






Written in Bone



Simon Beckett


CHAPTER 1

Given the right temperature, everything burns. Wood. Clothing.

People.

At 250 Celsius, flesh will ignite. Skin blackens and splits. The subcutaneous fat starts to liquefy, like grease in a hot pan. Fuelled by it, the body starts to burn. Arms and legs catch first, acting as kindling to the greater mass of the torso. Tendons and muscle fibres contract, causing the burning limbs to move in an obscene parody of life. Last to go are the organs. Cocooned in moistness, they often remain even after the rest of the soft tissue has been consumed.

But bone is, quite literally, a different matter. Bone stubbornly resists all but the hottest fires. And even when the carbon has burned from it, leaving it as dead and lifeless as pumice, bone will still retain its shape. Now, though, it is an insubstantial ghost of its former self that will easily crumble; the final bastion of life transformed to ash. Its a process that, with few variations, follows the same inexorable pattern.

Yet not always.

The peace of the old cottage is broken by a footfall. The rotting door is pushed open, its rusted hinges protesting the disturbance. Daylight falls into the room, then is blocked out as a shadow fills the doorway. The man ducks his head to see into the darkened interior. The old dog with him hesitates, its senses already alerting it to whats within. Now the man, too, pauses, as though reluctant to cross the threshold. When the dog begins to venture inside he recalls it with a word.

Here.

Obediently, the dog returns, glancing nervously at the man with eyes grown opaque with cataracts. As well as the scent from inside the cottage, the animal can sense its owners nervousness.

Stay.

The dog watches, anxiously, as the man advances further into the derelict cottage. The odour of damp envelops him. And now another smell is making itself known. Slowly, almost reluctantly, the man crosses to a low door set in the back wall. It has swung shut. He puts out his hand to push it open, then pauses again. Behind him, the dog gives a low whine. He doesnt hear it. Gently, he eases open the door, as though fearful of what hes going to see.

But at first he sees nothing. The room is dim, the only light coming from a small window whose glass is cracked and cobwebbed with decades of dirt. In the mean light that bleeds through, the room retains its secrets for a few moments longer. Then, as the mans eyes adjust, details begin to emerge.

And he sees whats lying in the room.

He sucks in a breath as though punched, taking an involuntary step backwards.

Oh, Jesus Christ.

The words are soft, but seem unnaturally loud in the still confines of the cottage. The mans face has paled. He looks around, as if fearful hell find someone there with him. But hes alone.

He backs out of the doorway, as if reluctant to turn away from the object on the floor. Only when the warped door has creaked shut again, cutting off his view of the other room, does he turn his back.

His gait is unsteady as he goes outside. The old dog greets him, but is ignored as the man reaches inside his coat and fumbles out a pack of cigarettes. His hands are trembling, and it takes three attempts for him to ignite the lighter. He draws the smoke deep into his lungs, a nub of glowing ash chasing the paper back towards the filter. By the time the cigarette is finished his trembling has steadied.

He drops the stub on to the grass and treads it out before bending down to retrieve it. Then, slipping it into his coat pocket, he takes a deep breath and goes to make the phone call.


I was on my way to Glasgow airport when the call came. It was a foul February morning, brooding grey skies and a depressing mizzle driven by cold winds. The east coast was being lashed by storms, and although they hadnt worked their way this far inland yet, it didnt look promising.

I only hoped the worst would hold off long enough for me to catch my flight. I was on my way back to London, having spent the previous week first recovering then examining a body from a moorland grave out on the Grampian highlands. It had been a thankless task. The crystalline frost had turned the moors and peaks to iron, as breathtakingly cold as it was beautiful. The mutilated victim had been a young woman, who still hadnt been identified. It was the second such body Id been asked to recover from the Grampians in recent months. As yet it had been kept out of the press, but no one on the investigating team was in any doubt that the same killer was responsible for both. One who would kill again if he wasnt caught, and at the moment that wasnt looking likely. What made it worse was that, although the state of decomposition made it hard to be sure, I was convinced that the mutilations werent post-mortem.

So all in all, it had been a gruelling trip, and I was looking forward to going home. For the past eighteen months Id been living in London, based at the forensic science department of university. It was a temporary contract that gave me access to lab facilities until I found something more permanent, but in recent weeks Id spent far more time working out in the field than I had in my office. Id promised Jenny, my girlfriend, that wed be able to spend some time together after this. It wasnt the first time Id made that promise, but this time I was determined to keep it.

When my phone rang I thought it would be her, calling to make sure I was on my way home. But the number on the caller display wasnt one I recognised. When I answered, the voice at the other end was gruff and no-nonsense.

Sorry to disturb you, Dr Hunter. Im Detective Superintendent Graham Wallace, at Northern Force Headquarters in Inverness. Can you spare me a few minutes?

He had the tone of someone used to getting his own way, and a harsh accent that spoke of Glasgow tenements rather than the softer cadences of Inverness.

Just a few. Im on my way to catch a flight.

I know. Ive just spoken to DCI Allan Campbell at Grampian Police, and he told me youd finished up here. Im glad Ive caught you.

Campbell was the Senior Investigating Officer Id been working with on the body recovery. A decent man and a good officer, he found it difficult to separate himself from his work. That was something I could appreciate.

I glanced at the taxi driver, conscious of being overheard. What can I do for you?

Im looking for a favour. Wallace clipped the words out, as though each one was costing more than he liked to pay. Youll have seen about the train crash this morning?

I had. At my hotel before Id left Id watched the news reports of a West Coast commuter express that had derailed after hitting a van left on the line. From the TV footage it looked bad, the train carriages lying mangled and twisted by the track. No one knew yet how many people had been killed.

Weve got everyone we can up there now, but its chaos at the moment, Wallace continued. Theres a chance the derailment was deliberate, so were having to treat the whole area as a crime scene. Were calling in help from other forces, but right now were running at full stretch.

I thought then I could guess what was coming. According to the news reports, some of the carriages had caught fire, which would make victim identification both a priority and a forensic nightmare. But before that could even begin, the bodies would have to be recovered, and from what Id seen that was still some way off.

Im not sure how much help Id be at the moment, I told him.

It isnt the crash Im calling about, he said, impatiently. Weve got a report of a fire death out in the Western Isles. Small island called Runa, in the Outer Hebrides.

I hadnt heard of it, but that was hardly surprising. All I knew about the Outer Hebrides was that the islands were some of the most remote outposts of the UK, miles from anywhere off the northwest coast of Scotland.

Suspicious? I asked.

Doesnt sound like it. Might be suicide, but more likely to be a drunk or a vagrant who fell asleep too close to a campfire. Dog walker found it at an abandoned croft and called it in. Hes a retired DI, lives out there now. Ive worked with him. Used to be a good man.

I wondered if the used to be was significant. So what else did he say about it?

There was a beat before he replied. Just that its badly burned. But I dont want to pull resources away from a major incident unless I have to. A couple of the local boys from Stornoway are going out by ferry later today, and Id like you to go with them and take a look. See if you think its low priority, or if I need to send a SOC team. Id like an expert assessment before I press the panic button, and Allan Campbell says youre bloody good.

The attempt at flattery sat awkwardly with his bluff manner. Id noticed the hesitation when Id asked about the body, too, and wondered if there was something he wasnt telling me. But if Wallace thought there was anything suspicious about the death, hed be sending a Scene of Crime team, train crash or not.

The taxi was almost at the airport. I had every reason to say no. Id only just finished working on one major investigation, and this sounded fairly mundane: the sort of everyday tragedy that never makes it into the newspapers. I thought about having to tell Jenny that I wouldnt be back today after all. Given the amount of time Id spent away recently, I knew that wouldnt go down well.

Wallace must have sensed my reluctance. Should only take a couple of days, including getting out there. The thing is, it sounds as if there might be somethingodd about it.

I thought you said it wasnt suspicious?

It isnt. At least, nothing Ive heard makes me think it is. Look, I dont want to say too much, but thats why Id like an expert such as yourself to take a look.

I hate being manipulated. Even so, I couldnt deny my curiosity had been aroused.

I wouldnt ask if we werent hard pressed right now, Wallace added, turning the screw another notch.

Outside the rain-smeared taxi window I saw a road sign saying the airport was approaching. Ill have to get back to you, I said. Give me five minutes.

He didnt like that, but he could hardly object. I rang off, biting my lip for a moment before dialling a number I knew off by heart.

Jennys voice came on the line. I smiled at the sound of it, even though I wasnt looking forward to the conversation we were about to have.

David! I was just on my way to work. Where are you?

On my way to the airport.

I heard her laugh. Thank God for that. I thought you were phoning to say you werent coming back today after all.

I felt my stomach sink. Actually thats what Im calling about, I said. The thing is, Ive just been asked to go on another job.

Oh.

Its just for a day or two. In the Outer Hebrides. But theres no one else to do it right now. I stopped myself from explaining about the train crash, knowing it would sound as though I was making excuses.

There was a pause. I hated the way the laughter had gone from Jennys voice. So what did you say?

That Id let them know. I wanted to talk to you first.

Why? We both know youve already made up your mind.

I didnt want this to develop into an argument. I glanced at the cab driver again.

Look, Jenny

You mean you havent?

I hesitated.

Thats what I thought, she said.

Jenny

Ive got to go. Ill be late for work.

There was a click as she hung up. I sighed. The day wasnt getting off to a good start. So call her back and say youll turn it down. My finger poised over the phone.

Dont worry, pal. My wifes always giving me a hard time too, the taxi driver said over his shoulder. Shell get over it, eh?

I made a non-committal comment. In the distance I could see a plane taking off from the airport. The driver indicated for the turn as I keyed in the number. It was answered on the first ring.

How do I get there? I asked Wallace.



CHAPTER 2

I SPEND MOST of my working day with the dead. The long dead, sometimes. Im a forensic anthropologist. Its a field of expertise, and a fact of life, that most people prefer not to confront until they have to. For a while I was one of them. When my wife and daughter were killed in a car crash, working in a field that reminded me every day of what Id lost was too painful. So I became a GP, a doctor of medicine tending to the living rather than the dead.

But then events occurred that forced me to take up my original vocation once again. My calling, you might say. Part pathology, part archaeology, what I do goes beyond either. Because even after human biology has broken down, when what was once a life is reduced to corruption, decay and old, dry bones, the dead can still bear witness. They can still tell a story, if only you know how to interpret it. Thats what I do.

Coax the dead to tell their story.

Wallace had obviously anticipated that I wouldnt turn him down. A seat had already been booked for me on a flight to Lewis, the main island in the Outer Hebrides. The flight was delayed by almost an hour because of bad weather, so I sat in the departure lounge, trying not to watch as the London flight I should have been on was called, closed, and finally disappeared from the board.

It was a bumpy ride, whose only redeeming feature was that it was short. The day was half gone by the time I caught a taxi from the airport to the ferry terminal at Stornoway, a dour working town still largely dependent on the fishing industry. The dock where I was dropped off was misty and cold, pungent with the usual harbour fug of diesel and fish. Id been expecting to board one of the big car ferries that belched smoke into the rainy sky above the grey harbour, but the boat I found myself standing before looked more like a small fishing vessel than anything meant to carry passengers. Only the distinctive presence of a police Range Rover taking up most of the deck told me I was at the right place.

A boarding ramp led up to it, rocking queasily in the heavy swell. A uniformed police sergeant was standing on the concrete quayside at the bottom, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat. His cheeks and nose had the permanent flush of broken capillaries. Pouchy eyes regarded me balefully over a salt and pepper moustache as I wrestled with my bag and flight case.

You Dr Hunter? Im Sergeant Fraser, he informed me, gruffly. There was no first name, and his hands remained in his pockets. He spoke with a hard, almost nasal burr, very different to the mainland Scottish accents Id heard. Weve been waiting for you to turn up.

With that, he went back up the ramp, making no offer to help with my heavy luggage. I hefted the shoulder bag and aluminium flight case and started up after him. The ramp was wet and slippery, rising and falling unevenly with the slap of the waves. I struggled to keep my footing, trying to time my steps with the unsteady motion. Then someone was trotting down the ramp to help. A young uniformed constable grinned as he took the flight case from my hand.

Here, Ill take that.

I didnt argue. He went over to the Range Rover strapped to the deck and loaded the case into the back.

What have you got in here, a body? he asked, cheerfully.

I put my bag in with the aluminium case. No, it just feels like it. Thanks.

No problem. He couldnt have been much older than twenty. He had a friendly, open face, and his uniform looked neat even in the rain. Im PC McKinney, but just call me Duncan.

David Hunter.

His handshake was enthusiastic, as though to make up for Frasers lack. So you the forensic man?

Afraid so.

Great! I mean, not great, butwell, you know. Anyway, lets get out of the rain.

The passenger cabin was a glassed-in section below the wheelhouse. Outside it, Fraser was talking heatedly to a bearded man in oilskins. Behind him a tall teenage boy, face rippled with acne, looked on sullenly as Fraser jabbed the air with a finger.

waited long enough as it is, and now youre saying youre not ready to go?

The bearded man stared back impassively. Theres another passenger. Were not leaving till shes arrived.

Frasers already red face had darkened still further. This isnt a bloody pleasure cruise. Were already behind schedule, so get that ramp pulled up, OK?

The other mans eyes stared out above the dark beard, giving him the feral look of a wild animal. This is my boat, and I set the schedules. So if you want it pulling up, youll have to do it yourself.

Fraser drew himself up to assert himself when there was a clattering from the ramp. A diminutive young woman was hurrying up, struggling under the weight of a heavy-looking bag. She wore a bright red, down-filled coat that looked at least two sizes too big for her. A thick woollen hat was pulled down over her ears. With her sandy hair and pointed chin, it gave her an appealing, elfin appearance.

Hi, gents. Anyone care to give me a hand here? she panted.

Duncan had started forward but the bearded man beat him to it. He grinned at the new arrival, white teeth gleaming in the dark beard as he effortlessly took the bag from her.

About time you showed up, Maggie. We were about to go without you.

Good job you didnt, or my gran would have killed you. She stood with her hands on her hips, regarding them as she caught her breath. Hi, Kevin, hows it going? Your dad here still working you too hard?

The teenager blushed and looked down. Aye.

Aye, some things never change. Now youre eighteen, youll have to put in for a pay rise.

I saw a spark of interest kindle in her eyes as she looked over the police Range Rover.

So whats going on? Something happened I should know about?

The bearded man jerked his head dismissively towards us. Try asking them. They wont tell us anything about it.

The young womans grin faltered when she saw Fraser. Then she recovered, quickly mustering a smile that now held something like defiance.

Hello, Sergeant Fraser. This is a surprise. What takes you out to Runa?

Police business, Fraser said, flatly, and turned away. Whoever the young woman was, he wasnt pleased to see her.

The ferry captain and his son busied themselves now the late arrival was on board. There was a motorised whine as the ramp was winched up, and the wooden structure of the boat vibrated as the anchor chain was ratcheted into place. With a last, curious glance in my direction, the young woman went into the wheelhouse.

Then, with a belch of diesel, the ferry cast off and chugged out of the harbour.


The sea was rough, and what should have been a two-hour crossing took almost three. Once wed left the protection of Stornoway harbour, the Atlantic lived up to its reputation. It was a turbulent grey plain of angry waves, into which the ferry smacked head on. Each time it would rear up over the crests, then slide sickeningly down the far side before beginning the process again.

The only shelter was in the cramped passenger cabin, where diesel fumes and burning hot radiators made an uncomfortable combination. Fraser and Duncan sat for the most part in miserable silence. Id tried to draw out Fraser about the body, but he obviously knew little more than I did.

Just a meat job, he grunted, sweat beading his forehead. Some drunk fell asleep too close to his campfire, most likely.

Wallace told me a retired DI had found it. Who is he?

Thats Andrew Brody, Duncan piped up. My dad used to work with him on the mainland, before we moved to Stornoway. Said he was a damn good police officer.

Aye, was, Fraser said. I was asking about him before we came out. Too much of a loner for his own good, apparently. Didnt like being a team player. I heard he lost it completely after his wife and daughter ran off; thats why he retired.

Duncan looked embarrassed. It was stress, my dad said.

Fraser waved away the distinction. Same thing. Just so long as he remembers hes not a DI any more. He stiffened as the boat suddenly shuddered and yawed over another mountainous swell.

Christ, of all the bloody places to get sent to

I stayed in the cabin for a while, wondering what I was doing on a small ferry in the Atlantic instead of on my way home to Jenny. Wed been arguing more and more lately, and always over the same thing-my work. This wasnt going to help, and with nothing to occupy me I found myself fretting over whether Id made the right decision, and how I could make it up to her.

Eventually, I left the policemen and went on deck. The wind blustered against me, peppering my face with rain, but it was a relief after the sour, overheated cabin. I stood in the bow, welcoming the spray on my face. The island was visible now, a dark mass rising from the sea as the ferry chugged towards it. Staring at it, I felt the familiar tightening in my gut, part nerves, part anticipation of what was waiting there.

Whatever it was, I hoped it was worth it.

A flash of red caught the corner of my eye, and I turned to see the young woman unsteadily making her way across the deck towards me. A sudden dip sent her running the last few steps, and I put out my arm to steady her.

Thanks.

She gave me a gamine smile as she joined me at the rail. Its a rough one. Iain says its going to be fun trying to dock in this.

Her accent was a softer, more lilting version of Frasers. Iain?

Iain Kinross, the skipper. Hes an old neighbour, from Runa.

Is that where you live?

Not any more. My family moved to Stornoway, except for my gran. We take it in turns to visit her. So youre here with the police, then?

She asked the question with an innocence I didnt entirely trust. More or less.

But youre not one yourself? A policeman, I mean?

I shook my head.

She grinned. Thought not. Iain said he heard them call you Doctor. Is there someone injured out here, or what?

Not as far as I know.

I could see that only piqued her curiosity even more.

So whats a doctor doing coming out to Runa with the police?

Youd better ask Sergeant Fraser.

She grimaced. Aye, thatll happen.

You know each other?

Sort of. She didnt enlarge.

So what do you do on Stornoway? I asked.

OhIm a writer. Im working on a novel. Im Maggie Cassidy, by the way.

David Hunter.

She seemed to file the information away. We were silent for a while, watching the island gradually take form in the fading light: grey cliffs rising from the sea, topped with featureless green. A tall sea stack, a natural tower of black rock, thrust up from the waves in front of its cliffs.

Nearly there, Maggie said. The harbours just behind Stac Ross, that big rock thingy. Supposed to be the third highest in Scotland. Typical Runa. Its only claim to fame is being third best.

She stood up from the railing.

Well, nice meeting you, David. Perhaps see you again before you go.

She made her way back across the deck to rejoin Kinross and his son in the wheelhouse. I noticed that she seemed much steadier on her feet than she had when shed come out.

I turned my attention back to the island we were approaching. Beyond Stac Ross, the cliffs fell back into a small harbour. The light was already starting to fade, but I could see a scattering of houses spreading out around it, a small outpost of habitation in the oceans wilderness.

A sharp whistle came from behind me, carrying even above the wind and the sound of the engine. I turned to see Kinross gesturing angrily.

Get inside!

I didnt need to be told twice. The sea was becoming more violent as the waves were funnelled in between the tall cliffs that bracketed the harbour. Now there was no up and down roll, only a nauseating corkscrew motion as the swells jostled each other, sending sheets of spray across the deck.

Grabbing at handholds to steady myself, I made my way back to the overheated cabin. I waited with Duncan and a pale-faced Fraser as the ferry manoeuvred into the harbour, juddering against the impact of the waves. Through the cabins window I could see them smashing against the concrete jetty, throwing up white clouds of spume. It took three attempts to dock, the entire boat vibrating as the engine revved to hold us in place.

We left the cabin, walking with difficulty on the swaying deck. There was no cover from the wind, but the cold air was wonderfully fresh, with a clean saline tang. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead, while on the jetty men were scurrying about, securing ropes and rubber fenders. Despite the cliffs, the harbour was fully open to the sea, with only a single breakwater jutting out to blunt the force of the waves. A few fishing boats were anchored here, jerking against their moorings like dogs straining at the leash.

Low houses and cottages clung barnacle-like to the steep hillside that dropped down to the harbour. The landscape that spread out behind them was a treeless green vista, windswept and bleak. In the distance, the skyline was dominated by a brooding peak, its tip lost in the mist of low clouds.

The young woman whod introduced herself as Maggie Cassidy hurried off the ferry as soon as the ramp was lowered. I was a little surprised she didnt say goodbye, but didnt give it much thought. Behind me the Range Rovers engine started up, and I turned to climb into the back. I noticed that Fraser let the young PC drive. The boat was still see-sawing on the swells, and he eased it carefully down the undulating ramp.

A craggy-faced man was waiting for us on the jetty. He was mid-fifties, tall and powerfully built, with the indefinable look of a policeman. I didnt need to be told that this was the retired detective inspector who had found the body.

Fraser wound down the window. Andrew Brody?

The man gave a short nod. The wind ruffled his grey hair as he looked at the three of us inside the car. Behind him, the locals who had helped moor the boat watched curiously.

This all of you? he asked, his disapproval obvious.

Fraser gave a stiff nod. Aye, for now.

What about SOC? When are they coming out?

We dont know they are yet, Fraser retorted. That decisions not been taken.

Brodys mouth tightened at his tone. Retired or not, the ex-DI didnt like being talked down to by a mere police sergeant.

Then what about CID? Theyll have to attend, regardless.

A DCs going to follow on from Stornoway after Dr Hunter here has taken a look at the body. Hes a forensic expert.

Until that moment Brody hadnt paid me any attention. Now he looked at me with more interest. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, and I felt in that brief moment Id been assessed and judged.

Theres not much light left, he said, glancing at the darkening sky. Its only fifteen minutes drive, but itll be dark by the time we get out there. Perhaps youd like to ride with me, Dr Hunter. I can brief you on the way.

Fraser bridled. Im sure hes seen burned bodies before.

Brody regarded him for a moment, as though reminding himself he no longer held rank. Then he turned his steady gaze back to me.

Not like this.


His car was parked on the quayside, a newish-looking Volvo saloon. The inside was spotless. It smelled of air freshener and, more faintly, of cigarettes. An old border collie was on a blanket in the back, black muzzle greyed with age. It stood up excitedly when Brody got into the car.

Down, Bess, he said, mildly. The dog immediately settled. Brody frowned as he examined the dashboard controls for the heater. Sorry, not had it long. Still trying to work out where everything is.

The headlights of the Range Rover told us Fraser and Duncan were following as we drove out of the harbour. The days didnt last long this far north at this time of year, and dusk was already giving way to darkness. The street lights were on, illuminating a narrow main road barely deserving of the name. It ran up from the seafront through the village: a handful of small shops surrounded by a mix of old stone cottages and newer bungalows that had a temporary, prefabricated look.

Even from the little I could see of it, it was apparent that Runa wasnt the backwater Id expected. The ruins of a small, roofless church stood by the roadside. But most of the doors and windows in the houses we passed looked new, as though theyd recently been replaced. There was a small but modern school, and a little further out the timber structure of the community hall boasted a new extension that bore a sign saying Runa Medical Clinic.

Even the road itself had been resurfaced. It was only narrow, not much more than a single lane with semicircular passing places every hundred metres or so, but the smooth black tarmac would have put most mainland roads to shame. It climbed steeply through the village, then levelled out as we passed the last few houses. On a hilltop overlooking them, silhouetted against the darkening sky, was a tall and crooked standing stone, rising from the grass like an accusing finger.

Thats Bodach Runa, said Brody, seeing where I was looking. The Old Man of Runa. Legend is he went out there to watch for the return of his son, whod gone to sea. But the son never came back, and the old man stood there so long he turned to stone.

In this weather I can believe it.

He smiled, but it quickly died. After wanting me to ride with him, he now seemed uncomfortable, as though he was unsure where to start. I took out my mobile to check for messages.

Youll not get a signal out here, Brody warned. If you want to call out youll have to use either a landline or a police radio. And if we get a good blow even they dont always work.

I put my phone away. Id half hoped Jenny might have left a message, though I didnt really expect it. Id call her from a landline later and try to smooth things between us.

So what sort of forensic expert are you? Brody asked.

Im a forensic anthropologist.

I glanced at him to see if I needed to explain. Even police officers sometimes had trouble with what I did. But Brody seemed satisfied.

Good. At least well have one person out here who knows what hes doing. How much did Wallace tell you?

Just that it was a fire death, and that there was something odd about it. He wouldnt say what, except that it wasnt suspicious.

His jaw set in disapproval. Did he now?

Why, are you saying there is?

Im not saying anything, Brody said. You can make your own mind up when you see it. I just expected that Wallace would have sent a full team over, thats all.

I was starting to have a bad feeling about this. There were strict protocols to be followed if a death was suspicious, and normally I wouldnt get involved until a Scene of Crime team had processed the site. I hoped Wallace hadnt let his preoccupation with the train crash cloud his judgement.

But I also remembered what hed said about Brody. Used to be a good man. Retired police officers often found it hard being out of the loop. Brody wouldnt be the first to exaggerate in order to feel in the thick of things again. I didnt put much credence in Frasers gossip about his crack-up, but I wondered if similar doubts hadnt coloured Wallaces decision.

All he wants me to do is take a look, I said. If I see anything that suggests it might not be accidental, then Ill back off until SOC gets out here.

Thatll have to do, I suppose, Brody said grudgingly.

But he still wasnt happy. Whatever hed told Wallace, the superintendent clearly hadnt accepted it at face value, and for a one-time detective inspector that was bound to rankle.

How did you find the body? I asked.

The dog caught the scent when I was taking her out for a walk this morning. Its in an abandoned crofters cottage-a crofts a small farm, he added, for my benefit. You sometimes get kids going out there, but not usually in winter. And before you ask, no, I didnt touch anything. I might be retired, but I know better than that.

I didnt doubt it. Any idea who it might be?

Not a clue. Far as I know no one from the islands been reported missing. And theres less than two hundred people live out here, so itd be hard for anyone to disappear without its being noticed.

Do you get many visitors from the mainland or other islands?

Not many, but some. The odd naturalist or archaeologist. All the islands are peppered with ruins: stone age, bronze age and God knows what. There are supposed to be burial cairns and an old watchtower on the mountain. And theres been quite a lot of renovation work going on, so weve had builders and contractors coming out. Road resurfacing, houses being done up, that sort of thing. But not since the weather turned.

Who else knows about the body?

No one as far as Im aware. The only person I told was Wallace.

That explained the curious looks of the locals when the police had arrived. Their presence would be big news on an island as small as this. I doubted the reason we were here would remain a secret for long, but at least for the moment we didnt have to worry about sightseers.

He said it was badly burned.

Brody gave a grim smile. Oh, its badly burned all right. But I think youd better see for yourself.

He said it with both confidence and finality, closing the subject.

Wallace told me you used to work with him.

I did a stint at HQ in Inverness. You know it?

Ive only travelled through. Runa must have been quite a change after that.

Aye, but for the better. Its a good place to live. Quiet. Theres time and space to think.

Are you from here originally?

God, no. Im an incomer, he said. Wanted to get away from it all when I took early retirement. And it doesnt get much further away than this.

There was no disputing that. Once we had left the harbour village, there was hardly any sign of life. The only habitation wed passed was an imposing old house, set well back from the road. Other than that there had been only the occasional ruined bothy, and sheep. In the gathering twilight, Runa looked beautiful, but desolate.

It would be a lonely place to die.

There was a jolt as Brody turned off the road and bumped down an overgrown track. Ahead of us, the cars headlights picked out a crumbling old cottage. Wallace had said the body had been found at a croft, but there was little left to show this must once have been a working farm. Brody pulled up outside and turned off the engine.

Stay, Bess, he ordered the border collie.

We climbed out of the car as the Range Rover drew up behind us on the track. The cottage was a squat, single-storey building that was slowly being reclaimed by nature. Looming up behind it was the peak Id seen earlier, now only a black shape in the encroaching darkness.

Thats Beinn Tuiridh, Brody told me. Its what passes for a mountain out here. They say if you climb to the top on a clear day you can see all the way to Scotland.

Can you?

Never met anyone stupid enough to find out.

He took a Maglite from his glove compartment, and we waited outside the car for Fraser and Duncan to join us. I collected my own torch from the flight case in the Range Rover, then we made our way towards the cottage, torch beams bouncing and criss-crossing in the darkness. It was little more than a stone shack, its walls furred with moss and lichen. The doorway was so low I had to stoop to go inside.

I paused and shone my torch around. The place was obviously long abandoned, a derelict remnant of forgotten lives. Water dripped from a hole in the roof, and the room we were in was cramped, a low ceiling added to the claustrophobic feel. We were in what had once been a kitchen. There was an old range, a dusty cast-iron pan still standing on one of its cold plates. A rickety wooden table stood in the middle of the stone-flagged floor. A few cans and bottles were scattered on the floor, evidence that the place hadnt been entirely untenanted. It had the musty smell of age and damp, but nothing else. For a fire death there seemed remarkably little signs of any fire.

Through there, Brody said, shining his torch on another doorway.

As I approached it I caught the first faint, sooty whiff of combustion. But it was nothing like as strong as I would have expected. The door was broken, its rusted hinges protesting as it was pushed open. Watching my step, I went through into the other room. It was even more depressing than the ruined kitchen. The stink of fire was unmistakable now. The torchlight showed ancient, crumbling plaster on the bare walls, in one of which was the gaping mouth of a fireplace. But the smell didnt come from that. Its source was in the centre of the room, and as I shone my torch on it my breath caught in my throat.

There was precious little left of what had once been a living person. No wonder Brody had looked as he did when Id asked if it was badly burned. It was that all right. Even the white heat of a crematorium isnt enough to reduce a human body to ash, yet this fire had somehow done just that.

An untidy pile of greasy ash and cinders lay on the floor. The fire had consumed bone as readily as it had skin and tissue. Only the larger bones remained, emerging from the ash like dead branches from a snowdrift. Even these had been calcined, the carbon burned from them until they were grey and brittle. Presiding over them all like a broken eggshell was a skull, lying with its jawbone canted off to one side.

And yet, apart from the body, nothing else in the room had been damaged. The fire that had all but incinerated a human being, reduced its bones to the consistency of pumice, had somehow done so without burning anything else nearby. The stone flags below the remains were blackened, but a few feet away a tattered and filthy mattress lay untouched. Old leaves and twigs littered the ground, yet the flames had rejected even these.

But that wasnt the worst of it. What had shocked me to silence was the sight of two unburned feet and a single hand protruding from the ashes. The bones jutting from them were scorched to black sticks, yet they were completely unmarked.

Brody came and stood beside me.

Well, Dr Hunter? Still think theres nothing suspicious about it?



CHAPTER 3

THE WIND MOANED fitfully outside the old cottage, an eerie background music to the macabre scene before us. From the doorway, I was aware of Duncans indrawn breath as he and Fraser saw what was lying on the floor.

But I was getting over the shock now, already beginning to assess what I was seeing.

Is there any chance of getting some more light in here? I asked.

Weve got a portable floodlight in the car, Fraser said, tearing his eyes from the pile of bone and ashes. He was trying to sound blase but the attempt wasnt entirely convincing. Go and get it, Duncan. Duncan.

The young PC was still staring at what was left of the body. The blood had left his face.

You OK? I asked. My concern wasnt entirely for his sake. Id worked on more than one body recovery where a green police officer had vomited on the remains. It didnt make anyones job any easier.

He nodded. His colour was starting to come back. Aye. Sorry.

He hurried out. Brody regarded the remains.

I told Wallace it was a strange one, but I dont think he believed me. Dare say he thought Id gone soft after a few years off the job.

He was probably right, I thought, remembering the doubts Id harboured myself only a few minutes before. But I couldnt blame Wallace for being sceptical. What I was looking at was freakish enough to flout all apparent logic. If I hadnt seen it for myself I might have thought the report was exaggerated.

The body-what was left of it-was lying face down. Without going any closer, I played my torch on the unburned limbs. The feet were intact from just above the ankle, and what made the sight even more disturbing was that both were still wearing trainers. I moved the torch beam higher, until it shone on the hand. It was the right one, and could have belonged to either a small man or a large woman. There were no rings, and the fingernails were unvarnished and bitten. The radius and ulna protruded from the exposed tissue of the wrist, their bone burned a dark amber close to the flesh and quickly becoming blackened and crazed with heat fractures after that. Just before where they should have joined the elbow, both had burned right through.

It was the same with the feet. The charred shafts of the tibia and fibula emerged from each as if the flames had eaten away everything up to this point, then came to an abrupt halt where the fire had burned them away halfway up the shin.

But other than that the surviving limbs showed little evidence of the fire that had destroyed the rest of the body. The main damage was caused by rodents or other small animals gnawing at the flesh and unburned bone. What soft tissue remained was starting to decompose normally, a marbling effect evident beneath the darkened skin. There was virtually no insect activity-often a vital indicator of how long decomposition has been under way. But given the cold, wintry conditions that was only what Id expect. Flies need heat and light.

I shone the torch around the room. The remains of a fire lay in the hearth, and at some point a smaller one had been lit on the flagged floor. It was a good six feet from where the body lay, but that didnt signify anything. Unless they were unconscious, no one remained still when they caught fire.

I turned the torch beam on to the ceiling. Directly above the body the cracked plaster was smoke-blackened, but not burned. An oily, brownish deposit coated it. The same fatty residue was also on the floor around the remains.

Whats all that brown stuff? Fraser asked.

Its fat. From the body, as it burned.

He grimaced. Bit like you get with a chip-pan fire, eh?

Something like that.

Duncan had returned with the floodlight. He stared wide-eyed at the skeletal remains as he set it on the floor.

Ive read about this sort of thing, he blurted. He immediately looked embarrassed as we all stared at him. Where people burst into flames for no reason, I mean. Without burning anything else around them.

Stop talking rubbish, Fraser snapped.

Its all right, I said, turning to Duncan. Youre talking about spontaneous combustion.

He nodded eagerly. Aye, thats it!

Id been expecting this ever since Id seen the remains. Spontaneous human combustion was generally thought of in the same terms as yeti and UFOs: a paranormal phenomenon for which there was no real explanation. Yet there were well-documented cases where individuals had been found incinerated in a room otherwise untouched by fire, often with hands or lower legs partially intact amongst the ashes. A whole range of theories had been put forward to explain it, from demonic possession to microwaves. But the popular consensus was that, whatever its cause, it had to be something inexplicable to known science.

I didnt believe it for a moment.

Fraser was scowling at Duncan. What the hell do you know about it?

Duncan gave me a sheepish glance. Ive seen photographs. There was one woman who was burned up, just like this. All that was left was one of her legs, with the shoe still on. They call her the cinder woman.

Her name was Mary Reeser, I told him. She was an elderly widow in Florida back in the 1950s. There was almost nothing left of her except for one leg from the shin down, and the foot still had a slipper on it. The armchair she was sitting on was destroyed, and a nearby table and lamp, but nothing else in the room was damaged. Is that the one?

Duncan looked taken aback. Aye. And Ive read about others.

They crop up now and again, I agreed. But people dont just burst into flames for no reason. And whatever happened to this woman, there was nothing supernatural or paranormal about it.

Brody had been watching us during the exchange, listening without joining in. Now he spoke up.

How do you know its a woman?

Retired or not, Brody didnt miss much. Because of the skeleton. I shone the torch on to what was left of the pelvis, obscured by ash but still visible. Even from whats left, the hipbones obviously too wide for a mans. And the head of the humerus  thats the ball where the upper armbone fits into the shoulder  is too small. Whoever this was, she was big-boned but definitely female.

Like I said, I cant see it being anyone local, he said. Im sure wed have noticed if anyone had gone missing. Any idea how long the body might have been here?

It was a good question. While some things can be gleaned from even the most badly burned remains, an accurate time since death isnt usually one of them. For that you need to trace the extent of decomposition in muscle proteins, amino and volatile fatty acids, all of which are normally destroyed by fire. But the freakish condition of this body meant there was enough soft tissue to run tests that werent possible for most fire deaths. That would have to wait till I was back in a lab, but in the meantime I could make an educated guess.

The cold weather will have slowed the rate of decay, I told him. But the feet and hand have started to decompose, so death cant have been too recent. Assuming the bodys been here all the time and not moved from somewhere else-and given the way the flagstones underneath it are scorched Id say thats likely-Id guess were looking at around four or five weeks.

The contractors had all finished work long before then, Brody mused. Cant 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 its nobody local I dare say well be able to find out who it is from the ferrys passenger list. There cant 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 youll tell Wallace to send out a SOC team?

Fraser butted in angrily before I could answer. Were not doing anything until Dr Hunters 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.

Brodys 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. Its basically a sealed container of fluid and jelly, so when its 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 Id said, I was also aware of nagging doubts of my own. But Wallace would want facts, not hunches.

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

Brody rubbed his chin, frowning. Wouldnt the rope have burned away with everything else?

It wouldnt make any difference. Fire makes the muscles contract, so the limbs draw up into a sort of foetal position. Its called the pugilistic posture, because it looks like a boxers crouch. But if the victims 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 shed been restrained, her arms and legs would be straight, not drawn up like this. So we know she wasnt tied up.

Brody still wasnt 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 accelerants being used.

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

An accelerant like petrol couldnt have done this, I told him. It doesnt 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 wouldnt have been a localized fire like this.

So what could have caused it?

I had an idea, but I didnt want to speculate just yet. Thats what Im here to find out. In the meantime, lets play safe anyway. I turned to Fraser. Can you tape off a walkway from the doorway, and cordon off the body? I dont 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 dont have all night.

He made a point of saying incident tape rather than crime scene, I noticed. Brody hadnt 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 weve got visitors, Brody commented.

Fraser was already motioning angrily to Duncan. Get out there. Dont 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 Id 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 thats no way to treat a member of the press, is it?

Press? I thought, dismayed. Shed 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. Im Maggie Cassidy, Lewis Gazette.

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

To find out whats going on, obviously. You dont 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 shed rushed off the ferry so quickly: shed gone to get a car. With only one road and the police Range Rover parked outside the cottage, she wouldnt 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.

Thatd be assault, Sergeant Fraser. You wouldnt want me to file charges, now would you? She rummaged in her shoulder bag, emerging with a dictaphone. Just a few comments, thats all Im asking. Its not every day a bodys found on Runa. That is whats in there, isnt 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. Cant 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! Youre hurting! She raised the dictaphone. Im recording this. Im being physically thrown out by Sergeant Neil Fraser

Fraser took no notice. I see you hanging round here again, youll 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!

She seemed to know you, Brody commented.

Fraser glared at him. Ill take your statement now, Mr Brody. The emphasis was deliberately insulting. After that well not be needing you any more.

Brody set his jaw, but that was the only sign of annoyance. What are you planning on using for a command post while youre here?

Fraser blinked suspiciously. What?

You cant leave this place unattended. Not now. If one of you wants to come back to town with me, Ive got a camper van you can use. Nothing fancy, but youll be hard pushed to find anything else on the island. His eyebrows went up. Unless you were planning on staying out here all night in the car?

The sergeants expression made it plain he hadnt thought that far ahead. Ill send Duncan with you to get it, he said gruffly.

There was humour in Brodys eyes as he gave me a nod. Pleasure meeting you, Dr Hunter. Good luck.

He and Fraser went out. When theyd gone, I stood in the silence of the small room, trying not to acknowledge the unease I felt now I was alone.

Dont be stupid. I went back into the room where the remains of the dead woman lay. As I started to plan what I had to do, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck begin to prickle. I quickly turned round, expecting to find that Duncan or Fraser had returned.

But, except for the shadows, the room was empty.



CHAPTER 4

I SAT IN the front of the Range Rover as Fraser drove back to the village, drowsy in the stifling heat from the vents and the rhythmic tick of the windscreen wipers. The headlights fastened hypnotically on the road ahead, but beyond their cone of brightness the outside world was reduced to darkness and rain-streaked glass.

Id done as much as I could for that night. After Brody took Duncan back to town to collect the camper van, Id used Frasers radio to brief Wallace while the sergeant taped off the cottage. The superintendent had sounded even more harried than he had that morning as I outlined what I knew so far.

So Brody wasnt exaggerating, Wallace said, sounding surprised. The connection buzzed, threatening to break up.

No. I took a deep breath. Look, youre not going to like this, but you might want to think about getting SOC out here.

Youre saying you think its murder? he asked, sharply.

No, just that I cant say for certain it isnt. Theres no way of knowing what might be hidden under the ashes, and I dont want to risk contaminating a crime scene.

But youve seen nothing so far to suggest thats what it is? he pressed. In fact, from what youve said, everything still points to the opposite.

Except my instincts, and I knew better than to offer them as a reason. Thats right, but-

So sending SOC would be purely a precaution at this stage.

I could already see what was coming. If you want to put it like that, yes.

He heard the annoyance in my tone and sighed. Under normal circumstances Id have a team out there with you first thing tomorrow. But right now this train crash takes priority. There are still people trapped, and the weathers hampering rescue efforts. And it looks as though the van that was left on the line was stolen and left there deliberately. So as well as everything else, Ive got to consider the possibility that this was a terrorist attack. At the moment I cant take SOCOs off that for something that in all likelihoods going to be an accidental death.

And if it isnt?

Then Ill get a team out to you straight away.

There was a pause. I could understand his reasoning, but that didnt mean I was happy about it.

All right. But if I find anything I dont like then Im backing off until SOC arrive, I said at last. And one more thing. While Im here Id like to try to work on getting a tentative ID. Can you send me details from the missing persons database of any young women who fit the dead womans basic profile? Race, size, age, that sort of thing.

Wallace said hed have the missing persons files emailed to me, then ended the call without ceremony. As I hung up I told myself Id done what I could. And he was probably right. Perhaps I was just being over-cautious.

There wasnt much more I could do that night. The battery-powered floodlight Fraser had brought was a poor substitute for the generator-fed lamps that would normally illuminate this sort of scene, so Id decided to wait for daylight to carry out any sort of real assessment. Putting my doubts to one side, I took my digital camera from the flight case and began photographing the remains.

There was something oppressive about the derelict cottage, with its sagging ceilings and crumbling walls. As I worked I tried to ignore the irrational unease I felt. It had nothing to do with the pitiful mound of bones and ash in the centre of the room. The dead hold no fear for me. Ive seen death in most of its forms, and I dont believe in ghosts. If the dead live on, its only in our minds and hearts.

At least, thats where mine were.

Yet there was something unnerving about being alone out there. I put it down to tiredness and the mournful circling of the wind; the way the floodlight created dark shadows in every corner. I told myself that the biggest danger was that the remains would be compromised by the cottages ancient roof. The whole thing looked unsafe, and with the weather getting worse I didnt want a sudden collapse to damage the fragile bones before Id had a chance to examine them.

Id just finished taking photographs when Duncan returned with Brodys camper van. It was actually like a small Winnebago, with separate, self-contained living quarters. Inside was relatively cramped, but as scrupulously clean as the ex-inspectors car had been.

Youll be fine. Nice and cosy in here, Fraser told Duncan, patting the side of the van. Somehow I wasnt surprised that it would be the young PC who would be staying here overnight. Fraser jerked his head towards the cottage. If she comes out to bother you, youve my permission to arrest her.

Aye, thanks a bunch, Duncan said, unhappily.

Fraser gave a wheezing chuckle. Promising to bring him out some supper, he had left Duncan trying to light the vans paraffin heater and offered me a lift back into town. Wed been driving for about ten minutes when I saw something standing out like a lighthouse in the darkness. It was the imposing house Id noticed on the way to the cottage, now lit up by spotlights.

Must be nice to have money to burn, Fraser commented, sourly.

Who lives there?

Guy called Strachan. Locals think the sun shines out of his arse, by all accounts. Came here a few years ago and started chucking money around. Fixed up the roads and houses, paid for a new school and medical clinic. Absolutely loaded. Got his own yacht, and his wifes supposed to be a stunner. He gave a derisive snort. Some people have all the luck.

I looked at the gaily lit windows, suspended in the darkness, and wondered briefly why life and luck should favour some, and victimize others. Then we rounded a bend in the road, and the house was lost from view.

We reached the village not long afterwards. It was spread out in the darkness ahead of us as the road dropped down towards the harbour, a smattering of bright yellow embers. Soon we were close enough to make out individual houses, their curtains drawn to shut out the winter night.

Fraser turned off the main road before it reached the harbour, cutting off back up a narrow side street. Standing by itself at the top was a tall old building on which was hung a neat sign that said Runa Hotel. It looked snug and welcoming, but after where Id spent the afternoon anything would be an improvement.

We pulled up outside. The rain had eased as I climbed out of the car. Shredded clouds streamed across an ink-black sky, giving glimpses of bright stars and a sickle moon that shone like a broken opal. The night was cold, but the rain-washed air carried a salty freshness. Even here it was so quiet I could hear the sound of the waves crashing on the seafront, invisible in the darkness.

I followed Fraser up the steps and through the double doors. An appealing scent of beeswax and freshly baked bread engulfed me as I found myself in a long, warmly lit hallway. The bare floorboards had been polished to the colour of cinnamon by generations of feet, and the walls and ceiling were clad in old pine panels, so that it was like walking into an old ship. An ancient grandfather clock tocked away steadily against one wall, next to a mahogany-framed mirror whose silver was mottled with age.

A young woman emerged through a swing door at the far end. She looked in her late twenties, tall and slim in jeans and a blue sweater that complemented her dark-red hair. A constellation of freckles dappled her nose and cheekbones, above which were striking sea-green eyes.

Feasgar Math. Good evening, she added for my benefit. I knew Gaelic was still spoken on some Hebridean islands, but Id only ever heard it used in toasts before. I presume you must be Sergeant Fraser and Dr Hunter?

Aye, Fraser answered, but his attention was on the bar visible through an open doorway. An inviting murmur of voices and laughter filtered from inside.

Im Ellen McLeod. I wasnt sure what time youd be here, but your rooms are ready. Have you eaten?

Fraser reluctantly tore his eyes away from the bar. Not yet. Something hot would be welcome when weve dumped our bags.

What about Duncan? I reminded him.

Oh. Right, Fraser said, without enthusiasm. Ive got a PC out on duty going to need feeding as well. Could you sort out a plate of something I can take out to him?

Of course.

Fraser was eyeing the bar again, hungrily. Look, you might as well see to Dr Hunter. Ill, erIll be waiting in here.

He was already heading for the bar. The broken capillaries in his cheeks and nose hadnt lied, I thought.

Hell be disappointed if hes wanting a drink. Theres only me here, Ellen said. She gave me a conspiratorial smile. Ill show you to your room.

The stairs creaked as they took our weight, but there was a reassuring solidity to them. The dark-red carpet was worn and faded, but as scrupulously clean as the rest of the house.

A flash of something white caught my eye as I followed Ellen along the first-floor landing. It came from the unlit floor above. I looked up the next flight of stairs and saw the pale face of a little girl watching me through the railings.

I felt my heart stutter.

Anna, Ive told you its past your bedtime, Ellen said, sternly. Go back to bed.

The little girl took this as an invitation to come down the stairs. As she emerged from the shadows in her nightgown the shock Id felt at seeing her was already fading. I could see now that the resemblance to my own daughter was only superficial. Alice had been older, and her hair had been blonde. Like her mothers. This little girl was only four or five, her hair the same dark red as the young womans.

I cant sleep, the little girl said, staring at me with open curiosity. Im scared of the wind.

Funny, youve never been bothered by it before, Ellen said, dryly. Go on, off to bed, young lady. Ill call in to see you after Ive shown Dr Hunter his room.

With a final look at me, the little girl did as she was told.

Sorry about that, Ellen said, continuing down the hallway. My daughters got what I thinks called a healthy curiosity.

I managed a smile. Glad to hear it. And the names David. How old is she? Five?

Four. Shes big for her age. There was a quiet note of pride in her voice. Do you have children?

I felt my face stiffen. No.

Are you married?

I used to be.

She pulled a face. Serves me right for asking. Divorced?

No. She died.

Ellens hand went to her mouth. Oh, Im sorry

Its all right.

But she was looking at me now with realization. It wasnt just your wife, was it? Thats why you looked so shocked when you saw Anna.

They were about the same age, thats all, I said, as neutrally as I could. I knew she meant well, but seeing her daughter had touched on a rawness that was usually covered over. I smiled. Anna looks a lovely little girl.

Ellen took the hint. You wouldnt say that if you saw her when she cant get her own way. She might be only young, but she can be a madam when the mood takes her.

And youve still got the teenage years to look forward to.

She laughed, a good clear sound that made her look not much more than a girl herself. I dont even want to think about that.

I wondered where the little girls father was. Ellen didnt wear a wedding ring, and from the way shed spoken earlier it sounded as if she was alone here with her daughter. Not that it was any of my business.

She opened a door at the far end of the hall. Here we are. Not very grand, Im afraid.

Its fine, I told her. And it was. The room was spartan, but clean and comfortable. A single brass bedstead was flanked by an old pine dresser on one side and a wardrobe on the other, its tartan counter-pane neatly turned down to reveal crisp white sheets.

The bathroom is at the end of the hall. Shared, but only between yourself and Sergeant Fraser. We dont get many guests at this time of year. There was resignation in the way she said it. Well, Ill leave you to sort yourself out. Just come down to the bar when youre ready for supper.

There was a telephone on the dresser, so at least Id be able to call Jenny. Is there anywhere I can log on to the Internet? Id like to check my emails.

If youve got a laptop you can use the phone line in here. Were not wireless yet, but theres a broadband connection.

Youve got broadband? I asked, surprised.

Did you think wed still be using smoke signals?

No, I just

She smiled at my discomfort. Its all right, I dont blame you. We can still lose power and phones if the weathers bad, so were not that sophisticated yet. But it works fine most of the time.

When shed gone I sat down heavily on the bed. Its springs made a metallic rustling as they took my weight. God. I was more tired than Id thought. The incident on the stairs had struck through the defences Id painstakingly built up after Kara and Alice had died. It had taken a long time to reach a state of truce with the cold fact that I was still alive, while my wife and daughter werent. Jenny had played a large part in that, and I was deeply thankful to have been given a second chance.

But every now and then the loss would still hit home with a force that took my breath away.

I rubbed my eyes, fatigue catching up with me. It had been a long day. And youve not finished yet.

I took my laptop from my bag and put it on the dresser. I picked up the phone to call Jenny as I waited for it to boot up. She should be back from work by now, at her flat in Clapham where we were unofficially living together. Unofficially because I still had my own flat in east London, although I hardly ever stayed there. When wed left Norfolk eighteen months ago, while Jenny was still recovering from an abduction that had nearly killed her, wed both felt it would be good for us to keep some degree of independence. For the most part it had worked out.

It was only recently that the first fault lines had begun to appear in our relationship.

I knew I was largely to blame. When Jenny and I had met Id been a GP. Technically, I still was, but the work I did now was very different. Not only did it often take me away from home, it was a painful reminder of a time-and an experience-she would rather forget.

It was a conflict I had no idea how to resolve. My work was as much a part of me as breathing, but I couldnt imagine losing Jenny. Yet I was beginning to think that before much longer Id have to choose between them.

The phone rang for a while before she answered. Hi, its me, I said.

Hi. There was a strained pause. So. How are the Outer Hebrides?

Cold and wet. How was your day?

Fine.

