Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

And heard the rattle of the padlocked chain.

Shock and fear paralysed me. I’d forgotten all about the padlock. The key. Where’s the key? I couldn’t remember. Think! I’d given the spare to Brody, but where was mine? Tearing off my glove with my teeth, I frantically searched my pockets. Nothing. Oh, Christ, it’s still in the clinic.

Then I felt the thin metal shape in my back pocket. Thank God! I fumbled it out, knowing if I dropped it I was dead. The fire clawed at my back. My chest heaved as I tried to fit the key into the padlock, but I daren’t take a breath. If I did I’d be inhaling smoke, not air, and the heat would sear my lungs. My hand was clumsy, the lock stubbornly resistant.

Then there was a snick and the hasp slid open.

The chain rasped on the handles as I tore it free. I wrenched open the doors, hoping that the porch would act like an airlock, allowing me to get out before the fresh air fed the fire. It did, but only partly. There was an instant’s touch of cold against my face, then I was enveloped in a rush of heat and smoke. I stumbled out with it, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the labouring of my chest to draw breath.

I’d no idea how far I’d gone before I collapsed. But this time it was on to blessedly cold, wet grass. I sucked in one breath after another, tasting cool air that was tainted by smoke, but air all the same.

There were hands on me now, dragging me away from the centre. My eyes were streaming too much to see, but I recognised Brody’s voice saying, ‘It’s all right, we’ve got you.’

I looked up, coughing and wiping the tears from my eyes. He was supporting me on one side, the even bigger figure of Guthrie on the other. There were people all around, their stunned faces lit by the flames. More were still arriving, flapping overcoats hurriedly thrown on over pyjamas and nightgowns. Someone was shouting for water; a moment later a mug was thrust into my hands. I drank thirstily, the coldness of it wonderfully soothing on my throat.

‘Are you OK?’ Brody was saying.

I nodded, turning round to look back at the community centre. The whole building was blazing, sending up sheets of flame and sparks that the wind instantly whipped away. The clinic extension, where I’d been only minutes before, was also burning now, gouts of smoke streaming from the shattered window.

‘What happened?’ Brody asked.

I tried to speak, but another coughing spasm seized me.

‘All right, take it easy,’ Brody said, urging me to drink again.

Another figure was barging towards us through the gathering crowd. It was Cameron, staring with open-mouthed disbelief at the burning centre. His gaze was manic as he turned it on me.

‘What have you done?’ he demanded, bass voice quivering with rage.

‘For God’s sake, give him a chance, can’t you?’ Brody said.

Cameron’s Adam’s apple jerked under the skin of his throat like a trapped mouse. ‘Give him a chance? That’s my clinic going up in flames!’

I tried to control my coughing. ‘I’m sorry…’ I croaked.

‘You’re sorry? Look at it! It’s gone, the whole place! What the hell did you do?’

The veins in his temples pulsed in a calligraphy of anger. I forced myself to stand, wiping my streaming eyes.

‘I didn’t do anything.’ My throat felt full of gravel. ‘I woke up and the hall was on fire. It started in there, not the clinic.’

Cameron wasn’t about to back down. ‘Oh, so it started by itself, did it?’

‘I don’t know…’ I broke off, coughing again.

‘Leave him alone, he only just made it out himself,’ Brody warned.

A harsh laugh came from nearby. It was Kinross, standing at the front of the crowd. With his dark hair and oilskins he looked like a figure from a wilder, darker age.

‘Aye, made sure he was all right, didn’t he?’

‘Would you rather he’d still been in there?’ Brody snapped.

‘Do we get a choice?’

I realized that attention was shifting from the fire to us. I glanced round, saw that we’d been hemmed in by the islanders. They were gathered in a circle round us, their faces harsh and unforgiving in the flames.

‘It didn’t just burn down by itself,’ one man muttered.

Other voices began to call out as well, wanting to know why we’d used the centre, who would pay for it to be replaced. I could feel the mood shifting from shock to anger.

Then the crowd began to part, making way for a tall figure. With relief I saw it was Strachan. And just like that, the tension subsided.

He strode up to us, hair thrashing in the wind as he stared at the blazing community centre. ‘Christ! Was anyone inside?’

I shook my head, trying to stifle the coughs. ‘Only me.’

And Janice Donaldson. I looked at the flames wrapping themselves round the building, feeling as though I’d let her down.

Strachan took the empty mug from me. ‘Some more water here, please.’

He held it out, not even bothering to see who took it. Almost immediately the mug was refilled and pressed back into my hand. I gulped at the icy water gratefully. Strachan waited until I’d lowered it.

‘Any idea how it started?’

Cameron had been watching with barely concealed anger. ‘Isn’t it obvious? He was the only person in there!’

‘Don’t talk rubbish, Bruce,’ Strachan told him impatiently. ‘Everyone knows the place was a fire trap. The wiring was ancient. I should have insisted on tearing down the whole thing when we built the clinic.’

‘And that’s it, is it? We’re supposed to just let it go?’ Cameron asked, tight-lipped.

Strachan gave an easy grin. ‘Well, you could always lynch Dr Hunter, I suppose. There’s a street lamp over there, and I’m sure you could find some rope. But why don’t we wait until we know what caused it before we start blaming anyone?’

Turning his back on Cameron, he addressed the gathered islanders.

‘I promise we’ll find out what happened. And we’ll build a new and better clinic and community centre, you have my word on that. But there’s nothing more we can do tonight. Everyone should go on home now.’

Nobody moved. Then, as if on cue, what was left of the hall suddenly collapsed in a shower of sparks and flame. Gradually at first, then more steadily, the crowd began to break up, the men grim-faced, many of the women wiping their eyes.

Strachan spoke to Kinross and Guthrie. ‘Iain, Sean, will you get a few men together and stay for a while? I can’t see that it’ll spread, but I’d appreciate your keeping an eye on things.’

It was a deft way of defusing the remaining tension. Kinross and Guthrie looked taken aback, but flattered to have been asked. Strachan turned to Cameron as they moved off.

‘Why don’t you take a look at David’s cuts and burns?’

‘There’s no need,’ I said, before Cameron could respond. Nurse or not, I’d had enough of the man for one night. ‘There’s nothing I can’t see to myself.’

‘I still say we should-’ Cameron began, but Strachan spoke over him.

‘No need for you to stay either, then, Bruce. You’re teaching in a few hours. You might as well go home too.’

His tone didn’t brook any argument. Cameron stalked off, his expression thunderous. Strachan watched him go, then turned to me.

‘OK, so what happened?’

I took another drink of water. ‘I must have dozed off. When I woke up the lights were off and the clinic was full of smoke.’

He nodded. ‘The power went off all over the island about an hour ago. The blackout must have caused some sort of short.’

For the first time I noticed that the village was in darkness beyond the yellow glow of the flames. No street lamps, no lights showing in windows.

‘It’s been a hell of a night. Still, it could have been a lot worse.’ Strachan paused, a subtle change coming over his manner. ‘I heard a rumour earlier. That the police are treating the body that was found as murder. Do you know anything about that?’