Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

Brody had been listening without comment. ‘What about the flash she saw before the car arrived?’

‘Mary Tait,’ I said.

He nodded, his face pulled into a mask of fatigue as he ran his hand over it. ‘Wandering around with that toy torch of hers. If it weren’t so bloody tragic it’d be funny. Maggie gets spooked by a harmless teenager, and opens her car door to a killer.’

‘Aye, but who the hell was it?’ Fraser said in frustration.

Brody turned his attention back to the dictaphone. ‘Let’s see if there’s anything else on here that might tell us.’ He gave a gallows smile. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.’

The wind rocked the car, flinging rain against it as though trying to force its way inside. Having played the last file first, Brody now went back to the start to play them in order. Maggie’s voice came from the speaker once again.

Well, this is turning out to be a better trip than I expected. Just wish my gran had access to the Internet, but the information age has passed her by, bless her. Have to get someone at the newsroom to check out spontaneous whatever-it’s-called. And do a search on David Hunter’s background while they’re about it. I’ll bet there’s something interesting there. There was a chuckle. Aye, and in his background as well. What’s an expert from London doing out here, and with Sergeant bloody Neil Fraser, of all people? Jesus, of all the bloody cops to run into. Still, good news for Ellen’s bar takings, I dare say…

I glanced at Fraser. His expression was thunderous.

Got a real bruise on my arm where he threw me out of the cottage. Serve him right if I really did file a complaint. Too shocked to do much when it happened, though. God, the state of that body! I’d love to get a better look. Perhaps I should think about taking another trip out there tonight. Fraser’s bound to be in the bar by then…

The back of Fraser’s neck was burning crimson. Brody kept his face impassive as he played the next file.

Maggie sounded bad-tempered and out of breath. Well, a right waste of time that was. And I still didn’t manage to get a proper look at the body. Last time I try to play at commandos. It was possible to hear a smile enter her voice. Still, gave me quite a rush, I have to admit. I’ve not been that scared since I wet myself playing hide-and-seek at junior school. God, when that young PC jumped out at me! What was his name? Duncan, I think they called him. Keen bugger, but at least he seemed human. Cute, too, come to think of it. Wonder if he’s single?

The next two entries were mainly concerned with her personal musings on family and work. Brody skipped through them until a familiar name jumped out.

Went out to the Strachans’ earlier, hoping to get an interview. Fat chance. David Hunter was there with his arm all strapped up. Learned the hard way about going out at night on Runa without a torch. She gave a snort. Bruce Cameron was there as well, sniffing around Strachan’s wife, as usual. Creepy sod. Can’t see why the Strachans put up with him. Grace is nice enough, even though she’s so good-looking I should hate her. But can’t make up my mind about her husband. All charm one minute, frost the next. Mind you, I wouldn’t say no…

The recording ended on her mischievous laugh.

The next entry was another personal one, with Maggie worrying about her career prospects. Brody skipped through to the next. I felt a jolt of recognition when I realized what it was about.

Bit of a turn-up for the books this afternoon. Took a shortcut to my gran’s down the alleyway behind the hotel, and who should come rushing out of the back door but Michael Strachan. Looked guilty as hell when I said hello. Don’t know who was more surprised, me or him. Never even occurred to me there might be anything between those two. I mean, Ellen’s attractive, but the man’s married to a goddess, for God’s sake! But there’s definitely something going on there. Perhaps I should sound out my gran, see if any tongues have been wagging…’

So that had been who Ellen’s anonymous visitor had been, when I’d discovered her crying in the kitchen. The date and time of the recording confirmed it. After everything else I wasn’t altogether surprised, but the knowledge gave me no satisfaction. I glanced uneasily at Brody. A furrow had appeared between his eyebrows, but he made no comment as he played the next entry.

Well, you live and learn. Here’s me thinking I’m the seasoned reporter, unearthing some big secret, and it turns out to be old news. Course, my gran’s sworn me to secrecy anyway, bless her. Sounds like practically everyone knows, but just keeps quiet about it. Can’t help but wonder if it would have stayed a secret if it had been anyone else. People here know which side their bread’s buttered on, I expect. She gave a cynical laugh. The thing is, it’s obvious once you look for it. The little girl’s got Ellen’s colouring, the same lovely red hair, but if you ignore that you can see that Strachan’s her father…

Oh, hell, I thought. Fraser gave a low whistle. ‘So Strachan’s been playing away from home? Some people are never satisfied.’

Brody looked startled, as though he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. But it made all too much sense to me. What was it Ellen had said about Anna’s father the night she’d treated my burns? Let’s just say there was never any future there.

Now I knew why.

The planes of Brody’s face had hardened. Ellen wasn’t his daughter, but she might as well have been. Tight-lipped, he stabbed at the machine with a blunt finger to play the next file.

It was immediately obvious from Maggie’s voice that something was wrong.

God, what a lousy bloody day. Seemed like a good idea, trying to get an interview with Strachan and his wife after she’d been attacked. Awful business, but they’re the most glamorous couple in the Western Isles, and this is a big story now. Thought I was being clever, dropping the soup all over the floor and batting my eyes at Strachan. Then Dr David bloody Hunter comes out with that Campbell’s crack. God, I just wanted the ground to swallow me up.

And as though that wasn’t bad enough, he tells me the young policeman’s been murdered. Duncan. What was his surname? That’s awful, I can’t remember. Some bloody journalist I am. He was really nice, helped me on the ferry with my bags. Even that night he caught me at the cottage. Doesn’t seem possible that someone on this island-Christ, someone I know!-must have killed him. I mean, what’s going on? I don’t even want to talk about it any more…

The file ended abruptly. Our breathing had misted the car windows, so that it seemed as though we were enclosed in a sea of fog. The world outside might have ceased to exist as Brody selected the next entry.

‘Two left.’

This time I thought there was something wrong with the recorder. The noise that came from its speaker was unintelligible at first, an indistinct babble of sound. It was only when I recognized Guthrie’s booming voice ordering a drink that I realized we were listening to a recording made in the bar before the meeting. Snatches of conversation came and went, then Brody’s voice came from the speaker. It sounded tinny and far away as the dictaphone struggled to pick up his speech from across the room.

We listened once more to Kinross’s vehement refusal to believe the killer was an islander, Maggie’s own question about the dead woman’s identity, and Cameron’s abortive attempt to assert himself. The recording became unintelligible again as the meeting broke up.

When it finished the tension in the steamed-up interior of the car seemed unbearable. Then Brody spoke.

‘Last one.’

This time Maggie’s voice sounded much more upbeat.