Jenny was a teacher. Positions were hard to come by in London, but shed found a part-time post at a nursery school which she enjoyed. She was good at her job, and good with children. I knew she wanted her own some day. That was something else I wasnt sure about.

I couldnt bear the stilted awkwardness between us. Listen, Im sorry about earlier.

It doesnt matter.

No, it does. I just wanted to explain-

Dont. Please, she added, less forcefully. Theres no point. Youre there now. I was just disappointed you wouldnt be coming back today.

Itll only be another day or two, I said, aware it was a feeble olive branch.

OK.

The silence stretched on. Id better go, I said after a while. Ill call you tomorrow night.

I heard her sigh. David

My stomach knotted. What?

There was a pause.

Nothing. Im just looking forward to seeing you, thats all.

I told her the same and reluctantly broke the connection. After Id hung up I stayed on the bed, wondering what it was shed been about to say. Whatever it was, I was far from sure I wanted to hear it.

Sighing, I connected my camera to the laptop and downloaded the photographs from the cottage. There were over a hundred shots of the remains, capturing them from every angle. I quickly browsed through them, making sure there was nothing Id overlooked. Bleached by the flash, the sight of the surviving hand and feet had lost none of its ability to shock. I spent longer studying the images of the broken skull. It looked like countless others Id seen in the aftermath of fire. An almost textbook-perfect case of a cranial blow-out.

So why did I feel I was missing something?

I stared at the screen so long my eyes began to hurt, without finding anything that rang any alarm bells. Finally, I accepted I wasnt going to. Wallace is probably right. Youre just being over-cautious.

I backed up the files on to a USB memory stick, then connected the laptop to the hotels Internet server so I could check my emails. The missing persons files Id asked Wallace to send hadnt arrived, so I replied to the messages that were most urgent, then lay on the bed and closed my eyes. I could easily have fallen asleep if my stomach hadnt rumbled noisily to remind me that, tired or not, I needed to eat.

I pushed myself off the bed and headed for the door. As I passed the window, I idly glanced out. My own reflection stared back at me from the dark, rain-flecked glass, but for a second I thought Id glimpsed something-someone-outside.

I went over and looked out. A lonely street lamp stood in the street below, a bright yellow smudge in the darkness. But except for that the night was empty.

Trick of the light, I told myself. Switching off the bedroom light, I went downstairs.



CHAPTER 5

THE BAR WAS little more than a snug into which a few tables had been squeezed. Like the hallway, it was clad in pine panels, so that the overall impression was of being inside a giant wooden box. Set against one wall was a fireplace made entirely of seashells. A peat block burned in its hearth, filling the air with a rich, spicy scent.

There were fewer than a dozen customers, but it was enough to make the place feel busy without being overcrowded. The voices were a curious blend of lilting Scots and the harsher consonants of Gaelic. I received a few curious looks as I went in. Word had obviously spread about what had been found at the old crofters cottage, no doubt thanks to Maggie Cassidy. But after the initial glances everyone went back to what they were doing. Two old men were playing dominoes by the window, the clack of the black rectangles a staccato counterpoint to the chink of glasses. Kinross, the bearded ferry captain, was talking at the bar to a huge man with a ponderous gut. A blowsy woman in her forties was with them, her raucous laugh and smokers voice carrying above the barroom hubbub.

All the tables were occupied. There was no sign of Fraser, so I guessed he had gone to take Duncans supper out to the camper van. I hesitated, feeling the usual strangers exclusion at walking into a closed gathering.

Dr Hunter. Brody was sitting at a table by the fire, hand raised to attract my attention. The old border collie was curled asleep on the floor at his feet. Wont you join me?

Thanks. I was glad to see a familiar face. I went over, easing my way past the domino players.

Can I get you a drink? He had a mug of tea on the table in front of him. I still hadnt eaten, but a drink would be welcome.

A whisky, thanks.

He went to the bar as I took the chair opposite him. Kinross gave him a nod as he made room. Cautiously respectful rather than friendly. There was no one serving, so Brody simply poured a measure of whisky into a glass, then chalked it up on a slate hanging by the bar.

Here you go. Fifteen-year-old Islay malt, he said, setting the glass in front of me with a small jug of water.

I looked at his tea. You dont drink yourself?

Not any more. He raised his mug. Slainte.

I added a little water to the malt. Cheers.

So did you get much done after Id left? he asked, then smiled ruefully. Sorry, shouldnt ask. Old habits and all that.

Not much to tell yet, anyway.

He nodded and changed the subject. How are they settling into the camper?

All right, I think. At least, Duncan is.

Brody smiled. Drew the short straw, did he? Ah well, hell stay in worse places before hes finished. That van stood me in good stead when I first retired. Not seen much use since I came out here, though.

Duncan was saying you used to work with his father.

His smile grew reflective. Aye. Small world, eh? We served in the Territorial Army together when we were both green PCs. Last time I saw Sandy his lad was still at school. He shook his head. Wheres the time go, eh? One minute youre chasing crooks and thinking about promotion, the next

He broke off, brightening as Ellen came over. Can I get you something to eat, Dr Hunter? she asked.

That sounds good. And its David.

David, she corrected herself, smiling. I hope Andrew heres not bothering you. You know what these ex-policemen are like.

Brody wagged a finger, mock-stern. Careful, thats slander.

Would a slice of home-made apple pie make amends?

He patted his stomach, regretfully. Tempting, but Id better not.

The sky wont fall if you treat yourself for once.

You can never be too careful.

Ellen laughed. Aye, Ill remember that next time you sneak sweets to Anna.

The big man who was with Kinross suddenly raised his voice. Another couple of drams here, Ellen.

In a minute, Sean.

Shall we help ourselves, then? Were dying of thirst.

It was the woman at the bar whod spoken. She was drunk, a condition I guessed from the look of her wasnt unusual. A few years ago she might have been attractive, but now her features were puffy and etched with bitterness.

The last time you helped yourself, Karen, you forgot to chalk it up, Ellen retorted. There was steel in her voice. Im having a conversation. Im sure you can survive for a few more minutes.

She turned back to us, and so missed the anger that clouded the womans face. Sorry about that. A few drinks and some people forget their manners. Now, I was asking you what you wanted to eat. Theres mutton stew, or I can make you a sandwich if youd rather.

Mutton stew sounds good. But I dont mind if you serve them first.

They can wait. Itll do them good.

Ellen Brody said, quietly.

She sighed, then gave him a tired smile. Aye, all right. I know.

He watched her go to the bar to serve them. Ellen can be a littlefiery, he said, but with affection. Causes friction sometimes, but the hotels the only watering hole on Runa, so everyone either abides by her rules or stays home. Shes a good cook, too. Did a college course on the mainland. I eat here most nights.

Even if Fraser hadnt mentioned on the ferry that Brody was estranged from his wife and daughter, I would have guessed that he lived on his own. There was something intrinsically solitary about him.

Does she run this place by herself?

Aye. Not easy, but between the bar takings and the occasional guest, she manages.

What happened to her husband?

His face closed down. There wasnt one. Annas father was someone she met on the mainland. She doesnt talk about it.

The way he said it made it clear that he wasnt going to either. He cleared his throat and nodded towards the group at the bar.

Anyway, let me tell you about some of Runas local colour. Kinross youll have met on the boat. Surly bugger, but hes had it rough. Wife died a couple of years ago, so now theres just him and his teenage lad. The loudmouth with the beer belly is Sean Guthrie. Used to be a fisherman but lost his boat to the bank. Hes got an old one hes trying to patch up, but he scrapes a living now doing odd jobs, and helping Kinross run the ferry sometimes. Harmless enough mostly, but keep clear of him when hes had too many.

He was interrupted by a raucous laugh from the woman.

Thats Karen Tait. Runs the general store, when shes sober and can be bothered. Got a sixteen-year-old daughter, Mary, whowell, she isnt what she should be. Youd think Karen would be at home with her, but shed rather prop up the bar in here every night.

His expression made it clear what he thought of that.

A blast of cold air swept into the bar as the outside door was opened. A moment later a golden retriever burst into the bar in a scrabble of claws.

Oscar! Oscar!

A man came in after it. Id have put him a year or two either side of forty, with the chiselled good looks of a latter-day Byron. His weatherproof coat was black and obviously expensive. Like its wearer, it looked out of place amongst the scuffed coats and oilskins favoured by the other islanders.

His entrance had silenced everyone in the room. Even the domino players had halted their game. The man casually snapped his fingers at the dog. It trotted back to him, wagging its tail.

Sorry about that, Ellen, he said with an easy confidence, the clipped vowels of South Africa evident in his voice. He shot straight in as soon as I opened the door.

Ellen looked unimpressed with both the newcomer and his apology. You should keep hold of him, then. This is a hotel, not a kennel.

I know. It wont happen again.

He looked contrite, but as she turned away and walked out I saw him flash a quick smile and wink at the drinkers at the bar. There were grins in reply. Whoever the newcomer was, he was popular.

Evening, everyone. Its a raw one out there tonight, he said, shrugging out of his coat.

There was a chorus of Feasgar Math and ayes. I had the impression he could have said it was a beautiful evening and they would just as readily have agreed with him. But the newcomer either didnt notice their deference, or accepted it as his due.

Will you take a drink, Mr Strachan? Kinross asked, with an awkward formality.

No, thank you, Iain. But Ill gladly buy a round myself. Help yourselves, and mark it up on my tab. He gave the woman at the bar a smile that made his eyes crinkle. Hello, Karen. Ive not seen you for a while. Are you and Mary keeping well?

She was more susceptible to his charm than Ellen had been. Her blush was visible even from where I sat.

Yes, thank you, she said, pleased to be singled out.

Only now did the newcomer turn towards where Brody and I were sitting. Evening, Andrew.

Brody gave a stiff nod in return. His expression was hard as granite. He shifted his legs to put them between his border collie bitch and the golden retriever, which was sniffing around her.

The newcomer swatted the retriever with his gloves. Leave her alone, Oscar, you hound.

The dog came away, wagging its tail. Its owner gave me a grin. For all his self-assurance, there was something engaging about him.

And you must be one of the visitors Ive been hearing about. Im Michael Strachan.

Id already guessed this must be who Fraser had told me about on the way back from the cottage: Runas unofficial laird, and the owner of the big house. He was younger than Id expected, somehow.

David Hunter, I said, shaking the offered hand. He had a dry, strong grip.

Can I buy you both a drink as well? he offered.

Not for me, thanks, I said.

Brody rose to his feet, his expression stony. He towered nearly a half-head over Strachan.

I was just leaving. Nice seeing you again, Dr Hunter. Come on, Bess.

The dog obediently trotted out after him. Strachan watched him go, mouth curved in a faint smile, before turning back to me. Mind if I join you?

He was already sliding into Brodys seat, casually tossing his gloves on to the table. In his black jeans and charcoal-grey sweater, sleeves pushed back to reveal tanned forearms and a Swiss Army watch, he looked as though hed be more at home in Soho than the Outer Hebrides.

The golden retriever flopped down beside him, as near to the crackling fire as it could get. Strachan reached down and scratched its ears, looking every bit as relaxed himself.

Are you a friend of Andrew Brodys? he asked.

We only met today.

He grinned. Im afraid he doesnt approve of me, as you probably noticed. Im sure he was a good policeman, but God, the mans dour!

I didnt say anything. Id been quite impressed by Brody so far. Strachan slouched easily in his chair, casually resting one foot on his knee.

I gather youre awhat is it? A forensic anthropologist? He smiled at my surprise. Youll find its hard to keep anything a secret on Runa. Especially when weve got a reporter whose grandmother lives on the island.

I thought back to how Maggie Cassidy had come over to talk to me on the ferry. Stumbling against me, pretending to be a novelist as shed pumped me for information.

And Id fallen for it.

Dont feel too bad, Strachan said, interpreting my expression. It isnt often we get this sort of excitement. Not that we want it, obviously. The last time a body was found here was when an old crofter tried to walk home in the dark after a few malts too many. Got lost and died of exposure. But this doesnt sound anything like that.

He paused, giving me a chance to comment. When I didnt he went on anyway.

What was it, some kind of accident?

Sorry, I cant really say.

Strachan gave an apologetic smile. No, of course. Youll have to excuse my curiosity. Its just that Ive got what you might call a vested interest in this place. Im responsible for a lot of redevelopment here. Its brought more people to the island than were used to-contractors and so on. Id hate to think Id imported big-town troubles as well.

He seemed genuinely concerned, but I wasnt going to let myself be drawn. You dont sound like a local, I said.

He grinned. The accents a bit of a giveaway, eh? My familys Scottish originally, but I grew up near Johannesburg. My wife and I moved to Runa about five years ago.

Its a long way from South Africa.

Strachan tousled his dogs ears. I suppose it is. But wed been travelling round a lot, so it was time to put down roots. I liked the remoteness of this place. Reminded me in some ways of where I grew up. Place was pretty depressed back then, of course. No local economy to speak of, population in decline. Another few years and it could have been another St Kilda.

Id heard of St Kilda, another Hebridean island that had been abandoned in the 1930s, and lain unoccupied ever since. Now it was a ghost-island, tenanted only by seabirds and researchers.

You seem to have helped turn it round, I said.

He looked embarrassed. Weve still got some way to go. And I dont want to make out its all down to me. But Runas our home now. Grace, my wife, helps out at the school, and we do what we can in other ways as well. Thats why I worry when I hear about something like this happening. Hello, whats up, Oscar?

The golden retriever was looking expectantly at the doorway. I hadnt heard anyone come into the hotel, but a moment later there was the sound of the front door opening. The dog gave an excited whine, its tail thumping against the floor.

I dont know how he does that, but he always knows, Strachan said, shaking his head.

Knows what? I wondered, and then a woman came into the bar. I didnt need to be told to know that she was Strachans wife. It wasnt just that she was beautiful, although she was certainly that. Her white Prada parka was flecked with rain, setting off thick, shoulder-length hair that was raven black. It framed a face whose skin was flawless, with a full mouth it was hard to take your eyes from.

But it was more than that. There was an energy to her, a sheer physical presence that seemed to draw all the light in the room. I remembered Frasers envious comment earlier: His wifes supposed to be a stunner.

He was right.

Shed had a tentative smile as she came into the bar, but when she saw Strachan it bloomed into something dazzling.

Caught you! So this is where you end up when you go out on business, is it?

She had the same faint South African accent as her husband. Strachan rose to give her a kiss.

Guilty. How did you know I was here?

I came to get some things from the store, but it was shut, she said, taking off her gloves. They were fur-lined black leather, unobtrusively expensive. On her left hand she wore a plain gold wedding band, and a diamond ring whose single stone danced with blue light. Next time you want to sneak a drink, dont leave your car outside.

Blame Oscar. He dragged me here.

Oscar, you bully, how could you? She fussed the dog, which had started to prance excitedly around her. All right, calm down.

She looked across at me, waiting for an introduction. Her brown eyes were so dark they were almost black.

This is David Hunter, Strachan said. David, this is my wife, Grace.

She smiled and held out her hand. Pleased to meet you, David.

As I took it I could smell her perfume, subtle and delicately spiced.

Davids a forensic expert. Hes come out with the police, Strachan explained.

God, what an awful business, she said, growing serious. I just hope its no one from here. I know that sounds selfish, butwell, you know what I mean.

I did. When it comes to ill fortune were all selfish at heart, offering up the same prayers: not me, not mine. Not yet.

Strachan had got to his feet. Well, nice meeting you, Dr Hunter. Perhaps Ill see you again before you leave.

Grace arched an ironic eyebrow. Dont I even get a drink now Im here?

Ill buy you a drink, Mrs Strachan.

The offer came from Guthrie, the man with the ponderous gut. I had the impression hed beaten Kinross and several others to the punch. Beside them, all but forgotten, Karen Taits blowsy face was pinched with jealousy.

Grace Strachan gave the big man a warm smile. Thank you, Sean, but I can see Michaels raring to go.

Sorry, darling, I thought you wanted to get back, Strachan apologized. I was planning to cook mussels for dinner. But if youre not hungry

Sounds like blackmail to me. The smile she gave him had become intimate.

He turned to me. If you get a chance before you leave, you should take a look at the burial cairns on the mountain. Theres a group of them, which is unusual. Neolithic. Theyre quite something.

Not everyones as morbid as you, darling. Grace shook her head in mock-exasperation. Michaels fond of archaeology. I think hed rather have old ruins than me, sometimes.

Its just an interest, Strachan said, growing self-conscious. Come on, Oscar, you lazy brute. Time to go.

He raised his hand in response to the respectful goodnights that accompanied them to the door. As they went out they almost bumped into Ellen coming the other way. She checked, almost spilling the steaming plate of stew she was carrying.

Sorry, our fault, Strachan said, his arm still round Graces waist.

Not at all. Ellen gave them both a polite smile. I thought I saw a flicker of something else on her face as she looked at the other woman, but it was gone before I could be sure. Evening, Mrs Strachan.

It seemed to me there was a reserve there, but Grace didnt appear to notice. Hello, Ellen. Did you like the painting Anna did at school the other day?

Its on the fridge door, with the rest of the gallery.

Shes got real promise. You should be proud of her.

I am.

Strachan moved towards the door. He seemed impatient to leave. Well, well let you get on. Night.

Ellens face was so devoid of emotion it might have been a mask as she set the plate in front of me. She acknowledged my thanks with a perfunctory smile, already turning away. As she went out I reflected that Brody wasnt the only person on Runa who didnt seem overly impressed by the islands golden couple.

Bitch!

The word seemed to ring in the quiet of the bar. Karen Taits mouth was pressed tight with bitterness as she glared at the door, but it wasnt clear which of the two women whod just left the insult was aimed at.

Kinross levelled a warning finger at her, eyes angry above the dark beard. Thats enough, Karen.

Well, she is. Stuck up-

Karen.

She subsided resentfully. Gradually, the ordinary sounds of the bar began to fill the silence. The clicking of the domino players pieces resumed, and the tension that seemed to have momentarily been present was dissipated.

I took a forkful of the mutton stew. Ellen was as good a cook as Brody had said. But as I ate, I suddenly felt someones eyes on me. I looked up, and saw Kinross staring at me from across the bar. He held my gaze for a moment, his expression coldly watchful, before he slowly turned away.


When I woke the hotel room was dark. The only light came from the window, where the street light outside lit the drawn curtains with a diffuse glow. There was an unnatural hush. The wind and rain seemed to have stopped, leaving not a whisper in their wake. The only sound was my own breathing, a steady rise and fall that could almost have been coming from someone else.

I dont know when I realized I wasnt alone. It was more a dawning awareness of another presence than a sudden shock. In the dim light from the window, I looked at the foot of my bed and saw someone sitting there.

Although all I could make out was a dark shape, somehow I knew it was a woman. She was looking at me, but for some reason I felt neither surprise nor fear. Only the weight of her mute expectation.

Kara?

But the hope had been nothing more than a waking reflex. Whoever this was, it wasnt my dead wife.

Who are you? I said, or thought I said. The words didnt seem to disturb the cold air of the room.

The figure didnt answer. Just continued its patient vigil, as though all the answers I would ever need were already laid out for me. I stared, trying to fathom either its features or its intent. But I could make out neither.

I jumped as a gust of wind shook the window. Startled, I looked round, then turned back, expecting the shadowy figure to be still at the foot of the bed. But even in the darkness I could see the room was empty. And always had been, I realized. Id been dreaming. A disturbingly realistic one, but a dream none the less.

For a long time after my wife and daughter had been killed, Id been no stranger to those.

Another gust shook the window in its frame, driving rain against the glass like handfuls of gravel. I heard what sounded like a cry from outside. It could have been an owl or some other night bird. Or something else. Wide awake now, I got out of bed and went to the window. The street lamp below was visibly shaking in the wind. I caught a flash of something pale flitting on the edge of its yellow corona, then it was gone.

Just something blown on the wind, I told myself, when it didnt reappear. But I continued to stare into the dark outside the window until the cold air sent me shivering back to bed.



CHAPTER 6

WHILE I WAS wondering what Id seen outside my bedroom window, out at the cottage Duncan wasnt happy. The wind had picked up, buffeting the camper van like a boat in a high sea. Hed already taken the precaution of putting the paraffin heater in a corner to stop it from tipping over. Its blue flame hissed only a few feet from where he sat wedged behind the campers small table. Still, even though the cabin was cramped, it was better than spending the night either in the Range Rover or huddled in the cottage doorway. Which was where Fraser would probably have put him, he reflected. No, it wasnt having to stay in the van that bothered him.

He just couldnt stop thinking about what lay in the cottage.

It was all well and good Fraser laughing, but he wasnt the one having to stay here. And Duncan had noticed the sergeant hadnt offered to linger after hed brought out his supper. No doubt in a hurry to get back to the bar, because judging by his breath hed already made a start on the whisky. Duncan had watched the Range Rovers lights disappear with a feeling hed not had since he was a kid.

Not that he was afraid of being out here. Not as such, anyway. He lived on an island, and once you were out of Stornoway town there were plenty of places on Lewis where there was no sign of a living soul. Hed just never had to stay out in the middle of nowhere by himself before.

Not with an incinerated corpse lying no more than twenty yards away.

Duncan couldnt get the image of those unburned limbs and baked bones out of his mind. However it had happened, theyd once been a person. A woman, according to Dr Hunter. That was what was so shocking about it, that someone whod once laughed and cried and all the rest could end up reduced to that. The thought was enough to give him the creeps.

Too much imagination, thats your trouble. Always had been. He wasnt sure if it would make him a better or worse police officer. It wasnt enough for him to note down the facts, he always had to get lost in what ifs. Couldnt help it, it was just the way his mind worked. Like what if the woman had been burned by something science didnt know about yet? What if she had been murdered?

What if the killer was still here on the island?

Aye, and what if you stopped trying to scare yourself? Duncan sighed and picked up the criminology textbook hed brought out with him. Fraser could laugh at that as well, but he intended to make detective some day. And if he was going to do something, he wanted to do it as well as he was able. Learn as much about it as possible, and if that meant making a few sacrifices, then so be it. Unlike some people he could mention, Duncan didnt mind hard work.

Tonight, though, he found it hard to concentrate. After a while he pushed the textbook away, restlessly. Stick the kettle on. At least you can make a cuppa. Duncan thought he would be sick of tea by the time hed finished here.

As he got up to fill the kettle at the tiny sink, there was a sudden quietening as the wind dropped, gathering itself for its next assault. In the brief lull Duncan heard another sound from outside. It was drowned out a second later as the gale struck the van again with renewed force, but he was sure he hadnt imagined it.

The sound of a car engine.

He looked out of the window, waiting for the dazzle of headlights that would announce the Range Rovers arrival. But the darkness outside remained unbroken.

Duncan thought for a moment. Even if the sound had come from a car passing on the road, its lights would have been visible. Which meant hed either imagined hearing an engine

Or someone had turned off their headlights to conceal their approach.

Bit of fresh air will do me good, anyway. He pulled on his coat, then picked up his heavy Maglite and climbed out of the camper van. He nearly switched on the torch, but at the last second decided against it. If there was anyone creeping around here, that would only warn them he was coming. He made his way slowly towards the cottage, depending on the fleeting breaks in the cloud cover to see where he was going. The Maglites weight was comforting as the black outline of the cottage loomed in front of him. At a foot long, the torch could also double as a substantial club. Not that hed need it, he told himself, and as he did so there was a flash of light from behind the cottage.

Duncan froze, heart thumping. He reached for his radio to call Fraser, then stopped. There was too much chance that the trespasser would hear him. He started forward again. He could see that the tape sealing the door hadnt been tampered with. Staying close to the wall, he made his way to the corner of the cottage.

He paused, listening. There was a scrape of something brushing against stone, then a swish of movement through the long grass. No two ways about it.

Someone was definitely there.

Duncan gripped the Maglite, tensing himself. Stay calm. He took a deep breath, then another. OK, get ready

Flinging himself round the corner, he turned the torch full on.

Police! Stay where you are!

There was a startled curse, then a figure was sprinting away. Duncan set off after it, the wet grass threatening to snag his legs. He hadnt gone far when the figure suddenly tripped and fell headlong. Seizing it by the shoulder, he pulled it over and shone the torch beam on its face.

Maggie Cassidy glared up at him, squinting against the bright light.

Get off me! O mo chreach, I think Ive broken my leg!

Duncan felt a mix of relief and anticlimax. And guilt. As he helped the reporter to her feet, he realized she barely reached his shoulder.

You frightened me to death, yelling like that! she grumbled. Youd just better hope my legs not broken, or Im suing.

What are you doing here? Duncan asked, trying not to sound defensive.

There was only a seconds pause. I thought Id come and see how you were getting on. Maggie gave him a smile. Cant be much fun being stuck out here in this.

So why were you looking through the cottage window?

There wasnt a light on in the camper van. I thought you might be in there.

Aye, course you did. He noticed her trying to slip something into her pocket. What have you got there?

Nothing.

But he was shining his torch on to it, revealing a mobile phone clasped in her hand.

Youll not have much luck calling anyone from here, he said. You werent planning on taking any pictures with that, now were you?

No, of course not

He held out his hand.

Look, I wasnt able to get anything, all right? she protested.

Then you wont mind showing me, will you?

Maggies shoulders slumped. She let him see the screen.

They were rubbish anyway, she muttered, bringing up two blurred and bleached-out images.

As he would explain later, Duncan didnt think they would be any use. Even he couldnt make out what they were. But he made her delete them anyway.

And the rest.

Thats it, I told you.

He just looked at her. With an irritated sigh she showed him the other pictures in the memory.

Must have forgotten about that one, hey? he said, cheerfully, as another blurred shot of the cottage appeared.

Happy now? she demanded, deleting it. So now what are you going to do? Arrest me?

Duncan had been asking himself the same question. Offhand, he wasnt even sure shed broken any law. She hadnt actually crossed the incident tape.

Besides, he had to admit there was something he liked about her.

Will you give me your word you wont try this again? he asked, in what he hoped was an authoritative voice.

I wont, honest. Ouch. She winced as she put her weight on her leg. You all right? Duncan asked.

I can walk, no thanks to you. So can I go now?

He hesitated. Wheres your car?

She gestured back down the track. I left it back near the road.

You sure you can manage?

Like you care, she retorted. I can manage.

Grinning to himself, Duncan watched her small figure hobbling off down the track, torch beam bobbing in front of her. When he was satisfied shed gone, he started back to the camper van. As he went inside, he noticed a patch of mud in the doorway. He hadnt noticed it before. Bloody Fraser. Too much to ask for him to wipe his feet.

Thinking about Maggie Cassidy, he went to put the kettle on.

Maggies car was parked about fifty yards along the track. Her limp had vanished as soon as Duncan was out of sight, but she was still scowling when she reached the old Mini. It was her grandmothers: a tub of junk, but better than nothing.

She flopped down into the drivers seat and examined her mobile phone. Even though shed deleted the pictures herself, she still couldnt help making sure they were really gone. They were.

Bollocks, she said out loud.

Throwing the phone into her handbag in disgust, she took out her Dictaphone and starting recording.

Well, a right waste of time that was, she said into it. And I still didnt manage to get a proper look at the body. Last time I try to play at commandos.

The scowl faded, replaced by a reluctant smile.

Still, gave me quite a rush, I have to admit. Ive 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 hes single?

She was still smiling as she saved the recording and started the car. Its headlights split the darkness as she pulled away in a belch of exhaust. The unhealthy rattle of its engine quickly receded once she reached the road, and, after a final crunch of gears, the night settled back into silence.

For a heartbeat nothing stirred. Then a shadow detached itself from the ground next to where the Mini had stood and slowly headed off into the dark.



CHAPTER 7

A GRUDGING DAYLIGHT was only just seeping into the sky as I showered and shaved next morning. There had been no let-up in the rain overnight, and I hoped the remains were still all right. I knew theyd lain there for several weeks already, and there was no reason to suppose the cottages crumbling roof wouldnt survive a few more days, even in this weather. Even so, Id be relieved when they could be moved somewhere safer.

I hadnt slept well after waking from the dream. I felt grainy and tired as I accessed my emails to see if the missing persons files from Wallace had finally arrived. They had, five of them in all. There was no time to look at them now, so after transferring them on to my laptops hard drive I went down for breakfast.

The bar doubled as the dining room, and Id nearly finished eating by the time Fraser trudged in. He looked red-eyed and hungover, the smell of unmetabolized alcohol noticeable even across the table. After hed returned from the cottage the evening before, hed settled himself in the bar with the air of a man getting down to business. Id left him there when Id gone to bed, and judging from his appearance hed obviously made a night of it.

I tried not to smile as he gingerly sipped his tea. Ive some aspirin in my bag, I offered.

Im fine, he growled.

He queasily regarded the plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausage that Ellen set down in front of him. Then, taking up his knife and fork, he set about eating it with the determination of a marathon runner.

How long will you be? I asked. I was keen to make a start, conscious of how short the days were up here at this time of year.

Not long, he muttered, hand shaking as he forked up a spoonful of dripping egg.

Ellen was clearing my breakfast plate from the table. If you want, you can take my car. I wont be using it today.

Good idea, Fraser agreed quickly, through a full mouth. Theres things I need to do in the village anyway. Start asking round, see if anyone knows who the dead woman is.

It hadnt been made public yet that the body was a womans. I glanced at Ellen, and saw the slip hadnt gone unnoticed. She gave me a knowing look as he carried on eating, oblivious.

If youre ready Ill get you the car keys.

I followed her from the bar. Look, about what Sergeant Fraser said I began.

Dont worry, I wont say anything, she smiled as she went into the kitchen. You run a hotel, you learn to keep secrets.

The kitchen was a single-storey extension, much newer than the rest of the hotel. Heavy saucepans stood on an old gas cooker, blackened with use, while a tall pine dresser was laden with mismatched crockery. A small portable gas fire hissed next to a big wooden table, on which sat a childs colouring book and set of crayons. Ellen rooted in a drawer for the car keys, then led me out through a door into a small yard. Propane gas cylinders stood against the wall in a wire safety cage, looking like upright orange bombs. Parked in the lane just beyond them was an old VW Beetle.

Its not much to look at, but its reliable enough, she said, giving me the keys. And Ive made a flask of tea and sandwiches for you all. Id guess you wont want to be running back here to eat.

I thanked her as I took them. The VW grated and whined when I started it, but it rattled along happily enough. The weather hadnt improved since the day before: grey skies, wind and rain. But at least the village was more alive this morning. There were people in the street, and children were filing through the gate towards the small but new-looking school. I looked for Anna but couldnt make her out amongst the parkas and duffel coats. A man wearing a peaked woollen hat, emaciated-looking even in a thick coat, was ushering them inside. He paused to stare at me as I drove past. When I nodded to him he looked away without acknowledgement.

Then I was leaving the village, passing the hill where Bodach Runa, the ancient standing stone Brody had pointed out, stood watch. The island could never be described as picturesque, but it was starkly impressive: a landscape of hills and dark peat moors, dotted with sheep. The only sign of habitation was the big house I now knew belonged to the Strachans. Lights no longer burned in every window, but it was still by far the most imposing building Id seen on the island. Its turreted granite walls and mullioned windows had been weathered by the Atlantic winds, but there remained an air of permanence about them.

Brodys Volvo was already parked outside the cottage when I arrived. The ex-inspector and Duncan were in the camper van, a kettle hissing away on the small cooking ring. The cramped cabin smelled of stale bodies and paraffin fumes.

Morning, Brody said when I went in. He was sitting on a tattered padded bench that butted up to a fold-down table, his old dog asleep at his feet. Somehow, I wasnt surprised to find him here. He might have retired, but he hadnt struck me as the type who would simply be able to let go after calling this in. Sergeant Fraser not with you?

He had things to do in the village.

I saw disapproval register on his face, but he made no comment. Dont mind my coming out again, do you? he asked, as though reading my mind. I spoke to Wallace this morning. He said it was your call.

In that case its fine by me.

Now that Wallace knew that Brody hadnt been exaggerating when hed reported the body, I guessed he was probably glad the former DI was prepared to stick around. If it came to that, so was I. It might have ruffled Frasers feathers, but it didnt hurt to have someone with Brodys experience on hand.

Duncan yawned. He looked as though he hadnt slept well, and began unwrapping the bacon and egg sandwich that Ellen had sent with the enthusiasm of a child at Christmas.

Apparently we had a visitor last night, Brody told me, giving him a meaningful look.

Through mouthfuls of sandwich, Duncan described Maggie Cassidys attempt to take photographs of the remains. She didnt get any, he insisted. And I made her promise she wouldnt try again.

Brody raised an eyebrow sceptically, but said nothing. A thick criminology textbook sat on the table in front of Duncan, a bookmark tucked into the first few pages.

Been studying? I asked.

He blushed. Not really. Just something to read, you know.

Duncan was just saying he wants to apply for CID, Brody added.

Eventually, Duncan said quickly, still looking embarrassed. Ive not put enough time in yet.

Doesnt hurt to know what you want to do, Brody said. Ive been telling him about a couple of cases I worked with his father, but it doesnt seem to have put him off.

Duncan grinned. Leaving them to it, I opened the flight case Id brought with me. Inside was my field kit, the basics I always took with me on a job. A dictaphone to record notes, disposable overalls, shoes and masks, latex gloves, trowels, brushes, as well as two different-sized sieves. And plastic evidence bags. Lots and lots of evidence bags.

I was down to my last few pairs of disposable gloves and overalls, having used most of them on the Grampian job. The overalls were extra-large, so they would fit over my coat. I struggled into them and snapped protective overshoes over my boots, then pulled on the latex gloves over a pair of silk liners. Normally I carried chemical hand warmers for when I worked outside, but Id already used them all in the Grampians. For the time being Id just have to put up with cold fingers.

Duncan had been watching me get ready. Now he put down his sandwich.

Doesnt it bother you? Working with dead bodies, I mean?

Dont be impertinent, lad, Brody said, reprovingly.

The PC looked embarrassed. Sorry. I didnt mean

Thats all right, I reassured him. Someone needs to do it. As for the restYou get used to it.

But his words stayed with me. Doesnt it bother you? There was no easy answer. I was well aware of what many people would regard as the gruesome nature of my work, but it was what I did. What I was.

So what did that make me?

The question was still troubling me as I stepped out of the camper van and saw a sleek silver-grey Saab coming along the track towards the cottage. Drawn by the sound of its approach, Brody and Duncan came out as it pulled up next to Ellens VW.

What the hell is he doing here? Brody asked, irritably, as Strachan climbed out.

Morning, he said, as his golden retriever jumped out of the Saab after him.

Get that dog back in the car! Brody snapped.

The retriever was sniffing the air intently. Strachan reached to take hold of it, but before he could it suddenly caught a scent and bounded straight for the cottage.

Bloody hell! Brody swore, and raced to cut it off.

He was surprisingly fast for a man his size and age. He grabbed hold of the dogs collar as it tried to dodge past, almost yanking it off its feet as he pulled it back.

Strachan ran up, his face shocked. God, Im sorry!

Brody kept hold of the retrievers collar, suspending its front paws off the ground as it yelped and struggled.

What the hell do you think youre doing?

Ive said Im sorry. Ill take him now.

Strachan held out his hand but Brody didnt relinquish his hold. It was a big dog but the ex-inspector held it without effort, gripping its collar so tightly it was starting to choke as it wriggled to free itself.

I said Ill take him now, Strachan repeated, more firmly this time.

For a moment I thought Brody wasnt going to hand it over. Then he thrust the animal at Strachan. You shouldnt be out here. You or your bloody dog!

Strachan soothed his pet, keeping hold of its collar. I apologise. I didnt mean to let him out. I just wanted to see if I could do anything.

You can get back in your car and leave. This is police business, not yours!

But now Strachan was starting to grow angry himself. Funny, I thought youd retired.

Ive got clearance to be here. You havent.

Perhaps not, but that still doesnt give you any legal right to tell me what to do.

Brodys jaw muscles bunched with the effort of restraint. Constable McKinney. Why dont you escort this gentleman back to his car?

Duncan was looking worried, out of his depth as the two of them confronted each other.

No need. Im going, Strachan said. There were twin patches of colour on his cheeks, but he was more composed now. He gave me a shamefaced smile, studiously ignoring Brody.

Morning, Dr Hunter. Sorry about this.

Thats OK. Its just better not to have many people around, I said.

No, I appreciate that. But if there is anything I can do to help, then please let me know. Anything at all. He gave the dogs collar an affectionate shake. Come on, Oscar, you bad lad.

Brody watched him lead the dog back to the car, his expression stern and unforgiving.

Duncan began to stammer an apology. Sorry, I wasnt sure what I should

No need to apologise. Shouldnt have lost my temper like that. Brody took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, clearly still rattled.

The kettle had started to boil in the camper van. I waited till Duncan had gone back inside to make the tea, then turned to Brody.

You dont like Strachan much, do you?

Brody smiled. That obvious, is it? He took a cigarette from the packet and regarded it with distaste. Filthy habit. I gave up when I retired. But I seem to have started again.

What have you got against him?

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke as if he resented it. I dont approve of his sort. Privileged types who think because theyve got money they can do as they like. He didnt even earn it himself, he inherited it. His family made their fortune in gold mining out in South Africa during apartheid. You think they were so keen to share it with their workers over there?

You cant blame him for what his family did.

Perhaps not. But hes too cocksure of himself for my liking. You saw how he was in the bar last night, buying everyone drinks, turning his charm on for Karen Tait. A wife like that, and hes still got a roving eye.

I remembered what Fraser had told me about Brodys own wife leaving him, and wondered if his dislike of Strachan was coloured with envy. What about what hes done for the island? From what Ive heard, Runa was going the same way as St Kilda before he came here.

Brody said nothing for a moment. His border collie had come to look out of the camper-van door, back legs stiff with arthritis. He stroked its head.

Theres a story about St Kilda that always makes me wonder if what happened there wasnt for the best anyway. Before the islanders left, they killed their dogs. All of them. But only two were killed by lethal injections. The rest had stones tied round their necks and were thrown into the harbour. Their own dogs.

He shook his head.

Never could fathom why anyone would do something like that. But I expect they must have had a reason. I was a policeman long enough to know that whatever people do, theres always a reason. And one way or another its usually self-interest.

You cant think that Runa would have been better off abandoned?

No, I suppose not. Strachans made people here more comfortable, Ill grant him that. Better houses, better roads. You wont find anyone has a bad word to say about him. He shrugged. I just dont believe in something for nothing. Theres always a price to pay.

I wonder if he wasnt being overly cynical. Strachan was helping the island, not exploiting it. And Brody wouldnt be the first policeman Id met whod become so hardened by exposure to the darker face of humanity that he was unable to see there was also a brighter side.

Then again, he might just be a more astute judge of human character than I was. A man Id once mistakenly regarded as a friend had told me I was better at understanding the dead than the living, and perhaps hed been right. At least the dead dont lie or betray.

Only keep their secrets, unless you know how to decipher them.

I ought to get on, I said.


The cottage didnt look any more prepossessing by daylight. Darkness had at least hidden the full extent of its ruin and squalor. Its roof was swaybacked and gaping in places, the cracked windows thick with decades of grime. Behind it rose the imposing bulk of Beinn Tuiridh, now visible as a misshapen tumble of rocks smeared with dirty traces of snow.

A corridor of incident tape had been run from the front door into the room where the burned remains lay. The ceiling above them looked on the verge of collapse, although as yet no rain had leaked on to the ash and bones themselves. In the murky light that filtered through the window, they looked even more pathetic than I remembered.

I stood back and considered them, struck once again by the gruesome incongruity of the unburned hand and feet. Still, gruesome or not, the decomposing soft tissue was an unexpected bonus for a fire death. It would allow me to analyse the volatile fatty acids to establish a time since death, as well as providing fingerprints and DNA to help identify the unknown woman.

Since this wasnt a crime scene-as Wallace had been at pains to point out-there was no real reason for me to grid out the remains. That was usually done to record the position of any evidence that was found. But I did it anyway. The stone floor prevented me from hammering pegs into the ground, but I carried drilled wooden blocks for that purpose.

Arranging them in a square around the body, I placed a peg in each one. By the time Id finished stringing a grid of nylon cord between them my hands were numb and frozen in the thin latex gloves. Rubbing them to get some feeling back, I used a trowel and fine brush to begin clearing away the covering layer of talc-like ash.

Gradually, what was left of the carbonised skeleton was laid bare.

Our lives, and sometimes deaths, are stories written in bone. It provides a telltale record of injuries, neglect or abuse. But in order to find what was written here, first I had to be able to see it. It was a slow, painstaking business. Working on one square of the grid at a time, I carefully removed and sifted the ash, plotting the location of bone fragments and anything else I found on to graph paper before sealing everything in evidence bags. Time passed without my noticing. Thoughts of the cold, of Jenny, of everything, all vanished. The world narrowed down to the pile of ash and desiccated bones, so that I was startled when I heard someone clearing his throat behind me.

I looked up to see Duncan standing in the doorway. He held up a mug of steaming tea.

Thought you could use this.

I checked my watch and saw it was nearly three oclock. Id worked right through lunchtime without realizing. I straightened, wincing as my back muscles protested.

Thanks, I said, stripping off my gloves as I went over.

Sergeant Frasers just called in, wanting to know how you were getting on.

Fraser had put in a brief appearance earlier, but hadnt stayed long, claiming he needed to carry on interviewing the locals. After hed gone, Brody wondered aloud how many of his conversations would take place in the hotel bar. I thought it might be quite a few, though I didnt say as much.

Slowly, I told Duncan, gratefully letting the hot mug warm my frozen hands.

He lingered in the doorway, looking at the remains. How much longer do you reckon itll take?

Hard to say. Theres a lot of ash to sift through. But Ill probably be done by tomorrow morning at the latest.

So have you, you knowfound anything so far?

He seemed genuinely interested. By right I should report to Wallace first, but I didnt see any harm in telling Duncan some of what Id learned.

Well, I can confirm its definitely a woman, under thirty, white and about five feet six or seven.

He stared at the charred bones. Seriously?

I indicated the hips, now cleaned of the covering of ash. If the bodys female you can often tell the age from the pelvis. In a teenager or adolescent the pubic bone is almost corrugated. As a woman gets older it starts to flatten out and then erode. This one is pretty smooth, so she was no teenager, but not old enough for any real wear and tear. Which puts her in her late twenties, thirty at the most.

I pointed at one of the long thigh bones. It had survived the fire better than most of the smaller ones, but its surface was still blackened and covered with the fine lines of heat fractures.

You can use the length of the femur to get a rough idea of height, I said. As for race, a lot of the teeth have cracked or fallen out, but there are enough left to see they were more or less upright, rather than jutting forward. So she was white, not black. I cant completely rule out yet that she wasnt Asian, but

But theres not many Asians in the Hebrides, Duncan finished for me, looking pleased with himself.

Thats right. So were probably looking at a white woman in her twenties, about five-seven and big-boned. And I found metal buttons, along with what was left of a zip and bra hook, in the ash. So she wasnt naked.

Duncan nodded, bright enough to understand what that meant. The fact shed been dressed wasnt conclusive, but if shed been naked then the likelihood was that wed have been looking at sexual assault. And therefore murder.

Looks like it was definitely an accident, then, eh? She just got too close to the fire, something like that? He sounded faintly disappointed.

Thats how it looks.

Could she have done it to herself? Deliberately, I mean?

You mean suicide? I doubt it. Shed have used an accelerant, and as Ive said, an accelerant wouldnt have caused this. And thered be a container somewhere nearby, which there isnt.

Duncan rubbed the back of his neck. What about the, er, you know, the hand and feet? he asked, almost sheepishly.

Id been waiting for that. But the light coming through the dirty windowpane was already beginning to dim, and I still had a lot to do.

Ill give you a clue. I pointed at the greasy brown residue that clung to the smoke-blackened ceiling. Remember what I said about that?

Duncan looked up at it. That it was fat from when the body burned?

Thats right. Thats the key. See if you can work it out. I drained my mug and handed it back to him. Right, I need to get on.

But once hed gone I didnt start work right away. Now Id cleared away most of the covering layer of ash I could start to remove the surviving bones, bagging them for proper examination later. Even though Id been deliberately thorough, Id found nothing that pointed to a suspicious death. No visible knife marks on the bone, no other sign of skeletal trauma or injury. Id even found the hyoid, the delicate horseshoe-shaped bone that so often breaks during strangulation, buried in the ashes. It had been reduced almost to the fragility of powder, so delicate that the slightest nudge might break it, but it was still whole.

So why did I still feel I was missing something?

A wayward gust of wind from the holes in the roof chilled me as I stood looking down at the remains. I went to where the skull lay canted on the floor, crazed with heat fractures. The cranium is made up of separate plates that butt against each other like geological fault lines. The blow-out had left a hole nearly the size of a fist in one of them, on the occipital bone at the back of the crown. Small fragments of bone lay on the floor around it, blown there when the hot gases had made their explosive exit. That was another indication that the damage happened in the fire-if the hole had been caused by an impact the fragments would have been driven inwards, into the skull cavity.

Yet something about the skull bothered me, a sort of nagging neural itch. Almost involuntarily, I found myself starting to examine it again.

As though with malicious timing, the daylight had begun to fade with increasing speed. Last night Id avoided working at night because I didnt want to make mistakes. Now I felt I would be making an even bigger one if I didnt. I moved the floodlight, but it still wasnt bright enough for what I wanted. Taking out my torch, I set it on the floor so it shone on to the gaping skull cavity.

Light spilled eerily from the empty eye sockets as I turned my attention to the shards of bone that lay on the floor. Most were tiny, no bigger than my thumbnail. Id already recorded their positions on the graph paper but now, like a ghoulish jigsaw puzzle, I began trying to piece them back together.

It was something Id normally only attempt in a laboratory, where I had the right clamps, tweezers and magnifying lenses to help me. Here I didnt even have a table, and my progress was made even slower by my cold-numbed fingers. Gradually, though, I fitted the fragments together until I had a sizeable section.

And then I saw it.

A blow forceful enough to break the cranium will cause lightning-like fractures to radiate from the point of contact. Normally theyre hard to miss, and Id seen no evidence of them here. But Id been looking in the wrong place. The fragments had joined together to reveal a ragged spiders web of cracks. Distinctive, zigzag lines that could only have been caused by a heavy impact, strong enough to fracture the bone without actually breaking it.

The skull had burst in the fire, all right, but in an area where it had been already weakened.

I carefully laid the bone fragments back on the ground. Brody had been right all along. This was no accident.

The woman had been murdered.



CHAPTER 8

I BARELY NOTICED the wind and rain as I went back to the camper van. It was pitch dark outside, and the light from its window shone out like a beacon. There was a sour taste in my mouth. Someone had killed a young woman and then set fire to her body. Whether Wallace liked it or not, he hadnt any choice now but to escalate this to a full-scale murder inquiry.

I was angry with the superintendent, but far more so with myself. It was no consolation that fire deaths are notoriously difficult; I should have taken notice of my instincts. And there was also something else to consider. It would be a mistake to assume that, just because the dead woman wasnt local, her killer wasnt either. We didnt know what the victim had been doing on Runa, but according to Brody few outsiders came here at this time of year. So the likelihood was that shed come over either with, or to see, someone who lived here.

Which would mean her killer was still on the island.

That thought stayed with me as I hurried to the camper van. It was almost stiflingly warm after the icy cottage, the air heavy with the fumes from the paraffin heater.

Hows it going? Duncan asked, getting to his feet.

I need to talk to Wallace. Can I use your radio?

Uh, sure, he said, surprised. He handed it across. Ill er, Ill be outside, then.

The police radio was one of the new digital sets, which allowed calls to either landlines or mobiles. But Wallace didnt answer any of his numbers. Great. I left messages telling him to call me and started struggling out of my overalls.

Everything all right? Duncan asked, coming back in.

Fine. He would find out soon enough, but I wanted to speak to Wallace before I told anyone else. Im going back to the village.

There was no point my staying at the cottage any longer. I wasnt touching anything else till SOC got here, and I needed to calm down and think through the implications of what Id found. But as I started to go out I hesitated.

Look, keep an eye out, OK? Anything suspicious, anyone comes out here, call Fraser straight away.

He looked puzzled and a little offended. Aye, of course.

I went out to the car. It was raining heavily now, and the windows on Ellens old VW fogged as soon as I got in. Turning the heater on to clear them, I struggled with the unwieldy gear lever and bumped down the track to the road. The wipers screeched as they smeared rain across the windscreen. I sat forward in my seat, peering through the steamed glass. Hardly any cars seemed to use the road, but Id no desire to hit a sheep that had strayed on to the tarmac.

I was about halfway to the village when a pale shape suddenly darted into the road in front of me. There was just time to see the reflective eyes of a dog gleam in the headlights as I stamped on the brake, and then the car spun out of control. The VW slewed crazily, flinging me against the seatbelt as it lurched to a halt.

The impact took my breath away. I sat back, shaken, rubbing my chest where the seatbelt had bruised it. But I wasnt badly hurt, and the VWs engine was still running. The car had gone off the road and was angled down into a ditch, its headlights shining on to thick hummocks of grass rather than tarmac.

At least I hadnt hit the dog. Id seen it bounding off as I lost control. It had been a golden retriever, so unless there were two on the island it must have been Strachans, although God knew what it was doing out here.

The thought that it had all of the island to choose from, yet had managed to run out in front of me, didnt help my temper as I put the gears into reverse and tried to back up on to the road. The wheels churned and skidded, but the car didnt move. I shifted into first and tried to go forward, with the same result.

I switched off the engine and got out to take a look. The car didnt appear to be damaged, but the rear wheels were bogged down in muddy ruts. Putting up my hood, I went to the boot to try to find something to give the tyres purchase. But there was nothing. I got back in the car, the rain glistening like white wires in the headlights as I considered my options. There was no point going back to the camper van, so that left two choices. I could either stay with the car until someone came along, or walk the rest of the way to the village. If I stayed I could be waiting hours. And at least walking would keep me warm.

I swore as I realized that Id left my torch in my flight case back at the van. I turned on the overhead light and checked the glove compartment, hoping to find one there. But apart from some old maps and scraps of paper it was empty.

I turned off the headlights and waited for my eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. After a while I accepted they were as acclimatised as they were going to get. Night had fallen on Runa, and it was only going to get darker. Still, I felt reluctant to leave the car. Id just found out there was probably a killer on the island. It was an unsettling thought to find yourself stranded with on an isolated road.

But that was stupid. Even if he was still on Runa, the young womans killer would hardly be out here. Come on. No point waiting any longer.

I got out of the car. As I did, the moon appeared through a break in the clouds. It gave the moors and hills a stark but ethereal beauty, picking out the road with a silvery illumination. My spirits rose as I started walking. Not so bad after all. And just as I thought that, clouds shrouded the moon again, and the light was abruptly cut off.

The utter blackness shocked me. Id lived in the country, and thought I knew how dark a night could be. But this was of a different order to anything Id experienced before. Runa was a tiny island, miles from the mainland and with no towns or cities to cast even a distant glow. I looked up, hoping to see at least some evidence of lightening in the sky. There was nothing. The cloud bank extinguished any glimpse of stars or moon as effectively as a blanket.

I looked back, hoping to see some reassuring sign of the VW. But the darkness was absolute. Only the sound of my footsteps told me I was still on the road. Its only the dark. It wont hurt you. Provided I didnt stray from the road, there was nothing to worry about. Sooner or later it would lead me back to the village.

