Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘Could it be a child?’

‘No, it’s definitely an adult.’ I peered into the silent scream of the mouth. ‘The wisdom teeth have broken through. That means she was at least eighteen or nineteen. Probably older.’

‘Maggie would have been what? Twenty-three, twenty-four?’

‘About that, I expect.’

Brody sighed. ‘Right height, right age, right sex. There’s not much doubt, is there?’

I found it hard to speak. ‘No.’

Somehow, admitting it made it seem worse, as though I were letting Maggie down in some way. But there was no point in pretending. I forced myself to continue.

‘For what it’s worth, she was at least partially dressed when she was put on to the fire.’ I pointed to a tarnished metal disc that was embedded in the charred flesh between the hipbones. It was the size of a small coin. ‘That’s a trouser button. The fabric’s burned away, but it’s melted its way into the flesh. By the look of it I’d guess she was wearing jeans.’

Just like Maggie had been, the last time I’d seen her.

Brody pursed his lips. ‘So she probably wasn’t raped. That’s something, I suppose.’

It was a fair assumption. Few rapists would bother to put their victim’s jeans back on before killing her. And certainly not afterwards.

‘Any idea about cause of death?’ he asked.

‘Well, from what I can see there’s no trauma to the skull. They got the body off the fire before cranial pressure caused a blow-out, which simplifies things a little. There’s no sign of any head injury as there was with both Janice Donaldson and Duncan. I suppose it’s possible that she just wasn’t hit as hard, although…’

I trailed off, bending forward for a closer look. The fire had stripped away the skin and muscle of the throat to expose burned cartilage and tendon. I scrutinised it, then did the same to the arms and legs, and finally the torso. The soft tissue was charred enough to disguise the signs, but not hide them altogether.

‘What is it?’ Brody prompted.

I pointed to the throat. ‘See here? The tendon on the left-hand side of the throat’s been severed. Both ends have contracted right back away from each other.’

‘Severed, as in cut?’ Brody asked, leaning forward to see.

‘Definitely as in cut. The fire might have caused them to snap eventually, but the ends are far too clean for that.’

‘You mean someone slit her throat?’

‘I can’t be sure without carrying out a proper examination, but that’s how it looks. There are what look like other puncture wounds as well. Here, on the shoulder. The muscle fibres are badly burned, but you can still make out a cut running across them. Same with the chest and stomach. I’d guess when I take X-rays we’ll find blade marks on the ribs, and probably other bones as well.’

‘So she was stabbed to death?’ Brody asked.

‘The fire’s made it hard to say if she was stabbed or hacked, but she was certainly attacked with a bladed weapon. I’ll need to examine the cuts to the bones in a lab before I can say for sure what type. But it’s more complicated than that.’

‘Complicated how?’

‘Her neck’s broken.’

I kneaded my eyes as a wave of tiredness washed over me. Tired or not, though, there was no doubt about what I’d seen.

‘Look at the angle of her head. I don’t want to disturb the body too much, but if you look you can see the third and fourth vertebrae are visible. They’re splintered. And the left arm and right shin are broken as well. You can see the bones protruding through the burned tissue.’

‘Couldn’t that have happened when the boat collapsed in the fire, or when she was dragged out?’

‘That might have caused a few breaks, but not this many. And a lot of these look like compression fractures, so they were caused by an impact…’

I stopped.

‘What?’ Brody asked.

But I was going to the grubby window. It was too dark to see much, but in the dying light from the burning boat I could just make out the dark bulk of the cliff face, towering above the boatyard.

‘That’s how he got her body down here. He threw her off the cliff.’

‘You sure?’

‘It’d explain the fractures. She was attacked with a knife, and either fell or was thrown off the top. Then her killer came down and dragged the body from the foot of the cliff into the yard.’

Brody was nodding. ‘There are steps at the end of the harbour that lead to the cliff top. With a torch you could just about manage them in the dark, and it’d be a lot quicker than taking the road back down through the village. Less chance of being seen, too.’

That didn’t explain why Maggie would have been up there in the first place. But at least now we were starting to form a picture of what had happened, if not why.

Brody rubbed his face wearily, his hand rasping on the grey stubble silvering his chin. ‘Do you think she was alive when she went over?’

‘I doubt it. Fall victims almost always have what are called Colles’ fractures in their wrists, where they’ve put out their arms to stop themselves. There’s nothing like that here. Only one arm’s been broken, and it’s above the elbow, in the humerus. That suggests she was either dead or unconscious when she fell.’

He glanced out of the workshop’s window. It was still pitch black outside. ‘It’s too dark to see anything up there now. Soon as it’s light we’ll go up to the cliff top and take a look. In the meantime-’

He broke off as there was a sudden commotion outside. There was a yell, then something clattered to the floor as we heard the unmistakable sounds of a struggle. Brody jumped up and ran for the door, but it was flung open before he reached it. A blast of icy wind roared into the workshop as Fraser burst in, dragging someone with him.

‘Look who I found snooping at the window!’ he panted, thrusting the intruder ahead of him.

The figure stumbled into the centre of the workshop. Shocked and pale, the acne-scarred face of Kevin Kinross stared at us fearfully.

THE TEENAGER STOOD in the workshop, dripping water on the concrete. He was shivering, his eyes downcast, shoulders hunched in a posture of abject misery.

‘I’m only going to ask you once more,’ Fraser warned. ‘What were you doing out there?’

Kevin didn’t answer. I’d covered the body with the tarpaulin again, but not before he’d seen it lying on the floor when Fraser had dragged him inside. He’d immediately jerked his gaze away as though scalded.

Fraser glowered at him. This sort of policing was more his territory, an opportunity to assert his authority.

‘Look, son, you don’t cooperate, you’re going to be in a whole world of trouble. This is your last chance. This place is taped off, so what were you doing out there? Trying to listen in, is that it?’

Kinross’s son swallowed, as though he were about to speak, but no sound came out. Brody interrupted.

‘Can I have a word with him?’

He’d been silent so far, letting Fraser handle the questioning. But the sergeant’s bullying clearly wasn’t working. It was just intimidating the already cowed teenager still further.

Fraser flashed him an irritated look, but gave a terse nod. Brody went and fetched a stool from the table where Mary Tait and her mother had been earlier. He set it down next to Kevin.

‘Here, sit down.’

He perched himself on the corner of a workbench, his manner far more relaxed than Fraser’s confrontational interrogation. Kevin looked down at the stool uncertainly.

‘You can stand up if you’d rather,’ Brody told him. Kevin hesitated, then slowly lowered himself on to the stool. ‘So what have you got to tell us, Kevin?’