Simon Beckett - Written in Bone

‘The contractors had all finished work long before then,’ Brody mused. ‘Can’t be anyone who came out with them.’

Fraser had been listening with mounting irritation, not liking the way the former DI was taking over. ‘Aye, well, if it’s nobody local I dare say we’ll be able to find out who it is from the ferry’s passenger list. There can’t have been many visitors at this time of year.’

Brody smiled. ‘Did it strike you as the sort of service that keeps records? Besides, there are a dozen or so other boats that shuttle between Runa and Stornoway. No one keeps track of who comes and goes.’

He turned to me, dismissing the police sergeant. ‘So what now? I assume you’ll tell Wallace to send out a SOC team?’

Fraser butted in angrily before I could answer. ‘We’re not doing anything until Dr Hunter’s finished what he came to do. For all we know this was probably just some wino who got drunk and fell asleep too close to the campfire.’

Brody’s expression was unreadable. ‘So what was she doing on Runa in the middle of winter in the first place?’

Fraser shrugged. ‘Could have friends or relatives here. Or could be one of those new-age types, wanting to get back to nature or whatever it is they do. You get them on islands even more remote than this.’

Brody shone his torch on to the skull. It lay face down, tilted slightly to one side amongst the ashes, the back of its once smooth crown marred by a gaping hole.

‘You think she might have smashed in her own head as well?’

I intervened before tempers frayed still more. ‘Actually, the skull often shatters in a hot fire like this. It’s basically a sealed container of fluid and jelly, so when it’s heated it acts like a pressure cooker. You get a build-up of gas that eventually makes it explode.’

Fraser blanched. ‘Christ.’

‘So you still think it could be accidental?’ Brody asked, dubiously.

I hesitated, knowing how deceptive fire could be in its effects on the human body. Despite what I’d said, I was also aware of nagging doubts of my own. But Wallace would want facts, not hunches.

‘It’s possible,’ I hedged. ‘I know this looks bizarre, but that’s not the same as suspicious. I’ll need to examine it properly, but there’s nothing here that immediately screams murder. Other than the skull, there’s no obvious trauma. Or any signs of interference, like if the arms or legs had been tied.’

Brody rubbed his chin, frowning. ‘Wouldn’t the rope have burned away with everything else?’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference. Fire makes the muscles contract, so the limbs draw up into a sort of foetal position. It’s called the pugilistic posture, because it looks like a boxer’s crouch. But if the victim’s hands or feet are tied it prevents that from happening, even if the rope burns away.’

I played the torch over the body, letting them see how it had curled up on itself.

‘If she’d been restrained, her arms and legs would be straight, not drawn up like this. So we know she wasn’t tied up.’

Brody still wasn’t satisfied. ‘Fair enough. But I was a police officer for thirty years. I saw my share of fire deaths, accidental and otherwise, but never anything like this. Hard to see how this could happen without an accelerant’s being used.’

Under normal circumstances he was right. But the circumstances here were far from normal.

‘An accelerant like petrol couldn’t have done this,’ I told him. ‘It doesn’t burn hotly enough. And even if it did, to incinerate a body to anything like this extent would have taken so much that the whole cottage would have gone up. It wouldn’t have been a localized fire like this.’

‘So what could have caused it?’

I had an idea, but I didn’t want to speculate just yet. ‘That’s what I’m here to find out. In the meantime, let’s play safe anyway.’ I turned to Fraser. ‘Can you tape off a walkway from the doorway, and cordon off the body? I don’t want to disturb anything more in here than we have to.’

The sergeant jerked his head at Duncan. ‘Go on, go and get the incident tape. We don’t have all night.’

He made a point of saying ‘incident’ tape rather than ‘crime scene’, I noticed. Brody hadn’t missed it, either. His jaw muscles bunched but he said nothing as Duncan headed towards the door.

Before he reached it the room was suddenly lit up as headlights spilled through the small window. We heard the sound of a car engine being switched off.

‘Looks like we’ve got visitors,’ Brody commented.

Fraser was already motioning angrily to Duncan. ‘Get out there. Don’t let anyone in.’

But it was too late. As we hurried from the room a figure was already framed in the front doorway. It was the young woman I’d spoken to on the ferry, her too-big red coat a vivid shout of colour in the depressing sepia of the cottage.

‘Get her out,’ Fraser snarled to Duncan.

She lowered her torch, shielding her eyes as Fraser shone his in her face. ‘Now that’s no way to treat a member of the press, is it?’

Press? I thought, dismayed. She’d told me she was a novelist. Duncan had stopped, uncertain what to do. The young woman was already looking behind us, trying to see into the darkened room. Brody tried to close the door, but its rusted hinges seemed to have frozen. They gave an explosive creak, but refused to shut.

Maggie gave him a smile. ‘You must be Andrew Brody. Heard about you from my gran. I’m Maggie Cassidy, Lewis Gazette.’

Brody appeared unruffled by her sudden appearance. ‘What do you want, Maggie?’

‘To find out what’s going on, obviously. You don’t get police coming out to Runa every day.’ She grinned. ‘Just fluke I came to see my gran when I did. Great timing, eh?’

Now I knew why she’d rushed off the ferry so quickly: she’d gone to get a car. With only one road and the police Range Rover parked outside the cottage, she wouldn’t have had much difficulty finding us.

She turned to me. ‘Hello again, Dr Hunter. Not got a patient out here, surely?’

‘Never mind that,’ Fraser said, his face livid. ‘I want you out! Now! Before I throw you out on your arse.’

‘That’d be assault, Sergeant Fraser. You wouldn’t want me to file charges, now would you?’ She rummaged in her shoulder bag, emerging with a dictaphone. ‘Just a few comments, that’s all I’m asking. It’s not every day a body’s found on Runa. That is what’s in there, isn’t it? A body?’

Fraser had balled his fists. ‘Duncan, get her out.’

She brandished the dictaphone towards us. ‘Any idea who it is? Are there any suspicious circumstances?’

Duncan reached out to take hold of her arm. ‘Come on, miss…’ he said, apologetically.

Maggie gave a resigned shrug. ‘Ah, well. Can’t blame a girl for trying.’

She turned as if to go, but her bag slipped from her shoulder. Duncan automatically bent to pick it up, and as he did she suddenly ducked to one side, peering round him. Her eyes widened as she saw what was in the other room.

‘Oh, my God!’

‘Right, out!’ Fraser pushed past Duncan and grabbed her by the arm. He began herding her firmly towards the door.

‘Ow! You’re hurting!’ She raised the dictaphone. ‘I’m recording this. I’m being physically thrown out by Sergeant Neil Fraser…’

Fraser took no notice. ‘I see you hanging round here again, you’ll be under arrest. Clear?’

‘This is assault!’

But Fraser had already thrust her out of the cottage. He turned on Duncan.

‘Get her in her car and see she leaves. You think you can manage that?’

‘Sorry, I-’

‘Just do it!’

Duncan hurried out.

‘Great!’ Fraser fumed. ‘Just what we needed, a bloody hack!’