Even so, as I started walking again my confidence ebbed with every step. The rain was freezing and the wind whittled away at my body heat, making me virtually deaf as well as blind.

But not so deaf that I didnt hear a scuff on the road behind me.

I spun round, heart thumping. I couldnt see a thing except blackness. Probably just a sheep, or something blown by the wind. Or Strachans bloody dog. Turning my back on it, I started walking again. But all my senses were attuned to what might be out there with me, and I was still straining to hear it when I suddenly stepped out into nothing.

I pitched forward, arms windmilling before the ground smacked into me. I tumbled downhill, all sense of up or down lost. Rough grass scratched at my face, and then I jolted to a stop.

Dazed and winded, I lay in the muddy grass, rain bouncing on my upturned face. I knew what had happened. Id wandered from the centre of the road without realizing it and walked off the edge into a gully. Idiot! I started to push myself upright, and cried out as pain exploded in my left shoulder. When it had subsided to a dull ache, I gingerly moved my arm again. The pain lanced back, not quite as severe as before but bad enough to make me gasp out loud.

But at least there had been no sensation of grating bone. I hoped that meant nothing was broken. Swallowing back the bile that had risen in my throat, I felt my shoulder awkwardly with my other hand. Even through my coat I could tell that there was something wrong with the way the joint fitted together. There was a bulge where there shouldnt have been, and as my fingers traced its outline I felt a queasy wave of nausea.

Id dislocated my shoulder. Badly.

I told myself not to panic. Deep breaths. Take it one step at a time. Before I could use my arm again I knew the joint would have to be shot back into place. I reached round with my other hand as far as I could, probing with my fingers to feel where the ball of the humerus had popped out of its socket. I paused, gritting my teeth, and then pushed.

The pain made me almost black out. I yelled as starbursts wheeled across my vision. When they faded I was lying on my back once more, sweat and rain mingling on my face. I wanted to throw up. The spasm subsided but left me weak and shaking.

I didnt bother feeling the shoulder again. I knew it was still out of joint. It was throbbing relentlessly, a bone-deep ache that radiated from the base of my skull right down my arm. I sat up again, weakly. My head spun as I slowly got to my feet. There was no question of walking to the village now. I would have to try to find the car and sit it out, hoping that Fraser or Duncan would come looking for me sooner rather than later.

Climbing back up the slippery bank was hard work. I couldnt see a thing, and could only use one hand to help drag myself up the slope. I had to keep resting, and my shoulder was hurting more than ever now. I wondered if Id torn any ligaments, but put the thought out of my mind. I couldnt do anything about it if I had.

By the time the slope began to level out I was sweating and exhausted. I hauled myself up the last few feet and then straightened on legs that felt like water. Relief at having made it back to the top swamped out anything else. But then I realized something was wrong.

The road wasnt there.

My relief vanished. I took a few more cautious steps, each time hoping to feel tarmac under my boots. But there was only turf and boggy, uneven ground. Id obviously been more disorientated by my fall than Id thought. Instead of climbing back up to the road, Id clawed my way up another hummock of grass.

I forced myself to stay calm. There was only one thing to do. The road had to be opposite me. All I had to do was retrace my steps and then go up the other side.

I made my way down the muddy slope, slithering the last few feet on my backside. I groped around, trying to locate the slope Id fallen down. I couldnt find it. Come on, it has to be here. But the terrain at the bottom didnt conform to such neat logic. In the dark it was a maze of humps and gullies. Wandering blind as I was, there was no way of knowing where any of them led.

I knew I couldnt be far from the road, but I had no way of telling which way it was. I looked up, hoping for some glimpse of stars. But land and sky merged into one single, impenetrable darkness. The wind and rain gusted first one way then another, as though trying to confuse me further.

Id started shivering, from shock as well as cold. Even in my weatherproof outer clothes I knew I could sink into hypothermia if I didnt find shelter. Come on, think! Which way? I made my decision and started walking. Even if it was the wrong direction, the exertion would help keep me warm. Staying still now would kill me.

It was hard going. The ground was a treacherous mix of heather and grass, threatening to turn or break an ankle at every step. I stopped dead as something rustled nearby, straining to hear against the gusting of the wind and the rain on my hood. I couldnt see anything except darkness. My heart was racing. Its nothing. Just a sheep.

But even as I tried to convince myself, I was recalling the scuff Id heard behind me on the road. I knew I was being irrational, that even if there was someone else out here, they wouldnt be able to see me any more than I could see them. It didnt help. I was lost and injured, and the dark released all the primitive fears that daylight and the modern world have allowed us to bury.

They werent buried now.

I carried on walking. The turf underfoot became wetter and more broken as I blundered into a peat bog. My teeth were chattering as I splashed noisily across. Either it had grown colder or my core temperature was dropping despite my efforts. Both, probably.

My shoulder was on fire, lancing me with white heat at every step. Id lost track of time but I was tiring quickly, becoming careless with fatigue. Another noise came from off to one side, the sound of something moving through the grass. I spun towards it and went crashing down. Agony flared through my injured shoulder as it bore the full brunt of my weight.

I must have passed out. When I came round I was lying face down, the rain pattering hypnotically on my hood. I could taste the loamy stink of peat in my mouth. Still only semi-conscious, I found myself thinking about all the countless dead animals, insects and vegetation it was made from: millennia of rot compressed into a petrochemical sludge. I spat it out and tried to push myself up, but the effort was too much. Water had seeped inside my coat, chilling me to the bone. I was shuddering from the cold, my strength gone. I collapsed back into the mud. Of all the bloody stupid ways to die. It was so absurd it was almost funny. Im sorry, Jenny. Shed been mad enough just because I came out here. She was going to be furious when she found out Id let it kill me.

But the attempt at gallows humour failed miserably. Lying there, I felt anger as well as sadness. So thats it, is it? I goaded myself. Youre just going to give up?

It was then, when it could have gone either way, that I saw the light.

At first I thought I was imagining it. It was only a spark of yellow, dancing in the blackness ahead of me. But when I moved my head the light remained in the same place. I shut my eyes, opened them. The light was still there. I felt a surge of hope as I remembered Strachans house. That was closer than the village. Perhaps Id wandered in the right direction after all.

Part of me knew even then that the light was too high to be coming from the house, but I didnt care. It was something to aim for. Without even thinking about it, I crawled to my feet and began to stagger towards it.

The light hung above me, but how far away I couldnt tell. It didnt matter. The yellow glow was the only thing in the universe, drawing me towards it like a moth. It steadily grew larger. Now I could see that it wasnt constant, but flickered to some unheard rhythm. I was barely aware of the ground starting to rise towards it. It climbed still more, became steeper. I was using my one good arm to help pull me uphill, sometimes sinking to a crawl on my knees before stumbling upright again. But the light was closer. I fixed on it, shutting out everything else.

Then it was right in front of me. Not a car, not a house. Just a small, untended fire in front of a ruined stone hut. As disappointment started to filter through my daze, I began to take in what the firelight revealed. All around me were untidy mounds of rocks, and the sight of them stirred some dim connection. They werent natural formations, I realized.

They were burial cairns.

I could remember both Brody and Strachan mentioning them. And, remembering that, I knew I was even more lost than Id thought.

Id wandered all the way out to the mountain.

I swayed on my feet, the last of my reserves gone. As my vision swam, I became aware of movement in the mouth of the ruined hut. I stared, too numb and exhausted to move, as a hooded figure slowly emerged from inside. It stepped into the firelight, eyes reflecting the flames as they stared at me from beneath its hood.

Then the fire seemed to grow dark, and the night spun me off into darkness.



CHAPTER 9

THERE WAS NO wind. That was the first thought that came to me. No wind, no drumming of rain.

Just silence.

I opened my eyes. I was in a bed. Muted daylight filtered through pale curtains, revealing a large, white room. White walls, white ceiling, white sheets. My first thought was that it was a hospital, but then I realized most hospitals didnt run to duvets and double beds. Or en suite glass shower rooms, come to that. And the raffia bedside table looked as if it had come straight from the pages of an interiors magazine.

But just then the fact that I didnt know where I was didnt bother me. The bed was warm and soft. I lay there for a while, my mind running over the last events I could remember. They came back to me surprisingly easily. The cottage. Abandoning the car. Falling in the dark, then heading for the distant fire.

That was where it grew hazy. The memories of stumbling up the mountainside and finding myself at the ancient burial cairns, and of the figure that had emerged from the ruined hut, had the surreal quality of a dream. I had disjointed images of being carried along in pitch blackness, crying out as my shoulder was jolted.

My shoulder

I drew back the duvet, registering that I was naked but more concerned with the sling that strapped my left arm to my chest. A professional job, by the look of it. I cautiously flexed the shoulder and winced as bruised ligaments protested. It hurt like hell, but I could tell it was no longer dislocated. Someone must have put it back, although Id no memory of it. Which was odd, because having a dislocated shoulder shot back into joint isnt the sort of experience youre likely to forget.

I looked at my wrist and saw that my watch was missing. Id no idea what time it was, but it was daylight outside. I felt a growing sense of alarm. Christ, how long had I been out? Id still not told Wallace-or anyone-that we were dealing with a murder. And Id promised Jenny Id call her the night before. Shed be going frantic wondering what had happened to me.

I had to get back. I threw aside the duvet and was looking round for my clothes when the door opened and Grace Strachan came in.

She was even more striking than I remembered, dark hair tied back to reveal the perfect oval of her face, fitted black trousers and cream sweater revealing a figure that was slim but sensuous. When she saw me she smiled.

Hello, Dr Hunter. I was just coming to check if you were awake.

At least now I knew where I was. It was only when her eyes flicked down that I remembered that I was naked. I hurriedly covered myself with the duvet.

The dark eyes were amused. How are you feeling?

Confused. How did I get here?

Michael brought you back last night. He found you on the mountain. Or, rather, you found him.

So it had been Strachan whod rescued me. I remembered the figure emerging into the firelight. That was your husband I saw out there?

She gave a smile. One of his little hobbies, Im afraid. Im glad Im not the only one who thinks its odd. Still, good job for you he was.

I couldnt argue with that, but I was still worrying about how long Id been asleep. What time is it?

Nearly half past three.

The day was more than half gone. I cursed, silently. Can I use your phone? I need to let people know whats happened.

Already done. Michael called the hotel after he brought you back and spoke to Sergeant Fraser, I think it was. He told him youd had an accident but that you were more or less in one piece.

That was something, I supposed. But I still needed to get hold of Wallace. And Jenny, to let her know I was all right.

If she was still speaking to me.

Id still like to use the phone, if thats OK.

Of course. Ill let Michael know youre awake. He can bring it up with him. Grace arched an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. Ill tell him to bring your clothes, as well.

With that she went out. I lay in bed impatiently, chafed by the thought of the lost hours. But I didnt have to wait long before there was a rap on the door.

Michael Strachan came in, carrying my neatly washed and pressed clothes. My wallet, watch and useless mobile were stacked neatly on top of them. He also had a newspaper tucked under one arm, but he kept hold of that.

Grace said you might be needing these, he said, grinning as he set my things on a chair by the bed. He reached into his pocket and took out a cordless phone. And this, too.

I wanted to make the calls straight away, but restrained myself. If not for this man Id probably be dead. Thanks. And thank you for what you did last night.

Forget it. I was glad to help. Although I must admit you scared me half to death when you suddenly appeared like that.

It was mutual, I said, dryly. How did you get me back?

He shrugged. I managed to prop you upright most of the way down, but for the last leg Im afraid it was a firemans lift.

You carried me?

Only as far as the car. I dont always take it, but I was glad I had, believe me. He said it dismissively, as if carrying a grown man even a short distance was nothing. So hows the shoulder now?

I flexed it warily. It was still painful, but at least I could move it without passing out. Better than it was.

Bruce had the devil of a job popping it back. If not for him, wed probably have had you airlifted to a hospital. Or stuck you on Iain Kinrosss ferry, and I dont think youd have enjoyed a sea voyage in the state you were in.

Bruce?

Bruce Cameron. Hes the schoolteacher, but hes also a trained nurse. Looks after the medical clinic.

Sounds like a useful combination.

A look I couldnt quite read crossed his face. He has his moments. Youll meet him in a while yourself. Grace called him to say you were awake, so he offered to come out to see how you were. Oh, and your colleagues found Ellens car this morning and got it back on the road. It isnt damaged, youll be glad to hear. What happened? Swerve to miss a sheep?

Not a sheep, no. A golden retriever.

Strachans face fell. Oscar? Oh, Christ, youre joking! Id taken him out with me, but hed wandered off. God, Im really sorry.

Dont worry about it. Im just glad I didnt hit him. Curiosity temporarily got the better of my impatience. Look, dont think Im not grateful, butwhat the hell were you doing up there?

He smiled, a little shamefaced. I camp there every now and then. Grace thinks Im mad, but when I was a kid back in South Africa my father used to take me out on safari. You get the same sense of space and isolation on the mountain that I remember from that. Im not religious or anything, but theres somethingalmost spiritual about it.

This was a side of Strachan I wouldnt have suspected. Pretty lonely, though. And cold.

He grinned. I wrap up, and the solitudes all part of it. Besides, the brochs a good place to think.

Broch?

The stone hut I was in. Its an old watchtower. I love the idea that someone would have been sitting up there by a fire two thousand years ago. I like to think Im keeping the tradition. And those cairns are even older. The people buried in them would have been lords or clan leaders, and now all thats left is a few piles of stone. Puts things in perspective, dont you think?

Abruptly, he grew embarrassed.

Anyhow, so much for my dark secrets. Here, I brought you this.

He handed me the newspaper hed brought with him. It was the previous evenings Lewis Gazette, folded open on the second page. A headline over Maggie Cassidys byline announced Fire Death Mystery on Runa. The story gave a lurid account of the discovery of the burned body, light on facts but heavy on speculation. Predictably, shed made reference to spontaneous human combustion, and I was referred to as esteemed forensic scientist Dr David Hunter.

It could have been worse, I supposed. At least there were no photographs.

It came over on this mornings ferry, Strachan said. I thought youd want to see it.

Thanks. But the article had rekindled my sense of urgency. I hate to ask after all youve done, but could you give me a lift back to the village?

Of course. He paused. Is everything all right?

Fine. I just need to get back.

He nodded, but I dont think he was convinced. Ill be downstairs. Help yourself to the shower.

I waited until hed gone, then grabbed the phone. Wallaces number was logged in my mobile. I retrieved it and called it on the landline. Come on, answer, I urged him silently.

This time he did. Yes, Dr Hunter? he said, with the air of someone with better things to do.

I kept it short. She was murdered.

There was a beat while that registered. Then he swore. Youre certain?

Shed been hit hard enough for the back of her skull to be cracked but not broken. The fire made it blow out at that point, which is why I didnt spot it sooner.

Could she have done it in a fall? Panicking when she caught fire, perhaps?

A fall could have caused it, but an injury like that would have either killed her outright or at the very least left her unconscious. She wouldnt have been capable of moving afterwards. In which case the body would still be lying on its back, not face down like hers is.

I heard him sigh. Theres no way you could have made a mistake?

I took a moment to reply, not trusting my temper. You wanted my opinion, youve got it. Somebody killed her and then set fire to the body. This was no accident.

There was a pause. I could almost hear him thinking through the logistics of pulling teams away from the train crash and getting them out here.

All right, he said, all business now, Ill have a support team and SOC out with you first thing tomorrow morning.

I glanced out of the window. The light was already fading. Cant they be here sooner?

Not a chance. Theyll have to get out to Stornoway first, then go from there to Runa. Thats going to take time. Youll just have to sit tight until tomorrow.

I didnt like it, but there was nothing more I could do. After Wallace had ended the call, I dialled Jennys mobile. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message telling her I was sorry for not calling, that I was all right, and Id call her again later. It seemed inadequate and unsatisfying. Id have given anything to be able to see her just then. But that wasnt going to happen either.

It was only as I put down the phone that I realized Id automatically called Wallace first instead of Jenny. Wondering uncomfortably what that said about my priorities, I threw back the duvet and went to get ready.


The shower felt wonderful, hot water easing the ache in my shoulder and sluicing away the dirt and stink from the previous night. The sling was semi-rigid, made from Velcro, foam and plastic, so I was at least able to take it off. But dressing with only one hand was harder than I thought. I could barely move my left arm at all, and by the time Id managed to pull on my thick sweater I felt as though Id had a hard work-out at the gym.

I went out into the hallway. The big house had been given a thorough makeover. The white walls were newly plastered, the floor laid with coir matting instead of carpet.

At the top of the stairs, a large picture window looked down on to a small, sandy cove. It was flanked by cliffs, and steps ran down to where a sleek yacht was moored at the end of a wooden jetty. Even in the shelter of the cove, its mast rocked violently in the heavy chop. In the failing light I made out two figures standing on the jetty. One of them was pointing out into the cove, the black coat identifying him as Strachan. I guessed the other must be Bruce, the nurse turned schoolteacher.

Downstairs, a huge Turkish rug covered most of the entrance hall floor. On the back wall was a large abstract oil painting, a swirl of purples and blues shot through with indigo slashes that was both striking and subtly unsettling. Id almost gone past before I noticed that the name at the bottom corner was Grace Strachans.

The strains of Spanish guitar music were coming from a room at the far end. I went in and found myself in a bright and airy kitchen, redolent with spices. Copper pans hung from the ceiling, while others bubbled on a black Aga.

Grace was next to it, deftly chopping vegetables. She gave me a smile over her shoulder.

I see you managed to dress OK.

Eventually.

She brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes with her wrist. Even in a plain black apron she looked almost ridiculously sensual. The effect was all the more powerful because it seemed so unconscious.

Michael wont be a minute. Hes just taken Bruce down to the cove to show him his latest project. Bruce who mended your arm last night? she said, making it a question.

Yes, your husband told me. He did a good job.

Hes a gem. Offered to come up to check on you as soon as school finished. Can I get you a drink, or something to eat? You must be famished.

It wasnt until then that I realized how hungry I was. I hadnt eaten since the previous day.

Grace seized on my hesitation. How about a sandwich? Or an omelette?

Really, I dont-

An omelette it is, then.

She poured olive oil into a frying pan and deftly broke three eggs into a bowl as it heated.

Michael says youre from London, she said, briskly beating them.

Thats right.

I havent been there in ages. I keep trying to get Michael to go, but hes a terrible stick-in-the-mud. Hates being prised off the island. Wont go any further than Lewis, which isnt exactly a cultural Mecca, let me tell you.

Stick-in-the-mud wasnt a phrase Id have associated with her husband. But then, as Id found out, he was a man of surprises.

How long have you been here? I asked.

Oh, four years, now? No, five. God! She shook her head, amazed at the swiftness of time.

Must have taken some getting used to. Living on an island, I mean.

Not really. Weve always tended to go for fairly out of the way places. Youd think wed be bored, but we never are. Michaels always busy, and I help out in the school-art classes, mainly.

I saw the painting outside. Very striking.

She gave a dismissive shrug, but looked pleased. Oh, its just a hobby. But thats how we know Bruce so well, through me helping at the school. He was a primary school teacher on the mainland, so he was a real find. And I love children, so its great being able to work with them.

A wistfulness briefly touched her face, and then was gone. I looked away, feeling uncomfortably as though Id had a glimpse of something private. Id already surmised that she and Strachan didnt have children of their own. Now I knew how she felt about it.

I saw the yacht in the cove, I said, hoping to steer back to safer territory. Nice boat.

Shes lovely, isnt she? Grace beamed, setting a fresh loaf and butter on the table. Michael bought her when we first came out here. Only a forty-two footer, but the cove isnt deep enough for anything bigger. And that size, one person can handle her on their own. Michael sometimes takes her to Stornoway, when he has to go over on business.

So how did the two of you meet? I asked.

Oh, God, weve known each other practically for ever.

You mean, as in childhood sweethearts?

She laughed. I know, its a terrible cliche, but its true. We grew up near Johannesburg. Michaels older than me, and when I was little I used to follow him around. Perhaps thats why I enjoy it out here. I like to be able to keep him to myself.

Her happiness was infectious. I found myself envying Strachan his marriage. It made me uncomfortably aware of how much Jenny and I had been drifting apart lately.

Here you go, she said, sliding the omelette on to a plate. Help yourself to bread and butter.

I sat down and started to eat. The omelette was delicious, and Id just finished the last mouthful when the kitchen door opened, letting in a blast of wind and rain. The golden retriever shot in, dripping water, and bounded excitedly over to me. I tried to fend it off one-handed.

No, Oscar! Grace ordered. Michael, Im sure David doesnt want muddy paw prints all over him. Oh, and look, youre as bad, youre tracking mud everywhere!

Strachan had followed the dog inside. With him was the man in the army-surplus peaked cap Id seen ushering the pupils into the school the day before.

Sorry, darling, but I still cant find my bloody wellingtons. Oscar, behave yourself. Youve blotted your copybook with Dr Hunter enough as it is. Strachan pulled the dog from me and gave me a grin. Glad to see youre up and about, David. This is Bruce Cameron.

The other man had taken off his hat, revealing a shaved head of ginger stubble, thinning in the classic shape of male pattern baldness. He was short and slight, with the scrawniness of a marathon runner and an Adams apple so prominent it looked about to break through the skin.

He had been watching Grace since theyd come in. Now he looked at me with the palest eyes Id ever seen. They were an indefinable non-colour, with the whites visible all the way round, so that he seemed to have a permanent stare.

I saw him take in my empty plate. An expression that could have been anger flitted across his face, then was gone.

Thanks for taking care of my shoulder last night, I said, offering my hand. His was thin and bony, and there was no return pressure when we shook.

I was glad to help. The voice was a surprise, deep and booming, a stentorian shock coming from such a slight frame. I gather youre out here to take a look at the body thats been found.

Dont bother asking him anything about that, Strachan cut in easily. Ive already had my wrist slapped once for quizzing him.

Cameron looked as though he didnt appreciate the advice. Hows the shoulder feeling? he asked, but without any real interest.

Better than it was.

He nodded, managing to seem bored and self-satisfied at the same time. You were lucky. Youll need to have it X-rayed when you get back to the mainland, but I dont think theres any serious ligament damage.

He made it sound as though Id only have myself to blame if there were. Reaching into his pocket, he took out a small bottle of pills and set them on the table.

These are ibuprofen. Anti-inflammatories. You might not need them now, but you will when the last of the sedatives worn off.

Sedative?

You were rambling and your shoulder muscles were badly in spasm, so I gave you one to calm things down a little.

That explained why I didnt remember him working on my shoulder. And why Id slept through most of the day.

What was it? I asked.

Dont worry, Im licensed to prescribe drugs. He glanced at Grace, with a half-smile I thought was meant to be self-deprecating but just looked smug. Hed made no offer to examine my shoulder, but then I was starting to think I wasnt the real reason for his visit anyway.

Even so, Id still like to know what it was, I said.

I didnt want to seem churlish, but ever since I was almost killed by a deliberate overdose of diamorphine Ive never liked being given drugs without knowing what they are. Besides, Camerons patronizing manner was starting to grate.

For the first time he seemed to fully register my presence. The look he gave me wasnt friendly.

If you must know, I gave you ten milligrams of diazepam and anaesthetised locally with novocaine. Then I administered a shot of cortisone to reduce inflammation. He stared at me superciliously. Does that meet with your approval?

Strachan had been listening with amusement. Did I mention that David used to be a GP, Bruce?

He obviously hadnt. Cameron blushed, and I regretted pushing. I hadnt intended to embarrass him. At the same time, I wondered how Strachan knew. Not that it was a secret, but I wasnt sure I liked relative strangers to know so much about my past.

He gave me an apologetic smile. I did some checking up on the Internet. Hope you dont mind, but Im congenitally nosy when it comes to anything that affects Runa. And it is all public record.

He was right, but that didnt mean I liked his digging into my background. Still, he had taken me into his house the night before. I supposed he was entitled to display some curiosity.

Ive been showing Bruce where the pens are going to be for my new project. Runas first fish farm, Strachan went on. Atlantic cod. Organic, eco-friendly, and itll create at least six jobs. More, if it takes off. His enthusiasm was almost boyish. Could be a real boost for the islands economy. I plan to make a start in the spring.

Grace had begun to debone a chicken, cutting the flesh with the practised ease of a chef. Im still not sure Im keen on having a fish farm at the bottom of the garden.

Darling, Ive told you, theres nowhere else sheltered enough on the island. And weve got the sea at the bottom of the garden anyway. Its full of fish.

Yes, but theyre visitors. Thesell be house guests.

Cameron gave a sycophantic laugh. I saw a flash of irritation on Strachans face, then the rap of the door knocker came from the hallway.

Were popular this afternoon, Grace said. She reached for a towel to dry her hands, but Strachan was already on his way out.

Ill get it.

Perhaps its one of your policeman friends, she said to me, as voices carried from the hall.

I hoped so. But instead of Duncan or Fraser, it was Maggie Cassidy Strachan had in tow when he returned.

Look whos turned up, he said, with the faintest touch of irony. You know Maggie, Rose Cassidys granddaughter, dont you, Grace?

Of course. Grace smiled. How is your grandmother?

Oh, muddling along, thanks. Hello, Bruce, Maggie said, receiving a grudging nod in return. She turned to me with a grin. Nice to see you still in one piece, Dr Hunter. I heard about your adventure last night. You were quite the talk of the bar.

I bet I was, I thought ruefully.

So what brings you out here, Maggie? Strachan asked. Hoping for an exclusive with Dr Hunter?

Actually, it was you I wanted to see. And Mrs Strachan as well, obviously, Maggie added smoothly. She was looking at him with open-eyed candour, the picture of sincerity. Id like to write a feature on you for the Lewis Gazette. With Runa being in the news now, its the perfect time. We can talk about what youve done for the island, take a few photos of you both at home. Itll make a great spread.

Strachans good humour had faded. Sorry. I take a lousy photo.

Oh, come on, darling, Grace cajoled. Sounds like fun.

Camerons bass voice rumbled out. Yes, I think its a great idea, Michael. Im sure Grace is very photogenic, even if you arent. And itd be good publicity for the fish farm.

Thats right, Maggie said, pushing home her advantage. She gave Strachan the full wattage of her smile. And Ill bet you take a great photograph.

I noticed Graces eyebrow go up at the reporters blatant flirting. Although Maggie wasnt conventionally pretty, there was an energy about her that was undeniably attractive.

But Strachan seemed immune. No, I dont think so.

At least think about it for a day or two. Perhaps-

Ive said no. He didnt raise his voice but there was no doubting the finality in it. Was there anything else?

His manner was still polite, but it was obviously a dismissal. Maggie did her best to hide her disappointment.

Uhno. That was all. Sorry to have bothered you.

Its no bother, he said. In fact, could I ask a favour?

Her face brightened. Sure, of course.

Dr Hunter needs a lift back to the hotel. Itd save me turning out again if you could take him. Is that OK, David?

I wasnt delighted at the thought of sharing a car with a reporter whod already played me for a fool once, but since she was going back to the village it made sense. And I was indebted enough to the Strachans already.

If Maggie doesnt mind, I said.

She gave me a look that said she knew what I was thinking. Id love to.

You must come out again before you go back, Grace said, kissing my cheek. Up close her perfume was a dizzying musk. The brief contact of her lips left a lingering memory on my skin. As she stepped back I looked across to find Cameron staring at me with unconcealed jealousy. His infatuation was so naked I didnt know whether to feel embarrassment or pity for him.

Strachan seemed in a better humour again as he showed us into the hall. When he opened the front door a blast of freezing wind and rain greeted us. Outside, a mud-spattered mountain bike was propped against the wall by the door, wide panniers over its rear wheel giving it a cumbersome look.

Tell me Bruce didnt ride all the way out here in this weather? Maggie said.

Strachan smiled. He says it keeps him fit.

Bloody masochist, she snorted. She held out her hand to Strachan. Pleasure to meet you again, Michael. If you change your mind

I wont. He smiled to soften the rejection. There was a glint of mischief in his eye. Perhaps if you ask him nicely Dr Hunter will give you an interview instead. Im sure he enjoyed reading about himself in yesterdays paper.

Her face coloured. She said nothing as we forged against the wind to where a rust-smeared old Mini was parked, looking like a poor relation next to Strachans Saab and a black Porsche Cayenne I took to be Graces.

Maggie was struggling out of her oversized red coat as I climbed into the car. The heaters stuck on full, so youll cook if you keep your coat on, she said, unceremoniously dumping hers on the back seat. The down-filled red fabric billowed obscenely, like a bag full of blood. I kept mine on. It had taken long enough for me to get it over my sling as it was.

Maggie scowled as she tried to start the car, tugging on the old-fashioned choke. Come on, you bloody thing, she grumbled as the engine coughed and whined. Its my grans, but she never uses it any more. Heap of junk, but handy when I come back.

The car chugged into life. She scraped into gear and set off down the drive towards the road. I stared through the window at where the windswept moors were already beginning to disappear in the gathering gloom.

Well, arent you going to say it? she said, suddenly.

Say what? Id been so preoccupied thinking about what course the investigation would now take that I hadnt really noticed the silence. But Maggie had obviously misread it.

That I lied on the ferry. When I told you I was a novelist.

It took me a moment to realize what she was talking about. The pause seemed to make Maggie even more defensive.

Im a reporter, I was just doing my job. I dont have to apologise for it.

I didnt ask you to.

She gave me an uncertain look. No hard feelings, then?

I sighed. Under the brash act there was an appealing vulnerability. No hard feelings.

She seemed relieved. The look of innocence I was coming to suspect spread over her features.

So, off the record, what do you think happened out at the cottage?

I laughed despite myself. You dont give up, do you?

She grinned sheepishly. I was only asking. It was worth a try.

The last of the reserve between us disappeared. I didnt have the energy to be angry. And by this time tomorrow shed find herself with a far bigger story than shed imagined. I felt a stab of guilt at the secret knowledge of the chaos Id called down on this remote island. Runa didnt know it yet, but its peaceful existence was about to be shattered.

But even I had no idea just how shattering it would be.



CHAPTER 10

AFTER MAGGIE HAD dropped me back at the hotel, Id gone looking for Ellen to apologise for running her car off the road. Shed waved away my apologies.

Dont worry about that. The main thing is youre all right. More or less, shed added with a smile as she looked at my sling. Not everyone who gets lost out on these islands is so lucky.

I didnt feel lucky as I flopped down on my bed. I felt tired and bruised, and my shoulder throbbed like toothache. I took a couple of the ibuprofen that Cameron had given me, and then tried once more to call Jenny on the hotel phone. There was still no answer from either her mobile or her flat.

I left messages on both, giving her the hotel number and asking her to call me. As I hung up I wondered where she could be. She should have been back from work now, and even if she was out she would have had her mobile with her.

Feeling flat and out of sorts, I went online to check my emails. Id just finished replying to the last one when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

It was Fraser. He was still wearing his heavy coat, soaking wet and radiating cold from outside. He eyed my sling unsympathetically.

Made it back all right this time, eh?

There didnt seem much I could say to that. Have you spoken to Wallace? I asked.

He gave a snort. The likes of me dont get to speak to superintendents. But hes passed word down the line, lets put it that way. He regarded me sourly. So youre saying its murder.

I glanced along the hallway, but there was no one to hear. Thats how it looks.

He shook his head in disgust. The shits really going to hit the fan now.

Are the remains OK? I asked. Id been worried about them lying out in the ruined cottage with only Duncan to watch over them.

Oh, aye, theyre peachy, Fraser grumbled. Ive had the station radioing every five minutes, yelling for me to make sure the site-sorry, crime scene now-is properly secured. Youd think we were guarding the crown jewels.

I wasnt in the best of moods to start with, and his carping was beginning to wear thin. Thereve been enough mistakes made already.

Not by me, he retorted. I just follow orders. Speaking of which, Wallace wants this kept quiet until the support team gets here tomorrow. So that means Mr ex-DI Brodyll have to be kept in the dark along with everyone else.

There was a mean satisfaction in his voice. I didnt think there would have been any harm in letting Brody know, but that wasnt my decision. And I supposed everyone would find out soon enough.

Fraser was scowling. Going to be a bloody nightmare trying to run a murder inquiry out here. Still, cant see it being hard catching whoever did it.

You think so?

He missed the irony in my voice and rolled his shoulders authoritatively, warming to his theme.

Place this size, how hard can it be? Someones got to know something. And whoever killed her cant be the sharpest tool in the box. Surrounded by bloody sea and moorland, and he burns the body and leaves it where it can be found? He gave a wheezing laugh. Aye, thats some genius, all right!

I didnt feel so complacent. This had come close to being dismissed as an accidental death. Whether her killer was cunning or just lucky, we couldnt afford to take any more chances.

Duty done, Fraser bad-temperedly stomped off to take Duncans supper out to the camper van. There was no reason for me to go with him, so I went back to my laptop, hoping to distract myself with work.

But my heart wasnt in it. The bedside cabinet made a poor desk, and the small room had started to crowd in on me like a monks cell. As I stared blankly at the screen, I caught a faint scent of Grace Strachans perfume on my clothes, and what little concentration Id been able to muster vanished.

Closing my laptop with a snap, I took it downstairs. There was no point sitting in my room waiting for Jenny to call. If she did, Ellen would let me know.

It was still early and the bar was almost empty. The two old domino players sat at what was obviously their customary table. They gave cautious nods as I went in.

Feasgar Math, one of them said, politely.

I said good evening in return, and they went back to their game as though I didnt exist. The only other person there was Guthrie, the big man who Brody had told me was the islands odd-job man, and Kinrosss occasional helper on the ferry. He was slumped at the bar, staring morosely into his half-empty beer glass. The flush on his face told me hed probably been there for some time already.

He gave me a baleful glance as I chalked up a whisky for myself on the slate, then went back to staring into his glass. I took my drink over to the table by the fire that Id shared with first Brody and then Strachan two nights before.

Opening my laptop, I positioned it so no one else could see the screen, and called up the missing persons files Id received from Wallace. Id not had a chance to look at them yet, and though I doubted Id find anything useful at this stage Id nothing better to do right then.

Trails of smoke flowed sinuously across the peat slab in the hearth. Its dark surface glowed with traceries of fire, giving off a spiced, earthy fragrance. The heat made me drowsy. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus my thoughts. But as I was about to open the first file, a shadow fell across the table.

I looked up to find the hulking figure of Guthrie looming over me. His gut hung over the low-slung trousers like a water-filled sack, but he was still a powerful man. The rolled sleeves of his sweater revealed hairless, beefy forearms, and the almost empty pint glass looked tiny in his wind-chapped hand.

S that you got there? he slurred. His face was slackened by alcohol, suffused with a beer and whisky blush. He gave off an odour of solder, oil and old sweat.

I closed the laptop. Just work.

He blinked slowly, processing that. I remembered Brody telling me it was best to avoid him when he was drunk. Too late.

Work? he spat, flecking the table with spittle. He glared disdainfully at the laptop. Thats not work. Works what you do with these.

He held up a balled fist in front of my face. It was the size of a babys head, the fingers thickened with scar tissue.

Works getting your hands dirty. You ever get your hands dirty?

I thought about sifting through the ashes of an incinerated body, or trying to exhume a corpse from frozen moorland. Sometimes.

His lip curled. Bollocks. You dont know what work means. Like those bastards who took my boat. Sat behind their desks in their fucking banks, laying down the law! Never done a fucking days work in their lives!

Why dont you sit down, Sean? one of the old domino players said gently. It didnt do any good.

Im just talking. Get back to your game, Guthrie muttered sullenly. He glared down at me, swaying slightly. Youre here with the police. For that body. He made it sound like an accusation.

Thats right. I was expecting him to ask who it was or how theyd died. Instead he surprised me.

So whats on this, then? he said, reaching for my laptop.

I put my own hand on top of it. My pulse had started to pound, but I kept my voice level.

Sorry, its private.

I kept hold of the laptop, resisting the exploratory pressure he was exerting. Guthrie was easily strong enough to take it from me. But he hadnt quite got to that point, but I could see his drink-addled mind turning over the possibility.

I just want to take a look, he said, and now the threat was heavy in his voice.

Even if Id been fully fit I wouldnt have been any match for him. He was a good head taller than me, with the look of a brawler about him. But I was past caring. Id had a bad enough twenty-four hours as it was.

And this was my work.

I pulled the laptop from his hand. I said no.

My voice was unsteady, but it was from anger more than anything else. Guthries mouth had fallen open in surprise, but now it clamped shut. He balled his fists, and I felt my stomach tighten, knowing there was nothing I could do or say that would head off what was about to happen.

Hey, you big lump, you causing trouble again?

Maggie Cassidy had appeared in the doorway. She was heading straight for Guthrie, and I felt a moment of alarm as I saw how small she looked against his bulk. Then his face split in a huge grin.

Maggie! Heard you were back!

He enveloped her in a bear hug. She looked smaller than ever clutched in Guthries embrace.

Aye, well, I thought Id better look in and see how you were doing. Come on, put me down, you great oaf.

They were both grinning now. Guthrie had forgotten about me already, the threat of barroom violence replaced with a childlike enthusiasm. Maggie prodded his bulging stomach, shaking her head in mock-regret.

You been on a diet, Sean? Youre practically wasting away.

He roared with laughter. Pining for you, Mags. Will you have a drink with me?

Thought youd never ask.

Maggie gave me a quick wink as she led him to the bar, smiling a greeting at the domino players. My hand was trembling slightly as I raised the whisky glass, the adrenalin rush slowly beginning to fade. Just what I needed to round the day off.

The place was beginning to fill up now. Kinross and his eighteen-year-old son came in, joining Maggie and Guthrie at the bar. There were more friendly jibes and laughter. I watched how the cruel bumps of acne flared red on Kevin Kinrosss face whenever Maggie spoke to him. He hardly took his eyes off her as she chatted to his father, but quickly dropped his gaze when she glanced his way.

Bruce Cameron wasnt the only one who was infatuated, I reflected.

Watching them all, warmly at ease with each other, I was suddenly acutely aware that I didnt belong. These were people who had been born and raised here, who would probably die within this same closed community. They shared an identity and kinship that overrode other ties. Even Maggie, who had left the island years before, was still a part of it in a way an outsider like me-or even incomers like Brody and the Strachans-could never be.

And one of them was a killer. Perhaps even someone in this room. Looking at the faces in front of me, I recalled what Fraser had said about finding the dead womans murderer. Place this size, how hard can it be? Someones got to know something. But knowing and revealing were different things.

Whatever secrets Runa held, I didnt think it would give them up easily.

I didnt feel like staying downstairs any longer. But as I was about to go back to my room, Maggie caught my eye and excused herself from the group at the bar. I saw Kevin Kinross watching her furtively as she came over to my table. Then he realized I had seen him and hurriedly looked away.

Maggie plonked herself down and gave me a grin. You and Sean getting acquainted earlier, were you?

Thats one way of putting it.

Hes harmless enough. You must have rubbed him up the wrong way.

I stared at her. How exactly did I do that?

Maggie counted off on her fingers. Youre a stranger, youre English, and youre sitting in the bar with a hi-tech laptop. If you wanted to blend into the woodwork youre going the wrong way about it, if you dont mind my saying.

I gave a laugh. It was close enough to my own thoughts to strike home. And heres me thinking I was minding my own business.

She smiled. Aye, well, Sean has been known to get a little tetchy when hes in his cups. But you cant altogether blame him. He used to be a good fisherman until the bank claimed back the loan on his boat. Now hes reduced to odd jobs and trying to fix up some old hulk he salvaged. She sighed. Dont think too badly of him, thats all Im saying.

I could have pointed out that I hadnt been the one picking the argument, but I let it go. Maggie glanced at her watch.

Id best be off. My granll be wondering where I am. I only called in to show my face, and its probably best if I make myself scarce before Sergeant Fraser shows up.

She obviously wanted me to ask. And Id been curious anyway, ever since their exchange on the ferry.

So what is it between you two? Not an ex-boyfriend, I take it?

Ill pretend I didnt hear that, she said, grimacing. Lets say theres a bit of a history between us. A couple of years ago the good sergeant was suspended for assaulting a woman suspect when he was drunk. The charges were dropped, but he was lucky not to be demoted. The Gazette found out and ran the story.

She shrugged, but not as casually as she tried to make out.

It was my first big story for the paper. So as you can imagine, Im not exactly top of Frasers Christmas card list.

Her smile was part rueful, part proud as she went to rejoin Guthrie and Kinross. As she made her goodbyes, I left the bar and headed up to my room. I hadnt eaten since the omelette Grace had prepared, but I was more tired than hungry. And there was also a sneaking relief that Brody hadnt arrived yet. Wallace was within his rights not to let the retired inspector know about the murder, but after all his help I would have felt uncomfortable keeping it from him.

I felt bone-weary as I made my way upstairs. This trip had been a disaster from start to finish, but I consoled myself that it was about to get back on track. This time tomorrow SOC would be here, and the full machinery of a murder investigation would belatedly be under way. Before much longer Id be on my way home, and able to put the entire thing behind me.

But I should have known not to take anything for granted. Because that night the storm hit Runa.



CHAPTER 11

THE STORM REACHED the island just after midnight. Later, I would find out that it was actually two fronts that had collided off the coast of Iceland, playing out their battle as they swept down the North Atlantic from the Arctic. Their assault would be credited as one of the worst the Western Isles had experienced for over fifty years, creating gale force winds that left a trail of roofless houses and flooded roads before battering themselves out against the British mainland.

I was in my room when the storm hit. Tired as I was, Id found it hard to sleep. Jenny hadnt called, and there was still no answer from either her flat or her mobile. That wasnt like her. I was starting to feel a gnawing anxiety that something could have happened. To make sleep even harder, the wind was booming outside, rattling the window angrily, and my shoulder was aching despite the anti-inflammatories Id taken. Each time I started to drift off, I would feel myself falling down the gully and jerk awake again.

I was considering whether I should get up and try to work when the bedside phone rang. I snatched up the receiver.

Hello? I said, the word rushing out.

Its me.

Tension I hadnt even been aware of drained from me at the sound of Jennys voice.

Hi, I said, switching on the bedside light. Ive been calling you all day.

I know. I got your messages. She sounded subdued. I went out with Suzy and a few of the others from work. I turned my mobile off.

Why?

I didnt want to speak to you.

I waited, unsure what to say. A gust of wind wrapped itself round the house, its moan rising in pitch. The bedside lamp flickered as though in response.

I was worried when you didnt call last night, Jenny said after a moment. I couldnt call you on your mobile, and I didnt even know where you were staying. When I got your message this afternoon it was likeI dont know, I just felt angry. So I switched off my phone and went out. But then I came in just now and I really wanted to talk to you.

Im sorry, I didnt mean to

I dont want you to apologize! I want you here, not out on some bloody island! And Ive had too much to drink, and thats your fault as well.

There was a grudging smile in her voice. I was pleased to hear it, but it didnt displace the heaviness in my chest.

Im glad you called, I told her.

So am I. But Im still pissed off with you. Im missing you, and Ive no idea when youre coming back.

There was a note of fear now. Jenny had recovered from an experience that would have destroyed most people. While shed emerged stronger from it, it had left a residue of anxiety that still surfaced from time to time. She knew only too well how thin the line was that separated everyday life from chaos. And how easily it was crossed.

Im missing you too, I said.

The silence on the line seemed hollow, broken only by static whispers.

Youre not responsible for everyone, David, Jenny said at last. You cant solve everyones problems.

I wasnt sure if it was resignation or regret I could hear. I dont try to.

Dont you? Seems like you do, sometimes. Other peoples anyway. She sighed. I think we need to talk when you get back.

What about? I said, feeling something cold brush against my heart.

A crackle of static cut out her answer. It faded, but not completely.

still hear me? I heard her say through it.

Only just. Jenny? You still there?

There was no answer. I tried calling her back, but there was no dialling tone.

The line was dead.

As though that had been its cue, the bedside lamp suddenly flickered. It steadied after a few seconds, but its light seemed dimmer than before. The phone lines obviously werent the only things affected by the storm.

Feeling leaden and frustrated, I put the receiver down. Outside, the wind seemed to roar with triumph, flinging rain in reckless bursts against the window. I made my way over to it and looked out. The gale had shredded the cloud cover, and a full moon bathed the scene with ghostly pale light. The street lamp outside was shaking in the wind.

A girl was standing underneath it.

She seemed frozen, as though the fluctuating power had taken her unawares. Her face tilted up when I appeared in the window, and for a second or two we stared at each other. I didnt recognise her. She looked in her teens, and was wearing only a thin coat that offered no protection against the weather. Underneath it was what looked like a pale nightgown. I saw how the cloth was lashed by the wind, how her wet hair clung to her head. She was blinking the water from her eyes as she stared up at me.

Then she darted into the shadows beyond the street light, heading into the village, and was gone.


Any hope I might have had that the storm would have passed by morning was snuffed out as soon as I woke. The wind shook the window, rain beating against the glass as though frustrated at not being able to break it.

The memory of the unfinished conversation Id had with Jenny lay heavily on me, but the phone was still dead when I checked it. Until the landlines were repaired, the digital police radios were now our only point of contact with the outside world.

At least the power was still on, although the fitful way the lights were flickering suggested it might not remain so for much longer.

One of the joys of living on an island, Im afraid, Ellen said, when I went down for breakfast. Anna was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table, the portable gas fire filling the extension with pungent warmth. The phones are always likely to go off when we get a real storm. Electricity too, if its a bad one.

How long are they usually off for?

A day or two, sometimes longer. She smiled at my expression. Dont worry, were used to it. Everyone on the island uses either oil or bottled gas, and the hotels got its own back-up generator. We wont starve or freeze.

Whats wrong with your arm? Anna piped up, staring at my sling.

I fell down.

She thought about that for a second. You should watch where youre going, she said, confidently, going back to her cereal.

Anna, Ellen chided, but I laughed.

Yes, I suppose I should.

I was still smiling as I went into the bar, my dark mood gone. So what if the phones were down for a day or two? It was an inconvenience, not life or death. Fraser was already eating through his breakfast, devouring a huge plate of fried eggs, bacon and sausage. He looked hungover but less so than he had on the previous mornings. No doubt the prospect of the support teams arrival had cramped his enthusiasm.

Have you spoken to Duncan yet? I asked as I sat down. Id been wondering how the camper van would hold up in this wind. It wouldnt be very comfortable for him, to say the least.

Aye, hes fine, he grunted. He slid his radio across to me. The super wants you to call him.

I felt my spirits sink, suddenly certain it wouldnt be good news. It wasnt.

The storms buggered everything, Wallace said bluntly. The radio connection was so bad it sounded as though he were calling from the other side of the world. Were not going to be able to get SOC or anyone else out to you in this.

Even though Id half expected it, the news was a blow. How long before you can?

His response was lost in a swell of static. I asked him to repeat it. I said I dont know. Flights and ferries to Stornoway are cancelled until further notice, and the weather reports not good for the next few days.

What about the coastguard helicopter? I asked, knowing that it was sometimes used to airlift police teams to inaccessible islands.

No chance. The storms playing havoc with shipping, and theyre not going to pull one from rescue duties for a corpse thats been dead a month already. And even if they could, the updraughts from Runas cliffs cause problems for helicopters at the best of times. I darent risk sending one in this. Sorry, but for the time being youre just going to have to sit tight.

I massaged my temples, trying to ease the nagging headache that had started. Another buzz of static drowned out Wallaces next words.

given instructions to bring Andrew Brody in on this. I know hes retired, but he was SIO on two murder investigations. Until we can get more men on the ground out there, that sort of experience is going to be useful. Listen to what he tells you. He paused. Do you understand what Im saying?

It was clear enough. I wouldnt have wanted Fraser left in charge either. I tried not to look across at the police sergeant as I handed him the radio.

Hed obviously already been told the news. He glowered at me as he stuffed the radio away, as if it were somehow my fault.

Have you spoken to Brody yet? I asked.

It was the wrong thing to say. Fraser stabbed his fork into a piece of bacon. It can wait till Ive finished breakfast. And taken Duncan his. His moustache worked as he chewed angrily. Not as though theres a rush any more, is it?

Perhaps there wasnt, but Id prefer Brody to hear sooner rather than later. Ill go and tell him.

Please yourself, Fraser said, slicing through his egg as though trying to scar the plate.

He was still eating when I finished my own breakfast, making a point over taking his time. Leaving him to his sulk, I asked Ellen for directions to Brodys house, struggled into my coat and set off.

The wind staggered me as soon as I stepped outside. There seemed an almost hysterical quality to it as it shrieked and gusted, and by the time I reached the seafront my shoulder was hurting from the constant need to brace against it. Beyond the cliffs, the lonely outpost of Stac Ross was nearly obscured by white mist as the breakers dashed themselves against its base. In the harbour itself, boats thrashed against their moorings while the ferry was being flung against the concrete jetty, slamming against the truck tyres hung there with dull, percussive thuds.

Brody lived at the other side of the harbour. Keeping as far away as I could from the stinging spray, I made my way across the seafront. On the far side, the cliffs rose up from a small shingle beach, alongside which was a large corrugated metal shack. Tarpaulin-covered piles of building supplies were stacked nearby, and rotting hulks of old boats littered the yard around it. At one side a decrepit fishing boat was raised up on blocks for repair, its timber hull partly stripped away so that the curved spars of its frame resembled a skeletal ribcage. I guessed this was the old hulk Guthrie was repairing. If it was, he had his work cut out for him.

Brodys house was set well back from the harbour, a neat bungalow that had somehow avoided the uPVC modifications of its neighbours. I wondered if his dislike of Strachan had made him refuse the chance to have it renovated along with the rest.

When Brody opened the door he might almost have been expecting me. Come in.

Inside smelled of cooking and pine disinfectant. The house was small and tidy, with a bachelors lack of ornament. A gas fire hissed in the lounges tiled fireplace. A photograph of a woman and girl took centre place on the mantelpiece. It didnt look recent, and I guessed that it was his wife and daughter.

The border collie looked up from its basket and wagged its tail when we walked in, then settled down to sleep again.

Cup of tea? Brody asked.

No thanks. Sorry to call round like this, but the phones are out.

Aye, I know.

He was wearing a thick cardigan. Standing in front of the fire, he tucked his hands into its pockets and waited.

You were right. It was murder, I said.

He took the news in his stride. You sure you should be telling me this?

Wallace wanted you to know. I explained what Id found, and what the superintendent had said. Brody smiled.

Bet that went down well with Fraser. But he quickly grew serious again. An accidental deaths one thing, but this changes everything. I suppose theres a chance that the killer isnt from the island, but its pretty remote. The victim had to have had a reason for being on Runa, and my guess is he was it. How she got here doesnt matter for now. But I think weve got to assume the killers local, and that the victim knew him.

Id already reached the same conclusion myself. I still cant understand why anyone would burn the body and leave it at the cottage instead of burying it or getting rid of it at sea, I said. Unlike Fraser, I couldnt believe the young womans killer was just incompetent. Especially if the killer lives on Runa. Why leave it lying there for weeks until it was found?

Laziness or arrogance, perhaps. Or nerves. It takes a lot of guts to go back to a crime scene. Brody shook his head in frustration. Christ, I wish Wallace had sent a full team out here when he had the chance. We might have had an ID on the victim by now. Finding out who killed her would be a whole lot easier if we knew who she was.

Isnt there anything we can do?

