainland.’

‘And in the meantime what about my patients?’

Brody spoke up. ‘Come on, Bruce. You only hold a clinic twice a week, and the next one isn’t for another two days. We should be out of the way long before then.’

Cameron wasn’t appeased. ‘So you say. But what if there’s an emergency?’

‘This is an emergency,’ Brody snapped, losing patience. ‘We’re not here from choice.’

The teacher’s Adam’s apple bobbed angrily. ‘There must be somewhere else you can take them.’

‘If you can think of anywhere feel free to tell us.’

‘And if I say no?’

Brody regarded him with exasperation. ‘Why should you do that?’

‘Because it’s a medical clinic, not a morgue! And I don’t think you have any right to commandeer it!’

I opened my mouth to object, but before I could Grace’s voice came from behind us.

‘Is there a problem?’

She stood in the doorway, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. Cameron blushed like a schoolboy caught out by his teacher.

‘I was just telling them-’

‘Yes, I heard you, Bruce. So did the rest of the class.’

Cameron’s Adam’s apple worked. ‘I’m sorry. But I don’t really think the medical clinic should be used for something like this.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well…’ Cameron was visibly squirming. He gave her an ingratiating smile. ‘I am the nurse after all, Grace. I ought to be able to decide what happens in my own clinic.’

Grace regarded him coolly. ‘Actually, Bruce, it belongs to the island. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of that.’

‘No, of course, but-’

‘So unless you can suggest somewhere else they can use, I don’t really see that there’s an alternative.’

Cameron made an effort to hold on to his tattered dignity. ‘Well…in that case, I suppose…’

‘Good. That’s settled, then.’ Grace gave him a smile. ‘Now why don’t you run over there and show them where everything is? I’ll look after things here until you get back.’

Cameron stared down at his desk as she went back to her class. The flush had gone from his face, leaving him white and tight-lipped. Grace might help him out at the school, but he’d just had a public reminder that it was her husband’s money that paid his wages. Wordlessly, he snatched his coat down from where it was hanging and walked out.

‘I’d have paid to see that,’ Brody said in a low voice, as we went after him.

The medical clinic was a short distance from the school. It was little more than a small extension tacked on to one end of the community centre, with no external door of its own. Cameron had ridden there on his mountain bike, forging against the wind. By the time we arrived he was already going into the glassed-in porch that covered the community centre’s entrance. Leaving Duncan in the car with the evidence bags, Brody and I followed him inside.

The community centre looked like a throwback to the Second World War, a long wooden structure with a low asphalt roof and panelled windows. Most of the inside was taken up by a large hall. Our footsteps echoed hollowly on its unvarnished floorboards, on which the ghostly markings of a badminton court had faded almost to invisibility. Posters advertising dances and the now-past Christmas pantomime were pinned to the walls, and old wooden chairs were stacked untidily at one side. The island’s redevelopment evidently hadn’t extended this far.

‘Strachan wanted to build a new community centre, but everyone liked this as it is,’ Brody said, guessing what I was thinking. ‘Familiarity, I suppose. People like some things to stay the same.’

Cameron had stopped by a new-looking door and was searching irritably through a jangling key ring. While we waited, I went to a scuffed upright piano that stood nearby. The lid was raised, exposing ivory keys that were cracked and yellow with age. When I pressed one a deep, broken note rang out, fading discordantly into silence.

‘Would you mind not doing that?’ Cameron said, waspishly, unlocking the door and going into the clinic.

It was only small, but well equipped, with pristine white walls and shining steel cabinets. There was an autoclave for sterilizing instruments, a well-stocked medicine cabinet and a fridge. Best of all, from my point of view, was the large stainless steel trolley and powerful halogen lamp. There was even a large magnifying lens on an adjustable stand, for examining and stitching wounds.

Cameron had gone to a desk and was making a point of checking that its drawers were locked. Brody and I watched as he did the same with the filing cabinet. That finished, he confronted us with ill-concealed dislike.

‘I expect you to leave everything exactly as you found it. I’ve no intention of cleaning up any mess you make.’

Without waiting for us to answer he started to leave.

‘We’ll need the key,’ Brody said.

Tight-lipped, Cameron unhooked one from the bunch he carried and slapped it down on the desk.

‘What about one for the community centre?’ I asked.

‘We don’t keep it locked,’ he responded primly. ‘It belongs to everyone on the island. That’s why it’s called the community centre.’

‘I’d still prefer to have a key.’

He gave a condescending smile. ‘Well, that’s too bad. Because if there is one I’ve no idea where it is.’

He seemed to take a petty satisfaction from being able to deny us that much, at least. Brody watched him go out.