Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘What have you got in here, a body?’ he asked, cheerfully.

I put my bag in with the aluminium case. ‘No, it just feels like it. Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ He couldn’t have been much older than twenty. He had a friendly, open face, and his uniform looked neat even in the rain. ‘I’m PC McKinney, but just call me Duncan.’

‘David Hunter.’

His handshake was enthusiastic, as though to make up for Fraser’s lack. ‘So you the forensic man?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘Great! I mean, not great, but…well, you know. Anyway, let’s get out of the rain.’

The passenger cabin was a glassed-in section below the wheelhouse. Outside it, Fraser was talking heatedly to a bearded man in oilskins. Behind him a tall teenage boy, face rippled with acne, looked on sullenly as Fraser jabbed the air with a finger.

‘…waited long enough as it is, and now you’re saying you’re not ready to go?’

The bearded man stared back impassively. ‘There’s another passenger. We’re not leaving till she’s arrived.’

Fraser’s already red face had darkened still further. ‘This isn’t a bloody pleasure cruise. We’re already behind schedule, so get that ramp pulled up, OK?’

The other man’s eyes stared out above the dark beard, giving him the feral look of a wild animal. ‘This is my boat, and I set the schedules. So if you want it pulling up, you’ll have to do it yourself.’

Fraser drew himself up to assert himself when there was a clattering from the ramp. A diminutive young woman was hurrying up, struggling under the weight of a heavy-looking bag. She wore a bright red, down-filled coat that looked at least two sizes too big for her. A thick woollen hat was pulled down over her ears. With her sandy hair and pointed chin, it gave her an appealing, elfin appearance.

‘Hi, gents. Anyone care to give me a hand here?’ she panted.

Duncan had started forward but the bearded man beat him to it. He grinned at the new arrival, white teeth gleaming in the dark beard as he effortlessly took the bag from her.

‘About time you showed up, Maggie. We were about to go without you.’

‘Good job you didn’t, or my gran would have killed you.’ She stood with her hands on her hips, regarding them as she caught her breath. ‘Hi, Kevin, how’s it going? Your dad here still working you too hard?’

The teenager blushed and looked down. ‘Aye.’

‘Aye, some things never change. Now you’re eighteen, you’ll have to put in for a pay rise.’

I saw a spark of interest kindle in her eyes as she looked over the police Range Rover.

‘So what’s going on? Something happened I should know about?’

The bearded man jerked his head dismissively towards us. ‘Try asking them. They won’t tell us anything about it.’

The young woman’s grin faltered when she saw Fraser. Then she recovered, quickly mustering a smile that now held something like defiance.

‘Hello, Sergeant Fraser. This is a surprise. What takes you out to Runa?’

‘Police business,’ Fraser said, flatly, and turned away. Whoever the young woman was, he wasn’t pleased to see her.

The ferry captain and his son busied themselves now the late arrival was on board. There was a motorised whine as the ramp was winched up, and the wooden structure of the boat vibrated as the anchor chain was ratcheted into place. With a last, curious glance in my direction, the young woman went into the wheelhouse.

Then, with a belch of diesel, the ferry cast off and chugged out of the harbour.

The sea was rough, and what should have been a two-hour crossing took almost three. Once we’d left the protection of Stornoway harbour, the Atlantic lived up to its reputation. It was a turbulent grey plain of angry waves, into which the ferry smacked head on. Each time it would rear up over the crests, then slide sickeningly down the far side before beginning the process again.

The only shelter was in the cramped passenger cabin, where diesel fumes and burning hot radiators made an uncomfortable combination. Fraser and Duncan sat for the most part in miserable silence. I’d tried to draw out Fraser about the body, but he obviously knew little more than I did.

‘Just a meat job,’ he grunted, sweat beading his forehead. ‘Some drunk fell asleep too close to his campfire, most likely.’

‘Wallace told me a retired DI had found it. Who is he?’

‘That’s Andrew Brody,’ Duncan piped up. ‘My dad used to work with him on the mainland, before we moved to Stornoway. Said he was a damn good police officer.’

‘Aye, “was”,’ Fraser said. ‘I was asking about him before we came out. Too much of a loner for his own good, apparently. Didn’t like being a team player. I heard he lost it completely after his wife and daughter ran off; that’s why he retired.’

Duncan looked embarrassed. ‘It was stress, my dad said.’

Fraser waved away the distinction. ‘Same thing. Just so long as he remembers he’s not a DI any more.’ He stiffened as the boat suddenly shuddered and yawed over another mountainous swell.

‘Christ, of all the bloody places to get sent to…’

I stayed in the cabin for a while, wondering what I was doing on a small ferry in the Atlantic instead of on my way home to Jenny. We’d been arguing more and more lately, and always over the same thing-my work. This wasn’t going to help, and with nothing to occupy me I found myself fretting over whether I’d made the right decision, and how I could make it up to her.

Eventually, I left the policemen and went on deck. The wind blustered against me, peppering my face with rain, but it was a relief after the sour, overheated cabin. I stood in the bow, welcoming the spray on my face. The island was visible now, a dark mass rising from the sea as the ferry chugged towards it. Staring at it, I felt the familiar tightening in my gut, part nerves, part anticipation of what was waiting there.

Whatever it was, I hoped it was worth it.

A flash of red caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see the young woman unsteadily making her way across the deck towards me. A sudden dip sent her running the last few steps, and I put out my arm to steady her.

‘Thanks.’

She gave me a gamine smile as she joined me at the rail. ‘It’s a rough one. Iain says it’s going to be fun trying to dock in this.’

Her accent was a softer, more lilting version of Fraser’s. ‘Iain?’

‘Iain Kinross, the skipper. He’s an old neighbour, from Runa.’

‘Is that where you live?’

‘Not any more. My family moved to Stornoway, except for my gran. We take it in turns to visit her. So you’re here with the police, then?’

She asked the question with an innocence I didn’t entirely trust. ‘More or less.’

‘But you’re not one yourself? A policeman, I mean?’

I shook my head.

She grinned. ‘Thought not. Iain said he heard them call you Doctor. Is there someone injured out here, or what?’

‘Not as far as I know.’

I could see that only piqued her curiosity even more.

‘So what’s a doctor doing coming out to Runa with the police?’

‘You’d better ask Sergeant Fraser.’

She grimaced. ‘Aye, that’ll happen.’

‘You know each other?’

‘Sort of.’ She didn’t enlarge.

‘So what do you do on Stornoway?’ I asked.

‘Oh…I’m a writer. I’m working on a novel. I’m Maggie Cassidy, by the way.’

‘David Hunter.’

She seemed to file the information away. We were silent for a while, watching the island gradually take form in the fading light: grey cliffs rising from the sea, topped with featureless green. A tall sea stack, a natural tower of black rock, thrust up from the waves in front of its cliffs.