He sighed. Just wait for the storm to lift, and hope that we can keep a lid on this until then. The last thing we want is for people to find out this is a murder inquiry before the mainland boys get here.

Id once been part of a community that had torn itself apart through fear and suspicion, and Id no desire to repeat the experience. But it still didnt seem right to keep this from the islanders.

Are you worried how theyll react? I asked.

Partly, Brody agreed. Murder or not, island communities like this dont like outside interference. But Im more worried about what the killer might do. At the moment he still thinks this is being written off as an accidental death, but if he finds out otherwise then all bets are off. And Id rather not take any chances while theres only two police officers on the island.

Letting that sink in, Brody absently patted the pockets of his cardigan.

Theyre on the mantelpiece, I told him.

He gave a shamefaced smile as he picked up the packet of cigarettes. I try not to smoke in the house. My wife used to hate it, and after fifteen years of marriage you end up ingrained. Like Pavlovs dogs.

Is that her and your daughter? I asked, indicating the photograph.

He looked at it himself, unconsciously turning a cigarette in his fingers. Aye, thats Ginny and Rebecca. Becky would beoh, about ten there. Her mother and I split up a year or so later. She ended up marrying an insurance broker.

He gave a what-can-you-do shrug.

What about your daughter?

Brody didnt say anything for a moment. Shes dead.

The words were like a punch in the stomach. Fraser had said Brodys daughter had run away, but nothing else.

Im sorry. I didnt know, I said awkwardly.

No reason why you should. I dont have any proof myself. But I know she is. I can feel it. He gave me a look. Wallace told me a little about you. You were a father yourself, so you know what I mean. Its part of you thats gone.

I wasnt happy that Wallace had seen fit to tell him about my background. Even now, having other people talk about Kara and Alices deaths felt like an intrusion. But at the same time, I knew what Brody meant.

What happened? I asked.

He looked down at the cigarette in his hand. We didnt get on. Becky always was rebellious. Headstrong. Like me, I suppose. I lost touch with her when her mother died. When I took early retirement I started searching for her. Bought the camper van, so I could save on hotel bills. Not that it did any good. Im a policeman. Used to be a policeman, he amended. I know how easy it is for someone to disappear. But I know how to look for them, as well. There comes a point when you know they arent going to be found. Not alive, at least.

Im sorry, I said again.

It happens. Any emotion he felt was blanked from his face. He raised the cigarette. Dont mind, do you?

Its your house.

He nodded, then with a smile put it back in the packet. Ill wait till I go out. Old habits, like I say.

Look, this might sound a bitstrange, I began. But last night I saw a girl outside my hotel room. Must have been after midnight. Early or mid-teens, soaking wet, and just wearing a thin coat.

Brody chuckled. Dont worry, you werent seeing things. Thatd be Mary Tait, Karens daughter. You know, the loud-mouthed woman from the bar? I think I mentioned her girls a bitWell, in the old days wed say retarded, but I know thats not the word to use now. Her mother lets her run wild. You see her out all times of the day and night, wandering all over the island.

And nobody says anything?

Shes harmless enough.

That wasnt what I meant. Mentally handicapped or not, physically the girl was an adult. She would be easy prey for anyone who was prepared to exploit that.

No, Brody agreed. Ive thought about contacting the social services. But I dont think anyone on Runa would hurt her. They know whatd happen to them if they did.

I thought about the womans body out at the cottage. Are you sure about that?

Brody inclined his head. Fair point. Perhaps Id better-

He broke off as there was a knock on the door. The old border collie pricked up its ears, giving a low growl.

Shush, Bess, he said, going to answer it.

There were voices. A moment later Brody returned. With him was Fraser, looking wet and unhappy. The sergeant shook water off his arms.

Weve got a problem.


Duncan was waiting anxiously outside the camper van when we arrived. It was much more exposed out here, away from the shelter of houses and cliffs. The wind seemed to gather pace, flattening the grass as it hurled itself down the side of Beinn Tuiridh and across the dark peat moors.

The constable hurried over to the car as we climbed out. The wind pressed our coats against us, threatening to snatch the car door from my hand when I opened it.

I radioed as soon as it happened, he said, having to almost shout to make himself heard. I heard it go about half an hour ago.

By that time we could see for ourselves. The gale had ripped a section of the cottage roof clean off. What was left was hanging precariously, creaking and shifting as the wind tried to finish the job. If the womans remains were still intact inside, they wouldnt be for much longer.

Im sorry, Duncan said, as though hed let us down.

Not your fault, son, Brody told him, giving his shoulder a pat. Call DS Wallace and let him know weve got a situation here. Tell him weve got to get the remains out before the rest of the roof comes down.

Duncan glanced uncertainly at Fraser, who gave a reluctant nod. As the PC took out his radio, the rest of us headed for the cottage. The incident tape that sealed the doorway was still in place, thrumming in the wind, but the door itself lay on the floor of what had been the kitchen. Shattered roof tiles were scattered everywhere, and rain fell freely through the gaping hole. We all ducked as another tile was ripped away.

Duncan came hurrying back over, shaking his head. Cant reach him. Ive spoken to the station in Stornoway, and theyre going to try to get word through.

Brody looked at the mess inside the cottage. Rain ran unheeded down his face as he turned to me.

We dont have any choice, do we?

No, I said.

He gave a nod, then strode forward and began tearing the incident tape from the doorway.

What the hell are you doing? Fraser demanded.

Getting the remains out before the roof comes down, Brody answered without stopping.

This is a crime scene! You cant do that without clearance!

Brody ripped the last of the tape free. No time for that.

Hes right, I told Fraser. We need to salvage what we can.

Im not taking responsibility for this! Fraser protested.

Nobody asked you to, Brody said, going inside.

I went after him, picking my way across the broken tiles that littered the kitchen floor. The inner room where the remains lay wasnt as badly damaged, but almost half of the roof had fallen in. The floodlight lay smashed on its side while the grid was now a tangle of knotted string. Rain had turned the ashes on the floor to a puddle of black slurry.

The evidence bags of ash and bones Id collected before Id broken off my examination were sitting in pools of water, but otherwise looked unharmed.

Lets get the bags out of here, I told Brody. Ill need my flight case from the camper van.

Ill get it, Duncan offered from the doorway.

I hadnt realized hed followed us in. There was no sign of Fraser.

Take as many bags with you as you can carry, I told him. I flinched as a sudden gust of wind made the surviving roof creak above us. And hurry.

As Brody and Duncan took the evidence bags out to the camper van, I turned my attention to the rest of the remains. There was something infinitely sad about a life reduced to this, a few carbonised fragments about to be sluiced away by the elements. At least the photographs Id taken when Id first arrived would provide a visual record. It wasnt much, but it was better than nothing.

When Duncan returned with my flight case, I wrestled a pair of overalls on over my sling, then pulled on a surgical glove and hurried over to the body. Working as fast as I could, I put the skull and jawbone into evidence bags and began collecting up the fragments of cranium and loose teeth from the floor.

Id only just finished when the roof gave a groan. A tile fell to shatter on the floor only a few feet from me.

I think you need to hurry, Brody said from the doorway.

I am.

All at once the wind seemed to still. A sudden quiet descended, broken only by the cascade of rain on to the floor.

Sounds like its easing, Duncan said, hopefully.

But Brody had his head cocked to listen. There was a distant rushing sound, like a train roaring towards us.

No, its changed direction, he said, and then the wind slammed into the cottage again.

I was sprayed with ash and slurry as it seemed to descend right into the room. Above us, the roof responded with a groan of protesting timbers, sending tiles tumbling to the floor.

Lets go, Brody shouted above the din, shoving Duncan towards the doorway.

Not yet, I yelled. I still hadnt bagged the surviving hand or feet, and we needed those for fingerprint and soft tissue analysis. But before I could do anything there was a loud bang as the roof began to rip free.

Move! Brody shouted. I made a grab for the hand as he pulled me to my feet.

The flight case! I yelled.

Brody snatched it up without stopping. Debris rained down around us as we ran back through the kitchen. From behind us there was an almighty crash, and for a heart-stopping instant I thought the whole place was coming down. Then we were outside and in the clear.

Breathless, we turned and looked back. The whole of the cottage roof had gone. Part of it had been torn clean off, while the rest had fallen in, bringing down most of one wall as well. The room where wed been standing only seconds before was now buried under rubble.

Along with the rest of the dead womans remains.

Fraser and Duncan were standing nearby, their faces shocked.

Jesus Christ, breathed Fraser, staring at me.

I looked down at myself. My white overalls were splashed and covered with wet ash. I could feel it on my face, smearing it like a penitents at Easter. But it wasnt that hed been staring at.

Still clutched in my fist, like part of a showroom dummy, was the dead womans hand.



CHAPTER 12

WE TOOK THE evidence bags back to the village. The only other option was leaving them in the camper van, but while the bone and ashes could have been stored there the womans hand needed to be kept at a low temperature to preserve the decaying tissue. And the camper van didnt have a fridge.

It was Duncan who thought of the medical clinic. We would have to clear it with Cameron, and probably Strachan as well, since hed funded it. But now wed had no choice but to remove the remains from the crime scene, it was the obvious place to take them.

Fraser was still grumbling. He made it plain that he was absolving himself of any involvement in what wed done.

I didnt say you could do this, he reminded us, as we loaded the evidence bags into the Range Rover. This was your call, not mine.

Youd rather wed left them in there then, would you? Brody asked, jerking his head towards the roofless cottage. Explain to SOC that wed stood by and watched the body be buried under the rubble?

Im just letting you know Im not taking the blame for it. You can tell Wallace yourself.

We still hadnt been able to contact the superintendent. I could almost-though not quite-feel sorry for Fraser. Behind the bluster was a man desperate not to admit he was out of his depth.

Oh, dont worry. I will. Brody spoke mildly enough, yet somehow managed to make his contempt plain. And seeing how youre washing your hands of it, you might as well relieve Duncan out here. He can clean himself up at my place after hes helped take the bags to the clinic.

Stay out here? Fraser barked, incredulously. What for? Theres nothing left!

Brody shrugged. Its still a crime scene. But if you want to explain to Wallace why you left it unattended, thats up to you.

Duncan had been listening, uneasily. I dont mind staying.

Youve been on duty all night, Brody said, before Fraser could respond. Im sure Sergeant Fraser wouldnt ask a junior officer to do anything hes not prepared to do himself.

The expression on Frasers face was poisonous. Aye, all right. He jabbed a finger at Duncan. But I want you back no later than six. Youll be staying out here again tonight.

He shot Brody a triumphant look.

Cant leave a crime scene unattended, can we?

I saw the older mans prominent jaw muscles bunch, but he said nothing as Fraser stalked off to the camper van. He gave the still worried-looking Duncan a smile.

Come on, son. You could do with a shower, if you dont mind my saying.

I went in the Range Rover with Duncan, while Brody followed in his own car. It was a relief to get out of the wind and rain. My shoulder was hurting, probably jarred as Id hurried out of the cottage. I put my head back and closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew Duncan was waking me.

Dr Hunter? Should I stop for her?

I sat up, blinking. Ahead of us the Porsche Cayenne Id seen at Strachans house was pulled to the side of the road. Flagging us down from beside it, unmistakable in her white parka, was Grace.

Yes, youd better.

The wind was whipping her hair as we pulled up alongside. I wound down my window.

David, thank heavens! she said, giving me a beaming smile. This is a dreadful bore, but I was just on my way to the village and the bloody cars run out of petrol. Would you mind giving me a lift?

I hesitated, thinking about the evidence bags visible behind the rear seat. By now Brody had pulled up behind us, the road being too narrow to allow him to pass. I considered suggesting she ride with him, but given the frosty relationship Brody had with her husband I thought better of it.

If its a problem Ill walk, Grace said, her smile fading.

Its no problem, I said, and turned to Duncan. Is that OK by you?

He grinned. Aye, great. It was the first time hed seen Strachans wife. I mean, sure, no problem.

I went to sit in the back, letting Grace have the front seat despite her protests. The delicate musk of her perfume filled the car, and I tried not to smile when I saw that Duncan was sitting noticeably straighter.

Grace gave him a dazzling smile when I introduced them. You must be the young man theyve got staying in the camper van.

Uh, yes, maam.

Poor you, she said, sympathetically touching his arm. Even from the back seat I could see Duncans ears turn crimson. I dont think Grace even realized the effect she had on him. She turned round to talk to me as Duncan tried to concentrate on driving.

Thanks ever so much for stopping. I feel so stupid, running out of petrol like that. Theres no garage on the island, so we have to top up from containers. But Im sure Michael said hed filled up the cars last week. Or was it the week before? She puzzled over it for a second, then airily dismissed it. Oh, well. Teach me to check the gauge in future, I suppose.

Where would you like us to drop you? I asked.

At the school, if thats no bother. Im teaching a painting class this morning.

Will Bruce Cameron be there?

I should think so. Why?

Without going into details, I explained what had happened at the cottage, and why we needed to use the clinic.

God, how gruesome, Grace said with a grimace. Still, Im sure Bruce wont mind.

I wasnt so confident, but I couldnt see Cameron refusing her. When we reached the school Grace hurried inside, while I left Duncan guarding the remains and went to tell Brody what was happening.

This should be interesting, he said, climbing out of the car.

We went up the path to the school. It was a new building, small and flat-roofed. A few wooden steps ran up to the door, which opened straight into a classroom that took up most of the interior. Computer monitors lined one wall, and desks were arranged in neat lines facing a board at the front.

But at the moment the pupils were all gathered round a large table at the back, busying themselves with pots of paint, brushes and water. There were about a dozen in all, their ages ranging from about four to nine or ten. I recognised Anna amongst them. She smiled shyly when she saw me, then returned to arranging a sheet of paper exactly to her liking.

Grace had already taken off her coat and was busy organizing her class. I hope were not going to have another water-spilling crisis this week, are we? And yes, Im looking at you, Adam.

No, Mrs Strachan, a young boy with a shock of ginger hair said, smiling bashfully.

Good. Because if anyone misbehaves, Im afraid theyll have to have their face painted. And we wouldnt want to have to explain that to your parents, would we?

There were delighted giggles, a chorus of No, Mrs Strachan. Grace looked animated and alive, even more beautiful than usual. Cheeks flushed, she turned to us with a smile, motioning with her head to a door at the far side.

Go on through. Ive told Bruce you wanted a word.

She turned back to the children as we crossed the room, already forgetting about us. The office door was closed, and when I knocked on it there was no answer. I began to wonder if Cameron had slipped out until his bass voice peremptorily drawled a command.

Come.

Glancing at Brody, I opened the door and went in. A desk and filing cabinet took up most of the room. Cameron was standing with his back to us, staring out of the window. I wondered if hed done it for effect, knowing he was backlit. He turned and favoured us with an unfriendly look.

Yes?

I reminded myself this would be easier if we had his cooperation. We need to use the medical clinic. The storm brought down the cottage roof, and we need somewhere to store what we salvaged.

The bulbous eyes considered us, coldly. You mean you want to keep human remains in there?

Only until they can be taken to the mainland.

And in the meantime what about my patients?

Brody spoke up. Come on, Bruce. You only hold a clinic twice a week, and the next one isnt for another two days. We should be out of the way long before then.

Cameron wasnt appeased. So you say. But what if theres an emergency?

This is an emergency, Brody snapped, losing patience. Were not here from choice.

The teachers Adams apple bobbed angrily. There must be somewhere else you can take them.

If you can think of anywhere feel free to tell us.

And if I say no?

Brody regarded him with exasperation. Why should you do that?

Because its a medical clinic, not a morgue! And I dont think you have any right to commandeer it!

I opened my mouth to object, but before I could Graces voice came from behind us.

Is there a problem?

She stood in the doorway, one eyebrow cocked quizzically. Cameron blushed like a schoolboy caught out by his teacher.

I was just telling them-

Yes, I heard you, Bruce. So did the rest of the class.

Camerons Adams apple worked. Im sorry. But I dont really think the medical clinic should be used for something like this.

Why ever not?

Well Cameron was visibly squirming. He gave her an ingratiating smile. I am the nurse after all, Grace. I ought to be able to decide what happens in my own clinic.

Grace regarded him coolly. Actually, Bruce, it belongs to the island. Im sure I dont have to remind you of that.

No, of course, but-

So unless you can suggest somewhere else they can use, I dont really see that theres an alternative.

Cameron made an effort to hold on to his tattered dignity. Wellin that case, I suppose

Good. Thats settled, then. Grace gave him a smile. Now why dont you run over there and show them where everything is? Ill look after things here until you get back.

Cameron stared down at his desk as she went back to her class. The flush had gone from his face, leaving him white and tight-lipped. Grace might help him out at the school, but hed just had a public reminder that it was her husbands money that paid his wages. Wordlessly, he snatched his coat down from where it was hanging and walked out.

Id have paid to see that, Brody said in a low voice, as we went after him.

The medical clinic was a short distance from the school. It was little more than a small extension tacked on to one end of the community centre, with no external door of its own. Cameron had ridden there on his mountain bike, forging against the wind. By the time we arrived he was already going into the glassed-in porch that covered the community centres entrance. Leaving Duncan in the car with the evidence bags, Brody and I followed him inside.

The community centre looked like a throwback to the Second World War, a long wooden structure with a low asphalt roof and panelled windows. Most of the inside was taken up by a large hall. Our footsteps echoed hollowly on its unvarnished floorboards, on which the ghostly markings of a badminton court had faded almost to invisibility. Posters advertising dances and the now-past Christmas pantomime were pinned to the walls, and old wooden chairs were stacked untidily at one side. The islands redevelopment evidently hadnt extended this far.

Strachan wanted to build a new community centre, but everyone liked this as it is, Brody said, guessing what I was thinking. Familiarity, I suppose. People like some things to stay the same.

Cameron had stopped by a new-looking door and was searching irritably through a jangling key ring. While we waited, I went to a scuffed upright piano that stood nearby. The lid was raised, exposing ivory keys that were cracked and yellow with age. When I pressed one a deep, broken note rang out, fading discordantly into silence.

Would you mind not doing that? Cameron said, waspishly, unlocking the door and going into the clinic.

It was only small, but well equipped, with pristine white walls and shining steel cabinets. There was an autoclave for sterilizing instruments, a well-stocked medicine cabinet and a fridge. Best of all, from my point of view, was the large stainless steel trolley and powerful halogen lamp. There was even a large magnifying lens on an adjustable stand, for examining and stitching wounds.

Cameron had gone to a desk and was making a point of checking that its drawers were locked. Brody and I watched as he did the same with the filing cabinet. That finished, he confronted us with ill-concealed dislike.

I expect you to leave everything exactly as you found it. Ive no intention of cleaning up any mess you make.

Without waiting for us to answer he started to leave.

Well need the key, Brody said.

Tight-lipped, Cameron unhooked one from the bunch he carried and slapped it down on the desk.

What about one for the community centre? I asked.

We dont keep it locked, he responded primly. It belongs to everyone on the island. Thats why its called the community centre.

Id still prefer to have a key.

He gave a condescending smile. Well, thats too bad. Because if there is one Ive no idea where it is.

He seemed to take a petty satisfaction from being able to deny us that much, at least. Brody watched him go out.

That man is a royal pain in the arse.

Id been thinking along the same lines myself. Come on, lets get the evidence bags inside, I said.


I had an unpleasant conversation with Wallace while Brody and Duncan carried the evidence bags of bone and ashes into the clinic. Word had belatedly reached the detective superintendent that wed been trying to contact him. Unfortunately, hed called Fraser rather than Duncan, and the sergeant had lost no time in giving his side of events.

Consequently, Wallace was incandescent, demanding to know why wed violated a crime scene without his permission. In no mood to be shouted at, I angrily pointed out that wed had no choice, and that none of this would have happened if hed sent SOC in the first place.

It was Brody who calmed things down, taking the radio to talk to Wallace out of earshot. When he handed it back to me, the superintendent was grudgingly apologetic. He told me to go ahead and continue my examination of the remains.

I suppose now youve got this far, you might as well see what else you can find out, he said, ungraciously.

The gesture was little more than an olive branch, as we both knew there was precious little I could do without a properly equipped laboratory. But I said Id do my best. Before Wallace hung up, I asked what the situation was with the train crash. Id not heard any news since Id been on Runa, and I was out of touch.

The superintendent paused. It was joyriders. They stalled the van on the line and then panicked and ran off.

Not a terrorist attack after all, then. People had died, and SOC prevented from coming to Runa, all because some bored teenagers had stolen a van.

I was thinking about that as I returned to the clinic. Duncan was gingerly putting the dead womans hand into the fridge, holding it out at arms length. In the plastic of the evidence bag, it looked unsettling like a cut of meat for the freezer.

Still cant get my head round how this happened, he said, closing the fridge door with relief. How the body was burned, I mean. Just doesnt seem natural.

Oh, it was natural, right enough, I said, still brooding over what Wallace had said.

Both Duncan and Brody looked at me.

You know what caused it? Brody asked.

Id known almost from the moment I set eyes on the remains. But I hadnt wanted to commit myself until Id been able to confirm my theory. Now, though, with the island cut off and half of the evidence buried under the cottage, there didnt seem any reason not to tell them.

Pretty much, I said. I gave you a clue the other day, Duncan, remember?

The fatty stuff on the cottage ceiling, you mean? Aye, but I still havent been able to work it out.

He looked embarrassed. Brody was watching me, waiting.

It comes down to two things. Body fat and what she was wearing, I explained. Have either of you heard of something called the wick effect?

They both looked blank.

There are two ways to reduce a human body to ash. You either incinerate it at a very high temperature, which didnt happen here or the entire cottage would have burned down. Or you burn it at a lower temperature, for longer. Weve all got a layer of fat just under the skin, and fat burns. Candles used to be made of tallow made from rendered animal fat before paraffin wax was used instead. So what happens is that, in certain conditions, the human body effectively becomes a giant candle.

Youre joking, Brody said. For once the ex-policeman seemed rattled.

No. Thats why the residue on the ceiling and ground around the remains was significant. The fat liquefies in the heat and gets carried in the smoke. Obviously, the more body fat a person has, the more fuel there is to burn. Judging from how much was on the ceiling at the cottage, the dead woman had quite a lot.

So she was overweight? Duncan asked.

Id say so, yes.

Brodys forehead was furrowed. I dont see where what she was wearing comes in.

Because as the fat melts, it soaks into the clothes. They act like a candle wick, letting the body burn for much longer than it would otherwise. Particularly if theyre made from a flammable fabric.

Brody still looked shaken. Christ. Thats a hell of an image.

I know, but its what happens. Most cases of so-called spontaneous human combustion happen to people who are elderly or drunk. Theres nothing suspicious or paranormal about it. They just drop a cigarette on themselves, or brush too close to a fire and set themselves alight, and are either asleep or incapable of putting out the flames. Like Mary Reeser, I said to Duncan. Shes the classic case thats always cited as being inexplicable. But she was elderly, overweight, and a smoker. According to the police report, the last person to see her was her son. Shed just taken sleeping tablets, and was sitting in the armchair in her nightgown-both of which would have acted as wicks-smoking a cigarette.

Duncan pondered that for a moment. Aye, but why wasnt anything else damaged by the fire? And why didnt all the body burn up?

Because even when theres a lot of body fat to act as fuel, human tissue doesnt burn particularly hotly. You get a slow-burning fire thats intense enough to consume the body, but not ignite anything else. Again, think of a candle-it melts as the wick burns, but doesnt damage whatevers nearby. As for why the hands and feet sometimes survive

I held out my hand, pulling back my sleeve to expose my wrist.

Theyre mainly skin and bone. Theres hardly any fat on them. And theyre generally not covered by fabric like the torso, so theres nothing to act as a wick. Hands sometimes get burned just because theyre near the body, unless the arms are outflung. But the feet and sometimes the shins are often far enough removed from the fire to survive. Like they were here. She was lying on one hand, so it got burned along with the rest. But the other hand, and her feet, survived.

Brody rubbed his chin thoughtfully, hand rasping on the whiskers that were already showing through. You think this wick effect was intentional? That somebody did it deliberately?

I doubt it. Its not something you can easily stage. Ive never even heard of it happening in a murder before. All the recorded incidents have been with accidental deaths, which was another reason I was slow to chalk this one up as suspicious. No, I think whoever did this probably just wanted to destroy any incriminating evidence they might have left on the body. Id guess he used a small amount of petrol or some other accelerant to start the fire-not much or the ceiling in the cottage would have been more scorched than it was-then dropped a match on to the body and got out.

The furrows on Brodys forehead had deepened. Why didnt the killer torch the entire cottage?

Ive no idea. Perhaps he was worried that might attract too much attention. Or he hoped it would look more like an accident this way.

They were silent as they considered that. Finally Duncan spoke.

Was she dead?

Id spent time wondering about that myself. There had been no sign that the woman had moved around after she was set on fire, no evidence of her trying to put out the flames. The blow that had cracked her skull would at the very least have left her unconscious, and perhaps even comatose. But dead?

I dont know, I said.


The walls of the clinic shook under the gales onslaught. Somehow the sound seemed only to heighten the silence after theyd gone. I pulled on one of my last remaining pairs of surgical gloves. There was an almost full box of them in one of the cupboards, but I didnt want to use them unless I had to. Cameron was tetchy enough without my helping myself to his supplies.

There wasnt much I could do without proper facilities, but now that Wallace had given me permission to examine the remains wed salvaged there was one thing I wanted to try.

Brody had put his finger on it when hed said the inquiry was hamstrung until the victim had been identified. Once we knew who she was, it might throw light on who had killed her. Without that information, trying to find her killer would be like groping in the dark.

I hoped I might be able to do something about that.

Taking the skull from its evidence bag, I gently set it on the stainless steel trolley. Blackened and cracked, it lay canted on the cold surface. The empty eye sockets gaped blankly into eternity. I wondered what the eyes theyd once held had looked on not so very long ago. A lover? A husband? A friend? How often had she laughed, unknowing, as the seconds ticked away the last days and hours of her existence? And what had she seen when that realization, finally and irrevocably, made itself known to her?

Whoever she was, I felt an odd sense of intimacy towards her. I knew almost nothing about her life, but her death had pulled me into her orbit. I had seen her history written in her charred bones, noted each years passing in every bump and scar. She had been laid bare in a way even those who had known her would have never recognized.

I tried to remember if I used to feel like this in the past, on the cases Id worked before Kara and Alice had been killed. I didnt think so. That seemed an age away now, part of a different life. A different David Hunter. Somewhere along the line, and perhaps due to my own loss, I seemed to have lost the detachment Id once had. I wasnt sure if that was good or bad, but the truth was I no longer saw the dead woman as an anonymous victim. That was why shed visited me in my dream, waited expectantly at the foot of my bed. I felt a responsibility towards her. It wasnt something Id anticipated, or even wanted.

But I couldnt turn away from it.

OK, tell me who you are, I said, quietly.



CHAPTER 13

FOR A FORENSIC anthropologist, teeth are a repository of information. Theyre an enduring bone interface, a bridge between the hidden skeleton and the world beyond the body. As well as revealing race and age, they form a record of an individuals life. Our diet, habits, class, even our self-esteem, can all be gleaned from these chunks of calcium and enamel.

I took the lower jawbone from its evidence bag and laid it on the stainless steel trolley beside the broken cranium. It was as light and fragile as balsa. Under the bright halogen light, the disparate sections of the skull looked like an anatomical pastiche, far removed from anything that had once been alive.

At some point I would have to finish the job Id tentatively started in the cottage, and piece together the shattered skull fragments Id managed to salvage. But right now what I needed to do was try to put a face and name to the victims burned remains.

With luck, her teeth might be the key to that.

Not that I was overly optimistic. While a few back molars remained stubbornly in place in the jawbones, most of the teeth had fallen out when the fire had first burned away the gums, then desiccated the roots. Grey and cracked by the heat, the ones Id managed to snatch up before the cottage roof collapsed looked like fossilised remnants of something long dead.

Id found that, even with my arm in the sling, I could still use my left hand to hold or support things. It made life a little easier as I spread a sheet of paper on the table and began arranging the teeth on it in two parallel rows, one for the upper jaw, one for lower. One by one, I laid them out in the order they would have been in the mouth, with the two central incisors in the middle, the lateral incisors next to them, followed by the canines, premolars and then the large molars themselves. It wasnt a straightforward task. As well as damage from the fire, the womans teeth were so badly eroded it was difficult to determine whether some of them were from the upper or lower jaw, or even what type of tooth they actually were.

Everything outside the clinic ceased to exist as I worked. The world shrank down to the circle of light from the halogen lamp. I took more photographs and sketched out a post-mortem odonto-gram: a dental chart detailing each crack, cavity or filling in every tooth. Under normal circumstances I would have taken X-rays of the teeth and jaws so that they could be compared with dental records of potential victims. That wasnt an option now, so I did the only thing I could.

I began to fit the teeth back into the empty sockets.

Even using my left hand as much as the sling allowed, it was slow work. Id lost track of how much time had passed when the lamp suddenly flickered. As though synchronised, a gust of wind rattled against the building, thrumming its structure like a bass note felt rather than heard.

I straightened, groaning as my back muscles protested. God, I ached all over. As though it had only been waiting for me to take notice of it, my shoulder started throbbing. The wall clock told me it was almost five oclock. It had grown dark outside, I saw. Massaging my back, I looked at the skull and jawbone as they lay on the steel trolley. After a few false starts, Id fitted most of the teeth back into them. There were only a couple of molars and premolars left, and they wouldnt affect what I had in mind. I was reaching out to turn off the lamp when I heard a noise from the community centre.

The creak of a floorboard.

Hello? I called.

My voice echoed in the cold air. I waited, but there was no answer. I went to the door and took hold of the handle. But I didnt turn it.

Suddenly, I felt certain someone was on the other side.

The clinic seemed unnaturally quiet. The door into the community centre had a round window set in it, like a porthole. There was a Venetian blind on my side, but I hadnt bothered to lower it.

Now I wished I had. The hall beyond was in darkness. Anyone in there would be able to see into the clinic, but on my side the window was a circle of impenetrable black. I listened, hearing only the wind rushing outside. The silence was like a solid weight, poised ready to break.

I felt the back of my neck prickle. I looked down at my hand, saw the hairs standing up on it.

This is stupid. Theres nothing there. I tightened my grip on the door handle, but still didnt turn it. There was a heavy glass paperweight on the desk. I picked it up, holding it awkwardly as I stooped down to take hold of the door handle with my strapped hand. Ready

I threw open the door and pawed for the light switch. I couldnt find it, but then there was a click and the lights came on.

The empty hall mocked me. I lowered the paperweight. The doors to the hall, and the glassed-in entrance porch beyond it, were closed. The noise must have been the building creaking in the wind. Youre turning into a nervous wreck. I was about to go back into the clinic when I looked down at the floor.

Tracking across it was a trail of wet footprints.

Youre sure you didnt make them?

Brody was considering the slowly drying puddles on the worn floorboards. The water had run too much to gauge what size shoe or boot had made them, but their path was clear enough. They ran from the community centre entrance across to the clinic door, stopping in front of the glass porthole. A pool had formed below it, where someone had stood while theyd watched me.

Certain. I hadnt been outside since I arrived, I told him.

Brody and Duncan had arrived while Id still been debating what to do about the tracks, the young PC looking fresh-faced after a shave and a shower. Now Brody followed the trail to where it had pooled in front of the clinic door. He stared through the glass panel.

Somebody got a good look at what you were doing.

Cameron, perhaps? Or Maggie Cassidy?

Its possible, but I cant see it. And I dont think any of the locals would sneak in like this, either.

You think it was the killer?

Brody nodded slowly. I think its something we have to consider. Bringing the remains here is bound to rattle him, let alone having a forensic expert examining them. What worries me is what he might decide to do about it.

It wasnt a comforting thought. Brody let it hang there for a few seconds.

I think Ill feel happier if we could lock the community centre tonight anyway, he went on. The general store sells chain and padlocks. We could get something from there to make this place a bit more secure, at least. Cant see any point in taking chances.

Neither could I, when he put it like that. Businesslike again, Brody nodded towards where the skull was lying on the steel table.

Intruders aside, how have you been getting on?

Slowly. Ive been trying to find some clue as to who she is.

Can you do that from whats left? Brody asked, surprised.

I dont know. But I can try.

I went over to where the cranium lay on the trolley, switching on the halogen lamp as Brody and Duncan came to look.

The condition of her teeth is interesting. Theyve been cracked by the heat, but they were pretty rotten to begin with. Hardly any of them have fillings, and those that are there are all quite old. She obviously hadnt been to a dentist for years, which suggests she was probably from a deprived social background. Youre more likely to look after your teeth if youre middle class. And her teeth werent just bad; some of them were almost eroded down to the gum. In someone this young, thats a strong sign of heavy drug use.

You think she was an addict? Brody asked.

Id say so.

Duncan looked up. I thought most addicts were skinny. Didnt you say this wick effect meant she was overweight?

It was an astute comment. She probably had more body fat than average, yes. But a lot depends on metabolism and how heavily she was using. It doesnt mean she didnt have a drug habit. But theres something else as well. Do you remember why I said her feet hadnt burned?

Not enough flesh on them? Duncan offered.

And no fabric to act as a wick. She had on training shoes, but no stockings or tights. Or socks, come to that. Id guess she was wearing something like a skirt and jacket or a short coat. Cheap flammable fabric, probably, that would make a good wick.

I looked at the remains of the skull, saddened by the brutal way we were dissecting a life. But it was the only way we would catch whoever had done this to her.

So weve got a young woman who was a serious drug user, whod let herself go enough for her teeth to rot, and who was skimpily dressed and bare-legged in February, I went on. What does that suggest to you about her lifestyle?

She was a prostitute, Duncan said, this time with more conviction.

Brody rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Only one reason a working girl would have come all the way out here.

You mean to see a client? I said.

Im hard pushed to think of another reason. Ties in with what we already thought about her knowing her killer. And itd explain why no one seems to have known she was on the island. Men who pay for sex dont usually advertise the fact.

But something about that didnt seem quite right to me. Even so, its a hell of a long way for a home visit. And why risk bringing a prostitute out to Runa if you were worried about people finding out? Itd make more sense to go to her rather than bring her out here.

Brody looked thoughtful. Theres another possibility. She wouldnt be the first prostitute to try and blackmail a client. Given her drug habit, she might have thought it was worth the trip if there was money to be made out of it.

It was a plausible theory. Blackmail was a strong enough motive for murder, and it fitted the facts we had so far. Not that there were many of them.

You could be right, I said, too tired to try to make sense of it any more. But were just guessing. We dont really know enough to speculate at this stage.

Aye, youre right, Brody agreed heavily. But Ill lay odds that when we find out who she came out here to see-and why-well have found her killer.

Looking at the wet footprints drying on the floor, I wondered if the killer hadnt already found us.


Brody volunteered to stay at the clinic while I went back to the hotel for something to eat, and bought a padlock and chain from the village store.

You need a break. You look all in, he said, moving a chair in front of the door and settling down.

I certainly felt it. My shoulder hurt, I was tired and I hadnt eaten since breakfast. Duncan gave me a lift in the Range Rover as far as the store, which Brody thought would still be open. The rain had stopped but the wind still rocked the car as we drove through the village. Brody had told me the phones were still off, so Id borrowed Duncans radio to try to call Jenny. Digital or not, the signal was still patchy, and when I finally got through I reached her voicemail yet again. What did you expect? Shes not going to sit around waiting for you to call.

Disappointed, I gave Duncan the radio back. He took it absently, lost in thought. Except for when Id explained my findings earlier, hed been unusually quiet. Almost pensive, in fact, and when he drove past the store I had to remind him to stop.

Sorry, he said, pulling over.

He still seemed distracted as I got out of the car, but I put it down to his not relishing another night alone in the camper van.

No need to wait, Ill walk back from here, I told him. The fresh air will do me good.

Dr Hunter? he said, before I could close the door.

Yes? I said, bracing myself against the wind.

But whatever he had been about to say, hed evidently thought better of it. Nothing. Doesnt matter.

You sure?

Aye. Just me being daft. He gave an embarrassed smile. I better be getting back to relieve Sergeant Fraser. Hell kill me if Im late.

I nearly pressed him. But whatever was on his mind, I supposed hed tell me when he was ready.

I raised my hand in acknowledgement as he drove off, but I dont know if he saw me. I turned to the store. A light still burned inside, and the sign on the door said Open. It announced my entry with a tinkle of bells. Inside was a crammed treasure trove of tinned food, hardware and groceries. The smell took me back to my childhood: heady scents of cheese, candles and matches. Behind the worn wooden counter a woman was bending over to unpack tins of soup from a box.

With you in a second, she said, and as she straightened I recognised Karen Tait.

Id forgotten that Brody had said she ran the general store. Without the artificial flush of alcohol she looked more worn down than ever, with only a ghost of a lost prettiness remaining in her puffy features. Her smile was a grudging thing to start with, but it faded altogether when she saw who her customer was.

Do you have any padlocks? I asked.

She jerked her chin towards a shelf on the back wall, where there was a selection of ironmongery stacked haphazardly in boxes.

Thanks, I said.

She didnt reply. I felt her gaze on me as I sifted through the boxes of bolts, screws and nails, hostile and resentful. But I found what I was looking for: a heavy-duty padlock, and a spool of chain.

Ill take a metre of this, too, please.

The cutters are there as well.

I wasnt sure Id be able to cut the chain one-handed, but I wasnt going to give her the satisfaction of asking for help. I hunted around before eventually finding a pair of bolt cutters on another shelf, next to an old wooden yardstick. I measured out the chain, then cut it by bracing one handle of the cutters on my thigh. Putting everything back as Id found it, I took the length of chain and the padlock over to the counter.

And Ill take this as well, I said, selecting a large bar of chocolate from the display.

She rang the items into the till in silence, watching as I took a note from my wallet.

Im not changing that.

The till drawer was open, revealing a selection of coins and smaller notes. She stared back at me, defiantly.

I put my wallet back and rummaged in my pocket. She watched me count out the money, then banged it into the till. I was owed change, but it wasnt worth arguing about. I picked up my buys and headed for the door.

Think a bar of chocolate will get your feet under that table, do you?

What? I asked, not quite believing Id heard right.

But she only stared at me sourly. I went out, resisting the temptation to slam the door.

Still fuming, I debated going straight back to the clinic with the chain. But Brody had been adamant I should get something to eat first. I knew he was right, and somehow I didnt think anyone would try anything as long as the old DI was standing guard.

The walk back to the hotel did me good. Windy as it was, at least the rain was holding off, and the air was cold and fresh. By the time Id reached the side street leading to the hotel my temper had started to subside. Light shone welcomingly from the windows, and the smell of fresh bread and burning peat greeted me when I stepped inside. The grandfather clock clunked majestically as I went down the hallway to find Ellen. The bar was untended, but there were low voices coming from the kitchen.

Ellens and a mans.

When I knocked on the door the voices stopped. Just a minute, Ellen called out.

After a few moments she opened the door. The yeasty scent of warm bread enveloped me.

Sorry. Just getting the loaves out of the oven.

She was alone. Whoever shed been talking to must have left through the back door. Ellen busied herself turning out the bread from the tins, but not before Id seen that shed been crying.

Is everything all right? I asked.

Fine. But she kept her back to me as she spoke.

I hesitated, then held up the chocolate bar. I brought this for Anna. Hope you dont mind her having sweets.

She smiled, sniffing away the last of her tears. No, thats very good of you.

Look, are you?

Im fine. Really. She gave me another smile, stronger this time.

I came away. I didnt know her well enough to do anything else. But I couldnt help but wonder who Ellens visitor had been, and why she should want to keep his identity a secret.

Or what hed done to make her cry.



CHAPTER 14

I FELT BETTER after a hot shower and a change of clothes. Id already worn everything Id packed for the trip to the Grampians, and I made a note to ask Ellen if there was anything I could do about my laundry. My shoulder still hurt, but the shower had helped, and the two ibuprofen Id taken were starting to kick in as I went downstairs to get something to eat.

Outside the bar, though, I stopped, reluctant to go in. Id felt like an outsider even before this, but now the extent of my isolation suddenly hit home. Even though Id already been sure that the womans killer must still be on the island, might even be someone Id met, it hadnt seemed to have any direct bearing on me personally. I was there to do a job. Now, though, someone had crept into the community centre to spy on me, and Id no idea who, or why.

Somehow it seemed that a line had been crossed.

Dont start getting paranoid. And remember what Brody said: until the support teams get here, the best defence is not to let on what we know.

I pushed open the door to the bar. At least the weather seemed to have thinned out some of the customers. Guthrie and Karen Tait were nowhere to be seen, I was relieved to see, and only one of the domino players had turned out. He sat forlornly at their table, the box of dominoes waiting in front of him.

But Kinross was there, staring silently into his pint while his son hunched self-consciously on a bar stool next to him. Fraser was there too, sitting at a table by himself as he attacked a plate piled with sausages and mashed vegetables. He obviously hadnt wasted any time in getting back once Duncan had relieved him at the camper van. A glass of whisky stood next to his plate, announcing that he considered himself off duty, and from the flush on his face I doubted it was his first.

Christ, Im starving, he said, shovelling up a forkful of potato as I sat down at his table. There were flecks of food in his moustache. First Ive had to eat all day. No joke being out in that camper van this bloody weather, I can tell you.

He hadnt seemed so bothered when it had been Duncan out there, I thought wryly. Did Duncan tell you we had an intruder? I said, keeping my voice down.

Aye. He waved his fork dismissively. Bloody kids, probably.

Brodys not convinced thats all it was.

I wouldnt pay too much attention to what he says, he snorted, giving me a glimpse of semi-masticated sausage. Duncan says you think the dead woman was a whore from Stornoway. That right?

I glanced around to make sure no one could hear. I dont know where shes from. But I think she was probably a prostitute, yes.

And a junkie, by the sound of it. He washed down his food with a gulp of whisky. You ask me shell have come out here to service the contractors, and one of them got too rough. No great mystery about it.

There werent any contractors out here four or five weeks ago when she was killed.

Aye, well, all due respect, but I cant see how anyone can say for sure when that was, not from the bits and pieces thatre left. Cold weather like this, they could have been lying out there for months. He wagged his knife at me. You mark my words, whoever killed herll be back on either Lewis or the mainland by now.

I revised my estimate of how many whiskies Fraser might have had. But I wasnt going to argue. Hed made up his mind, and nothing inconvenient like the facts was going to change it. Still, I didnt feel like listening to any more of his opinions, and I was considering asking Ellen for some sandwiches to take away with me when the peat slab in the hearth flared from a sudden blast of cold air. A moment later Guthrie stamped into the bar, filling the doorway with his bulk.

I knew straight away that something was wrong. He glared at where Fraser and I were sitting before going to whisper to Kinross. The ferry captains expression darkened as he turned to stare at us. Then, as his son watched apprehensively, he and Guthrie came over to our table.

Engrossed in his food, Fraser didnt notice until they were standing over us. He looked up irritably.

Aye? he snapped, still chewing.

Kinross regarded him in the same way he might something unsavoury and useless caught in a net. What do you need a padlock for?

I kicked myself for not anticipating this. Given our presence at the clinic, it wouldnt take much guessing where the lock was for. And I should have realized that Cameron might not be alone in objecting to our being there.

Fraser frowned. Padlock? What the hell are you talking about?

I bought one earlier, I told him. For the community centre.

For a moment he looked aggrieved at not being told sooner, but the lure of food and whisky overcame it. He gestured towards me as he went back to his meal.

There you go. So now you know.

Guthrie folded his beefy arms on the shelf of his stomach. He wasnt drunk this time, but he wasnt happy, either.

And who says you can shut us out of our own fucking community centre?

Fraser lowered his knife and fork and glowered at him. I do. We had an intruder in there earlier, so now were locking it. Any objection?

Aye, youre dead right we have, Guthrie rumbled, lowering his arms threateningly. Long and heavily muscled, they gave him the look of an ape as they hung at his side. Thats our fucking centre.

So write a letter of complaint, Fraser retorted. Its being used on police business. Which means its off limits until we say so.

Kinrosss eyes glittered over his dark beard. Perhaps you didnt hear. Thats our community centre, not yours. And if you think you can come here and lock us out of our own buildings, then you need to think again.

I broke in before things got out of hand. Nobody wants to lock anyone out, but it wont be for long. And we did check first with Grace Strachan.

I offered a silent apology to Grace for invoking her name, but it had the effect Id hoped. Kinross and Guthrie glanced at each other, uncertainty replacing the belligerence of a moment ago.

Kinross rubbed the back of his neck. Well, if Mrs Strachan said it was OK

Thank God for that. But my relief was premature. Perhaps it was the whisky, or perhaps he felt his authority had already been undermined enough by Brody. But for whatever reason Fraser decided to have the last word.

You can consider this a warning, he growled, levelling a fat finger at Kinross. This is a murder inquiry now, and if you try to interfere again then believe me, youll wish youd stayed on your bloody ferry!

The entire bar had fallen quiet. Everyone in the room was staring at us. I tried to keep the dismay off my face. You bloody idiot!

Kinross looked startled. A murder inquiry? Since when?

Belatedly, Fraser realized what hed done. Thats none of your business, he blustered. Now, if you dont mind, Id like to finish my supper. This conversations over.

He bent over his plate again, but couldnt stop the flush climbing up the back of his neck. Kinross looked down at him, biting his lip in thought. He jerked his head at Guthrie.

Come on, Sean.

They moved back to the bar. I stared at Fraser, but he busied himself with his food and refused to meet my eye. Finally, he gave me a sullen glare.

What? Theyll know soon enough when SOC get out here. Theres no harm done.

I was too angry to say anything. The one thing wed hoped to keep quiet, and now Fraser had needlessly blurted it out. I stood up, not wanting to stay in his company any longer.

Id better go and relieve Brody, I said, and went to ask Ellen to make me some sandwiches.


Brody was still sitting in the hall where Id left him, guarding the door to the clinic. When I went in he sat forward, poised on the edge of his seat, but relaxed when he saw it was me.

Youve not been long, he said, getting to his feet and stretching.

I thought Id eat down here.

Id brought my laptop with me from the hotel. I set it down and took the padlock and chain from my coat pocket. I handed him the spare key.

Here. You might as well have this.

He gave me a questioning look as he took it. Shouldnt you give the spare to Fraser?

Not after what hes just done.

Brodys mouth tightened as I described what had just happened in the hotel bar.

Bloody fool. Thats just what we didnt need. He thought for a moment. Look, do you want me to stick around for a while? So long as I give Bess her evening walk some time, Ive nothing else to do.

I didnt think he was aware of the loneliness his words implied. Ill be fine. You might as well go and get something to eat.

You sure?

I told him I was. I appreciated the offer, but I needed to work. And I could do that better without any distractions.

When hed gone I wrapped the chain through the handles of the community centres double doors, then slid the hasp of the padlock through the links and snapped it shut.

Satisfied that the hall was as secure as I could make it, I sat in the chair that Brody had stationed by the clinic door and ate the sandwiches Ellen had made. Shed also given me a Thermos of black coffee, and when Id eaten I sipped at the scalding liquid, listening to the wind booming outside.

The old building creaked like a ships timbers in a high sea. The sound was oddly restful, and the food had made me drowsy. My eyelids began to close, but my head jerked back up as a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows. The overhead light dimmed and buzzed indecisively before brightening to life once more. Time to make a start.

The skull and jawbone were as Id left them. Plugging my laptop into a wall socket, I switched it on. Its battery was fully charged, but that wouldnt last long if the power failed. Better to use the islands main electricity while I could, and trust that the laptops surge-protection would hold out against it from the fluctuating supply.

Once the laptop had booted up, I opened the missing persons files that Wallace had sent. This was the first time Id had a real chance to look at them. There were five in all: young women between eighteen and thirty whod disappeared from the Western Isles or the west coast of Scotland in the last few months. Chances were that they had simply run away, and would turn up at some point in Glasgow, Edinburgh or London, drawn to the chimera of a big city.

But not all of them.

Each file contained a detailed physical description and a jpeg photograph of a missing woman. Two of the photographs were useless, with the subject in one closed-mouthed, and the other a full-body shot that was too low-resolution for me to work with. But a quick glance at the descriptions that accompanied them made it unnecessary anyway. One was black, while the other was too short to be the young woman whose skeleton Id measured in the cottage.

The other three, though, all matched the physical profile of the dead woman. Their photographs showed them as not much more than girls, caught before whatever event had either caused them to walk away from their lives, or ended them. My laptop had a sophisticated digital imaging program, and I used it to enlarge the mouth of the first picture, zooming in until the screen was filled with a giant, anonymous smile. When it was as large and sharp as I could make it, I began to compare it to those of the skeletal grin.

Unlike fingerprints, which need a minimum number of matching features, a single tooth can be enough to provide a positive ID. Sometimes a distinctive shape, a certain break, is all it takes to reveal an entire identity.

That was what I was hoping for now. The teeth Id replaced in the skull were crooked and chipped. If none of the women in the photographs showed similar dental flaws, then it would at least rule them out as possible candidates. But if I was lucky enough to find a match, then I might be able to put a name to the anonymous victim.

From the start I knew it wasnt going to be easy. The photographs were only snapshots, hardly intended for the grim purpose I had in mind. Even magnified and cleaned up, the images were grainy and unclear. And the poor condition of the teeth Id laboriously fitted back into the skull didnt help. If the victim was one of these young women, the photograph had been taken before her drug addiction had eroded them away.

After a couple of hours poring over the images, I felt as though Id had sand rubbed into my eyes. I poured myself another coffee, rubbing the kinks from my neck. I felt tired and dispirited. Even though Id known it was a long shot, Id hoped to find something.

Wearily, I went back to the original images of the three young women. One in particular drew me, though I couldnt have said why. It had been taken on a street, with the young woman standing in front of a shop window. Her face was attractive but hard, with a wariness around the eyes and mouth even though she was smiling. If she was a victim, she wouldnt have been a passive one, I thought.

I studied her photograph more closely. Only the incisors and the upper canines were revealed by her smile. They were every bit as crooked as those Id replaced in the skull, but none of their characteristics matched. The dead womans upper left incisor had a distinctive V-shaped chip in it, yet the one on my screen was unmarked. Give it up. Youre wasting your time.

But there was still something about the picture I couldnt put my finger on. And then I saw it.

Oh, youve got to be joking, I said out loud.

I clicked on a simple command. The young woman on my screen vanished and then reappeared, subtly altered. Behind her, the incomplete shop sign could now be made out: Stornoway Store amp; Newsag. But it wasnt what it said that was important, so much as the fact that it was no longer back to front.

The photograph had been the wrong way round.

It was the sort of simple slip-up that usually didnt matter. But at some point, either when it had been scanned from a negative or transferred to the missing persons database, the picture had been inverted. Right for left, left for right.

Id been looking at a mirror image.

With growing excitement, I magnified the teeth of the young woman in the photograph again. Now her upper left incisor had a V-shaped notch that exactly matched the chip in the skulls. And both lower right canines were crooked, overlapping the tooth next to them to an identical degree.

Id found a match.

For the first time, I allowed myself to read the description that accompanied the photograph. The young womans name was Janice Donaldson. She was twenty-six years old, a prostitute, alcoholic and drug addict who had gone missing from Stornoway five weeks ago. There had been no widespread search, no news bulletins. Just one more open file, another soul who had dropped through the cracks.

