Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘I expect he just wants to help,’ I said, putting down the wad of cotton wool. ‘Excuse me.’

Leaving her with Brody and Fraser, I went out of the kitchen to intercept Strachan as he came back across the large hall.

‘I heard what Cameron said,’ I told him. ‘He’s got a point. He’ll have more experience at treating wounds than I do.’

The events of the last hour had taken their toll on Strachan. He looked better than he had, but the chiselled features were drawn, and some of the vitality had drained from him.

‘I’m sure you’re more than capable of putting a dressing on,’ he said tiredly.

‘Yes, but he’s the nurse…’

His face hardened. ‘For the time being.’

I didn’t say anything. Strachan glanced at the kitchen doorway and lowered his voice. ‘You must have seen how he looks at Grace. I’ve put up with it in the past, because I thought he was harmless. But after this…’

I’d wondered how Strachan felt about Cameron’s feelings for his wife. Now I knew.

‘You don’t think it was him who attacked her?’ I said, doubtfully.

‘Somebody did!’ he flashed. But the vehemence soon passed. ‘No, I’m not saying it was Bruce. I just…well, I’d rather he didn’t go near her right now.’

He gave an embarrassed smile.

‘Come on, let’s get back. They’ll think we’re plotting something.’

We joined the others in the kitchen. Fraser was waiting with his notepad, while Brody sat staring into his cooling mug of tea with a faint frown. The old DI had been unusually quiet since we’d come back to the house, apparently content to let Fraser ask most of the questions.

Strachan sat beside Grace, holding her hand as I finished treating her wounds. None were serious, mainly cuts and abrasions. The worst was the darkening bruise on her face where she’d been hit. It was on her right cheek, which meant whoever had struck her was probably left-handed.

The same as Duncan’s killer.

I began to dab the broken skin with antiseptic as she told Fraser what she could remember.

‘I’d not been back from school long. I’d just made myself a coffee.’ Her hand trembled as she held a glass of brandy and water I’d given her in lieu of any other sedative. There was a faint quaver in her voice, but otherwise she seemed to be coping well with her ordeal.

‘When was this?’ Fraser asked, writing ponderously in his notebook.

‘I don’t know…about two, two thirty, I think. Bruce decided to close the school early because of the power cut. We’d got heating but no lights.’ She broke off to speak to her husband. ‘Michael, we really need to see about getting a back-up generator for the school as well, you know.’

‘I know, we will.’

Strachan smiled, but he still looked awful. He seemed to blame himself for what had happened, for not being there when she’d needed him.

Grace took a sip of brandy and gave a shudder. ‘Oscar was barking at the kitchen door. He wouldn’t shut up, and as soon as I opened it he shot off for the cove. I didn’t want him going on the jetty in this weather, so I went after him. When I got down there he was barking like a mad thing at the yacht, and I saw the cockpit hatch was open. Even then, I didn’t think anything about it. It’s never locked, and I thought Michael must have forgotten to close it. I started to go into the cockpit, but there was no light on and I couldn’t see. Then…then something hit me.’

She faltered, her hand going to the bruise on her right cheek.

‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ Strachan told her.

‘I’m fine. Really.’ Grace gave him a small smile. She looked shaken, but there was a determination about her as she continued. ‘Everything got a bit blurry then. I realized I was on the floor and my hands had been tied behind me. There was something over my head, as well. I thought I was going to suffocate. The sack or whatever it was stank of fish and oil, and a horrible piece of cloth had been stuffed in my mouth. I could feel cold air on my legs, and realized I didn’t have my jeans on. I tried to yell or kick out, but I couldn’t. Then I felt…I felt my pants being pulled down…’

She broke off, her control slipping.

‘I just can’t believe it must have been someone I know! Why would anyone do something like that?’

Strachan turned angrily to Fraser. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you see this is upsetting her?’

‘It’s all right, really. I’d rather finish.’ Grace wiped her eyes. ‘There’s not much more to tell anyway. I sort of passed out again after that. The next thing I knew was when you arrived.’

‘But you say you weren’t raped?’ Fraser asked, tactlessly.

She looked at him levelly. ‘No. I can remember that much.’

‘Thank God,’ Strachan said, fervently. ‘The bastard must have heard us shouting for you and cleared out.’

Fraser was laboriously making notes. ‘Can you remember anything else? Anything about who attacked you?’

Grace thought for a while, then shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘Was he tall, short? Was there any sort of smell about him? Aftershave, anything like that?’

‘I’m afraid all I could smell was rotting fish and oil from the sack.’

I finished cleaning the graze on Grace’s cheek. ‘Is there another way out of the cove?’ I asked.

‘Apart from the sea, you mean?’ Strachan shrugged. ‘If you climb over the rocks at the base of the cliff there’s a shingle beach that runs halfway back to the village. Towards the end of it there’s a path leading up to the cliff top. It’d be a bit hairy in this weather, but not impossible.’

That explained how the attacker had managed to get away without our seeing him. For all we knew he could have simply hidden until we’d gone into the house. We’d been more concerned with making sure Grace was all right than searching for whoever had assaulted her.

Fraser didn’t have many more questions after that. I thought Brody might want to ask something himself, but the old DI remained silent as Grace excused herself. Strachan wanted to run a bath for her, but she would hear none of it.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ she smiled, with a touch of exasperation. ‘You stay here with our guests.’

She came and kissed my cheek, the musk of her perfume distinctive even under the reek of antiseptic.

‘Thank you, David.’

‘Glad to help.’

There were dark shadows under Strachan’s eyes, and a haunted look in them, as he watched her go out.

‘She’ll be all right,’ I told him.

He nodded, unconvinced. ‘Christ, what a day,’ he muttered, passing a hand over his face.

Brody spoke for the first time since bringing Grace into the house. ‘Tell me again what happened.’

Strachan looked taken aback. ‘I’ve already told you. I came home and she wasn’t here.’

‘And where had you been, exactly?’

His tone wasn’t quite accusatory, but it didn’t leave much doubt why he was asking. Strachan regarded him with growing anger.

‘I’d gone for a walk. Up to the cairns, if you must know. I came home after I’d seen David at the cottage, but I was still upset over what had happened to the young constable. Grace was at the school, so I left the car here and went out again.’

‘To the mountain.’

‘Yes, to the mountain,’ Strachan said, his temper barely in check. ‘And believe me, I wish to Christ I hadn’t! So if that’s all, Brody, thanks for your help, but I think it’s time you went now!’

The atmosphere in the kitchen fairly crackled. I was surprised at Brody myself. Even though there was no love lost between the two of them, that was no reason to imply that Strachan might have attacked his own wife.