Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘Somebody got a good look at what you were doing.’

‘Cameron, perhaps? Or Maggie Cassidy?’

‘It’s possible, but I can’t see it. And I don’t think any of the locals would sneak in like this, either.’

‘You think it was the killer?’

Brody nodded slowly. ‘I think it’s something we have to consider. Bringing the remains here is bound to rattle him, let alone having a forensic expert examining them. What worries me is what he might decide to do about it.’

It wasn’t a comforting thought. Brody let it hang there for a few seconds.

‘I think I’ll feel happier if we could lock the community centre tonight anyway,’ he went on. ‘The general store sells chain and padlocks. We could get something from there to make this place a bit more secure, at least. Can’t see any point in taking chances.’

Neither could I, when he put it like that. Businesslike again, Brody nodded towards where the skull was lying on the steel table.

‘Intruders aside, how have you been getting on?’

‘Slowly. I’ve been trying to find some clue as to who she is.’

‘Can you do that from what’s left?’ Brody asked, surprised.

‘I don’t know. But I can try.’

I went over to where the cranium lay on the trolley, switching on the halogen lamp as Brody and Duncan came to look.

‘The condition of her teeth is interesting. They’ve been cracked by the heat, but they were pretty rotten to begin with. Hardly any of them have fillings, and those that are there are all quite old. She obviously hadn’t been to a dentist for years, which suggests she was probably from a deprived social background. You’re more likely to look after your teeth if you’re middle class. And her teeth weren’t just bad; some of them were almost eroded down to the gum. In someone this young, that’s a strong sign of heavy drug use.’

‘You think she was an addict?’ Brody asked.

‘I’d say so.’

Duncan looked up. ‘I thought most addicts were skinny. Didn’t you say this wick effect meant she was overweight?’

It was an astute comment. ‘She probably had more body fat than average, yes. But a lot depends on metabolism and how heavily she was using. It doesn’t mean she didn’t have a drug habit. But there’s something else as well. Do you remember why I said her feet hadn’t burned?’

‘Not enough flesh on them?’ Duncan offered.

‘And no fabric to act as a wick. She had on training shoes, but no stockings or tights. Or socks, come to that. I’d guess she was wearing something like a skirt and jacket or a short coat. Cheap flammable fabric, probably, that would make a good wick.’

I looked at the remains of the skull, saddened by the brutal way we were dissecting a life. But it was the only way we would catch whoever had done this to her.

‘So we’ve got a young woman who was a serious drug user, who’d let herself go enough for her teeth to rot, and who was skimpily dressed and bare-legged in February,’ I went on. ‘What does that suggest to you about her lifestyle?’

‘She was a prostitute,’ Duncan said, this time with more conviction.

Brody rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Only one reason a working girl would have come all the way out here.’

‘You mean to see a client?’ I said.

‘I’m hard pushed to think of another reason. Ties in with what we already thought about her knowing her killer. And it’d explain why no one seems to have known she was on the island. Men who pay for sex don’t usually advertise the fact.’

But something about that didn’t seem quite right to me. ‘Even so, it’s a hell of a long way for a home visit. And why risk bringing a prostitute out to Runa if you were worried about people finding out? It’d make more sense to go to her rather than bring her out here.’

Brody looked thoughtful. ‘There’s another possibility. She wouldn’t be the first prostitute to try and blackmail a client. Given her drug habit, she might have thought it was worth the trip if there was money to be made out of it.’

It was a plausible theory. Blackmail was a strong enough motive for murder, and it fitted the facts we had so far. Not that there were many of them.

‘You could be right,’ I said, too tired to try to make sense of it any more. ‘But we’re just guessing. We don’t really know enough to speculate at this stage.’

‘Aye, you’re right,’ Brody agreed heavily. ‘But I’ll lay odds that when we find out who she came out here to see-and why-we’ll have found her killer.’

Looking at the wet footprints drying on the floor, I wondered if the killer hadn’t already found us.

Brody volunteered to stay at the clinic while I went back to the hotel for something to eat, and bought a padlock and chain from the village store.

‘You need a break. You look all in,’ he said, moving a chair in front of the door and settling down.

I certainly felt it. My shoulder hurt, I was tired and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Duncan gave me a lift in the Range Rover as far as the store, which Brody thought would still be open. The rain had stopped but the wind still rocked the car as we drove through the village. Brody had told me the phones were still off, so I’d borrowed Duncan’s radio to try to call Jenny. Digital or not, the signal was still patchy, and when I finally got through I reached her voicemail yet again. What did you expect? She’s not going to sit around waiting for you to call.

Disappointed, I gave Duncan the radio back. He took it absently, lost in thought. Except for when I’d explained my findings earlier, he’d been unusually quiet. Almost pensive, in fact, and when he drove past the store I had to remind him to stop.

‘Sorry,’ he said, pulling over.

He still seemed distracted as I got out of the car, but I put it down to his not relishing another night alone in the camper van.

‘No need to wait, I’ll walk back from here,’ I told him. ‘The fresh air will do me good.’

‘Dr Hunter?’ he said, before I could close the door.

‘Yes?’ I said, bracing myself against the wind.

But whatever he had been about to say, he’d evidently thought better of it. ‘Nothing. Doesn’t matter.’

‘You sure?’

‘Aye. Just me being daft.’ He gave an embarrassed smile. ‘I better be getting back to relieve Sergeant Fraser. He’ll kill me if I’m late.’

I nearly pressed him. But whatever was on his mind, I supposed he’d tell me when he was ready.

I raised my hand in acknowledgement as he drove off, but I don’t know if he saw me. I turned to the store. A light still burned inside, and the sign on the door said Open. It announced my entry with a tinkle of bells. Inside was a crammed treasure trove of tinned food, hardware and groceries. The smell took me back to my childhood: heady scents of cheese, candles and matches. Behind the worn wooden counter a woman was bending over to unpack tins of soup from a box.

‘With you in a second,’ she said, and as she straightened I recognised Karen Tait.

I’d forgotten that Brody had said she ran the general store. Without the artificial flush of alcohol she looked more worn down than ever, with only a ghost of a lost prettiness remaining in her puffy features. Her smile was a grudging thing to start with, but it faded altogether when she saw who her customer was.

‘Do you have any padlocks?’ I asked.

She jerked her chin towards a shelf on the back wall, where there was a selection of ironmongery stacked haphazardly in boxes.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

She didn’t reply. I felt her gaze on me as I sifted through the boxes of bolts, screws and nails, hostile and resentful. But I found what I was looking for: a heavy-duty padlock, and a spool of chain.