I looked at her picture again, the electronically frozen smile. She was full-faced, with round cheeks and the beginnings of a double chin. Even given her drug addiction, she was a young woman who was always going to be plump. Lots of body fat to burn. It would still have to be confirmed by dental records and fingerprints, but I didnt have any doubt that Id found the murdered woman.

Hello, Janice, I said.


As I was staring at my laptop screen, Duncan was huddled in the camper van trying to concentrate on his criminology textbook. It wasnt easy. The wind was worse than ever. Even though the van was parked in the lee of the cottage, which took the brunt of the gales force, it was still being battered mercilessly.

The constant buffeting was unsettling as well as uncomfortable. Duncan had thought about turning off the paraffin heater in case the camper blew over, but hed decided against it. Hed take his chances on catching fire rather than freeze to death.

So hed tried to close his mind to the way it was rocking, and done his best to focus on his book as the rain drilled against the metal roof. But when hed found himself rereading the same paragraph for the third time, he finally accepted it wasnt going to happen.

He closed the book with a sigh. The fact was it wasnt only the gale that was bothering him. He was still fretting over the idea that had occurred to him earlier. He knew he was being stupid, that the notion was completely ridiculous. But now hed started to wonder about it, he couldnt put it from his mind. That overactive imagination of his again.

The question was, what did he do about it? Tell someone? In which case, who? Hed come close to mentioning it to Dr Hunter earlier, but thought better of it. There was always Brody, of course. Or Fraser. Aye, right. Duncan was well aware of the detective sergeants failings as a police officer. The whisky smell on his breath in a morning was an embarrassment. Disgusting. It was as though he thought people wouldnt notice, or no longer cared. Duncans father had told him about some officers whod burned out, their ambition reduced to keeping their nose clean until they could retire with a full pension. He could have been describing Fraser.

Duncan wondered if hed always been like that, or if hed gradually sunk into his current state of disillusionment. Hed heard the stories about him, of course; some hed believed, others he was more sceptical about. But hed always liked to think there was still a halfway decent police officer buried beneath the alcohol cheeks.

Now, though, he wasnt so sure. Here they were, landed at the sharp end of a murder investigation-right at the sharp end-and Fraser still acted as though it were an inconvenience. Duncan didnt see it like that at all. Duncan thought it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

The recognition made him feel a little guilty. A woman had died, after all. Was it right to feel so keyed up about it?

But this was his job, he rationalised. This was what hed joined the police for, not filling in parking forms, or sorting out drunken neighbour squabbles. He knew there was evil out there-not in the biblical sense, perhaps, but that was what it amounted to all the same. He wanted to be able to look it in the eye, and make it flinch. Make a difference. Aye, and I can imagine what Fraser would say about that.

The smile slowly faded from his face. So what was he going to do?

A flash from outside caught his peripheral vision. He looked out of the window, waiting for it to come again. It didnt. Lightning? But there was no accompanying roll of thunder. He turned off the light so that the camper van was in darkness except for the low blue flame of the paraffin heater. He could make out the dark shape of the cottage, but nothing else.

He hesitated. It could have been sheet lightning, he thought. That didnt make any noise, did it? Or perhaps his eyes were just playing tricks.

Then again, it could have been someone outside with a torch.

The reporter again? Maggie Cassidy? He hoped not. Although part of him felt quite keyed up at the prospect, hed believed her when shed said she wouldnt try anything again. Naive or not, hed feel let down if shed broken her promise. But if it wasnt her, then who? Duncan didnt think there was enough left in the cottage for anyone to bother with, not unless they brought a JCB to dig out the rubble first.

But this was a murder inquiry now. He wasnt going to take the chance. He considered radioing Fraser, but not for long. He could imagine the sergeants withering response, and hed no wish to subject himself to it. Not without checking it out first. Pulling on his coat, he picked up the Maglite and went outside.

The force of the wind almost jerked him from his feet. Closing the door as quietly as he could, he paused for a moment, listening. The wind made it impossible to hear. And it was too dark now to see anything without a torch. He switched it on and quickly shone the beam around. It picked out only thrashing grass and the lonely shell of the cottage.

The wind quickly stripped the camper vans heat from him. And hed forgotten to put on his gloves. Shivering, he approached the cottage, playing the torch beam on its doorway. Hed resealed it earlier-something Fraser hadnt bothered to do-and the tape showed no sign of being touched. He shone the torch inside, satisfying himself that no one was in there, and then began to circle round the ruined walls.

Nothing. Gradually, he allowed himself to relax. It must have been sheet lightning after all. Aye, either that or your imagination. He completed his circuit, feet whispering through the thick grass. When he reached the doorway again his main concern was how bloody cold he was. His fingers were going numb on the torchs steel casing.

Even so, he forced himself to shine the beam around one last time before heading back for the camper van. Reaching it, he hesitated, suddenly struck by the thought that someone might be in there waiting.

If they are, I hope theyve got the kettle on. Gripping the heavy Maglite, he pushed open the door.

The camper van was empty. The hissing blue glow from the paraffin heater gave out a welcoming heat. Duncan hurried inside gratefully, and shut the door. Rubbing his icy hands to get some feeling back, he switched on the light and lifted the kettle to see if there was enough water in it. There was, but he reminded himself that theyd need to fill the plastic water container tomorrow. Fraser must have spent the entire day drinking tea, he thought glumly.

Duncan put the kettle on the camper vans small gas ring and picked up the box of matches. He took one out and struck it, the sudden flare releasing brimstone smoke.

Someone banged on the door.

Duncan jumped. The sting on his fingertips reminded him he still held the match. He shook it out, released from his surprise.

He almost called out to ask who it was. But a trespasser would hardly walk right up and knock, he chided himself. Even so, he picked up the Maglite again. Just in case.

Then, drawing confidence from the torchs weight, he went to open the door.



CHAPTER 15

I WAS SITTING at the desk in the clinic. It was dark, but not so dark that I couldnt see. A dusty twilight seemed to cover everything. The blinds on the window and door were drawn, and the skull and jawbone still sat on the steel trolley. On the desk in front of me was my laptop, its screen dark and dead. The halogen examination lamp was poised over the table where Id left it, but now it was unlit.

There wasnt a sound. I looked round, taking in my surroundings. And, with the lack of surprise that sometimes accompanies such moments, I knew without thinking about it that I was asleep.

I felt the presence in the corner of the room before I saw it. The figure was lost in shadow, but I could still see her. A woman, heavy-boned and fleshy. A round, attractive face marred by an underlying hardness.

She looked at me, unspeaking.

What do you want? The woman didnt answer. Ive done all I can. Its down to the police now.

Still looking at me, she pointed to the skull on the table.

I dont understand. What do you want me to do?

She opened her mouth. I waited for her to speak, but instead of words smoke began streaming from her lips. I wanted to look away, but I couldnt. Smoke was pouring from her now, from her eyes, nose and mouth, pluming from her fingertips. I could smell her burning, yet there were no flames. Only smoke. It was filling the room, obscuring my view of her. I knew I had to do something, try to help her.

You cant. Shes already dead.

The smoke was getting thicker, starting to choke me. I still couldnt move, but the need to act was overwhelming. I could no longer see the woman, no longer see anything. Move. Now! I lurched towards her

And woke up. I was still in the clinic, sitting at the desk where Id fallen asleep. Now, though, the room was in darkness. A faint glow came from my laptop, where an infinity of stars raced into oblivion. The screensaver had turned itself on, which meant Id been sleeping for at least fifteen minutes.

The gale thrashed outside as I tried to shake off the effects of the dream. I felt short of breath, and my vision was blurred, as though there were a gauze veil in front of it. And I could still smell the acrid stink of smoke.

I took a deep breath, and immediately started to cough. Now I could taste smoke as well as smell it. I tried the switch for the halogen lamp. Nothing happened. The storm must have finally succeeded in cutting off Runas electricity. My laptop was running on battery. I hit a key, bringing it out of the powersave mode. Its screen lit up, casting a dim blue light into the clinic. The haze in the air was more obvious now, and as the last vestiges of sleep fell away I realized I hadnt just been dreaming after all.

The room was full of smoke.

Coughing, I jumped up and lunged for the door. I grabbed hold of the handle, but immediately snatched my hand away.

It was hot.

Id lowered the blind over the glass panel in the door after the intruders visit that afternoon, but now I yanked it open. The hall beyond was swirling with a sulphurous orange light.

The community centre was on fire.

I backed away from the door and quickly looked round the clinic. The only other way out was the small window set high up in one wall. If I stood on a chair I should just be able to squeeze through. I tried to open it, but it wouldnt budge. I saw the window locks and swore. Id no idea where the key might be, and there was no time to look. I snatched the desk lamp to break the glass but stopped myself at the last second. Even opened, the window would be only just big enough for me to crawl through. If I broke it Id never fit through the smaller gap. And although the clinic door was shut, the rush of oxygen-rich air from outside might still cause the fire to expand explosively. I darent risk that.

The smoke had already grown thicker in the room, making it hard to breathe. Come on! Think! I snatched my coat off the wall hook and ran to the washbasin. Turning the tap on full I plunged my head underneath, then did the same with my scarf and gloves. Cold water streamed down my face as I struggled into my coat, cursing the slings clumsiness. Winding the wet scarf round my nose and mouth, I wriggled my right hand into my glove and then pulled up the coats hood.

Grabbing my laptop from the desk, I spared a glance at the skull and jawbone lying on the steel trolley. Im sorry, Janice.

And at that moment the glass porthole exploded.

The fact that my face was averted meant my hood and scarf protected me from most of the flying shards. I felt a few sting my exposed skin, but the sensation was dwarfed by the sudden blast-furnace wave of heat. I staggered back as smoke and flame billowed into the clinic. Any chance of my climbing from the window had now gone. Even if the fireball caused by breaking it didnt kill me outright, Id be burned to death before I could wriggle through.

The smoke was already filtering through the scarf, smothering me. Hacking and coughing, I hunched my back against the heat coming through the shattered porthole and grabbed hold of the door handle. The water on my glove steamed, the heat striking right through the thick fabric, and then Id yanked the door open and dashed through.

It was like running into a wall of heat and noise. The piano was burning like a torch, discordant notes clamouring out a madmans music as the fire plucked and snapped its wires. I almost retreated into the clinic again, but I knew if I did I would die in there. And now I saw that the community centre wasnt completely ablaze. One half was engulfed in flames, yellow tongues chasing across the ceiling and floor, but the side where the exit was located hadnt yet caught.

Get out! Go! Eyes streaming, I stumbled through the smoke. Almost immediately I was lost and blind. I could smell my coat smouldering, a scorched-wool stink coming from the scarf over my face. Heart pounding from fear and lack of oxygen, I didnt see the stack of chairs until I fell over them.

Pain lanced through my shoulder and the laptop flew from my hands as I tumbled to the floor. But it was falling that saved me. Like suddenly swimming into a thermocline, there was a band of relatively clear air trapped against the floorboards. Stupid! Should have realized! I was panicking, not thinking clearly. Keeping my face pressed to the floor, I gulped in greedy breaths as I pawed around for the laptop. I couldnt find it. Leave it! I began crawling towards the exit. An eddy in the smoke revealed the double doors right in front of me. Taking a last deep breath, I hauled myself to my feet and tugged at the handles.

And heard the rattle of the padlocked chain.

Shock and fear paralysed me. Id forgotten all about the padlock. The key. Wheres the key? I couldnt remember. Think! Id given the spare to Brody, but where was mine? Tearing off my glove with my teeth, I frantically searched my pockets. Nothing. Oh, Christ, its still in the clinic.

Then I felt the thin metal shape in my back pocket. Thank God! I fumbled it out, knowing if I dropped it I was dead. The fire clawed at my back. My chest heaved as I tried to fit the key into the padlock, but I darent take a breath. If I did Id be inhaling smoke, not air, and the heat would sear my lungs. My hand was clumsy, the lock stubbornly resistant.

Then there was a snick and the hasp slid open.

The chain rasped on the handles as I tore it free. I wrenched open the doors, hoping that the porch would act like an airlock, allowing me to get out before the fresh air fed the fire. It did, but only partly. There was an instants touch of cold against my face, then I was enveloped in a rush of heat and smoke. I stumbled out with it, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the labouring of my chest to draw breath.

Id no idea how far Id gone before I collapsed. But this time it was on to blessedly cold, wet grass. I sucked in one breath after another, tasting cool air that was tainted by smoke, but air all the same.

There were hands on me now, dragging me away from the centre. My eyes were streaming too much to see, but I recognised Brodys voice saying, Its all right, weve got you.

I looked up, coughing and wiping the tears from my eyes. He was supporting me on one side, the even bigger figure of Guthrie on the other. There were people all around, their stunned faces lit by the flames. More were still arriving, flapping overcoats hurriedly thrown on over pyjamas and nightgowns. Someone was shouting for water; a moment later a mug was thrust into my hands. I drank thirstily, the coldness of it wonderfully soothing on my throat.

Are you OK? Brody was saying.

I nodded, turning round to look back at the community centre. The whole building was blazing, sending up sheets of flame and sparks that the wind instantly whipped away. The clinic extension, where Id been only minutes before, was also burning now, gouts of smoke streaming from the shattered window.

What happened? Brody asked.

I tried to speak, but another coughing spasm seized me.

All right, take it easy, Brody said, urging me to drink again.

Another figure was barging towards us through the gathering crowd. It was Cameron, staring with open-mouthed disbelief at the burning centre. His gaze was manic as he turned it on me.

What have you done? he demanded, bass voice quivering with rage.

For Gods sake, give him a chance, cant you? Brody said.

Camerons Adams apple jerked under the skin of his throat like a trapped mouse. Give him a chance? Thats my clinic going up in flames!

I tried to control my coughing. Im sorry I croaked.

Youre sorry? Look at it! Its gone, the whole place! What the hell did you do?

The veins in his temples pulsed in a calligraphy of anger. I forced myself to stand, wiping my streaming eyes.

I didnt do anything. My throat felt full of gravel. I woke up and the hall was on fire. It started in there, not the clinic.

Cameron wasnt about to back down. Oh, so it started by itself, did it?

I dont know I broke off, coughing again.

Leave him alone, he only just made it out himself, Brody warned.

A harsh laugh came from nearby. It was Kinross, standing at the front of the crowd. With his dark hair and oilskins he looked like a figure from a wilder, darker age.

Aye, made sure he was all right, didnt he?

Would you rather hed still been in there? Brody snapped.

Do we get a choice?

I realized that attention was shifting from the fire to us. I glanced round, saw that wed been hemmed in by the islanders. They were gathered in a circle round us, their faces harsh and unforgiving in the flames.

It didnt just burn down by itself, one man muttered.

Other voices began to call out as well, wanting to know why wed used the centre, who would pay for it to be replaced. I could feel the mood shifting from shock to anger.

Then the crowd began to part, making way for a tall figure. With relief I saw it was Strachan. And just like that, the tension subsided.

He strode up to us, hair thrashing in the wind as he stared at the blazing community centre. Christ! Was anyone inside?

I shook my head, trying to stifle the coughs. Only me.

And Janice Donaldson. I looked at the flames wrapping themselves round the building, feeling as though Id let her down.

Strachan took the empty mug from me. Some more water here, please.

He held it out, not even bothering to see who took it. Almost immediately the mug was refilled and pressed back into my hand. I gulped at the icy water gratefully. Strachan waited until Id lowered it.

Any idea how it started?

Cameron had been watching with barely concealed anger. Isnt it obvious? He was the only person in there!

Dont talk rubbish, Bruce, Strachan told him impatiently. Everyone knows the place was a fire trap. The wiring was ancient. I should have insisted on tearing down the whole thing when we built the clinic.

And thats it, is it? Were supposed to just let it go? Cameron asked, tight-lipped.

Strachan gave an easy grin. Well, you could always lynch Dr Hunter, I suppose. Theres a street lamp over there, and Im sure you could find some rope. But why dont we wait until we know what caused it before we start blaming anyone?

Turning his back on Cameron, he addressed the gathered islanders.

I promise well find out what happened. And well build a new and better clinic and community centre, you have my word on that. But theres nothing more we can do tonight. Everyone should go on home now.

Nobody moved. Then, as if on cue, what was left of the hall suddenly collapsed in a shower of sparks and flame. Gradually at first, then more steadily, the crowd began to break up, the men grim-faced, many of the women wiping their eyes.

Strachan spoke to Kinross and Guthrie. Iain, Sean, will you get a few men together and stay for a while? I cant see that itll spread, but Id appreciate your keeping an eye on things.

It was a deft way of defusing the remaining tension. Kinross and Guthrie looked taken aback, but flattered to have been asked. Strachan turned to Cameron as they moved off.

Why dont you take a look at Davids cuts and burns?

Theres no need, I said, before Cameron could respond. Nurse or not, Id had enough of the man for one night. Theres nothing I cant see to myself.

I still say we should- Cameron began, but Strachan spoke over him.

No need for you to stay either, then, Bruce. Youre teaching in a few hours. You might as well go home too.

His tone didnt brook any argument. Cameron stalked off, his expression thunderous. Strachan watched him go, then turned to me.

OK, so what happened?

I took another drink of water. I must have dozed off. When I woke up the lights were off and the clinic was full of smoke.

He nodded. The power went off all over the island about an hour ago. The blackout must have caused some sort of short.

For the first time I noticed that the village was in darkness beyond the yellow glow of the flames. No street lamps, no lights showing in windows.

Its been a hell of a night. Still, it could have been a lot worse. Strachan paused, a subtle change coming over his manner. I heard a rumour earlier. That the police are treating the body that was found as murder. Do you know anything about that?

Brody spoke up before I could answer. You shouldnt take any notice of rumours.

So it isnt true?

Brody just stared back at him, stonily. Strachan gave a tight smile.

Thats what I thought. Well, Ill say goodnight, then. Im glad youre all right, David.

Brody waited until he was turning away. Im curious. You cant see the village from your house. So how did you know about the fire?

Strachan faced him. His expression was controlled, but I could see the anger under it.

There was a glow in the sky. And Im a poor sleeper.

The two of them held each others stare, neither of them giving an inch. Then, with a final nod in my direction, Strachan walked off into the dark.


Brody drove me back to the hotel. Since his house was down by the harbour, hed rushed up to the community centre in his car when he saw the blaze from his bedroom window.

I dont sleep much either, he told me, wryly.

Exhaustion gave me a sense of unreality as we drove through the blacked-out streets. I resisted the urge to lean back against the headrest and shut my eyes. Reaction was starting to set in, and the cuts and burns I hadnt noticed before had begun to make themselves felt. The stink of smoke and burning clogged my nose and throat. I wound down the window, but the force of the wind made me wind it up again.

So how do you think it started? Brody asked, after a while.

I suppose Strachan could be right. My throat was still raw. The power cut could have caused an electrical short or surge. The centre was a fire trap.

Just a coincidence, then, that it burned down a few hours after wed had an intruder? And after Fraser let slip this was a murder inquiry?

I felt too shattered to think clearly. I dont know.

He didnt push the point. Did we lose everything?

Most of what mattered, I thought. As well as Janice Donaldsons remains, my flight case and equipment had been in the clinic. My camera, my laptop containing all my notes and files, my tape recorder, all gone up in smoke.

But even as I was thinking that, I was already feeling in my pockets.

Not quite, I said, pulling out the USB bar. I backed up my hard drive earlier. Force of habit. So at least weve still got a photographic record.

Better than nothing, I suppose, Brody sighed.

Theres something else, I said. I know who she was.

I told him how the flaws in the skulls teeth had matched those in the photograph of Janice Donaldson, the missing prostitute from Stornoway. Brody gave the steering wheel a little punch of satisfaction.

Well done, he grinned, enthusiasm briefly overcoming his natural restraint.

Well, weve only got the photos of the skull left, so itll still be better if Forensics can confirm it. With luck they might be able to salvage enough undamaged soft tissue from the cottage to try for a DNA match.

If you say you know who she is, thats good enough for me, Brody said. The implied confidence was flattering. I only hoped Wallace would be as readily convinced.

We were coming to the hotel now. A light on in the hallway told us that Ellen was still up. Shed been woken by the sudden quiet as the blackout had silenced the hotels constant heartbeat of central heating and refrigerators. Now the steady background vibration announced that the back-up generator was doing its job.

She looked horrified when she saw me. Oh, my God, are you all right?

Ive had better nights, I admitted. I nodded at the light bulb, slightly dimmer than usual but still working. Thats a welcome sight.

Aye. Provided were careful, weve enough oil to keep the generator running for three or four days. With luck the power will be back on by then. God willing, she added dryly.

While Brody went to rouse Fraser, she ushered me into the kitchen and helped me off with my coat. It stank of smoke and was badly scorched, making her wrinkle her nose at the smell.

Shame it wasnt fireproof as well as waterproof.

I looked at where the Teflon-coated fabric had charred on the hood and shoulders. I could feel a corresponding sting on my own flesh, but nothing serious.

Im not complaining, I said.

Brody returned a few minutes later with a sleep-bleared Fraser, whisky-breathed and still buttoning his shirt.

Hes not going to like it, he warned, when I asked him to radio Wallace.

He was right. But the superintendents anger was mollified to some extent when he learned I had a probable ID for the victim. Id been going to ask when we could expect help to get here, but the connection was terrible. When it wasnt cutting out altogether, his voice faded in and out of a wash of crackles.

Wellalkorrow, I heard him say.

Modern technology, Brody sniffed, when I ended the call. They replaced the old analogue radios with digital, but they still piggyback the signal off the mobile phone network. Any problems with that and youre liable to lose the lot.

Fraser made reluctant noises about going to examine the community centre, but there was no real point until the fire had died down. After taking a brief statement from me, he muttered excuses and went back to bed. Ellen had discreetly left the room when Id called Wallace, but now she returned and began ushering Brody out as well.

Go and get some sleep. You look nearly as bad as David, she scolded.

She was right. The ex-policeman was haggard and drawn. He managed a weak smile.

Im not sure which of us should be more insulted. But perhaps I will. Its been a long day.

Weve another tomorrow, I told him.

Aye, he said, heavily. But I never doubted for a minute that hed be there in the thick of it.

After hed gone, Ellen filled a basin with hot water and brought out antiseptic and cotton wool. Right, lets get you sorted out, shall we?

Its all right, I can do it myself.

Im sure you can. But youre not going to. She began to clean the cuts and grazes on my face. Dont worry. I used to be the unofficial nurse here before Bruce Cameron arrived.

The wind moaned outside, but there was an easy silence between us as she worked. I wondered what a young woman like her, a single mother, was doing on a backwater like Runa. Eking out a living somewhere like this couldnt be easy. Brody had told me shed met Annas father on the mainland, so shed obviously left at some point. Yet shed come back out here. Was that because she actually liked the islands isolation, or was it a retreat from something that had happened out there?

I thought again about the visitor who had been in the kitchen earlier, and whod left her in tears. There couldnt be many single men on an island this size, so it was hard not to draw conclusions about the reason for her secrecy.

Then again, what did I know? If Id any sense Id have been back home with Jenny now. I wished I could talk to her, and regretted not asking to use Frasers radio when Id had the chance. I wondered what she was doing, if she was worrying about me. Probably. You should never have agreed to do this. What the hell was I doing on a bleak island miles from anywhere, nearly having died of exposure and then being burned to death, instead of getting on with my own life?

Except this was my life, I realized, in a moment of rare clarity. This was what I did. What I was. And if Jenny saw it as a problem, where did that leave us?

Ellens voice pulled me back to the here and now. Is it true what people are saying? About the body?

What are they saying?

She gently swabbed a cut with antiseptic. That it was murder.

Thanks to Fraser, there probably wasnt any harm in confirming what everyone on Runa almost certainly already knew, but I still felt reluctant to talk about it, even with Ellen.

Its all right, I know I shouldnt ask, she said, quickly. I just cant believe anything like that could happen here. The bar was full of talk about it earlier. No one can think who the victim can be, let alone imagine anyone from here being involved.

I gave a non-committal murmur. This was exactly what wed hoped to avoid. Now gossip and rumour would fill the vacuum left by the absence of hard fact, muddying the water and stirring up a silt of mistrust. And the only person to benefit would be the killer.

So will you be coming back to Runa for your next holiday? Ellen asked, deliberately lightening the mood.

I started to laugh. It hurt. Dont, I told her, wincing.

She smiled. Sorry. But are you always as accident prone as this?

Not usually. Must be this place.

Her smile faded. Aye, I can believe it.

It was too good an opening to miss. So what about you? Do you like it out here?

She suddenly became preoccupied with a cut. Its not so bad. You should be here in summer. The nights are glorious. Makes up for days like this.

But I prompted.

Butits a small island. You see the same faces all the time. A few contractors or the occasional tourist, but thats all. And, financially, its a struggle keeping your head above water. Sometimes I wishah, well, it doesnt matter.

Go on.

Unguarded, her face showed the sadness I guessed she normally kept in check. I wish I could get away from here. Leave this place-the hotel, the island-behind me, and take Anna and just go. Anywhere. Somewhere where there are decent schools, and shops, and restaurants, and people you dont know, who dont know you and your business.

So why dont you?

There was defeat in the way she shook her head. It isnt that easy. I grew up on Runa, and everything Ive got is here. Besides, what would I do?

Andrew Brody told me youd been to college on the mainland. Isnt that something you could use?

Been telling tales, has he? She looked as though she wasnt sure whether to be angry or amused. Aye, I spent a couple of years at catering college in Dundee. Thats where I learned first aid, all that Health and Safety nonsense. Fancied myself as a chef at one point. But then my father was taken ill, so I came back. Only temporarily, I thought. But then I found myself with a child to support, and jobs arent exactly plentiful round here. So when he died I carried on running this place.

She raised an eyebrow at me.

Arent you going to ask?

Ask what?

About Annas father.

Not when youre putting antiseptic on my cuts, no.

Good. Just so you know, lets just say there was never any future there. Her tone made it clear the subject was closed. She went back to her swabbing. So what else did Andrew Brody tell you?

Not much. Id hate to get him barred from the hotel.

Not much danger of that. She laughed. Annas too fond of him. I suppose I am as well, though dont go telling him that, mind. Hes protective enough as it is.

She paused. I guessed what was coming.

Do you know about his daughter? she asked.

He told me.

He must like you. It isnt something he talks about as a rule. The girl was a bit wild, from what I gather. Still, I cant imagine what it must be like for him, not knowing what happened to her. He tried to track her down after hed retired, but he never found her. So then he came out here.

Her expression softened.

Dont take this wrong. But in a way all this has been good for him. Given him a new lease of life. Some people arent made for retirement, and Andrews one of them. I think he must have been a pretty good policeman.

So did I. I was glad he was here. More so now than ever.

Ellen dropped the bloodied cotton wool into a bowl. There you go. Best thing you can do now is have a hot shower and get some sleep. Ill give you some salve to put on your burns.

A sudden gust of wind struck the hotel, making the entire structure seem to vibrate. Ellen cocked her head, listening.

Storms getting up, she said.



CHAPTER 16

THE RAIN STARTED again during what was left of the night, reducing what remained of the community centre to an uneven mound of grey and black ash. Wraiths of smoke rose from it to be whipped away in the wind. One corner remained partially intact, a few feet of scorched wood that petered out to nothing. In places recognizable shapes still protruded through the wreckage: the corner of a fire-buckled steel cabinet, or skeletal chair legs that poked through the ash like dead branches through a grey snowdrift.

It was a dismal scene, made even more depressing by the dark, heavy clouds that obscured the tops of the low hills. The rain was coming down in near-horizontal sheets. And the gale seemed to have worsened, lashing everything in its path with what seemed like deliberate malevolence.

Brody, Fraser and I had gone out to the community centre as soon as it was light. I felt exhausted. Id had less than four hours sleep and I ached all over. My shoulder throbbed relentlessly, wrenched during my escape from the fire. Id hardly recognized myself in the shaving mirror that morning. The skin of my face felt sunburned, peppered with small gashes from the flying glass. My eyebrows and eyelashes had been singed off, giving me a strange, startled expression.

Still, as Strachan had said, it could have been much worse.

Brody and Fraser stood behind me as I studied the smoking wreckage. By rights I should have waited until a fire inspector had made sure that the structure was safe, but there was no telling when that would be. I was under no illusion that Janice Donaldsons remains would have survived this second incineration.

But I had to see for myself.

The rain fell as if the sky were made from water, tamping down the ashes and dampening the outer layer to a black mush. Even so, it hadnt beaten the fire completely. The debris was still smouldering from within. I could feel the heat from it on my face, contrasting the chill against my back.

Do you think theres a chance anything could still be intact? Brody asked.

Not really. My voice was still hoarse from the smoke.

Fraser gave an irritable sigh. He looked bedraggled and miserable in the rain. So why bother?

To make sure.

I could make out one blackened corner of my flight case, protruding from the ashes of what had been the medical clinic. It was open, its contents reduced to so much char. Just beyond it was the stainless steel trolley where Id worked on Janice Donaldsons cranium. The trolley was lying on its side, half buried under the remains of the roof. The skull and jawbone were nowhere to be seen, but I didnt hold out much hope. The already calcined bones would have been shattered to powder by the impact. A few teeth might have survived, but nothing more. In any event, whatever was left would have to wait until a forensic team arrived to sift through the debris. It would take more resources than I had to carry out a proper search.

I brushed a piece of windblown ash from my face as I carefully picked my way towards the fridge. The dead womans hand had been inside it, and there was a chance the insulation had protected it. But that hope quickly died when I cleared away the covering of debris. The fridges white enamel had been burned black and the rubber seal had melted, letting the door swing open to expose the contents to the flames. Of Janice Donaldsons hand, all that was left was bone, cooked to a dark caramel colour by the heat.

The individual finger joints had fallen away from each other as the connecting tissue had burned from them. They lay in the bottom of the fridge, still hot to the touch. I picked them out, allowing them to cool a little before bagging them. All my unused evidence bags had been in my flight case. Theyd gone up in flames with everything else, but Id brought a box of freezer bags from the hotel to use instead. When Id collected what was left of the hand in one of them I rejoined Brody and Fraser.

That it? Fraser asked, squinting at the bag.

Thats it.

Hardly worth bothering with.

I ignored him and went to where an upright section of charred timber still stood in the ruins of the community centre. The wooden spar was blackened to charcoal. Attached to it were bright copper strands, all that remained of the centres electrical wiring. The plastic insulation around the copper had been burned away, but the wires themselves were intact, still stapled to the wooden post.

Judging from their position, they would have fed the light switch by the entrance. Seeing them, an idea began to form, too faint even to call a suspicion. Id only managed to escape from the burning hall because the fire hadnt spread as far as the doors. So it must have started at the far side, opposite where I now stood. I started to circle the wreckage of the centre, making my way round there.

Now what? Fraser demanded irritably. Brody said nothing, just watched, thoughtfully.

Theres something I want to check.

I told myself I was probably wasting my time as I scanned the ashes and wreckage where the back wall had stood. Then something caught my eye. Crouching down, I gently brushed away the ash to reveal what Id hoped I wouldnt find.

Small metal puddles, gleaming against the charred wood.

The sight sent a chill through me. Id attended enough fire scenes to know only too well what they meant.

This was no accident.

And then an even worse thought struck me, one I hadnt even considered until now. Oh, Christ.

Gripped by a new sense of urgency, I hurried back to Brody and Fraser. But even as I did I heard a car approaching, and saw Maggie Cassidys battered Mini bumping up the road towards us.

Her timing couldnt have been worse. She climbed out, diminutive as ever in her oversized red coat.

Morning, gents, she greeted us, cheerfully. I hear somebody had a barbecue last night.

Fraser was already striding towards her. This is off limits. Back in your car. Now!

The wind flattened her coat around her like a cocoon as she held out her Dictaphone, as though to ward him off. There was nervousness in her face, but she did her best to disguise it.

Aye? Whys that?

Because I say so.

She shook her head with mock-regret. Sorry, not good enough. I slept through all the excitement last night, and Im not missing out on it now. Perhaps if you gave me a few words, oh, say about how theres now a murder investigation going on, and how you think the fire started, then Ill be very happy to leave you in peace.

Fraser balled his fists, glaring at her with such animosity I was worried hed do something stupid. Maggie gave me a smile.

How about you, Dr Hunter? Any chance of-

We need to talk.

I dont know who looked most surprised, her or Fraser.

Youre not talking to her!

I caught Brodys eye. Let him be, he told Fraser.

What? Youve got to be joking. Shes a bloody-

Just do it!

All his years of command cracked into his voice. Fraser didnt like it, but he gave in.

Aye, fine! Do what you bloody like, he snapped, walking back towards the Range Rover.

Dont let him go anywhere, I warned Brody. We need the car.

Maggie was watching me suspiciously, as though this might be some new sort of trick.

I need your help, I told her, taking her arm and leading her back towards the Mini. Were going to leave now, and I dont want you to come after us.

She stared at me as if I were mad. What is this, are you-

Listen. Please, I added, knowing too much time had already been wasted. You want a story, I promise youll get one. But right now, I need you to leave us alone.

The incredulous smile slowly died from her lips. This is bad, isnt it?

I hope not. But I think it might be, yes.

The wind blew a strand of hair across her face as her eyes searched mine. She gave a nod as she brushed it away.

All right. But thered better be a front-page story for me in this, all right?

I hurried back to where Brody and Fraser waited by the Range Rover as she climbed back into her Mini.

What the hell did you say to her? Fraser demanded as she drove away.

It doesnt matter. Have you spoken to Duncan this morning?

Duncan? No, not yet, he said, defensively. He hasnt called in yet. But, you know, I was going to take him out some breakfast later

Try him now.

Now? Why, whats-

Just do it.

He gave me a dirty look but reached for his radio. Cant get through he frowned.

All right, get in the car. Were going out there.

Brody had been watching with a worried expression, but said nothing until we were in the car and Fraser was pulling away. What is it? What did you find?

I was staring anxiously through the windscreen as we left the village, scanning the sky ahead of us. I checked the wiring back at the community centre. A fire caused by an electrical fault wouldnt have been hot enough to melt the copper core. But theres an area round the back where the wires were melted.

So what? Fraser asked, impatiently.

It means the fire was hotter there, Brody said, slowly. Oh, Christ.

Fraser banged the steering wheel. Will somebody please tell me what the fucks going on?

It was hotter there because thats where an accelerant was used to start it, I told him. The fire wasnt caused by a short. Somebody set it deliberately.

He was still trying to work it out. Whats that got to do with Duncan?

It was Brody who answered. Because if someone wanted to get rid of the evidence, it might not only have been the clinic that was torched.

I could see from Frasers face that he finally understood. But even if he hadnt there was no need to explain further.

Smeared across the sky directly ahead was a black trail of smoke.


The meandering terrain prevented us from seeing the source of the smoke. It seemed like every hill and bend in the road conspired to keep the cottage and camper van from view. Fraser put his foot down, tearing along the narrow road much faster than was safe in the atrocious conditions. No one complained.

Then we rounded one final bend, and the old cottage was revealed in front of us. So, too, was the camper van.

What was left of it.

Oh, no, Fraser said.

Most of the smoke wed seen was coming from the cottage. There hadnt been much left to burn, but the thick roof beams and timbers that had fallen in the day before were still smouldering in the ruins. If there had been anything in there that SOC might have salvaged, it had been destroyed now.

But it was the sight of Brodys camper van that transfixed us. It had been reduced to a burned-out shell, tyres melted to misshapen lumps of rubber. The living quarters had been almost completely consumed, walls eaten away by the fire, roof partially blown off when either the gas cylinder or petrol tank had exploded. Thin trails of smoke rose wraith-like from it, only to be whisked away by the wind.

There was no sign of Duncan.

Fraser didnt slow as he went off the road and on to the track, the heavy car slewing on the muddy surface as he stamped on the brakes. He jumped out of the car and ran towards the camper van, leaving the door swinging in the wind behind him.

Duncan? Duncan! he bellowed, charging across the grass. Brody and I ran behind him, rain whipping into our faces. Fraser lurched to a halt in front of the camper van.

Oh, Jesus Christ! Where is he? Where the fuck is he?

He stared round wildly, as though hoping the young PC would suddenly come strolling up. I became aware of Brodys gaze. There was the same awareness in his face that I felt myself, and I knew that hed seen what I had.

Hes here, I said quietly.

Fraser followed the direction of my gaze. A boot was sticking out from under a piece of heat-buckled roof, the leather burned away to reveal charred flesh and bone.

He took a step towards the camper van. Ah, no, Christ

Before I could stop him he grabbed hold of the panel and started trying to heave it off.

Dont, I began, but as I started forward a hand fell on my shoulder. I looked round at Brody. He shook his head.

Leave him.

It was a crime scene; none of us should touch it. But I understood why Brody didnt try to interfere.

I dont really see it making much difference now, do you? he said, bleakly.

Fraser wrenched the panel free, letting the wind carry it away. It pitched and bounced along the grass like a grounded kite until it came up against the cottage. Fraser continued to tear at the rest of the wreckage like a madman. Even from where I stood, the smell of burned meat was overpowering.

Then he stopped, staring at what hed uncovered. He stumbled back, as uncoordinated as a broken puppet.

Oh, Christ. Jesus fucking Christ, thats not him. Tell me thats not him!

The body lay in the centre of the camper van. It wasnt as badly burned as Janice Donaldsons remains had been, but in some ways its scorched humanity made the sight even worse. Its limbs had drawn up, so that it was curled in a foetal position, pathetically vulnerable. Cooked into the flesh round its middle was a charred police utility belt. A fire-blackened baton and handcuffs were still attached to it.

Fraser was weeping. Why didnt he get out? Why the fuck didnt he get out?

I took hold of his arm. Come on.

Get off me! he snarled, jerking free.

Get a grip, man! Brody told him, harshly.

Fraser turned on him. Dont tell me what to do! Youre a fucking has-been! Youve got no authority here!

Brodys face was uncompromising. Then start acting like a police officer yourself.

All at once Fraser seemed to sag. He was twenty-one, he mumbled. Twenty-one! What am I going to tell everyone?

Tell them he was murdered, Brody said brutally. Tell them weve got a killer loose on the island. And tell them if Wallace had sent out a proper inquiry team in the first place, your twenty-one-year-old PC might still be alive!

There was rare emotion in his voice. And we all knew what hed left unsaid: that it had been Frasers slip that had shown our hand about the womans murder, and perhaps panicked her killer into action. But there was no point in recriminations now, and looking at Fraser I thought he was suffering enough already.

Take it easy, I told Brody.

He took a long breath, then nodded, in control of himself again. We need to let the mainland know whats happened. This isnt just a straightforward murder inquiry any more.

Red-eyed, Fraser took out his radio, turning his back to the wind and rain as he stabbed a number into its keypad. He listened, then tried again.

Come on, come on!

Whats wrong? Brody asked.

Its not working.

What do mean, its not working? You called Wallace last night.

Well, now theres nothing! Fraser snapped. I thought it was just Duncans radio before, but I cant raise anybody. See for yourself, theres no bloody signal!

He thrust it at Brody. The retired inspector took it and tapped in a number. He put the handset to his ear, then handed it back.

Lets try the one in the car.

The Range Rovers fixed radio used the same digital system as the handsets. Without bothering to ask Fraser, Brody tried it, then shook his head.

Dead. The gale must have taken out a mast. If thats happened the whole comms network for the islands could be down.

I took in the empty, windswept landscape that surrounded us. The low, dark clouds that squatted over the island seemed to shut us in even more.

So now what do we do? I asked.

For once even Brody seemed at a loss. We keep trying. Sooner or later well get either the radios or the landlines back.

But what happens until then?

The rain streaked his face as he looked at the camper van. His mouth set in a hard line.

Until then, were on our own.



CHAPTER 17

I VOLUNTEERED TO stay at the croft while Brody and Fraser drove back to the village to find stakes and a hammer. We needed to tape off the camper van, but there wasnt enough of it left to fix the tape to. Moving Duncans body wasnt an option, even if thered been anywhere left to take it. With Janice Donaldsons remains we hadnt had a choice, but that didnt apply here. True, it would mean leaving the van and its grisly contents exposed to the elements. But-Frasers frenzy apart-this time I was determined to preserve the crime scene as wed found it.

And none of us doubted that it was just that-a crime scene. Someone had torched this deliberately, just as they had the medical clinic. Except Duncan hadnt managed to escape.

Before he and Fraser left, Brody and I stood huddled on the track, bracing ourselves against the gale while the police sergeant tried once more to raise the mainland on the radio. The weather was worse than ever. Rain fell like lead shot, dripping from the scorched hood of my coat in shining strands, and heavy clouds raced overhead, their movement reflected in the rippling of the wind-flattened grass.

But nothing could carry away the stink of burning, or the stark fact of the young policemans death. It hung like a pall over everything, adding a further chill to the already frigid air.

You think this was done before or after the community centre? I asked.

Brody considered the vans blackened shell. Before, Id say. Makes more sense for him to have come out to torch this first, then set fire to the clinic. No point in starting a fire that would alert the entire village until hed taken care of things here.

I felt anger as well as shock at the senselessness of it. What was the point? Wed already moved the remains to the clinic. Why leave them out here for weeks, and then suddenly do this? It doesnt make sense.

Brody sighed, wiping the rain from his face. It doesnt have to make sense. Whoever this is, hes panicking. He knows he made a mistake leaving the body here, and now hes trying to rectify it. Hes determined to destroy anything that might tie him to it. Even if that means killing again.

He paused, giving me a level look.

You sure youll be all right by yourself?

Wed already discussed this. It made sense for Brody to go back to the village since he knew where to find the materials we needed to seal the site. But someone had to stay out here, and Fraser was in no fit state.

Ill be fine, I said.

Just dont take any chances, Brody warned. Anybody shows up, anyone at all, be bloody careful.

He didnt have to tell me. But I didnt think Id be in any danger. There was no reason for the killer to come back here now, not any more.

Besides, there were things I needed to do.

I watched the Range Rover bump down the track to the road. The rain beat a lunatics Morse code on my coat as I turned back to where the burned-out camper van waited. By now the downpour had tamped down the ashes, so that the wind only plucked off the occasional piece of fly-blown char. Set against the rock-strewn slopes of Beinn Tuiridh, the grey-black hulk seemed almost a part of the barren landscape.

A ring of burned grass surrounded it, where the vegetation had been caught by the fire. Shivering in the freezing wind, I stayed on its edge, trying to visualise the camper van as it had been, forming a picture of how the transformation to its current state had come about.

Then I turned my attention to Duncans body.

It wasnt easy. The remains I deal with are usually those of strangers. I know them only through their death, not their life. This was different, and it was hard to reconcile my memory of the young constable with what was in front of me.

What was left of Duncan McKinney lay amongst the burned shell of the camper van. The fire had transformed him into a thing of charred flesh and bone, a blackened marionette that no longer looked human. I thought about the last time Id seen him, how hed seemed troubled as hed driven me into the village from the clinic. I wished now Id tried harder to make him say what was on his mind. But I hadnt. Id let him drive off, to spend the last few hours of his life alone out here.

I pushed the regret away. Thinking like that wouldnt help me, or him. Rain dripped from my hood as I stared down at the corpse, letting my mind clear of thoughts of who it had been. Gradually, I began to see it without the filter of emotions. You want to catch whoever did this? Forget Duncan. Put aside the person.

Look at the puzzle.

The body was lying face down. The clothes had been burned from it, as had most of the skin and soft tissue, exposing scorched internal organs that had been protected by the torsos cocoon. Its arms were bent at the elbows, pulled up as their tendons had contracted. The legs were similarly contorted, throwing the hips and lower body slightly out to one side as they had drawn up in the heat. Part of what remained of the tabletop was visible underneath the body. The feet were nearest the door, the head turned slightly to the right and pointing towards where the small couch had been.

There was nothing left of the couch but a buckled frame and a few blackened springs. Something else was lying amongst them. Leaning forward I recognized the steel cylinder of Duncans Maglite, blistered and dulled by the fire.

My camera had been destroyed in the clinic along with the rest of my equipment, so I made do with sketching the bodys position on a notepad Id borrowed from the Range Rover. It wasnt perfect, as the sling made drawing difficult, and I had to shield the pad from the rain. But I did the best I could.

That finished, I began to study the body in more detail. Careful not to disturb anything, I leaned as close as I could, until I saw what Id been looking for.

A gaping hole in the skull, the size of a mans fist.

The sound of a car coming down the track disturbed my thoughts. I looked round, surprised that Brody and Fraser were back so soon. But it wasnt the police Range Rover that was approaching, it was Strachans gunmetal-grey Saab.

Brodys warning sprang uncomfortably to mind. Anybody shows up, anyone at all, be bloody careful. I climbed to my feet, slipping my notepad away, and went to meet him as the car pulled up. He climbed out, staring past me at the camper van, too shocked to raise the hood of his coat.

Christ! This burnt down as well?

You shouldnt be here.

But Strachan wasnt listening. His eyes widened as he saw what was lying in the wreckage. Oh, my God!

He stared, blood draining from his face. Abruptly, he twisted away, doubling up as he vomited. He straightened slowly, fumbling in his pocket for something to wipe his mouth.

Are you all right? I asked.

He nodded, white-faced. Sorry, he mumbled. Whowho is it? The young policeman?

Brody and Fraser are going to be back any time, I said, by way of answer. You shouldnt let them find you here.

To hell with them! This is my home! Ive spent the past five years getting this place back on its feet, and now He broke off, running his hand through his rain-flattened hair. This cant be happening. I thought the community centre might be an accident, but this

I didnt say anything. Strachan was recovering from the shock now. He lifted his face to the clouded sky, oblivious to the wind and rain.

The police wont be able to get out here in this weather. And youre not going to be able to keep this quiet. There are going to be a lot of frightened and angry people wanting answers. Youve got to let me help. Theyll listen to me more than your police sergeant. Or Andrew Brody, come to that.

There was a look of determination on the chiselled features as he stared across at me.

Im not going to let someone destroy everything weve done here.

It was tempting. I knew from bitter experience how ugly the mood could turn in a small community like this. Id felt the brunt of it myself once, and that had been in a community Id been part of. Out here, cut off from all contact with the outside world, I didnt want to think what might happen.

The question was, how far we could afford to trust anyone? Even Strachan?

Still, there was one way he could help. Could we use the radio on your yacht?

He looked surprised. My yacht? Yes, of course. Its got satellite communication as well if you need it. Why, arent the police radios working?

I didnt want to tell him we didnt have any means of contacting the mainland at all, but I had to give some reason for asking. We lost one of them in the fire. Its just useful to know theres an alternative if Frasers not around.

Strachan seemed to accept my explanation. Subdued again, he stared at the camper van.

What was his name?

Duncan McKinney.

Poor devil, he said, softly. He looked at me. Remember what I said. Anything you need, anything at all.

He returned to his car and set off back down the track. As the Saab neared the road, I saw the distinctive shape of the police Range Rover heading towards it. The roads narrowness forced the two cars to slow as they skirted each other, like two dogs warily circling before a fight. Then they were clear, and the Saab accelerated away with a smooth growl.

Keeping my back to the wind, I waited for the Range Rover to pull up. Brody and Fraser climbed out. While Fraser went to open the back, Brody came over, staring at the rapidly disappearing fleck of Strachans car.

What was he doing here?

He came to offer his help.

His chin jutted. We can manage without that.

That depends.

I told him my idea of using the yachts radio. Brody sighed.

I should have thought of that myself. But we dont need Strachans yacht. Any of the boats in the harbour will have ship-to-shore. We can use the ferrys.

The yachts nearer, I pointed out.

Brodys jaw worked at the prospect of asking Strachan for a favour. But much as he might dislike the idea, he knew it made sense.

He gave a terse nod. Aye. Youre right.

Fraser came over, clutching an armful of rusted steel reinforcing rods, the sort used for concrete foundations.

There was a pile of those left over from when they built the school, Brody explained. Should do the trick.

Fraser let the rods fall on to the grass, his eyes red-rimmed. This still doesnt sit right with me. Just leaving him out here

If you can think of any alternative, then tell us, Brody said, but not unkindly.

The sergeant nodded, miserably. He went back to the Range Rover and came back with a heavy lump hammer and a roll of tape. He strode ahead of us to the remains of the camper van, his posture rigid and determined. But at the sight of Duncans body, lying exposed to the elements like a sacrifice, he faltered.

Oh, Jesus

If its any consolation, he wouldnt have felt any of this, I told him.

He glared at me. Aye? And how would you know?

I took a deep breath. Because he was already dead when the fire started.

The angry light died from the sergeants eyes. Brody had come to stand with us.

You sure? he asked.

I glanced at Fraser. This wasnt easy for any of us, but it would be hardest for him to hear.

Go on, he said, roughly.

I led them through the wet grass until we had a better view of the skull. Scraps of black flesh still clung to the bone, varnished by the rain. The cheeks and lips had burned away, exposing the teeth in a mockery of the policemans engaging grin.

I felt myself falter. The puzzle, not the person. I pointed to the gaping hole in Duncans skull.

See there, on the left-hand side?

Fraser glanced, then looked away. The head was turned slightly, so it was lying partly on one cheek. Its position made it difficult to see the full extent of the damage, but it was unmissable, all the same. The jagged hole overlapped both the parietal and temporal bones on the left side of the skull like the entrance to a dark cave.

Brody cleared his throat before he spoke. Couldnt that have happened in the fire, like you thought Janice Donaldsons had?

Theres no way an injury like that was caused by the heat. Duncan was hit a hell of a lot harder than Janice Donaldson. You can see even from here that pieces of bone have been pushed into the skull cavity. That means the wound was made by an external impact, not cranial pressure. And from the position of the arms, it looks like he just went straight down, without making any attempt to stop himself. He literally didnt know what hit him.

There was a silence. And what did hit him? A hammer or something? Brody asked.

No, not a hammer. That would have punched a round hole through the bone, and this is more irregular. From what I can see so far it looks like some sort of club.

Like a Maglite, I thought. The steel case of Duncans torch was poking through the ashes near his body. It was the right size and shape, and was heavy enough to have caused the damage. But there was no point speculating until SOC arrived.

Fraser had his fists balled, his eyes drawn to the body despite himself. He was a fit lad. He wouldnt have given in without a fight.

I spoke carefully. Perhaps not, butwell, from how it looks he had his back turned when he was struck. The bodys lying face down, feet towards the door. So he was facing away from it, and pitched forward when he was hit from behind.

Couldnt he have been killed outside, and then brought into the van? Brody asked.

I dont think so. For one thing, the tables underneath him, which suggests he fell on to it. I cant see anyone lifting his body on to it. And Duncan was hit here, on the side of his head, I said, tapping my own just above my ear. For it to connect there the killer must have swung sideways rather than overhead like youd normally expect.

Fraser still didnt get it. Why does being hit on the side of his head mean he was killed inside the van?

Because the ceiling wasnt high enough for an overhead swing, Brody answered for me.

Its only guesswork at this stage, but it fits, I said. The killer was standing behind Duncan, between him and the door. That points to him being left-handed, because the impact wound is to the left-hand side of the skull.

The rain squalled around us as they stared down at Duncans body, playing it out for themselves. I waited, wondering which one of them would say it first. Surprisingly, it was Fraser.

So he let them in? And then turned his back?

Thats how it looks.

What the hell was he thinking? Christ, I told him to be careful!

