Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

Finally, some good news! Almost missed it, too. I’d no idea the note was there, it was stuffed so far down in my coat pocket. It’d have been a real sickener if I’d not found it in time. Although why he wants to meet me at midnight, and out at Bodach Runa, I don’t know. Man’s got a sense of the dramatic, I’ll give him that. Anyone else but him, I might have second thoughts, but I dare say he just wants to wait till his wife’s asleep. Either way, no way can I pass this up. I’ve been trying hard enough for an interview, and if Michael Strachan wants to keep it private, I’m not going to argue.

There was a sudden, exuberant laugh.

Glad I didn’t break my granny’s third-best bowl for nothing after all. God, I just hope he isn’t setting me up. Be a real anticlimax if he doesn’t show…

The recording finished. The only sound was the drumming of the rain on the car roof, and the mournful bluster of wind. Wordlessly, Brody played the last section again.

…if Michael Strachan wants to keep it private, I’m not going to argue…

Fraser was the first to find his voice. ‘Jesus Christ! She went to meet Strachan?’

‘You heard her.’ Brody spoke quietly. He sat very still, as though unwilling to move.

‘But…Christ, it doesn’t make any sense! Why would Strachan kill Maggie Cassidy? And the others? What about his wife! He can’t have attacked her himself?’

‘People do anything when they’re desperate,’ Brody said. He slowly shook his head. ‘I didn’t see this coming either, but Strachan makes more sense than Kinross. We thought Janice Donaldson might have been killed because she tried to blackmail a client, and who’d make the best target? A widowed ferry captain, or a wealthy married man who’s the pillar of his community?’

‘Aye, but…why would Strachan bother with a low-rent tart like Donaldson when he’s got a wife like that?’

Brody gave a weary shrug. ‘For some men it’s the sordidness that provides the kicks. As for the rest…The more someone has to lose, the harder they’ll try to keep it.’

I didn’t want to accept it, but it made an awful sort of sense. First Janice Donaldson, then Duncan had been killed as Strachan tried to cover his tracks. And even though Maggie’s persistence in trying to interview him was innocent, to a killer who wasn’t prepared to take any chances it would have appeared in a very different light.

‘He planted the note yesterday,’ I said, slowly. ‘While I was out there. He left Grace and Maggie with me while he went to clean her coat.’

Even the stalker that Grace thought she’d seen had no doubt been engineered by Strachan, a means of distracting her so he could slip a hastily written note into Maggie’s coat pocket. A note that was now probably lost on the moorland near the Mini, scattered with the rest of the contents of Maggie’s bag. I felt shock begin to give way to anger; outrage at the extent of Strachan’s crimes. His betrayal of everyone who’d trusted him.

Including me.

The Range Rover lurched as a gust of wind savaged it. The gale seemed to have grown worse while we’d listened to Maggie’s recordings.

‘So what do we do now?’ Fraser asked.

Moving with the deliberation of a crash victim, Brody slowly opened the glove compartment and put the dictaphone inside. He closed it again, pressing the door shut with a deliberate click.

‘Try the radio.’

Fraser tried first his own, then the car’s fixed set. ‘Still dead.’

Brody nodded, as though that was only what he’d expected. ‘We can’t afford to wait for the mainland team any more. We need to bring him in. Strachan’s going to be off this island the second the weather clears. There’s not only his own yacht, there’s a dozen or so other boats he could try for. We can’t watch them all.’

‘We don’t know for sure he’ll run,’ Fraser countered, but he didn’t sound as if he believed it himself.

‘He’s killed three people, including a police officer,’ Brody said implacably. ‘Maggie wasn’t even a threat, he just thought she was. He’s losing it, getting desperate. We give him the chance, he’ll be gone. Or kill somebody else. You think Wallace will thank you if that happens?’

Fraser gave a reluctant nod. ‘Aye. Aye, you’re right.’

Brody turned to me as the police sergeant started the car. Something seemed to have gone out of him after he’d heard the recordings, but I wasn’t sure if it was the revelation about Strachan’s being the murderer, or the father of Ellen’s child.

‘What about you, David? I can’t ask you to come with us, but I’d appreciate it.’ A corner of his mouth twitched in an attempted smile. ‘We need all the help we can get.’

I wasn’t sure how much help I’d be with only one good arm, but I nodded. I’d come this far. I wasn’t going to back out now.

Strachan had hurt enough people.

Both Strachan’s Saab and Grace’s Porsche SUV were parked outside the house. Fraser pulled up behind them-blocking them both in, I noticed. The wind clubbed at us as we climbed out of the Range Rover, as though eager for violence. The temperature had dropped, threatening to freeze the rain that was being flung wildly in all directions. Brody paused by the Saab, bending to examine its tyres. He looked at me to make sure I’d seen as well.

They were thickly caked with mud.

He stood back, letting Fraser take the lead as we approached the house. It towered above us, its granite walls sheer and unforgiving. Seizing the iron knocker, the burly sergeant began pounding on the front door as if trying to break it down.

From inside we could hear the dog barking, then the door was opened. Grace looked out at us from behind a security chain. She smiled, relieved when she saw who it was.

‘Just a second.’

The door was closed again so she could slip off the chain. She opened it and stood back so we could enter.

‘Sorry about that. But after yesterday…’

The bruising on her cheek somehow only accentuated her beauty. But I noticed there were shadows under her eyes that hadn’t been there before the attack. An attack carried out by her own husband, to divert attention from himself.

I felt my outrage towards Strachan tighten into a hard knot of resolve.

‘Is your husband in?’ Fraser asked.

‘No, afraid not. Gone off on one of his jaunts again.’

‘His car’s still here.’

Grace looked startled by his brusqueness. ‘He doesn’t always take it. Why, is something wrong?’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘No, I’m sorry. Look, would you mind telling me what’s going on? Why do you want to speak to Michael?’

Fraser ignored the question. The dog continued to bark madly from the kitchen, claws scrabbling on the door.

‘Do you mind if we look round the house?’

‘But I’ve already told you he isn’t here.’

‘I’d still like to see for myself.’

Her eyes flashed at his tone, and for a moment I thought she would refuse. Then she gave an angry toss of her head.

‘I don’t like being called a liar. But if you must.’

‘I’ll look in here,’ Brody told Fraser. ‘You check the outbuildings.’

Grace watched them go, still angry but also bewildered. ‘David, why are they looking for Michael? What’s wrong?’

My hesitation must have been answer enough. For the first time she looked worried.

‘This isn’t something to do with what’s been happening, is it? The murders?’

‘I can’t say. I’m sorry,’ I said, hating the fact that her world was about to be shattered.

The dog was becoming hysterical at the sound of our voices. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Oscar, be quiet!’ Grace said, impatiently opening the kitchen door and pushing the golden retriever back in. ‘Come on! Outside!’