I somehow doubted that. But if the police sergeant needed to revise his memory to ease any guilt he might be feeling, I wasnt going to stop him. There was a more important point here, one I could see from Brodys expression that he hadnt missed, even if Fraser had.

Duncan hadnt thought he was in any danger when he let his killer in.

Brody reached out and took the tape from Fraser.

Lets get this over with.



CHAPTER 18

THE POLICE TAPE snapped and twisted, strung out between the steel rods that Fraser had hammered into the ground. With only one hand, there was little I could do to help. Brody had held the rods in place while Fraser knocked them in with the lump hammer, positioning them every few yards to form a square perimeter round the van.

You want to take a turn? the sergeant panted, halfway through.

Sorry, youll have to do it. Arthritis, Brody told him, rubbing his back.

Aye, right, Fraser muttered, pounding the steel rod into the turf as though venting his anger and grief.

Which was perhaps what Brody had intended, I thought.

I stood nearby, hunched against the cold and damp as they ran the tape between the rods. It was only a symbolic barrier, but I still wished there was more I could do as they fought against the wind to secure the whipping ends of the tape.

Finally, it was done. The three of us stood, taking one last look at the camper van behind its flimsy barricade. Then, without a word, we headed back for the Range Rover.

Our priority now was to let the mainland know what had happened. While Wallace still wouldnt be able to send any support until the storm eased, the murder of a police officer would escalate this to a whole new level. And until help arrived, it was more important than ever for us to maintain contact with the outside world. Particularly for Fraser, I thought, watching him trudge ahead of us on the track, his broad shoulders slumped. He looked the picture of abject defeat.

Beside me, Brody suddenly stopped walking. Have you got any bags left?

He was looking down at a tuft of wiry grass, rippling and bent in the wind. Something dark was snagged against it. I reached in my pocket for one of the freezer bags Id brought from the hotel and passed it to him as Fraser came back.

What is it? he wanted to know.

Brody didnt answer. Putting his hand into the bag as though it were a glove, he bent down and picked up the object that had been snared by the grass. Then, reversing the bag so it was inside, he held it up to show us.

It was a large, black plastic screw cap. A thin strap that would once have fastened it to a container stuck out from it, snapped clean after an inch or so.

Brody put his nose to the open top of the bag. Petrol.

He handed it to Fraser, who took a sniff himself. You think the bastard dropped this last night?

Id say its a fair bet. Wasnt here yesterday, or wed have seen it.

Frasers expression was furious as he tucked it into his coat pocket. So somewhere on this godforsaken island theres a petrol container with a broken strap but no lid.

If it hasnt been chucked off a cliff by now, Brody said.

The drive to Strachans house passed in subdued silence. When we turned up the long driveway leading to the house we saw that Graces Porsche Cayenne had gone, but Strachans Saab was parked outside.

I couldnt see Strachans house being without its own generator, but despite the days gloom there were no lights in any of the windows. Rain dripped from Frasers fist as he banged the cast-iron door knocker. We could hear Strachans dog barking inside, but there was no other sign of life. Fraser gave the heavy door a thump, hard enough to rattle it on its hinges.

Come on, where the fuck are you? he snarled.

Probably off on one of his walkabouts, Brody said, standing back to look up at the house. I suppose we could always just go down to the yacht ourselves. Its an emergency.

Aye, and what if its locked? Fraser asked. We cant just break in.

People here dont usually lock their doors. Theres no cause.

There might be now, I thought. But I was against it for another reason.

If we get down there and find its locked weve wasted even more time, I said. And does anyone know how to use a satellite radio anyway? Or a ship-to-shore, come to that?

The silence that greeted the question told me neither of them did.

Fraser slammed his hand against the door. Shit!

Lets go and find Kinross. Well use the ferrys, Brody said.

Kinross lived by the harbour. When we reached the outskirts of the village, Brody told Fraser to take a shortcut down a narrow cobbled street that bypassed the main road. The ferry captains bungalow had a prefabricated look to it, and like most of the other houses on Runa it had new uPVC doors and windows.

But the rest of the building had a run-down, uncared-for look. The gate was missing from the bottom of the path, and the small garden was overgrown and strewn with rusting boat parts. A fibreglass dinghy lay overgrown with dune grass, its bottom holed and splintered. Brody had told me Kinross was a widower who lived alone with his son. It showed.

Brody and I left Fraser brooding in the car while we went up the path. The door bell chimed with a cheery electronic melody. No one answered. Brody rang it again, then hammered on the door for good measure.

The muted sounds of movement came from inside, then the door was opened. Kevin, Kinrosss teenage son, stood in the hallway, eyes briefly making contact before darting off again. The angry red mounds of acne scarred his face in a cruel topography.

Is your father in? Brody asked.

The teenager gave a shake of his head, not looking at us.

Know where he is?

He shuffled uncomfortably, narrowing the gap in the doorway until only a thin strip the width of his face remained open.

Down at the boatyard, he mumbled. In the workshop.

The door snicked shut.

We went back to the car. The harbour was a turmoil of crashing waves and churning boats. Out on the jetty, the ferry pitched and rolled at its berth. The sea churned wildly, the spume so thick it was indistinguishable from the rain.

Fraser drove down to the corrugated shack on the seafront that Id passed on my way to Brodys the previous day. It was set close to the foot of the tall cliffs that encircled the harbour, and which protected it from the worst of the weather.

The yards communal, Brody said as we climbed out of the car and hurried over, having to fight against the wind. Everybody with a boat chips in to the running costs, and if they need repairs everyone pitches in.

Is that Guthries? I asked, indicating the dilapidated fishing boat hauled up on blocks that Id noticed the day before. It appeared in even worse condition up close. Half of its timber hull was missing, giving it the skeletal look of some long-dead prehistoric animal.

Aye. Supposed to be making it seaworthy again, but he doesnt seem in any hurry. Brody shook his head in disapproval. Rather spend his money in the bar.

Skirting the covered piles of building supplies stacked nearby, we hurried for the workshop entrance. The wind threatened to wrench the door from its hinges when we opened it. Inside, the workshop was stiflingly hot, thick with the smell of machine oil and sawdust. Lathes, welding torches and cutting gear littered the floor, while the walls were covered with shelves of tools, stained black with ancient grease. A radio was playing, the tinny melody fighting against the chug of a generator.

About half a dozen men were inside. Guthrie and a smaller man were crouched over the dismembered remains of an engine that was spread out on the concrete floor. Kinross and the others were playing cards at an old Formica table, on which stood half-drunk mugs of tea. A tin foil pie case doubled as an ashtray, overflowing with cigarette stubs.

They had all broken off what they were doing to stare at us. Their expressions werent exactly hostile, but neither were they friendly. They regarded us blankly. Waiting.

Brody stopped in front of Kinross. Can we have a word, Iain?

Kinross shrugged. Im not stopping you.

I mean in private.

Its private enough here. To emphasise his point he opened a pouch of tobacco and began rolling a cigarette with oil-stained fingers.

Brody didnt bother to argue. We need to use the ferrys radio.

Kinross ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of the cigarette paper, then smoothed it down. He nodded towards Fraser.

Whats wrong with his? Dont the police have radios these days?

Fraser glared back without answering.

Kinross plucked a piece of tobacco from his mouth. Fucked, are they?

I could hear the sergeants heavy adenoidal breathing, like an angry bulls, as he started forward. Aye, and so will you be if-

Were asking for your help, Brody cut in, laying a restraining hand on Frasers shoulder. We need to get in touch with the mainland. Its important, or we wouldnt ask.

Kinross unhurriedly lit the roll-up. He shook out the match and tossed it into the overflowing ashtray, then considered Brody through a plume of blue smoke.

You can try, for what its worth.

Meaning what? Fraser demanded.

You wont be able to transmit from the harbour. The radios VHF. Has to have line-of-sight, and the cliffs block the signal to the mainland.

What if you need to send a Mayday? Brody asked, incredulous.

Kinross shrugged. If youre in the harbour, you wouldnt need to.

Fraser had bunched his fists. So take the bloody boat out to sea, where you can transmit.

You want to try going out in this, go ahead. But not on my ferry.

Brody kneaded the bridge of his nose. How about the other boats?

All VHF, the same.

Theres Mr Strachans yacht, one of the card players suggested.

Guthrie laughed. Aye, thats got communications coming out of its arse.

I saw Brodys face close down. Look, can we try the ferry anyway?

Kinross took an indifferent drag of his roll-up. If you want to waste your time, its up to you. He nipped out the glowing end of his cigarette and put it in his tobacco pouch as he rose to his feet. Sorry, lads.

I was losing, anyway, one of the card players said, throwing in his cards. Time I went home.

Guthrie wiped his hands on an oily cloth. Aye. Im off for something to eat.

The other card players were already throwing their cards down on the table, reaching for their own coats as Kinross pulled on an oilskin and went out, letting the doors swing back on us as we followed. Rain and spray filled the air with an iodine tang as he strode bareheaded along the harbour to the jetty, oblivious to the breaking waves. The ferry was bucking against its moorings, but he walked up the gangplank without hesitation.

The rest of us were more cautious, holding on to the gangplanks railing as it tipped and swayed. It was barely any better once we were on board, the slippery deck pitching unpredictably. I looked up at the ferrys aerial, bent and quivering in the wind, then at the cliffs surrounding us. I could see now what Kinross meant. They hemmed the small harbour in on three sides, rising up like a wall between us and the mainland.

Kinross was already fiddling with the radio set when we crammed into the claustrophobic bridge. I braced myself against the wall as the deck pitched queasily underfoot. A medley of discordant hums and squeaks came from the radio set as Kinross spoke into its handset, then waited vainly for a response.

Who are you calling? Brody asked.

Kinross answered without turning round. Coastguard. Theyve got the biggest radio mast on Lewis. If they cant hear us no one else will.

We waited as he spoke into the handset, receiving only a hollow hissing in return.

Fraser had been watching the ferry captain with an expression of sullen dislike. You remember bringing any strangers across on the ferry about four or five weeks ago? he asked suddenly.

Brody gave him an angry look, but he took no notice. Kinross didnt turn round.

No.

No what? No you didnt bring anyone, or no you dont remember?

Kinross stopped what he was doing and turned to stare at him. This to do with the murder?

Just answer the question.

Kinrosss smile threatened violence. And if I dont?

Brody cut in before Fraser could respond. Take it easy, Iain, no ones accusing you of anything. We just came out here to use the radio.

Deliberately, Kinross lowered the handset. He leaned back against the swaying bulkhead, folding his arms as he regarded us.

Are you going to tell me what this is about?

Its police business, Fraser growled.

Aye, and this is my ferry, and my radio. You want to use it, you can tell me whats so urgent.

We cant yet, Iain, Brody interposed, smoothly. But its important. Trust me on that.

This is our island. Weve a right to know whats going on.

I know, and you will, I promise.

When?

Brody sighed. Tonight. But right now we need to contact the mainland.

Now listen- Fraser began, but Brody spoke over him.

Youve got my word.

Kinross stared at him, his expression giving nothing away. Then he got up and headed for the door.

Where are you going? Brody asked.

You wanted me to try the radio, I have.

Cant you keep trying?

No. Anyone could hear, wed know by now.

What about other ships? Someone could relay a message back to the mainland for us. The cliffs wouldnt block that.

Maybe not, but theyre still going to funnel the signal, and the sets range is only thirty miles. You want to waste your time pissing in the wind, thats up to you, but you can do it by yourselves. He indicated the handset. Press the switch to talk, let go to receive. And switch it off when youve finished.

With that he walked out. As the door banged shut behind him. Fraser turned on Brody, angrily.

What the hell do you think youre doing? Youve no authority to tell them anything!

We dont have any choice. We need these peoples help. Youre not going to get it by yelling.

Frasers face was crimson. One of those bastards killed Duncan!

Aye, and antagonising everyones not going to find out who did it. Brody stopped, restraining himself. He took a deep breath. Kinross is right. Theres no point wasting any more time here when Strachans yacht has a satellite comms system. We can call into the school on the way and see if Grace is there.

And if shes not? Fraser demanded, truculently.

Then well wait at the house until one of them gets home, Brody grated, clearly not happy himself at having to ask anything of Strachan. Unless youve any better ideas?

Fraser hadnt. We drove up through the village from the harbour, but when we reached the school Graces black Porsche wasnt outside. The small building was unlit and empty.

They must have sent the kids home early because of the power cut. We probably missed her when we detoured to see Kinross, Brody said, his frustration evident.

There was nothing to do but head for Strachans house and hope she was there. Fraser drove in moody silence. I couldnt help but feel sorry for him. He wasnt an easy man to like, but Duncans death had hit him hard. And hed been out of his depth even before his colleague was murdered.

We were approaching the big house when the sergeant suddenly tensed.

What the hells he doing?

Strachans Saab was tearing down the road directly towards us. Fraser swore and swerved into the side, stamping on the brake as the Saab skidded to a halt just a few feet away.

Bloody idiot! Fraser cursed.

Strachan had jumped out and was running towards us, not even bothering to close his car door. Fraser angrily wound down the window and yelled at him.

What the hell are you playing at?

Strachan didnt seem to hear. His face was shockingly pale, his eyes wide and scared as he bent to the open window.

Grace is missing! he gasped.

What do you mean, missing? Fraser demanded.

I mean shes missing! Shes gone!

Brody had climbed out of the Range Rover. Slow down and tell us whats happened.

Ive told you! Christ, are you all bloody deaf? We have to find her!

We will, but youre going to have to calm down and tell us what you know.

Strachan made an effort to compose himself. I got back a few minutes ago. Graces car was here, and there were lights on and music playing, so I thought she was in the house. Shed left a cup of coffee going cold in the kitchen, but when I called she didnt answer. I looked in every room, but theres no sign of her!

Couldnt she have gone for a walk? Fraser asked.

Grace? In this weather? Look, why are we just standing here, weve got to do something!

Brody turned to Fraser, automatically assuming command. We need to organize a search. Go back to the village and bring as many people back as you can.

What about you? Fraser asked, not liking being told what to do.

Im going to go up to the house and take a look.

Ive told you, she isnt there! Strachan almost yelled.

Well take another look anyway. Dr Hunter, do you want to come with me?

Id been about to suggest it anyway. If Grace was hurt Id be more use here than rounding up a search party in the village. We hurried over to the Saab as Fraser drove off in the Range Rover.

What do you think? I asked Brody, in a low voice.

He just shook his head, his expression grim.

Strachan had left the Saabs engine running. He barely waited for us to get in before he set off, reversing back up the road and up the driveway before screeching to a halt next to Graces black Porsche SUV. Without waiting to see if we followed, he ran into the house shouting his wifes name. The only response was frenzied barking from the dog in the kitchen.

See, shes not here! he said, pushing his hand through his hair distractedly. And Oscar was running around outside when I got back. If Grace had gone anywhere she wouldnt have just left him outside like that!

There was a knot of tension in my gut as I heard the catch in his voice. I knew what he was going through. Id once gone to Jennys house and found the same terrible absence myself. There had been a killer loose then as well, and being here now, seeing the fear in Strachans eyes, gave me a terrible sense of deja vu.

But Brody remained calm as we carried out a quick search of the house. There was no sign of Grace.

Were just wasting time! Strachan said as we finished, his panic nearing the surface.

Did you look in the outbuildings? Brody asked.

Yes! Theres only the barn, and shes not in there!

What about the cove?

Strachan just stared at him. INo, but Grace never goes down there, not without me.

Lets take a look anyway, shall we?

Strachan led us into the kitchen. A half-drunk cup of coffee stood on the table, a book opened but face down next to it, as though Grace had merely stepped out for a moment. Impatiently pushing the retriever aside, Strachan went out through the back door and rushed for the steps leading down to the cove.

Id been half afraid wed see Graces broken body lying on the shingle below us. But except for the yacht moored at the short jetty, the cove was empty. It was a beautiful boat, its hull squeaking against the rubber fenders as the sea threw it about, tall mast swinging back and forth like the arm of a broken metronome.

Strachan hurried along the jetty towards it. He bounded up the gangplank and ran to the cockpit. I was slower to board, struggling for balance with one arm strapped up. As I stepped on to the deck Strachan threw back the cockpit hatch and suddenly froze.

When I reached him I saw why.

Like the rest of the yacht, the cockpit was beautifully equipped: teak panels, stainless steel fittings, and an elaborate instrument console. Or what was left of it. The radio and satcom had been smashed to pieces, the deck below them littered with torn wires and broken circuitry.

Strachan stared at it for a moment, then rushed through the cockpit to the main cabin.

Grace? Oh, God, Grace!

She lay on the cabins floor. Her head and shoulders were covered with a sack, but below that Graces white parka was clearly visible. She lay curled on her side, arms pulled behind her and tied behind her back.

From the waist down she was naked.

Or almost. Her feet hadnt been bound, but her jeans had been left pulled down around her ankles, tethering them as securely as a rope. Her pants were around her knees, as though her attacker had been interrupted in the act of removing them.

She looked obscenely vulnerable lying there, her long legs bare and blue-white with the cold. She wasnt moving. I thought we were too late, but then Strachan touched her and she suddenly began to thrash around.

Hold her, dont let her hurt herself! I warned, trying to catch her feet.

Its all right, Grace, its me! Its me! Strachan said, yanking the sacking from her head.

Underneath it her hair was a tangled mess, obscuring her face. A piece of dirty cloth had been crammed into her mouth. Above it her eyes were wide and terrified, but then they fixed on Strachan and she immediately stopped struggling.

Its all right, Im here, its all right! he chanted, easing the gag from her mouth. She sucked in a breath, sobbing.

Michael, oh, thank God, Michael!

Her face was flushed and puffy, the skin imprinted with the rough hessian pattern of the sack. Her right cheek was discoloured by a livid bruise, and her mouth was swollen and bloody. But other than that there were no obvious injuries I could see.

Are you all right? Are you hurt? Strachan was asking her, his voice cracked.

No, II dont think so.

Did he sexually assault you? Brody asked bluntly.

Oh, for Gods sake! Strachan exploded. Even I was shocked at the question.

But Grace was shaking her head. Nono, he didntI wasnt raped.

Thank God, I thought. At least shed been spared that. And it was probably better to deal with the issue now and get it out of the way. Perhaps Brody wasnt being insensitive after all.

Tears were running down Strachans face as he tenderly brushed the hair from his wifes face. Who did it? Did you see him?

I dont know, II

He hugged her. Shh, its all right, its over now. Its over.

Brody and I gave them as much privacy as we could while Strachan drew up Graces underwear and jeans. I tried to unfasten the rope binding her wrists, but it had been tied too tightly for me to manage with one hand. The skin was chafed and abraded, her hands white from restricted circulation. Brody had to search for a knife to cut it, then we stood back as Strachan helped Grace to her feet.

Help me carry her, Strachan said to Brody, their feud temporarily forgotten.

I can walk, Grace said.

I dont think-

Im all right, I can walk!

She was still crying, but there was none of the hysteria Id feared. Brody and I stayed a discreet distance behind them as Strachan supported her along the jetty. Grace huddled against him, the two of them so oblivious to anyone else that I felt like an intruder.

As we climbed the steps out of the cove, the seagulls lonely cries sounded like mocking laughter on the wind.



CHAPTER 19

I CLEANED AND dressed Graces wounds while Fraser took her statement. Hed arrived with a convoy of cars from the village shortly after wed taken Grace back to the house. Strachan had objected to his wife being questioned so soon, but Id suggested that it was best to get it over with. She would have to tell her story again when the mainland police arrived, but meanwhile it was better for her to describe what had happened while the memory was still fresh. Not only could early debriefing help avoid psychological trauma in assault victims, at least this way Id be able to make sure Fraser didnt push her too hard.

Somehow I didnt think hed be the most sensitive of interviewers.

Strachan had sent everyone whod come to help search for Grace back home again, after hed distractedly thanked and reassured them that she wasnt badly hurt. Shock and anger was visible on all their faces. Even though news of Duncans death hadnt yet spread, by now everyone had heard that the body found at the cottage had been murdered. But shocking as that might be, what had happened to Grace was even more so. The murder victim was unknown to them, whereas Grace was the wife of Runas benefactor, respected and well liked. An attack on her struck right at the heart of the community.

Kinross and Guthrie had been amongst those whod come out to help with the search. As hed prepared to leave, the look on the ferry captains face promised slaughter.

Whoever did this, hes a dead man when we find him, hed vowed to Strachan.

I didnt think it was an empty threat. Emotions were running high all round. Given his infatuation with Grace, it was no surprise that Cameron had also rushed out to help with the search. Hed been the last to leave, stridently insisting that he had to see her. His protests had carried from the hallway into the kitchen where Brody and Fraser waited as I cleaned Graces wounds.

If shes been injured I need to examine her, Cameron boomed, indignantly.

Strachans voice remained unmoved. Theres no need. Davids doing that.

Hunter? Cameron fairly spat the word. With all due respect, Michael, if anyones going to treat Grace it should be me, not somesome ex-GP!

Thanks, but Ill decide whos going to look after my wife.

But Michael-

I said no! There was a shocked pause. When Strachan spoke again it was with more restraint. Go home, Bruce. If I need you, Ill let you know.

I seem to be causing trouble, Grace said, ruefully, as we heard the front door close. She had been stoically enduring my one-handed attempts to dab antiseptic on her injuries.

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. Hes got a point. Hell 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.

Im sure youre more than capable of putting a dressing on, he said tiredly.

Yes, but hes the nurse

His face hardened. For the time being.

I didnt say anything. Strachan glanced at the kitchen doorway and lowered his voice. You must have seen how he looks at Grace. Ive put up with it in the past, because I thought he was harmless. But after this

Id wondered how Strachan felt about Camerons feelings for his wife. Now I knew.

You dont think it was him who attacked her? I said, doubtfully.

Somebody did! he flashed. But the vehemence soon passed. No, Im not saying it was Bruce. I justwell, Id rather he didnt go near her right now.

He gave an embarrassed smile.

Come on, lets get back. Theyll think were 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 wed 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 shed been hit. It was on her right cheek, which meant whoever had struck her was probably left-handed.

The same as Duncans killer.

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

Id not been back from school long. Id just made myself a coffee. Her hand trembled as she held a glass of brandy and water Id 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 dont knowabout two, two thirty, I think. Bruce decided to close the school early because of the power cut. Wed 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 shed needed him.

Grace took a sip of brandy and gave a shudder. Oscar was barking at the kitchen door. He wouldnt shut up, and as soon as I opened it he shot off for the cove. I didnt 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 didnt think anything about it. Its 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 couldnt see. Thenthen something hit me.

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

You dont have to talk about it if you dont want to, Strachan told her.

Im 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 didnt have my jeans on. I tried to yell or kick out, but I couldnt. Then I feltI felt my pants being pulled down

She broke off, her control slipping.

I just cant believe it must have been someone I know! Why would anyone do something like that?

Strachan turned angrily to Fraser. For Gods sake, cant you see this is upsetting her?

Its all right, really. Id rather finish. Grace wiped her eyes. Theres 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 werent 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?

Im afraid all I could smell was rotting fish and oil from the sack.

I finished cleaning the graze on Graces 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 theres a shingle beach that runs halfway back to the village. Towards the end of it theres a path leading up to the cliff top. Itd 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 wed gone into the house. Wed been more concerned with making sure Grace was all right than searching for whoever had assaulted her.

Fraser didnt 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.

Im 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 Strachans eyes, and a haunted look in them, as he watched her go out.

Shell 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. Ive already told you. I came home and she wasnt here.

And where had you been, exactly?

His tone wasnt quite accusatory, but it didnt leave much doubt why he was asking. Strachan regarded him with growing anger.

Id gone for a walk. Up to the cairns, if you must know. I came home after Id 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 hadnt! So if thats all, Brody, thanks for your help, but I think its 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.

Getting to my feet, I broke the tense silence. Perhaps we should all be going.

Strachan still looked angry, twin patches of colour on his face. Yes, of course. But he hesitated. ActuallyId appreciate it if youd stay for a while, David. Just to make sure that Grace is all right later.

Id have expected him to want to be alone with his wife. I glanced at Brody. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Theres nothing for you to do back at the village. We can meet up at my place later to talk things through.

I waited in the kitchen as Strachan showed the other two out. The front door closed. When he came back he seemed ill at ease. Almost embarrassed. But I realized that today had been traumatic for him too. Perhaps he wanted someone to reassure him that Grace would be all right, that what had happened wasnt his fault. Or perhaps he just wanted company.

Thanks for staying. Just for an hour or so, until Grace goes to bed, then Ill run you back to the hotel.

Will she be all right left on her own? I asked.

That didnt seem to have occurred to him. WellYou can always stay here, I suppose. Or take my car. Its an automatic, so you should be able to drive it one-handed.

Id already had one accident on Runa, and the prospect of trying to drive in my sling didnt appeal. But Id cross that bridge when I came to it.

Anyway, Im forgetting my manners, Strachan went on. Can I get you a drink? Ive a bottle of twenty-year-old malt waiting to be opened.

Dont open it on my account.

He grinned. Its the least I can do. Come on, lets go into the sitting room.

He led me out across the hallway into a large sitting room. It displayed the same restrained taste as the rest of the house. Two black leather sofas faced each other across a smoked glass coffee table, and the parquet floor was covered with thick rugs. There was another abstract oil painting of Graces above the fireplace, flanked on either side by floor to ceiling bookshelves. A glass case of flint tools and arrowheads stood against one wall, and there were other archaeological artefacts-fragments of ancient pottery, stone carvings-placed strategically around the room, each subtly picked out by a concealed light.

I browsed the bookshelves while Strachan opened a black lacquered drinks cabinet. Most of the titles were non-fiction. There were a few biographies of explorers such as Livingstone and Burton, but most were academic texts on archaeology and anthropology. There were several on primitive burial traditions, I noticed. I took down one called Past Voices, Past Lives and started leafing through it.

The chapter on Tibetan sky burials is interesting, Strachan said. They used to take their dead up on mountains and feed them to the birds. Thought theyd carry their spirits to heaven.

He set a bottle of malt on the coffee table with two thick tumblers and sat down on one of the leather sofas.

I didnt think you drank, I said, putting the book back and going to the other sofa.

I dont. But right now I feel like breaking my rule. He poured the whiskies and handed one to me. Slainte.

The malt was peaty but mellow. Strachan took a drink and began to cough.

Christ! Is it any good? he asked, eyes watering.

Very.

Thats all right, then.

He took another drink.

You could do with getting some rest yourself, I told him. Todays been rough on you as well.

Ill cope.

But his words couldnt disguise his exhaustion. He put his head back on the sofa, resting the nearly empty glass on his chest.

My father always used to say that its the things you never see coming you have to watch out for. He gave a rueful smile. Now I know what he meant. You think youre finally in control of your life, and then-bam! Something you never expected suddenly blindsides you.

Thats just life. You cant guard against everything.

No, I suppose not. He stared broodingly into his glass. I had the feeling he was about to broach the real reason hed asked me to stay. This assaultdo you think Gracell be all right? I dont mean physically. Do you think therell be anyI dont know. Psychological scars?

I chose my words carefully. Im not a psychologist. But Id say shes handling it pretty well so far. And she strikes me as being pretty resilient.

He still seemed troubled. I hope youre right. Its just thatWell, a few years ago Grace had a breakdown. Shed been pregnant, and she miscarried. There were complications. The doctors told her she couldnt have any children. It hit her hard.

Im sorry. I thought of the wistfulness Id seen on his wifes face when shed talked about children the other day. And the way she loved working at the school. Poor Grace. And poor Strachan, I thought. Id envied them their relationship, forgetting that tragedy was no respecter of wealth or glamour. Did you ever consider adopting?

Strachan gave a quick shake of his head and took another drink of whisky. It wouldnt be right for us. Its fine, though, really. Shes OK. But thats why we left South Africa and did so much travelling. We wanted a fresh start. Thats why we settled here. Runa seemed like a sort ofof sanctuary. Somewhere we could pull up the drawbridge and feel safe. And now this happens.

Its a small island. Whoever did it wont get away.

Perhaps not. But Runa wont feel the same. And I worry what itll do to Grace.

He was slurring his words slightly, fatigue and reaction compounding the effect of the alcohol. He drained his glass and reached for the bottle. Another?

No thanks.

I was starting to think that I should be going. He needed to be with his wife, not down here getting drunk and maudlin with me. And driving one-handed would be hard enough without two whiskies inside me.

I was saved from having to say anything by the sound of someone hammering on the front door. Strachan frowned and put the bottle of whisky back down.

Who the hells that? If its bloody Bruce Cameron again He stood up, swaying. Now I remember why I dont drink.

Shall I see who it is? I offered.

No, Ill go.

Still, he didnt object when I went with him into the hallway. The events of the last few hours had rattled everyone. I hung back as he opened the door, and it was only when I recognised Maggie Cassidys red coat and relaxed that I realized how keyed up I was myself.

But Strachan wasnt pleased to see her. What do you want? he asked without inviting her in.

The rain blustered through the open doorway as Maggie stood framed in it. Her elfin face looked tiny inside the hood of her outsized coat. She gave me a glance that was almost furtive, then addressed Strachan.

Sorry to disturb you, but I heard about what happened. I just wanted to see how your wife was.

Weve nothing to say, if thats why youre here.

She shook her head earnestly. No, II brought this. She held up a cloth-covered basin. Its chicken soup. My grans speciality.

That obviously wasnt what Strachan expected. Oh. Wellthank you.

Maggie gave an embarrassed smile as she held out the soup. It reminded me of the way shed smiled at Duncan just before shed tricked him by dropping her shoulder bag, and I suddenly knew what was about to happen. I opened my mouth to warn him, but as Strachan started to take it from her the basin slipped between their hands. Soup and broken crockery went everywhere as it shattered on the floor.

Oh, God, Im sorry Maggie stammered. She avoided looking at me as she fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. Pale splashes of soup dotted the bright red of her coat as well as Strachans clothes.

Leave it, it doesnt matter, he said, irritably.

No, please, let me clean it up

Her face had gone almost the same colour as her coat, but I wasnt sure if that was because of what had happened, or because she was conscious of me watching her. Strachan crossly took hold of her wrists as she began dabbing ineffectively at the front of his shirt.

Michael? I heard something breaking.

Grace was coming downstairs, wrapped in a thick white towelling bathrobe. Her hair was piled loosely on top of her head, the ends of it still damp.

Deliberately pushing Maggies hands away, Strachan stepped back from her. Its all right, darling. He gestured ironically at the mess. Miss Cassidy here just brought you some soup.

Grace gave a wry smile. So I see. Well, dont keep her standing outside.

Actually, she was just leaving.

Dont be silly, not when shes come all this way.

Reluctantly, Strachan moved aside to let Maggie in. As he closed the door behind her, she finally acknowledged me.

Hello, Dr Hunter, she said, with a look of studied innocence, before quickly turning back to Grace. Im really sorry, Mrs Strachan. I didnt mean to bother you.

Its no bother. Come on through into the kitchen while I get a cloth for the mess. Michael, darling, why dont you see to Maggies coat? Theres a sponge you can use in the utility room.

At least let me clean the floor Maggie protested. She was convincing, Id give her that.

Nonsense, Michael can see to that as well. He wont mind, will you, Michael?

No, Strachan said stonily.

Maggie shrugged out of her coat and gave it to him. Without its bulk she looked even tinier than before, yet she still seemed to fill the room with an energy that belied her size.

She didnt look at me as we went into the kitchen. Grace started to fill the kettle.

I feel really bad about this, Maggie said to her. Especially at a time like this. Being attacked like thatit must have been awful for you.

It was time I intervened. Grace, you really should be taking it easy. Maggie and I will be fine by ourselves for a few minutes. Wont we, Maggie?

Maggie gave me a look of daggers. Well

Actually, I do feel a little washed out, Grace said. And it was true she was looking pale. She gave a wan smile. If youre sure you dont mind keeping Maggie company, David, Ill see how Michaels doing, and then I think Ill go to bed.

I told her I didnt mind at all. Maggie watched her go, then her shoulders slumped. She turned to me, angrily.

Happy now? I was only being sociable.

Instead of answering I went to the sink and pulled a sheet of kitchen paper from a roll. Youve got soup on your jeans, I said, handing it to her. I watched as she angrily started to wipe it off. Your grans name isnt Campbell, by any chance?

Campbell? No, shes a Cassidy, same as

Her face fell as she realized.

I practically lived on the stuff when I was a student, I told her. Cream of chicken was my favourite. Its the sort of smell you never forget.

All right, so my gran didnt make it. So what? Its the thought that counts.

Her defiance was wafer-thin, but before either of us could say anything else we heard Grace scream. I ran out into the hallway to find her staring towards the open front door, anxiously hugging herself.

A few seconds later Strachan came back inside.

Its all right, David. False alarm, he said, closing the door.

Grace wiped her eyes and gave a tremulous smile. Sorry. Im jumping at my own shadow.

Can I do anything? I asked.

Strachan had gone to put his arms round his wife. No. Ill be with you in a minute.

Actually, we were just leaving, I said. Maggies offered to drive me back to the hotel. Havent you, Maggie?

The reporter managed a strained smile. Aye. Im a regular bus service.

Neither of us spoke as Strachan helped Grace upstairs, then came back down and collected Maggies coat from the utility room. There were darker patches of red where he had sponged the soup from it.

Thank you, Maggie said in a small voice. She looked down at the floor, where the shards of broken crockery lay amongst the spatters of soup. Im sorry about the mess. And Im really glad your wife is all right.

Strachan gave her a cold nod. I told him Id call out the next day to check on Grace, and ushered Maggie outside. Night had fallen as we hurried to the Mini, leaning into the wind as the rain was driven against us in sheets. It was still warm inside the car, and I belatedly remembered her warning about the broken heater. But that was the least of my concerns as I slammed the car door and turned to her angrily.

So are you going to tell me what you thought you were doing back there?

Maggie was struggling out of her coat and thrusting it on to the back seat. Nothing! I told you, I just came out to-

I know why you came, Maggie. Christ, Grace was attacked! She might have been killed, and you pull a trick like that? Just so you can get your name on the front page?

Maggie was on the verge of tears as she rammed the car into gear and headed for the road. OK, so Im a cow! But I cant just sit at my grans pretending nothings happening. Whatevers going on here, a story like this could be a big deal for me! All I want is a few words from one of them.

Is that all this is? Just a career opportunity?

No, of course it isnt! I was born here, I know these people! Her chin came up. And I left you alone when you asked me to this morning, didnt I? I could have followed you, but I didnt. Give me that much credit, at least!

Her small face was pinched and intense. I still didnt like what shed done, but her need to be believed seemed genuine. And she was right; she had kept her word that morning. The wind shook the Mini as I debated what to do. If I could trust her. What do your instincts say?

I just hoped I could trust them, as well.

This is in confidence, Maggie. Strictly off the record, OK? Peoples lives are at stake.

She nodded, quickly. Aye, of course. And I know I shouldnt have come out to see Grace

This isnt just about Grace I paused, uncertain even now. But it was going to come out soon anyway. Better to tell her now than have her keep snooping around. And perhaps getting herself-or someone else-hurt because of it.

Duncan, the young constable, was murdered last night.

Her hand went to her mouth. Oh, my God! She stared through the windscreen as it sank in. I cant believe it. I mean, he wasWhat the hells going on? This is Runa, for Gods sake, things like that dont happen here!

Apparently they do. Which is why you need to stop pulling stunts like this. Two people have been killed already. This afternoon it could easily have been three. Whoevers doing this, doesnt care who he hurts, Maggie.

She nodded, chastened. Does anyone else know? About Duncan, I mean?

Not yet. Kinross knows somethings going on, and so do some of the others. Brody or Fraser will probably have to tell people before much longer. But until they do, Id appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.

I wont say anything. I promise.

I believed her. For one thing, she couldnt get word out to her newspaper, but for another Maggie looked stunned. She still seemed shell-shocked as the headlights picked out a shape on the side of the road ahead of us. It was blurred by the squeaking windscreen wipers, then resolved into a figure crouched in a reflective yellow raincape.

Looks like Bruce has had an accident, Maggie said.

As she slowed I could see it was Cameron, white face caught in the headlights as he worked over the chain of his mountain bike. There was mud smeared on the yellow fabric of his cape.

Dont tell me he cycled out here in this? I said, realizing he must still be on his way back from Strachans house.

Aye. I passed him on the way out. Prides himself on being out in all weather. Bloody amadan.

I didnt have to understand Gaelic to know an insult when I heard one. Cameron shielded his eyes against the cars lights as we pulled up, a spanner still clutched in his hand. Maggie wound down the window and leaned out, screwing her face up against the rain.

You want a lift yet, Bruce? she called.

The reflective cape thrashed around him in the wind, moulding to his skinny frame like a live thing and threatening to blow him off balance. No wonder hed come off his bike, I thought. He looked frozen and soaked, but when he saw me in the car his expression hardened.

I can manage.

Suit yourself, Maggie muttered. She closed the window and pulled away. God, but that man seriously gets up my nose. Got all snotty the other day when I asked to do a story about him. Just human interest stuff because hes a teacher and male nurse, but he acted like I was scum for suggesting it. I wouldnt have minded, but he could hardly keep his eyes off my boobs. Randy bugger.

Camerons feelings for Grace evidently didnt stop him ogling other women, I thought. And then I realized something else, something that hit me so hard I felt winded.

Hed been using the spanner with his left hand.

I turned to look back through the rear window. But the darkness and rain had swallowed him up.



CHAPTER 20

CAMERONS AN AWKWARD sod. But I dont see him as a killer, Brody said, putting the kettle on the cooker and lighting the gas under it.

We were in his small kitchen, sitting at his spotlessly clean table while he made tea. Id had Maggie drop me off at the hotel, but only stayed long enough to collect Fraser. The Range Rover had been parked outside, and Id expected to find him in the bar. Instead hed been in his room, and when Id knocked I could hear him noisily blowing his nose before he came to the door. When he opened it his room was in darkness, and his face was blotched and red. But his manner was as gruff as ever as I said we needed to talk to Brody.

Im not saying he is, I said, as the old DI shook out the match hed used to light the gas. But he was using the bike spanner with his left hand. We know that whoever killed Duncan was left-handed. And Grace was hit on her right cheek, which suggests the same thing about her attacker.

Frasers sniffed dismissively. How can you be sure Strachans wife wasnt given a backhand?

I cant, I admitted. For all I know it could be two different people who attacked them, come to that. But Duncan was hit hard enough to punch a hole in his skull, and send impact fractures halfway across it. You cant get that sort of force behind a backhanded swing.

Frasers mouth turned down so far the tips of his moustache touched either side of his chin. Camerons a prick, Ill grant you that. But I cant see a runt like him getting the better of Duncan.

Duncan was hit from behind. He didnt get a chance to defend himself, I reminded him. We already know that Camerons got a thing about Grace, and he also fits the blackmail theory. Hes the schoolteacher, so hed hardly want it known if he was using a prostitute. If Janice Donaldson threatened to tell he might have killed her to keep it quiet.

Brody dropped tea bags into a pot. Perhaps. But assuming youre right, how did he get from the school to the yacht in time to attack Grace?

For all we know he could have left before her. He could have taken his mountain bike along the coastal path that Strachan told us about. Dangerous in this weather, but he might have chanced it if he was desperate.

The kettle set up a mournful whistling as steam began to trail from the cap on its spout. Brody turned off the flame and poured the boiling water into the teapot. With his right hand, I noticed.

I was getting obsessive.

He brought the teapot and three mugs over to the table. Its possible. But lets forget Cameron for now and look at what else weve got, he said, setting the pot down on a place mat and putting cork coasters in front of each of us for the mugs. The body of a murdered prostitute turns up, badly burned. Whoever killed her was apparently unconcerned about it being found, until word gets out its being treated as a murder inquiry.

He didnt look at Fraser as he spoke, but he didnt have to.

The killer panics and decides to get rid of the remains properly this time, as well as whatever other evidence might be left. In the process he kills a police officer, and very nearly the forensic expert as well. He stirred the teapot, then replaced the lid and looked questioningly at us. Any comments?

Bastard obviously gets off on fire, Fraser said. Pyromaniac, or whatever its called.

I wasnt so sure. Have there been any other arson attacks or fires on the island? I asked Brody.

None that I know of. Not since Ive been living here, anyway.

So why now? Im no psychologist, but I dont think people just turn into fire-starters overnight.

Could just be a way for him to hide his tracks, Fraser suggested.

Then we come back to why Janice Donaldsons body was left in the cottage instead of being buried or thrown off a cliff. Chances are it would never have been found then. Were missing something here, I insisted.

Or just complicating things when theres no need, Fraser countered.

Brody looked thoughtful as he poured the tea. Lets go back to the attack on Grace. My feeling is that it was opportunistic. That she walked in on somebody as they were smashing the yachts comms system. So whoever it was, it had to be someone who knew we cant use the police radios.

That rules out Cameron, Fraser said, spooning sugar into his tea. None of us told him. Had to be someone from the boatyard, if you ask me. Kinross or one of those other bearded bastards. They all knew our radios werent working. One of them could have legged it up to the yacht while we were on the ferry. Theyd just about have time to smash up the comms and do the business with Strachans wife before they were disturbed.

He put the wet spoon down on the table. Without a word, Brody picked it up and took it to the sink, then brought a cloth over to wipe up the tea stain.

Could be, he said, sitting back down. But we cant just assume it was one of them. We dont know who else they might have told. And lets not forget theres someone else who knew we wanted to use the yachts radio.

I could guess what was coming. You mean Strachan?

He nodded. You asked him about it when he came out to the cottage. Hes not stupid; hed have put two and two together.

Id come to respect Brodys instincts, but I was starting to think he was letting his animosity cloud his judgement where Strachan was concerned. Id seen his reaction when hed realized Duncan was dead. Even if his shock had been feigned, I didnt think anyone could make themselves throw up to order, no matter how good an actor they were.

Fraser obviously shared my doubts. No way. We all saw the state he was in. The man was in bits. And why the hell would he attack his own wife and then come running for help? Doesnt make sense.

It does if he wanted to divert suspicion from himself, Brody said, mildly. Then he shrugged. But you could be right. For all we know it could have been someone else entirely, who trashed the yachts communications just to be on the safe side. I just dont think we can afford to rule anyone out at the moment, thats all.

He was right, I realized. Duncan had already died because too much had been taken for granted.

I still dont understand what was gained by smashing the yachts radio anyway, I said. Even if we could contact the mainland, no one can get out to us until the weather improves. So what was the point?

Brody took a drink of tea and placed his mug carefully back on the coaster. Time, perhaps. As far as the mainlands concerned, this is still about a month-old murder. Important, but not life and death. Even the fact we cant get in touch wont worry them overmuch, because theyll know the phones and radios arent working. If they knew a police officer had been killed, thered be a helicopter on standby ready to lift off the minute the weather permits. But as things are theyll wait till it clears before they start things moving. So as long as weve no means of communication, the killers got a clear window to get off the island before anyone even starts looking for him.

And go where? Even if he takes a boat, were in the middle of nowhere.

Brody smiled. Dont be fooled. Theres a hundred and fifty miles of islands and coastline out here for someone to lose themselves. Then theres the British mainland, Norway, the Faroes and Iceland all within striking distance.

So you think the killers planning to make a run for it?

His dog came up and rested its head on his knee. Brody stroked it, fondly. Id say it was likely. He knows he cant stay here any more.

So what do we do about it? Fraser demanded.

Brody gave a shrug. Watch our backs. And hope the weather clears.

It was a depressing thought.

The three of us took the Range Rover back to the hotel shortly afterwards. We hadnt eaten since that morning, and while none of us had much appetite we still needed to eat. The rain had eased, but the gale showed no sign of abating as we made our way back along the harbour and through the village. The island was still without power, and the unlit streets seemed eerily deserted in the cars headlights as we drove up the steep hill to the hotel.

It was only when we got out of the car that we became aware of the hubbub coming from inside. Brody frowned, his chin lifting as though hed scented something.

Somethings up.

The small bar was packed to overflowing, people crowding the hallway round its doorway. Heads turned towards us, the conversations abruptly dying to silence as word spread that wed arrived.

Now what? Fraser muttered.

There was a ripple of movement as the people standing in the doorway shifted in response to some movement inside the bar. A moment later Kinross emerged, the hulking figure of Guthrie just behind him.

Kinrosss ice-chip eyes brushed on Fraser and me before fixing on Brody.

We want some answers.

With everything else that had happened, Id forgotten about Brodys promise to explain what was going on. Fraser began to draw himself up, shoulders bunched aggressively, but Brody cut him off.

Aye, I dare say you do. Just give us a minute here, will you?

Kinross seemed inclined to argue. Then he gave a short nod. You can have two.

He and Guthrie went back into the bar. Fraser turned on Brody, angrily jabbing a finger at him.

Youre not a bloody inspector any more! I told you before, youve no authority to tell them anything!

Brody kept his voice level. Theyve a right to know.

Frasers face had darkened. The shock of Duncans death-and perhaps his sense of guilt-had been building up all day. Now he was looking for somewhere to vent it.

A police officers been murdered! As far as Im concerned nobody on this island has a right to anything!

Two people are dead already. You want to risk anyone else being killed because you didnt warn them?

Hes right, I said. Id been in a situation once before where the police hadnt released information, and people had died as a result. Youve got to tell them what were dealing with. If not youre putting more lives at risk.

Fraser had a cornered look about him, but he wasnt giving in. Im not taking votes on it! Im not telling anybody anything without proper orders, and neither is anyone else!

No? A muscle was ticking in Brodys jaw, but that was the only outward sign of any emotion. Thats one good thing about being retired. I dont have to worry about red tape.

Fraser grabbed hold of his arm as he started towards the bar. Youre not going in there!

What are you going to do? Arrest me?

He looked at the police sergeant disdainfully. Fraser dropped first his gaze, and then his hand.

Im not having anything to do with this, he mumbled.

Then dont, Brody said, and walked away.

I went with him, leaving Fraser standing in the hallway. We had to ease through the crush in the bar. People shuffled aside as we went in, the murmur of conversation dying to a pin-drop silence. It was a small enough room to begin with, not meant for this sort of number. Ellen was serving behind the bar, looking flustered. I spotted Cameron, cleaned up and standing by himself in a corner. Hed obviously made it back after coming off his bike, but the look he gave me was no warmer than before. Maggie was there too, standing with a group that included Kinross and Guthrie, a look of anticipation on her face.

But other than that most were people I didnt recognise. There was no sign of Strachan, although that was hardly surprising. Even if hed been told about the meeting he wouldnt have wanted to leave Grace by herself in order to come.

I hoped we wouldnt need him to calm things down this time.

Brody made his way to the fireplace and calmly surveyed the room.

I know youre all wondering whats going on, he said, his voice carrying without effort. By now Im sure youre all aware that Grace Strachan was attacked this afternoon. And most of you will have heard that the police are treating the body found in the old cottage near Beinn Tuiridh as a suspicious death.

He paused, looking round the room. I noticed that Fraser had come into the bar. He stood in the doorway, listening sullenly.

What you dont know is that some time last night, the police officer who was on duty there was murdered. Whoever killed him also torched the community centre and medical clinic, and almost killed Dr Hunter here as well.

His words provoked an uproar. Brody raised his hands for quiet, but no one took any notice. There were angry shouts of surprise and protest. I could see Ellen looking nervous behind the bar, and found myself wondering if this was a mistake after all. Then a voice was bellowing above the rest.

Quiet, everyone! I said QUIET!

The clamour died down. It was Kinross whod shouted. In the silence that followed, the ferry captain stared across at Brody.

Are you saying it was somebody from the island? One of us?

Brody stared back without flinching. Thats exactly what Im saying.

There was a rumble of discontent, growing in volume. But it stilled as Kinross made himself heard again.

No. He shook his head emphatically. No way.

I dont like it any more than you do. But the fact is that somebody on this island has killed two people and assaulted another.

Kinross folded his arms. Well, its not one of us. If there was a killer here, dont you think wed know it?

There were muttered ayes and murmurs of agreement. As Brody tried to make himself heard above the rising volume, Maggie squirmed her way to the front. She thrust out her dictaphone, as though this were a press conference.

The body that was found at the cottage. Do you know who it is?

Brody paused. I knew he was making a judgement as to how much he should say.

It hasnt been formally identified yet. But we think it might be a missing prostitute from Stornoway.

I was watching Cameron as Brody spoke. But if the news meant anything to him he didnt show it. And now other people were shouting their own questions.

What the hell was a tart from Lewis doing out here? Karen Tait called out. Her voice was already slurred.

Guthrie grinned. Take a guess.

No one laughed. The big mans smirk slowly died. But I was more interested in another reaction. Kinrosss son Kevin had given a start at the mention of the dead woman. His mouth opened in a shocked o before he realized I was watching him.

He quickly dropped his gaze.

Everyone elses attention was still on Brody. The police are going to be sending teams out here as soon as the weather allows. Ill ask you all to cooperate with them when they arrive. Until then, we need you all to help us out. The cottage is a crime scene now, so please dont go out there. When Scene of Crime get here, they dont want to waste time chasing false leads. I know youre going to be curious, but please keep away from it. And if any of you think you might have any information, you need to tell Sergeant Fraser over there.

All eyes instinctively went to Fraser. He looked briefly surprised, then straightened almost imperceptibly, squaring his shoulders as he met the stares. It was a clever touch from Brody, a way of handing some self-respect back to Fraser, and reminding the islanders that there already was a police presence on Runa.

I thought the meeting would end there, but Cameron had other ideas. Hed been quiet so far, but now his orators voice filled the small room.

And meanwhile, are we expected to just sit tight and behave ourselves? He stood with his legs planted and his arms folded. He flicked Maggie a look of supercilious distaste as she pointed her tape recorder at him.

Unfortunately, theres not much else we can do until the mainland police get here, Brody answered.

You tell us theres a murderer loose on the island, practically accuse one of us, and then calmly tell us to do nothing? Cameron gave an incredulous snort. Well, I for one dont-

Shut up, Bruce, Kinross said, without even bothering to look at him.

Camerons cheeks coloured. Im sorry, Iain, but I hardly think-

Nobody here cares what you think.

Well, excuse me, but who are you to

Cameron faltered to silence as Kinrosss icy stare swivelled to him. His Adams apple bobbed as he closed his mouth, swallowing whatever he had been about to say. I almost felt sorry for him. One way and another, the schoolteachers pride had taken a battering in recent days.

But no one was taking any notice of him now anyway. People were turning away, subdued conversations springing up again as they discussed what theyd just heard. Maggie lowered her dictaphone and gave me a troubled look before making her way out of the bar.

I looked over to where Kevin Kinross had been standing. But at some point the teenager had slipped away too.


We found an empty table when the bar started to thin out after the meeting. Fraser insisting on buying malts for himself and me and a tomato juice for Brody.

He raised his glass. To Duncan. And to the bastard who killed him, Gonnadh ort!

Oh, hell suffer, all right, Brody said, softly.

Solemnly, we toasted. Then I told them about Kevin Kinrosss reaction to the news that the murdered woman was a prostitute from Stornoway. Perhaps still smarting from his earlier loss of face, Fraser was dismissive.

Could be just excited at the thought of a prossie. A face like that, hes probably still a virgin.

Worth following up, even so, Brody mused. Perhaps we should have a word with him tomorrow, if the support team still arent here.

Fraser looked morosely into his glass. I hope to Christ they are.

So do I, I thought. So do I.

I made my excuses not long after that. Id still not eaten, and on an empty stomach the alcohol made me feel light-headed with exhaustion. All at once the events of the past forty-eight hours seemed to catch up with me. I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Ellen was still serving behind the bar as I made my way out, struggling to cope with the unexpected demand. I didnt think shed seen me, but then I heard her call as I started up the stairs.

David? She hurried out of the bar. Im really sorry, Ive not had chance to get you anything to eat.

Thats all right. Im going to get some sleep.

Do you want me to bring something up? Soup, or a sandwich? Andrews minding the bar for me.

Im fine, really.

There was a creak on the landing above us. We looked up to see Anna. She was in her nightdress, her face pale and bleary with sleep.

What have I told you about coming downstairs? Ellen scolded, as her daughter came down the rest of the way.

I had a bad dream. The wind took the lady away.

What lady, sweetheart?

I dont know, Anna said querulously.

Ellen cuddled her. It was just a dream, and its gone now. Did you thank Dr Hunter for the chocolate he bought you the other day?

Anna considered, then shook her head.

Well, go on, then.

But Ive eaten it now.

Ellen raised her eyes at me over her daughters head, suppressing a smile. You can still say thank you.

Thank you.

Thats better. Now come on, young lady. Back to bed.

The little girl was half asleep already. She slumped against her mothers legs. I cant walk.

And I cant carry you. Youre too heavy.

Anna lifted her head enough to regard me with a sleepy eye. He can.

No he cant, madam. Hes got a poorly arm.

Its OK. I can manage, I said. Ellen looked doubtfully at my sling. Id be happy to. Really.

I hoisted Anna up. Her hair smelled cleanly of shampoo. She snuggled down against my shoulder, just as my own daughter used to. The small, solid weight of her was upsetting and comforting at the same time.

I followed Ellen back to the attic floor, where there were two small private rooms. Anna barely stirred as her mother pulled back the sheets and I lowered her into her bed. I stood back as Ellen covered her again and smoothed her daughters hair before we crept out and went back downstairs.

She paused when we reached my floor, hand resting on the wooden banister as she looked at me. Her penetrating gaze was concerned.

Are you OK?

She didnt have to say what she meant. I smiled.

Fine.

Ellen knew enough not to push. With a final goodnight she went back down to the bar. I went into my room and sank down on the mattress fully clothed. I could smell the stink of smoke on my clothes, but it seemed like too much effort to get into bed. I could still feel the phantom weight of Anna. If I closed my eyes I could almost pretend it was Alices. I sat there, thinking about my dead family as I listened to the wind howl outside. More than ever, I wished I could call Jenny.

But that was something else I couldnt do anything about.

My head jerked up as there was a rap on the door. Id started to drift off, I realized. I looked at my watch and saw it was after nine oclock.

Just a second.

Rubbing my eyes, I went to the door. I thought it might be Ellen, determined to feed me after all. But when I opened it I found Maggie Cassidy standing in the corridor.

She was holding a tray, on which was a bowl of soup and two thick chunks of home-made bread. Ellen said if I was coming up anyway I had to bring you this. Said to tell you that youd got to eat something.

I took the tray and stepped back to let her in. Thanks.

She smiled, but there was a hesitancy about it. Soup again. Been quite a day for it, eh?

At least you didnt drop it this time.

I set the tray down on the cabinet. There was an awkwardness between us at finding ourselves alone in this context. Neither of us looked at the bed that dominated most of the room, but we were both conscious of its presence. I leaned against the windowsill while Maggie sat on the rooms only chair.

You look bloody awful, she said at last.

That makes me feel a lot better.

You know what I mean. She gestured to the tray. Go ahead, you might as well start.

Its all right.

Ellenll kill me if you let it get cold.

I didnt have the energy to argue. I was still too tired to feel hungry, but the first mouthful changed that. Suddenly I was famished.

Quite a meeting tonight, Maggie said, as I tore off a hunk of bread. I thought for a moment Iain Kinross was going to deck Cameron. Still, you cant have everything, eh?

You didnt come here just to talk about that, did you?

No. She toyed with the edge of the chair. Theres something I want to ask you.

You know I cant tell you anything.

One question, thats all.

Maggie

She held up a finger. Just one. And strictly off the record.

Wheres your tape recorder?

God, youre a suspicious bugger, arent you? She reached into her bag and took out her dictaphone. Turned off. See?

She tucked it back into her bag. I sighed.

All right, one question. But Im not promising anything.

Thats all I ask, she said. She seemed nervous. Brody said the dead woman was a prostitute from Stornoway. Do you know her name?

Come on, Maggie, I cant tell you that.

Im not asking what it is. Just if you know it.

I tried to see the trap. But provided I didnt give any specifics, there wasnt any harm in answering.

Not officially.

But youve a pretty good idea who she is, right?

I let my silence answer that. Maggie bit her lip.

Her first nameIt wouldnt be Janice, would it?

My face must have been confirmation enough. I put the tray aside, my appetite gone.

Why do you say that?

Sorry, I cant reveal sources.

This isnt a game, Maggie! If you know something youve got to tell the police.

You mean Sergeant Fraser? Aye, right, thats going to happen.

Andrew Brody, then! Theres more at stake than a newspaper story, youre playing with peoples lives!

Im doing my job! she flashed back.

And if someone else gets killed, what then? Chalk it up as another exclusive?

That hit home. Maggie looked away.

You said yourself youre from Runa, I pushed. Dont you care what happens here?

Of course I bloody do!

Then tell me where you got the name from.

I could see conflicting emotions warring in her. Look, its not like it sounds. The person who told meIt was in confidence. And I dont want to make trouble for them. Theyre not involved.

How do you know?

Because I do. She looked at her watch, then stood up. Look, Ive got to go. This was a mistake. I shouldnt have come.

But you did. You cant just walk away.

Maggies face was still uncertain, but she shook her head.

Give me till tomorrow. Even if the police still cant get out, I promise Ill tell either you or Brody then. But I need to think it through first.

Dont do this, Maggie.

But she was already heading for the door.

Tomorrow, I promise. She gave me a quick, embarrassed smile. Night.

After shed gone I sat on the bed, wondering how the hell she could have known the dead womans name was Janice. Id told only Brody and Fraser, and I couldnt see either the dour ex-inspector or the police sergeant confiding anything to Maggie.

I tried to puzzle it out, but I was too tired to think straight. And there was nothing I could do about it tonight anyway. The soup had gone cold, but I was no longer hungry. I undressed and washed as much of the smoke stink from myself as I could. Perhaps tomorrow I would see if the hotels generator would run to a hot shower. For now, though, all I wanted to do was sleep.

This time unconsciousness came like flicking a switch.

I woke once, just before midnight, jerking, gasping from a dream where I was chasing something and being pursued myself at the same time. But I couldnt remember what I was running to or from. All that remained was a lingering sense that, however fast I ran, it wouldnt make any difference.

I lay in the darkened room, listening as my heart rate gradually returned to normal. It seemed that the wind didnt sound quite so bad, and as I drifted off again I allowed myself a faint stirring of optimism that perhaps the storm had peaked, that tomorrow the police would finally be able to make it out here.

I should have known better. Because the weather, like Runa itself, was just saving the worst till last.



CHAPTER 21

THREE OCLOCK IN the morning is the dead time. Its the time when the body is at its lowest ebb, physically and mentally. The time when defences are lowest, when the promise of morning seems impossibly distant. Its when worst imaginings seem inescapable, darkest fears about to be realized. Usually its just a state of mind, a biorhythmic trough we emerge from with the first paling of dawn.

Usually.

I surfaced from unconsciousness reluctantly, knowing I would find it hard to sleep again once I was fully awake. But as soon as I thought that, of course, it was too late. The bed springs squeaked under me as I looked at the clock. Just after three. I could feel the night-silence of the hotel all around me. Sinister creaks and groans as the building shifted and settled, like an arthritic old man. Outside the wind still blustered. I lay staring up at the ceiling, feeling sleep retreat further without knowing why. Then I realized what was different.

I could see the ceiling.

The room wasnt dark. A faint glow was coming through the curtain. My first thought was that it was from the street lamp outside the hotel, that the power must be back on. I felt a surge of relief, thinking that if the electricity had been restored, then perhaps the phones had been too.

But even as I was thinking that I noticed how the light coming through the window wasnt constant. It had a febrile, flickering quality, and when I saw that my relief died.

I hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain. The rain had stopped, but the street lamp outside was dead and dark, quivering in the wind like a limbless tree. The light Id seen was coming from the harbour, a sickly yellow glow that reflected from the wet rooftops of the houses, growing brighter every second.

Something was on fire.

I quickly pulled on my clothes, wincing as my injured shoulder complained. I hurried down the hall and banged on Frasers door.

Fraser! Wake up!

There was no answer. If hed stayed in the bar all night as Id expected, trying to drown his guilt and grief over Duncan, there was no way Id raise him.

Leaving him, I ran downstairs. I expected Ellen to have been woken by the commotion, but there was no sign of her. The wind tried to rip my coat from me as I rushed outside, struggling to fasten it over my arm. Further down the hill people were emerging from houses and banging on doors, their voices calling urgently to each other as they hurried towards the harbour.

As I passed the lane that ran behind the hotel, I noticed that Ellens old Beetle wasnt there. I guessed shed already gone to investigate the blaze, but there was no time to give it much thought. The glow in the sky was brighter now, shining on the rain-slick street. I thought it might be the ferry that was burning, but when I reached the quayside I saw it was still moored safely out on the jetty, caught in the dancing light from the shore.

The fire was in the boatyard.

Guthries derelict fishing boat was ablaze. Its stern was already engulfed, the small wheelhouse on its deck burning fiercely. Flames were flowing over its half-timbered hull with a sinuous grace, hiding it behind fluid black smoke. Figures were scurrying about, snatching up buckets and yelling at each other over the din of the flames. Guthrie was bellowing frantic instructions, and I saw Kinross emerge from the workshop with a heavy fire extinguisher, hunching against the heat as he ventured as close to the flames as he could.

A hand fell on my shoulder. I turned and saw Brody, face jaundiced by the yellow light.

What happened? I asked.

No idea. Wheres Fraser?

Guess.

We broke off, coughing as a sudden shift in wind sent the smoke over us. The wind was shredding the flames into a wildly flapping sheet. It seemed like most of the village was there now, either watching helplessly or trying to fight the blaze. Buckets were being passed along a line, and a hose had been rolled out, its thin jet vanishing ineffectively into the flames. It was obvious they couldnt save the boat, but the priority now was making sure the fire didnt spread.

Across the yard, I caught a glimpse of Maggies distinctive red coat as she stood with a group of onlookers. Standing by himself, a little way from everyone else, was Cameron, his face hollowed and shadowed as he stared at the flames. I looked around for Ellen, but couldnt pick out her face in the crowd. Id assumed shed come down to the harbour, but now I thought about it, it seemed odd that she hadnt woken Fraser or me first.

Brody saw me looking round. Whats wrong?

Have you seen Ellen?

No, why?

Her car had gone from the hotel. I thought she must have come down here.

She wouldnt have left Anna, Brody said, scanning the crowd. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.

Even now I cant remember when I became aware of a sudden tension in the air. It was like a ripple of communal unease, spreading as quickly as the flames themselves. I looked back towards the boat, already feeling a dawning presentiment of disaster without knowing why. It was fully ablaze now, flames funneling into the gap formed by the missing hull timbers. And then the wind gusted, lifting the veil of smoke to reveal something moving inside.

Cocooned in fire, a human arm was slowly lifting, as though in salute.

Jesus Christ, Brody breathed.

Then, with a flurry of sparks, the deck collapsed and buried the awful sight from view.

Pandemonium broke out. People were crying and yelling instructions, shouting for someone to do something. But I knew better than anyone there that there was nothing anyone could do.

I felt a sudden grip on my shoulder, strong enough to hurt even through my coat. Brody was staring at me, his face etched with an unforgettable expression. He uttered just one word, but it was enough.

Ellen.

Then he was barging people aside as he ran towards the burning boat.

Brody! I yelled, going after him.

I doubt he heard. Only when the flames beat him back did he stop. I grabbed hold of him, flinching from the heat. We were close enough for our coats to steam. If the boat collapsed now wed be caught in it.

Come on, get back!

She was moving!

It was only a reflex! It was the fire, thats all!

He pulled away from me, staring into the flames as though trying to find a route into them. I grabbed him again.

Whoever it is, theyre dead! You cant do anything!

What wed seen wasnt a sign of life. If anything it was just the opposite, a blind, mechanical motion caused by the arms tendons contracting in the intense heat. There was no chance anyone could have survived the fire for this long.

The truth of what I was saying finally penetrated Brodys frenzy. He allowed me to pull him away, stumbling like a man caught in a nightmare. What was left of the boat looked as though it could collapse any second. Shutting out thoughts of who the victim might be, I ran to where Kinross was still futilely spraying the fire extinguisher on to the flames. His face was savage and angry as he edged as close as he could. Nearby Guthries meaty face was streaked with tears, either from the smoke or the sight of his dream going up in flames.

We need to get the body out!

Get the fuck out of my way!

I grabbed his arm. You cant put it out! Get some poles! Now!

He wrenched free, and for a second I thought he might take a swing at me. Then he bellowed to the other men battling the fire, shouting for them to fetch scaffolding poles and long pieces of timber from the building supplies stacked nearby.

Feeling helpless, I could only stand with Brody and watch as they began using them to try to snag the body from the flames. Guthrie and another man skittered back as part of the fire collapsed, sending sparks gyrating crazily into the sky. There was no way the body would survive such rough handling unscathed, but there was no alternative. If it wasnt recovered now, the fire would destroy any forensic evidence that might be left anyway.

More than that, though, it would have been unthinkable to simply wait until the fire had burned itself out.

Brodys face was haggard. It cant be Ellen, I told myself, feeling an awful hollowness. I tried to think of where she could be, of another reason for her car to be missing. But that only raised even worse questions. Dear God, what about Anna? Wheres she?

I knew I should go back to the hotel to see, but I was afraid of what I might find. Across the other side of the yard I caught a glimpse of Maggies bright red coat. Seeing her, I felt my anger start to rise. Whatever shed kept from me earlier might not have been able to prevent this, but shed hidden behind her profession for long enough.

Skirting the burning boat, I started across the yard, and as I did I almost bumped into someone coming the other way.

It was Ellen.

She was carrying Anna on one shoulder. The little girl was half asleep as she stared at the flames.

What happened? Ellen asked, staring past me to the fire.

Before I could answer Brody came running over.

Thank God youre all right!

He seemed about to hug her but stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Ellen was looking bewildered.

Why wouldnt I be? Ive been at Rose Cassidys. Look, why are you both staring at me like that? Whats going on?

You were at Maggies grandmothers? I asked, recognizing the name. Something dark and unsettling began to twitch in my subconscious.

Aye, she had a fall, so one of her neighbours came to fetch me. Rose isnt fond of Bruce Cameron, she added, wryly. A crease of concern appeared between her eyes. Poor womans worried more than anything. Maggie went out earlier and hasnt come back.

The sense of foreboding was growing stronger. I just saw her. Shes down here, I said, looking round.

There was no longer any sign of Cameron, but Maggie was still where Id last seen her, watching the boat burn with Karen Tait and a group of other islanders. She had her back to me, an unmistakable figure in her oversized coat. I went across, driven by an apprehension I still couldnt name.

Maggie? I said.

But at that moment a cry went up from the boat. Over here. Weve got it.

I looked over, saw that the men had succeeded in dislodging a still-burning shape from the fire. Kinross and the others pawed at the blackened object with poles, trying to drag it further away from the flames. It could almost have been a log, its smoking surface still licked by tongues of flame.

But it wasnt.

Id actually started to go over when Maggie turned round, and shock rooted me to the spot.

The face gazing back at me from inside the red hood wasnt Maggies. It was a teenage girls, blank and uncomprehending.

Mary Tait. The girl Id seen outside my window.



CHAPTER 22

AN EERIE SILENCE had descended in the boatyard, a collective hush as people saw what had been pulled from the blaze. Then the spell broke. A fresh clamour erupted all around me as people jostled to either get away from the sight, or to get a better look.

But I was still struggling to recover from the shock of seeing Karen Taits daughter wearing Maggies coat. Because it obviously was Maggies. The distinctive red coat had seemed huge on the reporter, but Mary Tait was much bigger. Large as the coat was, it looked almost too small for her heavy frame.

Karen Tait, Marys mother, had turned to glare at me, but by now Brody had followed me over.

Whats wrong? he asked.

I found my voice. Thats Maggies coat.

Hes lying! Karen Tait bridled drunkenly. But there was a shrillness to the accusation that didnt ring true.

Kinross had broken away from the group of men by the fire and was pushing his way towards us. His son trailed behind, the firelight cruelly highlighting his pockmarked features with shadowed craters. At the sight of Kevin, Marys face broke into a beaming smile, but it wasnt returned. When the teenager saw where his father was heading he dropped back. Marys smile faded as he slunk away into the crowd.

Kinross was blackened and stinking of smoke, still clutching the charred pole hed used to drag the body from the fire. He hawked and spat a glob of sooty phlegm on to the floor.

Weve got it out, like you asked. He looked from me to Karen Tait. Whats going on?

Its them, theyre calling Mary a thief! Tait cried.

Brody didnt react to the accusation. Thats Maggies coat Marys wearing.

Taits face contorted. Thats a lie! Dont believe him!

But Kinross was staring at the girls coat with recognition. I remembered how he and Maggie had bantered on the ferry. There had been real affection there. He looked back at where the other firefighters had gathered to stare at the smouldering body theyd pried from the flames, and I saw him make the same connection I already had.

Where is Maggie? he asked sharply.

No one answered. Something in Kinrosss expression seemed to close down. He swivelled his gaze back towards Karen Tait.

We dont have time for this now, I said quickly, trying to ignore my own fears for Maggie. We need to get this place secured, and get the body somewhere safe.

Brody nodded. Hes right, Iain. This can wait. We have to get everyone out of here. Will you help?

Kinross didnt respond. He continued to stare at Karen Tait, but she wouldnt meet his eyes. He levelled a finger at her.

We havent finished, he warned. Then, turning his back, he began yelling instructions to clear the yard.

Leaving Brody to watch Karen Tait and her daughter, I pushed my way through to the body as Kinross and a handful of other men began herding people away. It lay charred and twisted on the dirty concrete floor of the yard, a sight that was both pitiful and horrific. Rain had puddled nearby, and in the light from the burning boat oil glistened on the water like a dead rainbow. Tendrils of steam rose from the cooked flesh, and I could feel the heat still radiating from it, like a joint left too long in the oven. The mouth had pulled open as though in a rictus of agony. I knew that was fanciful, that it was an inevitable effect of the tendons contracting in the fire, but somehow I couldnt shake the image.

Please, let me be wrong.

I turned to Guthrie as he went past, ushering a huddle of people from the yard. Can I have a sheet of plastic or tarpaulin?

I thought he either hadnt heard or was ignoring me. But a few moments later the big man returned with a bundled-up piece of dirty canvas. He thrust it out at me.

Here.

I started to open it out, struggling in the high wind with only one arm. To my surprise Guthrie came to help. As we wrestled with the flapping canvas, a figure emerged from the shadows. In the flickering light from the flames, I saw it was Cameron. He stared down at the body.

Dear God, he whispered. His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed. What can I do?

There was none of his usual bombast, and I wondered if he was only now starting to realize what was at stake. I might have accepted his offer, but Guthrie didnt give me the chance.

Fuck all, as usual, he rumbled dismissively. You think a bandage is going to do any good here?

Cameron looked as though hed been struck. Without a word he turned and made his way out of the yard with the rest. At another time I might have felt sorry for him, but there were more urgent matters just then.

A decision would have to be made eventually about what to do with the body, but for now it needed to be covered. Without asking, once we had the tarpaulin open Guthrie helped me start to spread it over the blackened form.

Who do you think it is? he asked.

I might have imagined it, but I thought there was an almost fearful note in his voice. I just shook my head as we lowered the canvas and hid the body from sight.

But the heaviness in my heart told me that Maggie finally had her front-page story.


The fire had all but burned itself out. What had once been a boat was now a mound of glowing ash and embers, still guttering fitfully with flame. The wind kept it alive for the time being, but it was rapidly dying, beaten by its own fury as much as the efforts of the islanders. The entrance to the boatyard was now cordoned off with a pitifully inadequate strip of police tape, the last that Fraser had left. Tied to two posts, it thrummed like a live thing in the wind, little more than a token obstruction.

Most of the islanders had gone home. Brody had asked Ellen to wake Fraser when she got back to the hotel, and the police sergeant had appeared not long afterwards, sheepish and rumpled. Hed tried to grumble that I should have tried harder to wake him, but no one was in the mood to listen to either his complaints or his excuses.

Wed eventually decided on taking the body into the workshop. There was still no way of knowing when SOC would arrive, and the protocol that said a crime scene should be left undisturbed hardly seemed to apply here. Dozens of people had been milling around the boatyard, and after it had been manhandled from the fire there was no longer any point worrying about contaminating the body. I would have to take a look at it later, but in the meantime the best we could do was make sure it was kept safe.

The body was far too badly burned to be recognizable, but I dont think anyone really doubted any more who it was. There had still been no sign of Maggie, and for all her faults she wouldnt have abandoned her grandmother like that. Guthrie and Kinross had carried the body inside using the tarpaulin as a stretcher, and set it at the back of the workshop. Guthrie had gone straight home, subdued and sombre-faced. But Kinross had flatly refused to leave.

Not until Ive heard what shes got to say, he declared, jerking his chin towards where Karen Tait waited miserably with her daughter.

Brody hadnt argued, but I thought I knew why. Tait might not respond to pressure from him or Fraser, but Kinross was a different matter. He was one of her own, and I didnt think shed be able to hold out against him.

Mother and daughter were sitting at the same table where the men had been playing cards that afternoon, out of view of where the body now lay. Marys features bore the same vacant expression as when shed looked up at my window from the street. Shed been persuaded to take off Maggies coat. Wrapped in a bin-liner, it was now locked out of sight in the back of the police Range Rover. There had been nothing in its pockets, and no visible bloodstains or signs of damage, but Forensics would still need to examine it for trace evidence. Perhaps it was my imagination, but as Id watched the girl take it off it already seemed to have lost some of its brightness, the vivid red starting to look faded and worn.

Kinross had given Mary his heavy oilskin to wear instead. Apparently oblivious to the cold, hed helped her on with it almost tenderly. But there was no tenderness in his face as he stared at her mother.

Karen Tait stared resolutely down at the tables cigarette-burned Formica, refusing to look at any of us. Brody took the chair opposite her, and I noticed that Fraser no longer made any objection to him taking over. The retired detective looked tired, but there was no hint of it when he spoke.

All right, Karen. Where did Mary get the coat?

She didnt answer.

Come on, we all know it belongs to Maggie Cassidy. So why is Mary wearing it?

I told you, its hers, she said dully, and flinched as Kinross suddenly slammed his hand down on the table.

Dont lie! Weve all seen Maggie wearing it!

Easy, Fraser growled. But he backed off when Brody gave a small shake of his head.

You saw what was on the fire, Karen! Kinrosss voice held part warning, part entreaty. For Christs sake, tell us where Mary got the coat!

Its hers, Iain, honestly!

Dont fucking lie to me!

Taits resistance abruptly collapsed. I dont know! I only saw it tonight! I swear, thats the Gods honest truth! She must have found it.

Where?

How do I know? You know what shes like, she wanders all over the island. She could have got it anywhere!

Jesus, Karen, Kinross said in disgust.

Its a good coat! Better than I can afford! You think Im going to throw it away? And dont you look at me like that, lain Kinross! You never worried about Mary being out on the nights youve wanted to come round!

Kinross started towards her, but Brody put out a restraining arm.

Calm down. We need to find out where she found it. He turned back to Tait. What time did Mary go out?

She gave a sullen shrug. I dont know. She was out when I got back from the hotel.

Which was when?

Half past eleventwelve oclock.

And what time did she get in?

How should I know? I fell asleep.

So when did you see her again? Brody asked, patiently.

Tait gave an irritable sigh. Not until all the commotion with the fire woke me up.

And she had the coat then?

Yes, Ive already told you!

If he felt any contempt for the woman, Brody didnt show it as he switched his attention to her daughter.

Hello, Mary. You know who I am, dont you?

She looked at Brody without comprehension, then went back to the small torch shed been playing with. It was a childs, plastic and brightly coloured. A few flyaway strands of hair had fallen down across her eyes, but she didnt seem to notice as she shone the torch beam into her face, switching it on and off.

Youre wasting your time, Kinross said. Despite his words, his tone wasnt unkind. She probably doesnt remember where she got it herself.

No harm in trying. Mary? Look at me, Mary.

Brody spoke gently. Finally, she seemed to notice him. He gave her a smile.

Thats a nice coat, Mary.

Nothing. Then, suddenly, a shy smile lit her face.

Its pretty. Her voice was soft, like a little girls.

Yes, its very pretty. Where did you get it?

Its mine.

I know. But can you tell me where you got it from?

From the man.

I felt rather than saw Brody stiffen. Which man was that? Is he here now?

She laughed. No!

Can you tell me who he is?

The man.

She said it as though it were obvious.

This manWill you show me where he gave you the coat?

He didnt give it to me.

You mean you found it?

She nodded, absently. When they ran off. After all the noise.

Who ran off? What noise, Mary?

But hed lost her. Brody continued to try for a while, but it was obvious that Mary had told us as much as she was going to. He told Fraser to drive them home, and then come straight back. Kinross also left, but before he did he gave one last look towards the back of the workshop where he and Guthrie had laid the body.

She always was one for getting into trouble, he said, sadly. Then he went out, letting the workshop door bang shut behind him.

Outside, the winds banshee wail seemed louder than ever. The rain had started again, thundering against the corrugated roof and almost drowning out the chug of the workshops generator. Brody and I went over to the body. Covered by the tarpaulin, it looked like a primitive sarcophagus as it lay on the concrete floor.

You think its her? Brody asked.

Id told him about Maggies visit to my room earlier that night. How shed known Janice Donaldsons first name, but wouldnt say who had told her. I remembered the pensive smile shed given me as shed left my room. Tomorrow, I promise. Except there wasnt going to be a tomorrow for Maggie.

I nodded. Dont you?

Brody sighed. Aye. But lets see if we can be more sure. He glanced at me. You ready?

The honest answer would have been no. You never can be, not when its someone you know. Someone you liked. But I just nodded and pulled back the tarpaulin. A waft of warm air greeted me, carrying with it an odour of overcooked meat. The way we respond to smells is largely a matter of context. Given its source, this one was nauseatingly out of place.

I crouched down beside the body. Shrunken by the fire, it looked pitifully small. Whatever clothing it had worn had burned away, as well as much of the soft tissue. The flames had twisted and warped it, exposing caramelised bone and tendons, drawing up the limbs into the characteristic boxers crouch.

It was a sight that was becoming sickeningly familiar.

So what do you think? Brody asked.

An image of Maggies gamine grin rose up in my mind. Almost angrily, I pushed it away. Compartmentalise. This is work. Save the rest for later.

Its female. The craniums way too small to be a mans. I took a deep breath, looking at the smooth bone of the skull that was exposed beneath the blackened scraps of flesh. Also, the chin is pointed, and the forehead and eyebrow ridge are both smooth. A mans would be much heavier and more pronounced. Then theres the height.

I indicated where the thigh bone was showing through the burned muscle tissue, aware of the awful intimacy of what we were doing.

Its hard to be precise when the bodys drawn up like this, but judging by the length of the femur this was someone quite short, even for a woman. Five foot, perhaps a little less. Certainly no taller.

Could it be a child?

No, its 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. Theres 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 its 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. Thats a trouser button. The fabrics burned away, but its melted its way into the flesh. By the look of it Id guess she was wearing jeans.

Just like Maggie had been, the last time Id seen her.

Brody pursed his lips. So she probably wasnt raped. Thats something, I suppose.

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

Any idea about cause of death? he asked.

Well, from what I can see theres no trauma to the skull. They got the body off the fire before cranial pressure caused a blow-out, which simplifies things a little. Theres no sign of any head injury as there was with both Janice Donaldson and Duncan. I suppose its possible that she just wasnt 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 throats 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 cant be sure without carrying out a proper examination, but thats 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. Id guess when I take X-rays well find blade marks on the ribs, and probably other bones as well.

So she was stabbed to death? Brody asked.

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

Complicated how?

Her necks broken.

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

Look at the angle of her head. I dont want to disturb the body too much, but if you look you can see the third and fourth vertebrae are visible. Theyre splintered. And the left arm and right shin are broken as well. You can see the bones protruding through the burned tissue.

Couldnt 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.

Thats how he got her body down here. He threw her off the cliff.

You sure?

Itd 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 itd be a lot quicker than taking the road back down through the village. Less chance of being seen, too.

That didnt 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 theyve put out their arms to stop themselves. Theres nothing like that here. Only one arms been broken, and its above the elbow, in the humerus. That suggests she was either dead or unconscious when she fell.

He glanced out of the workshops window. It was still pitch black outside. Its too dark to see anything up there now. Soon as its light well 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.



CHAPTER 23

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.

Im only going to ask you once more, Fraser warned. What were you doing out there?

Kevin didnt answer. Id covered the body with the tarpaulin again, but not before hed seen it lying on the floor when Fraser had dragged him inside. Hed 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 dont cooperate, youre 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?

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

Can I have a word with him?

Hed been silent so far, letting Fraser handle the questioning. But the sergeants bullying clearly wasnt 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 Frasers confrontational interrogation. Kevin looked down at the stool uncertainly.

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

The angry mounds of Kevins acne looked worse than ever against his pallor. INothing.

Brody crossed his legs, as though the two of them were having a friendly conversation. I think we both know thats not true, dont we? Im pretty sure you havent done anything wrong, except for sneaking around outside. And Im fairly sure we can persuade Sergeant Fraser here to overlook that. Provided you tell us exactly why you were doing it.

Fraser looked tight-lipped at Brodys assertion, but didnt contradict him.

So, Kevin, how about it? Brody asked.

The tension in the teenager was obvious as he fought between answering and maintaining his silence. Then his eyes went to the tarpaulin-covered body. His mouth worked, as though words were trying to force their way out.

Is it right? What everyone says?

He sounded agonised.

What are they saying?

That thats He darted another quick look at the tarpaulin. That thats Maggie.

Brody paused, but then answered. We think it might be, yes.

Kevin started to cry. I remembered the way hed behaved around Maggie, how hed blushed whenever shed acknowledged him. His crush had been painfully apparent, and I felt more sorry for him than ever.

Brody fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. Wordlessly, he went over and gave it to him, then returned to the workbench.

What can you tell us about it, Kevin?

The youth was sobbing. I killed her!

The statement seemed to charge the air with an electric current. In the silence that followed, the stink of burned flesh and bone seemed stronger than before, overlying the smell of fuel oil, sawdust and solder. The workshops walls reverberated under the gales assault, rain clattering like tin tacks against the corrugated roof.

What do you mean, you killed her? Brody asked, almost gently.

Kevin wiped his eyes. Because if not for me she wouldnt be dead.

Go on, were listening.

Having come this far, though, now Kevin seemed to balk. But I was thinking about his reaction when Brody had revealed that the body found in the crofters cottage belonged to a prostitute from Stornoway. Not just shocked. Stunned. As though hed only just made a connection. What was it Maggie had said about her anonymous source? Its not like it sounds. The person who told meIt was in confidence. And I dont want to make trouble for them. Theyre not involved.

You told Maggie the dead womans name, didnt you? I said.

Both Brody and Fraser looked at me in surprise, but that was nothing compared to Kevin. He stared at me, open-mouthed. He seemed to search for a way to deny it, then his will buckled. He nodded.

How did you know what the woman was called, Kevin? Brody asked, taking over.

I didnt for sure

You were sure enough to give Maggie the tip. Why?

II cant tell you.

You want to spend time in a cell, lad? Fraser cut in, oblivious to the angry look Brody shot him. Because I can promise you thats where youll be heading if you dont talk.

Im sure Kevin knows that, Brody said. And I dont think he wants to protect the person who did this to Maggie. Do you, Kevin?

The teenagers gaze involuntarily twitched towards the tarpaulin again. His expression was anguished.

So come on, Kevin, Brody coaxed. Tell us. Where did you get the name from? Did someone tell you? Or do you know someone who knew her? Is that it?

Kinrosss son hung his head. He mumbled something none of us could hear.

Speak up! Fraser barked.

Kevins head jerked up angrily. My dad!

The cry rang out in the confines of the workshop. Brodys face had stilled to immobility, masking any emotion.

Why dont you start at the beginning?

Kevin hugged himself. It was last summer. Wed taken the ferry across to Stornoway. My dad said he had some business to see to, so I walked into town. I thought I might go and see a film, or something

We dont care what you watched, Fraser interrupted. Get to the point.

The look Kevin gave him suggested he might be his fathers son after all.

I cut through some back streets, near the bus station. There were these houses nearby, and when I got nearer I saw my dad standing outside one of them. I was going to go over, but then thisthis woman opened the door. She was just wearing a short bathrobe. You could see nearly everything.

Kevins pocked face had gone crimson.

When she saw my dad she grinnedsort of a dirty smile. And then he went inside with her.

Brody nodded patiently. What did she look like?

Welllike she was ayou know

A prostitute?

That earned a shamed nod. Brody looked as though this new development was as unwelcome as it was unexpected.

Can you describe her?

Kevins fingers went unconsciously to rub the livid bumps on his face. I dont knowDark hair. Older than me, but not that old. Pretty, butlike she didnt look after herself.

Was she short, tall?

Tall, I think. Big. Not fat, but not skinny.

He could be shown photographs later to see if he recognised Janice Donaldson. But his description fitted her so far.

So how did you know what she was called? Brody asked.

The teenagers face flamed an even deeper red. After hed gone in, II went over to the doorway. Just to see. There were a few buzzers, but Id seen hed pressed the top one. It just said Janice.

Did your dad ever know that youd seen him?

Kevin looked appalled. He shook his head.

So did he go to see her again? Brody asked.

I dont knowI think so. Every few weeks hed say hed got some business to see to, so II guessed that was where he was going.

Some business, Fraser muttered.

Brody ignored the interruption. And did she ever come to see him here? On the island?

The question was met with another quick shake of the head. But I was recalling the curt way Kinross had silenced Cameron in the bar earlier. At the time Id thought hed simply been irritated by Camerons officious manner, but now the way hed effectively ended the meeting was shown in an altogether more sinister light.

Brody kneaded the bridge of his nose, wearily. How much of this did you tell Maggie?

Only her name. I didnt want her knowing my dad went withyou know. I just thoughther being a reporter, shed be able to write a story saying who the woman was. I thought I was doing her a favour! I didnt know it would end up like this!

Brody patted the youths shoulder as he started crying again. We know you didnt, son.

Can I go now? Kevin asked, wiping his eyes.

Just a couple more questions. Do you have any idea how Mary Tait might have got Maggies coat?

Kevin lowered his head, avoiding anyones eyes.

No.

The denial was too rushed. Brody regarded him expressionlessly.

Marys a pretty girl, isnt she, Kevin?

I dont know. I suppose.

Brody let the silence build for a few seconds, waiting until Kevin had started to shift uncomfortably before asking the next question.

So how long have you been seeing her?

I havent!

Brody just looked at him. Kevin dropped his gaze.

We justmeet up. We dont do anything! Not really. We haventyou know

Brody sighed. So where do you meet up?

The teenagers embarrassment was painful. On the ferry, sometimes. The kirk ruins, if its dark. Or

Go on, Kevin.

Sometimes out at the mountainAt the old cottage out at the croft.

Brody looked surprised. You mean where the body was found?

Yes, but I didnt know anything about that. Honest! We havent been there for ages! Not since summer!

Does anyone else go out there?

Not so far as I knowThats why we use it. Its private.

Not any more. I thought about the empty cans and remains of campfires wed found. Nothing to do with the murdered prostitute after all, only the detritus of sneaked encounters between a handicapped girl and a scarred and frustrated boy.

Frasers contempt was plainly written on his face, but at least hed the sense to keep quiet. Whatever Brody was thinking was impossible to tell. He kept his expression professionally neutral.

Is that where Mary goes when she wanders off? To meet you?

Kevin stared down at his hands. Sometimes.

Brody thought for a moment. Was she at your house when we called round to see your dad?

Until then Id thought nothing of how Kevin had peered out through a gap in the front door, holding it closed so we couldnt see inside. He bowed his head, his silence confirmation enough.

And how about tonight? Did you meet her then, as well?

No! II dont know where she went! I went home after I told Maggie! Honest!

He seemed on the verge of tears again. Brody considered him for a few seconds, then gave a short nod.

Youd better get on home.

Now, just wait a second Fraser objected.

But Brody had anticipated him. Its all right. Kevins not going to say anything about what hes told us. Are you, Kevin?

The youth shook his head, earnestly. I wont. I promise. He hurried to the door, then stopped. My dad wouldnt have hurt Maggie. Or the other woman. I dont want to get him into trouble.

Brody didnt respond. But then there wasnt much he could say. There was a brief glimpse of lashing rain as Kevin went out, then the door swung shut and he was gone.

Brody went over to the table and pulled back a chair to sit down. He looked drained. Christ, what a night.

You think we can trust the lad to keep quiet? Fraser asked doubtfully.

The former detective passed his hand across his face. I cant see him running home to confess this to his father, can you?

Fraser seemed about to concede the point, but then he suddenly looked aghast. Christ, what about the girl? Kinross knows she was a witness! No wonder he was so keen to stay while we questioned her!

His words sent a chill through me. But Brody didnt seem concerned.

Marys not in any danger. Even assuming Kinross is the killer-and we still dont know that he is-hes going to be satisfied that she didnt see anything that could incriminate him. He knows shes no threat.

Fraser looked relieved. So what now? Arrest him? Be a pleasure to slap cuffs on that bastard!

Brody was silent. Not yet, he said at last. All we have against Kinross is the fact he knew Janice Donaldson. Thats not enough to arrest him. Wed only be tipping our hand, and giving him time to prepare his story before Wallaces team get here.

Oh, come on! Fraser exclaimed. You heard what his own son said! And that bastard probably killed Duncan as well! We cant just sit on our arses!

I didnt say we should! Brody rapped back, suddenly heated. He made an effort to calm himself. Look, Ive worked murder investigations before. You jump in half-cocked, you risk letting the killer walk. Is that what you want?

Weve got to do something, Fraser persisted.

And we will. Brody looked across at the tarpaulin-covered shape, thinking. David, do you still believe Maggies body was thrown off the cliff?

Im sure of it, I said. Hard to see how she could have got all those injuries otherwise.

He looked at his watch. Itll be light in a couple of hours. As soon as it is, I say we take a look up there. See if theres any sign of what happened. In the meantime, I suggest you two go back to the hotel and try to get some sleep. Weve got a busy day ahead of us.

What about you? I asked.

I dont sleep much. Ill stay here and keep Maggie company. He gave a smile, but his eyes looked haunted. I couldnt stop her from getting killed. Seems the least I can do for her now.

Shouldnt one of us stay with you?

Dont worry about me, Brody said, grimly. He picked up a crowbar from the workbench and hefted it, testing its weight. Ill be fine.



CHAPTER 24

DAWN ROSE ALMOST as an afterthought next morning. There was no daybreak as such. Just an imperceptible lightening that crept up on you unawares, until you realized that night had been replaced by a murky twilight, and that it was officially morning.

Id not gone straight to bed from the boatyard. Instead, Id had Fraser take me to Maggies grandmothers. Ellen had said earlier that shed gone to the old womans because shed had a fall. I doubted Id be able to do much for her, but I felt I ought to see her anyway.

I owed Maggie that much.

Rose Cassidy lived in a small, semi-detached stone cottage rather than a prefabricated bungalow like most of the neighbouring houses. It was ramshackle, with net curtains and an antiquated look that hinted at an elderly tenant. There was the flicker of candles in a downstairs window, and also one upstairs. Candles for the dead.

The house had been full of women, gathered to keep vigil with Maggies grandmother. Walking in, Id been struck by the smell of old age, that particular fustiness that seems equal parts mothballs and boiled milk. Maggies grandmother was as frail as a baby bird, a scribble of blue veins visible under the parchment-thin skin. She already knew that her granddaughter was dead. The body still had to be formally identified, but it would have been wrong to offer that as false hope.

Surprisingly, Fraser had elected to come in with me to find out what the old woman knew of the hours leading up to Maggies death. Her granddaughter had seemed excited earlier, shed told him, in a quavering voice. But she hadnt explained why. After cooking them both an evening meal-like most of the other houses, the oven used bottled gas-Maggie had left the house to go to the meeting in the hotel bar.

It was after half past nine when she got back, Rose Cassidy recalled, gesturing with a shaking hand to a clock with oversized numerals on the mantelpiece. Her reddened eyes were opaque with cataracts. She seemed different. As if there was something on her mind.

That fitted what we already knew. This would have been after shed been told the dead womans name by Kevin Kinross, and then visited my room at the hotel.

But there had also been something else troubling Maggie besides whether or not to betray Kinrosss sons confidence. Whatever it had been, she hadnt revealed it to her grandmother. The old woman had heard her leaving later, at around half past eleven, and called to ask where she was going. Maggie had shouted upstairs that she was taking the car, that she was meeting someone to do with work, and that she wouldnt be long.

She never came back.

By two oclock her grandmother had known that something was wrong. Shed fallen from bed as she was banging on the wall to rouse her neighbour. It was another indication of Camerons standing on the island that Ellen had been sent for rather than the islands nurse. Not that there was much anyone could do for her anyway. She hadnt been badly hurt by the fall, but like many other old people Id seen, her body was slowly winding down, trapping her in a life that was no longer wanted. And now shed outlived her own granddaughter.

It seemed an unnecessarily cruel longevity.

It had been after six before Id got back to the hotel. Still dark, but there was no point in going to bed. I sat on the hard chair, listening to the moaning of the gale until I heard sounds of movement downstairs and knew Ellen was up. Feeling more tired than I could ever remember, I plunged my head into cold water in an effort to wake myself up, then knocked on Frasers door and went down to the kitchen.

Ellen insisted on cooking a full breakfast-a steaming plateful of eggs, bacon, toast, and sweet, scalding tea. I hadnt felt hungry, but when it came I ate ravenously, feeling energy slowly seep back into my limbs. Fraser came downstairs after a few minutes and sat opposite me, his face pouchy from lack of sleep. But at least this morning he was sober.

Radios still out, he grunted, without being asked.

Id not expected otherwise. I was long past optimism or disappointment. Now all I wanted to do was see this through.

Dawn had broken, and light was seeping into the sky as we drove back down to the boatyard. It was another filthy day. Waves pounded the shingle and cliffs, flinging sheets of spray high into the air to be carried inland. Kinrosss ferry was still moored in the harbour, bucking violently on the angry sea. At least its owner wouldnt be taking it anywhere this morning, no matter how badly he might want to. Beyond it, white-tops crashed against the pinnacle of Stac Ross, foaming against each other as though frustrated by their failure to smash its dark rock.

And over it all, the wind ruled. Far from dying down, the storm had gained in intensity. Elemental in its savagery, it buffeted the Range Rover, flinging the rain against the windscreen in such torrents that the wipers struggled to clear the glass. When we climbed out of the car it harried us over to the boatyard. The ashes and skeletal spars of the burned fishing boat stood like a remnant of a Viking funeral, a stark reminder of the nights events.

Inside the workshop, Brody was sitting in an old car seat. The crowbar was laid across his lap as he faced the door, coat collar turned up against the chill. Behind him, Maggies tarpaulin-shrouded body looked childlike and pathetic on the concrete floor.

He smiled wanly when Fraser and I went in. Morning.

He seemed to have aged overnight. His face was haggard, the flesh more tightly stretched over the bones; new lines were etched in the skin round his eyes and mouth. A frost of silver stubble clung to his chin.

Any problems? I asked.

No, its been quiet enough.

He stood up, joints cracking as he stretched. He gave a little sigh of appreciation as he took a bite from the bacon sandwich Ellen had sent for him. I poured him a mug of tea from the Thermos flask shed also packed while I told him what wed learned from Maggies grandmother.

If Maggie took the car that should make it easier to find where she went. Assuming it hasnt been moved, he said when Id finished. Neatly dusting crumbs from his fingers and mouth, he drained his tea and stood up. Right, lets take a look at the cliff.

What aboutabout that? Fraser asked, jerking his head uneasily at the body. Shouldnt one of us keep an eye on it? In case Kinross decides to do anything.

Are you volunteering? Brody asked. He smiled thinly at the reluctance on Frasers face. Dont worry. I found a padlock in one of the drawers. We can lock the doors, and I cant see Kinross-or anyone else-risking anything in broad daylight anyway.

I dont mind staying, I offered.

Brody shook his head. Youre the only forensic expert weve got. If theres any evidence up there, Id like you to see it.

That sort of thing isnt really my field.

Its more yours than mine or Frasers, he said.

There was no arguing with that.

Brody hurried home to check on his dog while Fraser and I secured the doors with the oil-smeared padlock. The metallic snick brought an unwelcome flashback of being trapped in the burning community centre. I was glad when Brody returned a few minutes later, and we could set off for the foot of the cliffs.

At their closest point, they lay only thirty or forty yards from the boatyard, but the rain battered us relentlessly as we crossed the open ground.

Christ on a bicycle! Fraser exclaimed, hunching against it.

The cliffs themselves afforded some protection once we reached them. A strip of shingle ran along their base, broken with jagged outcrops of rock. Leaning into the wind, we made our way along it, treading carefully as we scanned the rain-slick pebbles.

After a few yards Brody stopped. Here.

He pointed to a rock protruding from the shingle. It had been sluiced almost clean by the rain, but a smear of something dark clung to it. I crouched down for a better look. It was a clot of bloodied tissue, veined and torn. The shingle around it was disturbed, a depression that could have been left by the impact of something heavy. What might have been drag marks ran from it towards the boatyard, disappearing where the shingle gave way to firmer ground.

Id brought more freezer bags from the hotel to use as stand-ins for evidence bags. Taking one from my pocket, I used the blade of my penknife to scrape up a sample of bloody tissue. If the rain kept up it would have washed most of the blood away by the time the police got here, and the gulls would have scavenged what was left.

Brody was looking up at the top of the cliff, about a hundred feet above us. The steps are further along, but theres no point all three of us climbing up. He turned to Fraser. Makes more sense for you to take the car and meet us at the top.

Aye, youre right, Fraser hurriedly agreed.

Giving him the plastic bag to take back to the Range Rover, Brody and I crunched along the shingle to the steps. They were cut into the cliff face, steep and winding. There was an old handrail, but it didnt inspire confidence.

Wiping the rain from his face, Brody regarded them, then looked at my sling. Sure youre up to it?

I nodded. I wasnt going to back out now.

We started up. Brody went first, leaving me to follow at my own pace. The steps were slippery with rain. Seabirds huddled against the cliff, feathers ruffling in the wind. The higher we climbed, the more exposed to it we became. It shrieked and flailed at us, as though wilfully trying to fling us off.

We were only a few yards from the top when Brodys foot slipped on a broken step. He skidded back into me, knocking me out against the handrail. I felt the rusted metal give under my weight, and for a moment looked directly down into the open drop. Then Brody grabbed me by the scruff of my coat and hauled me back to safety.

Sorry, he panted, letting go. You OK?

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My pulse was still racing as I started after him again. But as I did, I noticed something on the rock face a few yards away.

Brody, I called.

When he turned I pointed to where another dark smear tufted a bulging outcrop on the cliff face. It was too far out of reach for me to get a sample, but I could guess how it got there.

This was where Maggies body had struck the rock on its way down.

We reached the top of the cliff a few minutes after that. Emerging on to it, we were hit by the full force of the gale. It tore at our coats, filling them like kites and threatening to fling us back over the edge.

Bloody hell! Brody exclaimed, bracing himself against it.

Below us, Runas harbour was revealed as a shallow horseshoe of churning water, hemmed in by cliffs. The view was vertiginous, wind-lashed grey sea and sky blurring together on an indistinct horizon. One or two lone gulls braved the wind, their plaintive caws coming to us as they futilely tried to ride the currents before being swept away. Inland, the brooding slopes of Beinn Tuiridh looked in the distance, while a hundred yards away Bodach Runa, the islands standing stone, rose from the turf like a crooked finger. Other than that, all there was to see was the treeless moor, grass flattened by the wind. There was nothing to suggest that Maggie, or anyone else, had ever been up here.

The rain slashed against us like buckshot as we made our way to the spot where Maggie must have fallen from. I was beginning to think we were wasting our time when Brody pointed.

Over there.

A couple of yards in front of us the ground had been disturbed. The turf was flattened and torn, and when I looked more closely I could see gouts of viscous black clotting the grass.

Even after all the rain, there was a lot of it.

This is where she was killed, Brody said, wiping rain from his face as he bent down to examine it. The amount of blood thats here, she must have practically bled out.

He stood up, scanning the ground around us.

Theres more over there. And there.

The patches were smaller than the one by the cliff s edge, already almost washed away. They formed a trail of blood that led away from the drop. Or, more likely, towards it.

She was running away, I said. She was already injured before she got to the edge.

Could have been trying to reach the steps. Or just running blindly. He gave me a look. You thinking what Im thinking?

About what Mary Tait said? I nodded. They ran off. After all the noise. Perhaps the people shed seen hadnt just run off. Perhaps one of them had been chasing the other.

But where had they come from?

Brody looked round the empty cliff top, shaking his head in frustration. Where the hells her car? Its got to be around here somewhere.

But Id been considering the windswept cliff top myself. Remember when you asked Mary where shed got the coat? What did she say, exactly?

Brody gave me a puzzled look. That a man gave it to her. Why?

No, she didnt say a man. She said the man.

So?

I pointed at the standing stone, now no more than fifty yards away. You told me Bodach Runa meant the Old Man of Runa. Perhaps thats the man she meant. Mary had a torch. She could have got up here using the steps, the same as us.

Brody stared off at the standing stone, thinking it through. Lets take a look, shall we?

The police Range Rover was visible perhaps a quarter of a mile away, snaking its way towards us as we set off for the stone. The road dipped out of sight occasionally, but Bodach Runa itself was hard to miss. Fraser would be able to see where we were heading and meet us there.

Brody walked at a fast pace across the uneven terrain. Shivering from the cold and rain, the ache already beginning to make its presence felt again in my shoulder, I was hard pushed to keep up with him. The ground rose up in a ridge between us and the standing stone, so that we could only see its upper half. But as we drew nearer I could make out something in a dip behind it. Gradually, the roof of a car came into view.

Maggies old Mini.

It was parked in a hollow just beyond the stone. A couple of sheep huddled against it out of the wind, adding to the cars air of abandonment. They bolted as Brody and I slithered down the grassy bank towards it. The sound of a car engine came from an overgrown track that ran from the hollow, and a few moments later the Range Rover came bumping into view.

Fraser parked at the end of the track and climbed out. That hers?

Aye, Brody told him. Thats Maggies.

Both doors hung open, swinging slightly as the wind pushed them back against their hinges. The front seats were soaked from the rain, but it wasnt water alone that darkened them. Splashes and smears of blood dappled the dashboard and windscreen as though flung there by a mad artist.

Jesus, Fraser breathed.

We approached a little closer but still stayed well back, so as not to contaminate the ground around the car. Brody peered through the open drivers door at the blood-spattered interior.

Looks like she was attacked through her side and managed to scramble away out of the passenger door. What do you think, a knife or axe?

It seemed unreal, discussing what weapon had been used to kill Maggie, when only the evening before Id sat next to her in this same car. But sentiment wasnt going to catch her killer.

Knife, Id say. Not enough room to swing an axe, not without leaving marks on the inside of the car.

I looked around the hollow. At night, beyond the arcs of a cars headlights, it would have been impenetrably dark. Dark enough for Mary Tait to watch, unobserved. And to hear.

I imagined there would have been a lot to listen to.

Fraser was looking behind the car. Theres more tyre tracks back here. Dont look like the Minis.

Brody clicked his tongue, exasperated. I knew he was thinking that either rain or sheeps hoofs would have churned the tracks into mud by the time SOC got here to take casts. But there was nothing we could do about it.

She told her grandmother she was meeting someone. Looks like this was where. Mary must have been up here already, and close enough nearby to hear the commotion. He frowned, staring at the car. I still cant see how she came by the coat. It wasnt damaged or bloodstained, but how come Maggie wasnt wearing it on a night like that?

Perhaps she took it off for Kinross, Fraser suggested. Along with a few other things, if you get my drift. No other reason for them to be up here. Then they had a lovers tiff, or whatever, and Kinross lost his rag.

This was no lovers tiff! Brody snapped. Maggie was an ambitious young woman; shed have set her sights higher than a ferry captain. And until we can prove it was Kinross she met last night, Id try not to jump to conclusions.

Fraser coloured up at the rebuke. But something hed said had sparked my own train of thought.

Hes probably right about Maggie taking off her coat, I said. I told them about the car heater being stuck on full. Both times Maggie gave me a lift she put it on the back seat. Thatd explain why there was no blood on it.

Brody was trying to see into the back of the car. Could be. Theres hardly any spatter back there. If the car doors were left open when Maggie tried to get away, Mary could have just walked up and looked inside. Even if she noticed the blood in the front I doubt shed realize what it was.

Still keeping his distance from the Mini, he began to circle it. When he got to the other side he stopped.

Over here.

Fraser and I went round to see what hed found. Maggies shoulder bag was lying on the ground below the passenger door, its contents spilled on the muddy grass. Scraps of wind-blown tissue and paper littered the ground around it, snagged by grass stalks and turned to pulp by the rain.

Lying amongst the make-up and other artefacts of Maggies life, its muddied pages fluttering like trapped moths, was a ring-bound notebook.

Let me have a plastic bag, Brody said to me.

You sure about this? Fraser said uncertainly.

Brody opened the bag Id given him. Maggie was a reporter. Crime scene or not, if she made a note of who she was meeting, its not going to survive long out here.

Treading carefully, he went to the car and crouched down by the open passenger door. Taking a pen from his pocket, he slid it into the notebooks ring binding. Then he carefully lifted the book and slipped it into the bag. Even from where I stood I could see that the pages were disintegrating, the writing on them reduced to an illegible colourwash of ink.

Brodys mouth compressed with disappointment. Well, whatever was in it, its not much use any more.

He started to get up again, then stopped.

Theres something under the car. There was a new excitement in his voice. Looks like her dictaphone.

I thought about all the times Id seen Maggie brandishing her tape recorder. Like many modern journalists, shed relied on it more than a notepad and pen. So if shed kept some sort of record while shed been on the island, it didnt have to be a written one.

Brody could barely contain his impatience as I peeled off another plastic bag. Dont worry, Ill tell Wallace this was my decision, he said, giving Fraser a shrewd glance.

Fro once the police sergeant didnt argue. Evidence as potentially important-and vulnerable-as this could hardly be left until SOC arrived. Putting his hand into the plastic bag, Brody reached under the car sill and picked up the dictaphone. Then, retracing his steps to where Fraser and I waited, he reversed the bag so the muddied recorder was enclosed in it.

He held it up so we could get a better look. The voice recorder was digital, a Sony model similar to the one Id lost in the fire.

Wonder how long the batteries last on these things? Brody mused.

Long enough, I told him. Its still recording.

What? He stared at it. Youre joking.

It started when you spoke. Must be voice activated.

He studied the recorders LCD display. So this could have been running when Maggie was killed?

Unless it was turned on accidentally when it was knocked out of the car, then yes.

The wind wailed around us as we all considered that. Brody rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, staring at the small silver machine in the plastic bag. I knew, even before he spoke, what he was going to say next.

How do I play it?



CHAPTER 25

THE DICTAPHONE HISSED into silence after the last recording had finished. None of us spoke. The memory of what wed just heard was still resonating, as devastating as a shell burst. Brody clicked off the machine, then stared into space, motionless as a statue.

I wanted to say something to him, but Id no idea what.

The police Range Rover rocked in the wind, rain beating a tattoo on its roof. Wed retreated back to its warmth to play Maggies dictaphone. Each of the recordings shed made were stored in its memory as a separate file, which in turn were arranged into folders. There were four folders in all, one titled Work, two blank and empty. The fourth was headed simply Diary.

The entries were ordered by date. About a dozen of them had been made since Maggie had arrived on Runa.

Brody had selected the most recent. According to the logged time and date, it had been made just before midnight. Around the time that Rose Cassidy had told us that Maggie had gone out.

Here goes, Brody had said, and pressed the play button through the plastic bag.

Maggies dead voice had issued eerily from the speaker.

Well, this is it. No sign of him yet, but Im a few minutes early. Just hope he turns up after all this

Hope who turns up? Come on, tell us the bastards name, Fraser muttered. But Maggie had other things on her mind.

God, what am I doing here? I was actually excited about this earlier, but it all seems a bit pointless now. Why the hell did Kevin Kinross have to tell me the womans name? Im a hack on a local newspaper, not an investigative journalist! How did he know it anyway? And that stupid stunt with David Hunter. Is the victim called Janice? Really slick, Mags. Now he thinks Im withholding information. But I cant just drop Kevin in it. So what do I do now?

There was a sound it took me a moment to place-Maggie was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She gave a sigh.

First things first. Right now I need to get my head cleared. Dont want to make a hash of things now, not when Ive pushed so hard for this. Christ, this cars still like a bloody oven There was a rustling noise: she was taking off her coat. Must admit, Im starting to feel a bit spooked. Probably just all this other business, but I cant help but wonder if Im being stupid. I mean, theres a killer loose on the island, for Christs sake! If I heard about anyone else doing this IdHang on, what was that?

There was a long pause. The only sound was Maggies breathing, quick and nervous.

Im getting jumpy. Cant see anything now. Looked like a flash, like a torch. Probably a shooting star, or something. Its so dark out here I cant tell whats land and whats sky. Still

There was an audible clunk.

Right, very safety conscious. Drive out to the middle of nowhere and then lock your doors. I mean, Im not really worried. Not really. The man just wants to talk in private, thats all, and the way tongues wag on this island you can hardly blame him. Even so, Im starting to wonder if this is such a good idea. Better be worth it. Ill give him five more minutes, and if hes not here then-Shit!

We could hear that her breathing had become fast and ragged.

Theres that flash again. Thats no bloody shooting star, somebodys out there! Right, thats it, Im going

There was a coughing whine as the cars engine turned over but wouldnt start. Over it we could hear Maggies voice, further away now, as though shed just thrust the dictaphone aside in her haste to start the Mini.

Come on, come on! Oh, dont do this! I dont believe this, come on, car, dont be such a fucking cliche! Oh, you fucking heap of junk, come on!

Calm down, youre flooding it! I found myself urging her, even though I knew it wouldnt do any good.

Then she gave a laugh of pure relief.

Oh, thank Christ! Theres headlights. Hes here. Bloody late, but Ill forgive him that! There was another laugh, stronger this time, then a snuffle of eyes being wiped and nose being blown. God, some bloody reporter hes going to think I am! Come on, Mags, get your act together. Youre supposed to be a professional. Shit, I cant see a bloody thing for his headlights. How about turning them off, eh? Right, here he comes, lets hide this thing out of the way

We heard more rustling as she moved the dictaphone somewhere out of sight. There was the clunk of the door locks being taken off, then the creak of a door opening. When Maggie spoke again, she sounded bright and cocky.

Hi. What time do you call this, then? Thought you said midnight? Look, how about turning off the headlights? I cant see aOh, sorry, I didntHey, what are youOh, Jesus! JESUS!

I bowed my head as Maggies screams and pleas began to shrill out of the speaker. The dictaphone had dutifully recorded everything. There were thumps and crackles as it was buffeted during the struggle, but they didnt drown out the awful soundtrack of Maggies murder.

The confusion of cries and scrambling reached a climax, then there was a sudden silence. It was broken only by a faint noise, like rushing water. We were listening to a recording of the wind, I realized. The dictaphone had been knocked from the car as Maggie made her short-lived escape. With nothing louder to activate it, the machine soon shut off. There was a brief lull, then Brodys voice emerged.

Wonder how long the batteries last on these things?

I heard my own voice answer, Long enough. Its still-

Brody stopped it there.

None of us looked at each other. It was as though, by listening to the recording of Maggies killing, wed colluded in something shameful.

Why couldnt she have just said the bastards name? Fraser said. Even he sounded shaken.

I stirred. Shed no reason to. The recording was for her own benefit. Whoever it was, she didnt think she was in any danger from him. She was only nervous while she was waiting, not once hed arrived.

Got it wrong, didnt she? Fraser said. All that business with the headlights. Whats the betting he left them on to dazzle her, so she wouldnt see hed got a knife?

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 werent so bloody tragic itd 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. Lets see if theres 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. Maggies 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-its-called. And do a search on David Hunters background while theyre about it. Ill bet theres something interesting there. There was a chuckle. Aye, and in his background as well. Whats 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 Ellens 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! Id love to get a better look. Perhaps I should think about taking another trip out there tonight. Frasers bound to be in the bar by then

The back of Frasers 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 didnt 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. Ive 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 hes 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 Strachans wife, as usual. Creepy sod. Cant see why the Strachans put up with him. Grace is nice enough, even though shes so good-looking I should hate her. But cant make up my mind about her husband. All charm one minute, frost the next. Mind you, I wouldnt 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 grans 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. Dont know who was more surprised, me or him. Never even occurred to me there might be anything between those two. I mean, Ellens attractive, but the mans married to a goddess, for Gods sake! But theres definitely something going on there. Perhaps I should sound out my gran, see if any tongues have been wagging

So that had been who Ellens anonymous visitor had been, when Id discovered her crying in the kitchen. The date and time of the recording confirmed it. After everything else I wasnt 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. Heres me thinking Im the seasoned reporter, unearthing some big secret, and it turns out to be old news. Course, my grans sworn me to secrecy anyway, bless her. Sounds like practically everyone knows, but just keeps quiet about it. Cant help but wonder if it would have stayed a secret if it had been anyone else. People here know which side their breads buttered on, I expect. She gave a cynical laugh. The thing is, its obvious once you look for it. The little girls got Ellens colouring, the same lovely red hair, but if you ignore that you can see that Strachans her father

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

Brody looked startled, as though he couldnt quite believe what hed just heard. But it made all too much sense to me. What was it Ellen had said about Annas father the night shed treated my burns? Lets just say there was never any future there.

Now I knew why.

The planes of Brodys face had hardened. Ellen wasnt 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 Maggies 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 shed been attacked. Awful business, but theyre 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 Campbells crack. God, I just wanted the ground to swallow me up.

And as though that wasnt bad enough, he tells me the young policemans been murdered. Duncan. What was his surname? Thats awful, I cant 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. Doesnt seem possible that someone on this island-Christ, someone I know!-must have killed him. I mean, whats going on? I dont 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 Guthries 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 Brodys 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 Kinrosss vehement refusal to believe the killer was an islander, Maggies own question about the dead womans identity, and Camerons 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 Maggies voice sounded much more upbeat.

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

There was a sudden, exuberant laugh.

Glad I didnt break my grannys third-best bowl for nothing after all. God, I just hope he isnt setting me up. Be a real anticlimax if he doesnt 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, Im 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.

ButChrist, it doesnt make any sense! Why would Strachan kill Maggie Cassidy? And the others? What about his wife! He cant have attacked her himself?

People do anything when theyre desperate, Brody said. He slowly shook his head. I didnt 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 whod make the best target? A widowed ferry captain, or a wealthy married man whos the pillar of his community?

Aye, butwhy would Strachan bother with a low-rent tart like Donaldson when hes got a wife like that?

Brody gave a weary shrug. For some men its the sordidness that provides the kicks. As for the restThe more someone has to lose, the harder theyll try to keep it.

I didnt 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 Maggies persistence in trying to interview him was innocent, to a killer who wasnt 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 shed seen had no doubt been engineered by Strachan, a means of distracting her so he could slip a hastily written note into Maggies coat pocket. A note that was now probably lost on the moorland near the Mini, scattered with the rest of the contents of Maggies bag. I felt shock begin to give way to anger; outrage at the extent of Strachans crimes. His betrayal of everyone whod trusted him.

Including me.

The Range Rover lurched as a gust of wind savaged it. The gale seemed to have grown worse while wed listened to Maggies 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 cars fixed set. Still dead.

Brody nodded, as though that was only what hed expected. We cant afford to wait for the mainland team any more. We need to bring him in. Strachans going to be off this island the second the weather clears. Theres not only his own yacht, theres a dozen or so other boats he could try for. We cant watch them all.

We dont know for sure hell run, Fraser countered, but he didnt sound as if he believed it himself.

Hes killed three people, including a police officer, Brody said implacably. Maggie wasnt even a threat, he just thought she was. Hes losing it, getting desperate. We give him the chance, hell be gone. Or kill somebody else. You think Wallace will thank you if that happens?

Fraser gave a reluctant nod. Aye. Aye, youre right.

Brody turned to me as the police sergeant started the car. Something seemed to have gone out of him after hed heard the recordings, but I wasnt sure if it was the revelation about Strachans being the murderer, or the father of Ellens child.

What about you, David? I cant ask you to come with us, but Id appreciate it. A corner of his mouth twitched in an attempted smile. We need all the help we can get.

I wasnt sure how much help Id be with only one good arm, but I nodded. Id come this far. I wasnt going to back out now.

Strachan had hurt enough people.

Both Strachans Saab and Graces 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 Id 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 hadnt 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 cars still here.

Grace looked startled by his brusqueness. He doesnt always take it. Why, is something wrong?

Do you know where he is?

No, Im sorry. Look, would you mind telling me whats 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 Ive already told you he isnt here.

Id 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 dont like being called a liar. But if you must.

Ill 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? Whats wrong?

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

This isnt something to do with whats been happening, is it? The murders?

I cant say. Im 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 Gods sake, Oscar, be quiet! Grace said, impatiently opening the kitchen door and pushing the golden retriever back in. Come on! Outside!

The dog wagged its tail, oblivious to the tension as she tugged it towards the back door in the kitchen.

Brody came back downstairs. He gave a quick shake of his head.

Not there. Wheres Grace?

Quietening the dog. Shes scared. I think shes started to guess why were here.

He sighed. Strachans got a lot to answer for. Bad enough finding out your husbands a murderer, let alone got a child by another woman. An expression of pain creased his features. Christ, what the hell was Ellen thinking of

Brody, I said quickly, but it was too late.

Grace stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.

Mrs Strachan Brody began.

I dont believe you, she whispered. Shed gone white.

Im sorry. You shouldnt have had to hear like that.

NoYoure lying! Michael wouldnt. He wouldnt!

Im very-

Get out! Get out! It was more a sob than a shout.

Come on, lets go, Brody said, quietly.

I didnt like leaving her like that, but there was nothing I could do, or say, that would make any difference to Grace. As we went outside, she was hugging herself, her perfect face now a stricken mask. Then Brody had closed the door behind us, shutting her off from sight.

Christ. I didnt mean that to happen.

Well, it has. I felt unaccountably angry. Lets find Fraser.

I pulled my coat hood tight as we made our way towards the outbuildings. It was much colder now. The wind seemed to be trying to push us back, flinging rain in icy blasts against us. Fraser was just emerging from the barn when we rounded the side of the house.

Find anything? Brody asked.

Youd better see for yourselves.

He led us back into the barn. Id last been here with Strachan, when Grace had been missing. Or when Id thought she was missing, I reminded myself. Hed known all along where she was.

Fraser went to where a petrol-driven lawnmower stood in the far corner. Behind it was a large petrol container. There was no lid, only a broken plastic strap to show where one had been attached.

Whats the betting that the top we found near the camper van is from that? Fraser said. Remember when Strachans wifes car ran out of petrol? Id put money thats where he got his accelerant from to start the fires. Christ, if I get hold of the bastard

Brodys jaw bunched as he looked down at the container. Lets check the boat.

The yacht was unlocked. It was as wed left it, the shattered remains of its comms still lying on the floor. But Strachan wasnt on board.

So where the hell is he? Fraser asked, savagely, as we stood in the heaving cockpit. Bastard could be anywhere.

But even as he said it I knew there was only one place Strachan would have gone. Looking across at Brody I saw that hed realized too.

He was on the mountain. At the burial cairns.


The storm was destroying itself. Roaring down from the Arctic Circle, the front had gathered speed and force as it crossed the North Atlantic. By the time it reached the UK mainland its elemental fury would be largely spent, torn apart by its own unsustainable violence.

On Runa, though, it had reached its peak, building into a frenzy as though determined to wrench the tiny island from the sea. As we clambered up the exposed slopes of Beinn Tuiridh, the wind seemed to have doubled its intensity. And the temperature had plummeted. The icy rain had turned to hail, white stones that bounced and skidded underfoot, beating down on my hood like gravel.

Wed left the car on the road as close to the foot of the mountain as we could get, and started up. It was still light, but visibility was poor and the afternoon was already passing. There was another hour, two at most, before the first dimming of twilight. And once darkness fell, then being out here could very quickly go from being dangerous to fatal.

Despite the exertion, my hands, feet and face were numb. The cold made my injured shoulder burn with a dull, strength-sapping ache. To make matters worse, wed only a vague idea of where the cairns were. It had been night when Id blindly stumbled up here, following the glow from Strachans fire, and Id been delirious with exhaustion and pain. In daylight, the mountainside was a bewildering jumble of boulders and gullies. Its rock-strewn slopes were covered with formations that could be either natural or man-made.

Never been up here before, Brody panted. But I dont think the cairns are very far. Shouldnt take us too long. If we head straight up were bound to come to them.

I wasnt so sure. The slope was treacherous with loose stone and scree, and there was nothing resembling any sort of path. We were forced to make our own route, often finding ourselves faced with rocks that had to be either scrambled over or bypassed. If hed managed to carry me down here single-handed at night, Strachan was obviously stronger than he looked.

And more dangerous.

We were walking directly into the wind, bent almost double by the effort. Wed started out close together, but as the steep gradient took its toll wed become strung out. Brody forged on resolutely, but with my balance impaired by my strapped arm I was finding the going harder. Not as hard as Fraser, though. Overweight and unfit, the police sergeant was wheezing for breath and falling further behind with every step.

I was considering calling for a rest when there was a clatter from behind me. Looking back I saw that Fraser had fallen. Loose rocks formed a mini-avalanche around him as he slid backwards on his hands and knees. He stayed on them, gulping air through his open mouth, too exhausted to get up.

Ahead of us, Brody was carrying on unaware. Brody! Wait! I called, the wind throwing my words back at me.

I hurried back down to Fraser. I got my hand under his arm, and tried to pull him to his feet. He was a solid, dead weight.

Give me a minute he gasped.

But I could see that a minute, or even longer, wasnt going to make any difference. There was no way he could go any further. I looked up for Brody again and saw him almost lost in the hail. Then a sudden gust peppered my eyes with shards of ice, making me avert my face.

Can you make it back to the car? I asked, putting my mouth close to his ear so he could hear me over the wind.

He nodded, chest heaving.

You sure?

He waved me on irritably. I left him to it and hurried after Brody. I couldnt see him at all now. My breathing became ragged as I tried to catch up. I kept my head down, staring at the ground directly in front of me, partly to protect my face from the winds bite, but mainly because I was too tired to do anything else. Whenever I looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of Brody, the hail obscured the slope ahead like static on a TV screen.

A stone skidded from under my foot, sending me down on to one knee. I sucked in air, not sure how much further I could go.

Brody! I shouted, but the only answer was the shriek of the gale.

I clambered to my feet again. It was too exposed to stay where I was. I had to decide whether to carry on or follow Fraser back down, and as I stood there I realized that the tumbles of rock nearby were oddly symmetrical. Id been so focused on catching up with Brody that Id not taken notice of the surrounding landscape until now.

I was standing amongst the burial cairns.

But there was no sign of Brody. I told myself that he couldnt have missed them, that he wouldnt have gone straight past, even though that was what Id almost done myself. As I looked round for him an eddy in the wind created a gap in the swirling hail, like a curtain being drawn back. It only lasted for a moment, but while it did I saw a larger stone structure further off along the slope.

My boots skidded on the hail-covered slope, carving ruts in the sodden turf as I went to take a closer look. The structure was like a round stone hut, partially caved in. Just outside it was the remains of a campfire. The ashes were cold, already half covered with hail, but looking at them I saw the flames leaping up, and remembered the hooded figure emerging into the firelight the night Id been lost. Strachans words came back to me. The brochs a good place to thinkI love the idea that someone would have been sitting up there by a fire two thousand years ago. I like to think Im keeping the tradition

I looked around, not really expecting to see either Fraser or Brody, but hoping all the same. But I might have been the only living soul on the mountainside.

Bracing myself against the wind, I edged closer to the hut. The entrance yawned in front of me. I peered into it, trying to sense if anyone was inside. All I saw was blackness. Just do it. Crouching down, I ducked through the low opening.

Silence draped around me like a blanket as the wind was cut off. It was pitch black, the air heavy with loam and age. It was cramped inside, barely high enough to allow me to stand. But no one jumped out at me. As my eyes acclimatised, I made out cold stone walls and bare soil underfoot. Whatever this was, it looked as though it had stood empty and unused for millennia.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed a small, pale blur. I bent down to examine it. Some of the stones had tumbled from the inner wall, forming a small hollow. Inside was a half-melted candle stub, surrounded by dirty yellow pools of solidified wax from countless predecessors.

Id found Strachans hide. But where was Strachan?

I straightened, and as I did the grey light coming from the entrance suddenly dimmed. I spun round, heart banging, as a shape rose from the shadows behind me.

Hello, David, Strachan said.



CHAPTER 26

I DIDNT SPEAK. My mind still seemed stalled, robbing me of any speech or movement. Strachan took another step away from the wall, so he was silhouetted in the entrance.

He held a knife down by his side, its blade catching the light from behind him.

Managed to find your way up here again, eh? Told you youd find it interesting.

His voice echoed flatly in the confines of the broch. He didnt come any closer, but he was between me and the only way out. I tried not to look at the knife. Our breath steamed in the small chamber. His eyes looked hunted and sunken, the dark stubble blue-black against the pallor of his face.

He tilted his head, listening to the wind howling outside.

Do you know what Beinn Tuiridh means? Its Gaelic for Moaning Mountain. Pretty apt, I always thought.

His tone was conversational, as though hed come here for a stroll. He ran his hand across the stone wall. The other, holding the knife, remained at his side.

This place isnt as old as the cairns. Probably only a thousand years or so. You get brochs like this all across the islands. Ive never been able to make up my mind if it was built here because of the cairns or in spite of them. Why build a watchtower in a graveyard? Unless they were watching over the dead, I suppose. What do you think?

When I didnt answer he gave a small smile. No, I dont suppose youre here out of archaeological interest, are you?

I found my voice. Maggie Cassidys dead.

He was still studying the hard stones. I know.

Did you kill her?

Strachan stood poised for a moment with his hand on the wall. He dropped it with a sigh.

Yes.

And Duncan? And Janice Donaldson?

There was no surprise at hearing the prostitutes name. He just nodded, and any last doubt I might have had vanished.

Why?

Does it matter? Theyre dead. You cant bring them back.

He seemed shrunken. Id expected to hate him, but I felt more confused than anything.

You must have had a reason!

You wouldnt understand.

I tried to see any sign of madness in his eyes. They just looked tired. And sad.

Did Janice Donaldson blackmail you, was that it? Was she threatening to tell Grace?

Leave Grace out of this, he warned, his voice grown suddenly hard.

Then tell me.

All right, she was blackmailing me. Id been fucking her, and when she realized who I was she got greedy. So I killed her. He sounded listless, as though none of this had any real bearing on him.

And what about Duncan and Maggie?

They got in the way.

Thats it? You killed them just for that?

Yes, thats it! I butchered them all like pigs, and I got a thrill out of it! Because Im a sick, twisted bastard! Is that what you wanted to hear?

His voice was thick with self-contempt. I tried to keep mine steady. So now what?

As wed been talking, Id been trying to slowly work my injured arm out of the sling under my coat. Even if I managed it I didnt give much for my chances if he attacked me, but Id have none at all if I was one-handed.

He was backlit by the light from the entrance, half in shadow as he answered. Well, thats the question, isnt it?

Dont make this any worse for yourself than it is already, I said, with a confidence I didnt feel. Think about Grace.

He took a step towards me. I told you to leave her out of this!

I made myself stay where I was, resisting the impulse to back away. Why? You attacked her! Your own wife!

There was real pain in his eyes. She took me by surprise. I was in the house when the three of you called round. I guessed why youd come, and I knew youd be back. I only wanted to stop you using the yachts radio, to give myself more time to think. But the bloody dog knew I was down there, and when I heard Grace coming into the cockpit, II just spun round and backhanded her. I didnt mean to hit her so hard, but I couldnt let her see it was me!

So then you staged everything? Put her through all that?

I did what I had to do!

But he sounded shamed. I pushed on, sensing an advantage.

Youre not going to get off the island, you know that, dont you?

Probably not. He had an odd smile on his face. Seeing it, I felt suddenly cold. But Im not going to give myself up, either.

He lifted the knife. Its blade glinted silver as he held it up, considering it.

Do you want to know why I came up here? he began, but I never heard his reason.

Suddenly a bulky shape flew into him from behind. There was a clatter as Strachans knife flew from his hand, and then I was knocked against the wall. Pain burst in my shoulder as the stones shuddered under the impact. Everything was shadow and confusion as Strachan and another figure struggled on the floor. In the half-light I made out the granite features of Brody. Strachan was younger and fitter, but the older man had size on his side. Using his weight to pin him, he smashed his fist into Strachans face. There was a meat and bone impact, then another as Brody hit him again. Strachan went limp even before Brody hit him a third time. I thought hed stop, but he didnt. He carried on, putting all his weight into the blows.

Brody!

It was as though he hadnt heard. Strachan was no longer resisting, and as Brody drew back his fist once more I caught hold of his arm.

Youll kill him!

He shrugged me off. In the light from the entrance I could see the grim intent in his face and knew he was beyond reasoning. I pushed myself off the wall, driving into him and using my impetus to knock him off the unmoving Strachan.

Fire lanced through my injured shoulder. Brody tried to push me aside, but the pain maddened me. I shoved him back.

No!

For an instant I thought he was going to attack me, then the rage seemed to drain from him. Panting, he slumped against the wall as the fit passed.

I knelt down next to Strachan. He was bloody and dazed, but alive.

How is he? Brody asked, breathlessly.

Hell live.

More than the bastard deserves. But there was no energy left in the words. Wheres Fraser?

Back at the car. He couldnt make it up.

I looked round for the knife. It was lying by the wall. I used one of the remaining freezer bags to pick it up. It was a folding fishing knife, its blade five inches long. Big enough.

But as I looked at it something stirred at the back of my mind. What is it? Whats wrong?

Brody held out his hand. Here, Ill look after that. Dont worry, I wont use it on him, he added when I hesitated.

A nagging sense that I was overlooking something persisted as I passed it over. There was a groan from Strachan as Brody put the knife into his pocket.

Help me get him up, I said.

I can manage, Strachan gasped.

His nose was broken, making his voice sound hollow and adenoidal. I went over anyway. So did Brody, but it wasnt until he wrenched Strachans arms behind his back that I saw hed produced a pair of handcuffs.

What are you doing?

Souvenir from when I retired. He snapped the cuffs round Strachans wrists. Call it a citizens arrest.

Im not going to try to get away, Strachan said, making no attempt to resist.

Not now youre not. Come on, get up. Brody roughly pulled him to his feet. Whats wrong, Strachan? Arent you going to plead innocence? Insist you didnt kill anyone?

Would it make any difference? he asked, dully.

Brody looked surprised, as though he hadnt expected him to buckle so easily.

No. He pushed him towards the entrance. Outside.

I ducked through after them, blinking as I emerged into the daylight. The freezing wind took my breath away as I went to examine Strachan. His face was a mess. The blood and mucus that smeared it was superficial, but one of his eyes was puffed almost shut. From the way the cheek under it was also swollen, I guessed it wasnt only his nose that was broken.

I felt in my pockets for a tissue and began trying to staunch the blood.

Let him bleed, Brody said.

Strachan gave a travesty of a smile. Ever the humanitarian, eh, Brody?

Can you make it down? I asked him.

Do I have any choice?

None of us did. Strachan wasnt the only one in bad shape. The climb and fight had taken its toll on Brody. His face was grey, and I doubted I looked any better. My shoulder had started throbbing again, and I was beginning to shiver as the wind cut through my fire-damaged coat like icy knives. We all needed to get off the exposed mountainside, fast.

Brody gave Strachan a shove. Move.

Take it easy, I told him, as Strachan almost fell.

Dont waste your sympathy. He would have killed you back there, given a chance.

Strachan looked over his shoulder at me. I dont want any sympathy. But you were never in any danger from me.

Brody snorted. Aye, right. Thats why youd got the knife.

I came up here to kill myself, not anybody else.

Save it, Strachan, Brody told him roughly, steering him down the slope.

But the feeling that something wasnt right about this, that I was missing something, was stronger than ever. I found myself wanting to hear what Strachan had to say.

I dont understand, I said. Youve murdered three people. Why suddenly decide to kill yourself now?

The desolation on his face seemed genuine. Because enough people have died. I wanted to be the last.

Brodys next shove sent him to his knees on the hail-covered grass. You lying bastard! All the blood on your hands, and you stand there and say that? Christ, I ought to-

Brody! I quickly moved in between them.

He was trembling with anger, all his fury focused on the man kneeling in front of him. With an effort, he made himself relax. His fists unclenched as he stepped back.

All right. But when I hear his self-pity, after all the lives hes ruined. Ellens as well

I know, but its finished. Let the police handle it now.

Brody drew in a long, shaky breath, nodding assent. But Strachan was still staring at him.

What about Ellen?

Dont bother denying it, Brody told him, bitterly. We know youre Annas father, God help her.

Strachan had scrambled to his feet. There was an unmistakable urgency about him now.

How did you find out? Who told you?

Brody regarded him coldly. You werent as clever as you thought. Maggie Cassidy found out. Seems like everyone on the island knew about it.

Strachan looked as though hed been struck. What about Grace? Does she know?

Thats the least of your worries. After this-

Does she know?

His vehemence took us both aback. I answered, feeling an awful apprehension start to bloom.

It was an accident. She overheard.

Strachan looked as though hed been struck. We have to get back to the village.

Brody grabbed hold of him as he turned away. Youre not going anywhere.

Strachan shook him off. Let me go, you bloody idiot! Christ, youve no idea what youve done!

It wasnt his anger that convinced me, it was what else was in his eyes.

Fear.

And all at once I realized what had been bothering me. Why the sight of the knife had sparked it. It had been what Strachan had said: I butchered them all like pigs! It had been a sickening, distracting image, especially after seeing the vicious slashes on Maggies burned body and the blood spattering her car. But although Maggie had been killed with a knife, had been butchered in a very real sense, none of the other victims had. So either Strachan hadnt meant what hed said, or

Oh my God. What had we done?

I fought to keep my voice steady. Take his handcuffs off.

Brody stared at me as if I were mad. What? Im not going to-

We dont have time for this! Strachan broke in. We need to get back! Now!

Hes right. We have to hurry, I said.

Why, for Gods sake? Whats wrong? Brody demanded, but he still started to unlock the handcuffs.

He didnt kill them, I said, willing him to hurry. The enormity of our mistake was starting to dawn with appalling, bell-like clarity. It was Grace. Hes just been protecting her.

Grace? Brody echoed, incredulously. His wife?

A look of self-loathing crossed Strachans battered face.

Grace isnt my wife. Shes my sister.



CHAPTER 27

THE JOURNEY BACK to the Range Rover was a nightmare. Although the hail had stopped, the mountainside was littered with white pellets of slowly melting ice, turning the slope into a frictionless slide. The light was fading and the wind that had tried to slow us on the way up now chased us back down, making the descent even harder.

Hindsight is the cruellest luxury. Wed been right, and yet hideously wrong. The intruder at the clinic, the wrecked yacht radio and attack on Grace, that had all been Strachan. Hed been stalking us from the first day wed arrived on the island, watching our progress, even sabotaging us at times. Yet hed been doing it to protect his sister, not himself. He wasnt the killer.

She was.

I felt sick to think of how much time wed wasted. The only faint source of hope was that Strachan had taken both sets of car keys with him, deliberately stranding Grace at the house after learning what shed done to Maggie. If she wanted to go to the village, she would have to walk. Even so, shed had time to get there by now. I tried to tell myself that she might not have gone to the hotel straight away, but I didnt believe it. Id seen how distraught shed been when Brody and I had left her. It wouldnt take long for that to transform to anger. All the unanswered questions would have to wait. Right now our priority was reaching Ellen and Anna before Grace did.

If we werent already too late.

We didnt talk on the way down. We didnt have the time, or the breath. Once we reached more level ground we broke into a stumbling jog, silent except for the laboured rasp of our breathing. Strachan was easily the fittest, but the way he ran with one arm clamped to his side made me think he might have cracked ribs to go with his other injuries.

Fraser had seen us coming. He was waiting in the Range Rover, engine running and the heater pumping out blessed hot air. He gave a savage smile when he saw Strachans bloodied face.

Somebody fell down the steps, did they?

Get us back to the hotel. Fast, Brody gasped, hauling himself into the front passenger seat. We need to find Ellen.

Why, what-

Just drive!

Still breathless, Brody turned round to confront Strachan as Fraser banged the Range Rover into gear and roared off towards the village.

Talk.

Strachans pulverised face looked almost unrecognisable. His broken nose was flattened, and the cheek under his nearly shut eye was dark and swollen. He must have been in considerable pain, yet he gave no sign.

Grace is ill. Its my fault, not hers, he said, dully. Thats why I wasnt planning on coming back down from the mountain. With me dead, she wouldnt be a threat any more.

Why is she a threat anyway? Brody demanded. Youre her brother, for Christs sake! Whys she doing this?

Her brother? Fraser exclaimed, throwing us against the side of the car as he swerved into a bend.

Neither of them answered him. Strachan looked like a man staring into an abyss of his own making.

Because shes jealous.

The barren landscape flashed by outside, but it was almost unnoticed now. I found my voice first.

She killed Maggie because she was jealous? I said, incredulously.

Strachans bloodied mouth twitched involuntarily. He swayed limply with the movement of the car, making no attempt to steady himself.

I didnt know what shed done until she came back, covered in blood. But Maggie had called to the house twice to see me. Grace might have overlooked the first time, but not the second. She pretended shed seen a prowler to get me out of the way, and then slipped a note into Maggies coat arranging a meeting. She even took my car, so Maggie would think it was me.

So the prowler had been a distraction after all, I thought. Except it had been Graces own, not Strachans.

Youve got to understand how it was, Strachan said, and for the first time a hint of pleading had entered his voice. When we were growing up, there were just the two of us. Our mother died when we were young, and our father was away most of the time on trips. We lived on an isolated estate, with security guards and private tutors. All we knew was each other.

Get on with it, Brody told him.

Strachan lowered his head. The dankness of the broch still clung to him, mingling with the smell of stale sweat and blood.

When I was sixteen I got drunk one night, and went to Graces room. Im not going to spell out what happened. It was wrong, and it was my fault. But neither of us wanted to stop it. It becamenormal. As I got older I thought about ending it, but thenGrace got pregnant.

The miscarriage, I said, remembering what hed told me in his drawing room. It seemed an age ago now.

It wasnt a miscarriage. I made her have an abortion. Now there was no mistaking there was pain as well as shame in his voice. It was a backstreet clinic. There were complications. Grace almost died. She never admitted who the father was, even when they told her she could never have any more children. But she was changed after that. Unstable. Shed always been possessive, but nowWhen our father died I tried to finish it between us. I told Grace it was over and started seeing another girl. I thought shed accept it. But she didnt. She went to the girls flat and stabbed her to death.

Jesus, Fraser said. The tyres skidded on the wet surface as he threw the car into another bend. He was driving as fast as he dared on the winding road, but it didnt seem nearly fast enough.

Strachan passed a hand over his face, oblivious to his injuries. No one suspected Grace, but she didnt even try to deny it to me. She told me she didnt want me to see anyone else. Ever.

If you knew she was dangerous, why didnt you tell the police? I asked, holding the grab rail for support as the car bumped over a sudden dip.

And let everyone know what had been going on? Strachan shook his head. The dead are dead. You cant bring them back. And it was my fault Grace was like she was. I couldnt just abandon her.

We were all jolted as Fraser braked suddenly. The road ahead was full of sheep. The car fishtailed, throwing up sheets of spray as he hammered on the horn, scattering them in front of us. There were panicked bleats as woolly bodies jostled outside the car windows, close enough to touch. Then we were clear and accelerating away again.

Strachan barely seemed to notice. We left South Africa, travelled around the world to places where nobody knew us. Where everyone would assume we were married. I tried to limit thephysical aspect between us. Id still see other women. Prostitutes, mainly. I cant afford to be choosy. The self-loathing was plain in his voice. But Grace isnt just jealous, shes cunning. She always seemed to find out, and when she did

He didnt need to finish. I willed Fraser to go faster. We hadnt even reached Strachans house yet. Too far. Its still too far.

Each time it happened, wed move on somewhere else, Strachan continued. And each time she got that bit worse. Thats why we came here, to Runa. I liked this area, its wildness, and on an island like this Grace wouldnt be able to just come and go. We started to feel we were really part of something here. I found myself really wanting to make something of the island!

Brody regarded him with contempt. So where did Janice Donaldson fit into your little paradise?

A spasm of pain etched itself on to Strachans face. She blackmailed me. Id been seeing her for a while, but hadnt told her my real name. Then one day Iain Kinross showed up at her flat while I was there. Id no idea he was another of her clients. He didnt see me, but my reaction tipped Janice off. She checked up, found out who I was. The next time I went she threatened to tell Grace. I paid her off-Christ, I even gave her more than she asked for. But it cant have been enough.

Did you know all along your sister had killed her? Brody asked, roughly.

Of course not! Id no idea shed come to Runa! Even when I heard a body had been found, I didnt know it was anything to do with Grace. The whole burning thing, the fires, that was new. She just used a knife with the others. But when the constable was killedI couldnt kid myself any longer.

I thought about his reaction when hed seen Duncans body. It had been genuine after all. But it hadnt been the shock of seeing a body, it had been the realization that his sister had started killing again.

Why did she kill him? Fraser demanded without turning round, his voice cracked. He was slewing the car round the bends almost recklessly, throwing us from side to side.

I dont know. But in the past whenever Gracehad an episode, wed always moved on. This time we couldnt. And when she realized there was going to be a murder investigation she must have panicked and tried to get rid of anything that might incriminate her. Duncan must have just been in the way.

In the fucking way? Fraser snarled, the car swerving as he started to turn round.

Easy, Brody warned him. His face was like stone as he turned back to Strachan. How many people has she killed?

Strachan shook his head. I dont know for sure. She doesnt always tell me. Four or five before this, perhaps.

I dont know which was worse, the number or the fact that Strachan hadnt even kept track of his sisters victims.

Tell me about Ellen, Brody grated.

Strachan closed his eyes. Ellen was a mistake. There always was thattension between us. I tried to avoid her, I darent make Grace suspicious. But a few months after wed arrived here, I found out Ellen was going to visit college friends in Dundee. So I made an excuse to be there as well. It only happened that once, Ellen insisted on that. When I found out she was pregnant, I tried to pay her to go away somewhere. Somewhere safe. But she refused. She said she wouldnt take a penny off me, because I was married. Quite an irony, eh?

His bitterness quickly faded.

Ive lain awake at night, terrified what would happen if Grace ever found out

He tailed off. Now his house was visible up ahead. Both cars were still outside, and the lights still burned in the window. Seeing them I felt a faint hope.

Should we see if shes still there? Fraser asked.

She wont be, Strachan said with certainty.

Brody looked at the approaching house, torn. If Grace was still here we could end this now. But if she wasnt wed have lost even more time.

Whats that on the drive? I asked. A pale yellow shape was lying motionless in the driveway. I felt cold as I realized what it was.

The body of Oscar, Strachans retriever.

She killed his dog? Fraser exclaimed. Why the hell would she do that?

No one answered, but Strachans face was bleak as we left the house behind.

Drive faster, Brody told Fraser.

Within minutes, the first houses had appeared ahead of us. The light had almost gone as we entered the village. Its streets were ominously empty. Fraser barely slowed as he flung the Range Rover into the side road leading up to the hotel.

The front door stood open.

Strachan leaped out of the car even before it had stopped moving. He ran up the hotels steps to the entrance, but then stopped dead, his battered face suddenly leached of colour.

Oh, Christ, Brody breathed, staring inside.

The hotel had been wrecked. Broken furniture littered the hall. The grandfather clock lay face down and smashed, the mirror torn from the wall and smashed into crazed shards of glass. It was frenzied, wanton destruction, but that wasnt what had stopped Strachan.

The hallway was covered with blood.

The metallic stink of it thickened the air with a slaughterhouse taint. It was pooled on the wooden floorboards, spattered in abstract splashes across the panelled walls. It had sprayed highest just inside the doorway, jetting up the walls almost as far as the ceiling. This would have been where the attack first took place, but its progress afterwards was easy enough to follow. The blood formed a trail, big round splashes at first, then smeared tracks as its source had stumbled down the hallway.

The trail disappeared into the bar.

Oh, no Strachan whispered. Oh, please no

There was hardly any coagulation, which meant the blood was still fresh. Not very long ago it had been pumping round a living body. Both Strachan and Brody seemed paralysed by the sight of it. I forced myself to go past them and hurried down the hall, trying to avoid treading in the splashes on the floor. A bloody handmark stood out on the white doorframe, where someone had clutched it for support. It was too smudged to say how big or small the hand had been, but it was low down on the frame, as though whoever had made it had been crawling.

Or a child.

I didnt want to see what was inside. But Id no choice. I took a breath, trying to prepare myself, and stepped into the bar.

Nothing in it had been left intact. Chairs and tables had been tipped over and smashed, curtains slashed, bottles and glasses shattered in a frenzy. In the middle of it all was Cameron. Limbs splayed out in the relaxation of death, the schoolteacher lay slumped against the bar. His clothes were soaked through with blood that had only just begun to dry. A wide gash had opened a second mouth in his throat, slicing across his trachea as though trying to free the bulging Adams apple.

The teachers eyes were wide with shock, as though unable to believe what Grace had done to him.

Fraser appeared behind us. Oh, Christ, he mumbled.

The air was a nauseous cocktail of alcohol and blood. There was another odour as well, but even as my stunned senses began to recognise it, a sudden sound tore through the silence.

A childs scream.

It came from the kitchen. Strachan was running even before it had died. Brody and I were just behind him as he burst through the kitchens swing door, but the scene inside halted us all in our tracks.

The devastation wed found before was nothing compared to this. Broken crockery crunched underfoot, while spilt food littered the floor in dirty snowdrifts. The kitchen table had been upended and its chairs smashed, the tall pine dresser pushed over on to the floor. Even the ancient cooker had been wrenched away from the wall, as though someone had tried to tip that over as well.

But right then none of that really registered.

Ellen was backed into a corner, terrified and bloodied, but alive. She clutched a heavy saucepan, gripping it white-knuckled in both hands, ready to ward off or swing.

Standing between her and the door was Grace. She clutched Anna tightly to her, one hand clamped over the little girls mouth.

The other held a kitchen knife to her throat.

Get back, dont go near her! Ellen screamed.

We didnt. Graces clothes were mud-spattered and wet from the walk to the village. Her raven hair was wild and windblown, her face puffy and streaked with tears. Even dishevelled as she was, she was still beautiful. But now her madness was all too apparent.

So, too, was something else. The smell Id noticed in the hallway and bar was instantly identifiable in here, thick enough to clog the throat.

Gas.

I looked again at how the cooker had been pulled away from the wall, and glanced at Brody. He gave a barely perceptible nod.

The cylinders are round the back, he murmured to Fraser, not taking his eyes from Grace. There should be a valve. Go and turn it off.

Fraser slowly backed out, then disappeared down the hallway. The door swung shut behind him.

She was waiting when we came back from Rose Cassidys, Ellen sobbed. Bruce came in with us, and when he tried to talk to her sheshe

I know, Strachan said, calmly. He took a step closer. Put the knife down, Grace.

His sister stared at his bloodied face. She looked taut as a bowstring, ready to snap.

MichaelWhat happened to you?

It doesnt matter. Just let the girl go.

Mentioning Anna was a mistake. Graces face grew ugly.

Dont you mean your daughter?

Strachans poise faltered. But he quickly recovered. Shes done nothing to you, Grace. Youve always liked Anna. I know you dont want to hurt her.

Is it true? Grace was crying. Is it? Tell me they were lying! Please, Michael!

Do it, I thought. Tell her what she wants. But Strachan hesitated for too long. Graces face creased up.

No! she moaned.

Grace

Shut up! she screamed, the tendons in her neck standing out like cords. You fucked this bitch, you chose her over me?

I can explain, Grace, Strachan said, but he was losing it. Losing her. Liar! All this time, youve been lying! I could forgive you the others, but thisHow could you?

It was as though no one else existed any more except her and her brother. The smell of gas was growing stronger. What the hell was Fraser doing? Brody began edging nearer to Grace.

Put the knife down, Grace. No ones going to-

Dont come near me! she screamed.

Brody backed off. Chest rising and falling, Grace glared at us, her face contorted.

The silence was suddenly broken by a metallic clatter. Ellen had let the saucepan drop. As it bounced on the floor, the sound of it shockingly loud, she stepped slowly towards Grace.

Ellen, dont! Strachan ordered, but there was more fear than authority in his voice.

She ignored him. All her attention was fixed on his sister.

Its me you want, isnt it? All right, Im here. Do what you like to me, but please dont hurt my daughter.

For Gods sake, Ellen, Brody said, but he might as well not have spoken either.

Ellen spread her arms in invitation. Well, come on! What are you waiting for?

Grace had turned to face her, a tick working one corner of her mouth like broken clockwork.

Strachan broke in, desperately. Look at me, Grace. Forget her, shes not important.

Stay out of this, Ellen warned.

But Strachan took one pace forward, then another. He held out his hands as if he were trying to soothe a wild animal.

Youre all that matters to me, Grace. You know that. Let Anna go. Let her go, and then well get away from this place. Go somewhere else, start again. Just me and you.

Grace was staring at him with such naked yearning it felt obscene to see it.

Put the knife down, he told her, softly.

Some of the tension seemed to drain out of her. The smell of leaking gas seemed to grow heavier as the moment hung, poised to go either way.

Then Anna chose that moment to wriggle free of Graces hand.

Mummy, shes hurting-

Grace slapped her palm back over Annas mouth. The madness was a white heat in her eyes.

You shouldnt have lied, Michael, she said, and pulled back Annas head.

No! Strachan cried, flinging himself at her as the knife swept down.

Brody and I lunged forward as Strachan struggled with his sister, but Ellen was faster than either of us. She snatched Anna away as Grace screamed, a cry of pure fury. Leaving Brody to help Strachan, I rushed to where Ellen was clutching her daughter.

Let me see her, Ellen!

She wouldnt let go. She hugged Anna to her, both of them smeared with blood and weeping hysterically. But I could see that the blood was from Ellens cuts, that the little girl wasnt hurt. Thank God. As I sagged with relief, Brodys voice came from behind me.

David.

He sounded odd. He had hold of Grace, pinning her arms behind her back, but she wasnt struggling any more. They were both staring at Strachan. He stood nearby, looking down at himself with a faintly surprised expression.

The knife handle was jutting from his stomach.

Michael? Grace said, in a small voice.

Its all right, he told her, but then his legs gave way.

Michael! Grace screamed.

Brody held her back as she tried to go to Strachan. I managed to reach him, trying to take his weight on my good shoulder. Get Anna outside. Take her to a neighbours, I told Ellen, as he sank to the floor.

Is he

Just take her, Ellen.

I wanted them well away from here. The stink of gas had become so thick it was nauseating. I glanced at the portable heater that lay on its side nearby, relieved that at least it wasnt still on. With so much propane leaking into the room the last thing we needed was naked flame. I wondered again what was taking Fraser so long.

Grace was still being restrained by Brody, sobbing, as I knelt by Strachan. His face had gone shockingly white.

You can let go of my sister now, he said, voice hoarse with pain. Shes not going anywhere.

I gave Brody a nod when he hesitated. As soon as he released her Grace dropped down beside Strachan.

Oh God, Michael Her face was a mask of anguish as she turned to me. Do something! Help him!

He tried to smile as he took hold of her hand. Dont worry, everythingll be all right. I promise.

Dont talk, I told him. Try to keep as still as you can.

I started to examine his wound. It was bad. The knife blade was fully lodged in his stomach. I couldnt even begin to guess what internal damage it had caused.

Dont look so grim he told me.

Just a scratch, I said, lightly. Im going to help you lie down flat. Try not to move the knife.

Its blade was the only thing preventing him from bleeding to death. As long as it stayed where it was, it would act as a plug to slow his blood loss. But not for long.

Grace was weeping more quietly now, the violence drained from her as she cradled her brothers head on her lap. I tried to keep my anxiety from my face as I quickly ran through my options. There werent many. There were none of the facilities here that Strachan needed, and the only nurse on the island was lying dead in the other room. Unless we could get him evacuated, and soon, he was going to die whatever I did.

Fraser rushed back in, skidding on the broken crockery and spilled food on the floor.

Jesus! he panted, seeing Strachan, then gathered himself. The gas canisters are locked in a cage. I cant open it.

Brody had been struggling to move the heavy pine dresser that was lying in front of the back door, partially blocking it. Now he abandoned the attempt, staring round the wrecked kitchen.

The keys for the cage must be here somewhere, he said, frustrated.

But even if wed known where Ellen kept them it wouldnt have done any good. Every drawer had been pulled out and smashed, their contents scattered amongst the rest of the debris. The keys could be anywhere.

Brody had reached the same conclusion. We dont have time to look. Lets get everybody out while we break into the cage to turn off the gas.

There was no way Strachan should be moved, but the gas left us no choice. It was so thick now I could taste it. The atmosphere in the kitchen would soon be unbreathable. And propane was heavier than air, which meant it would be even worse on the floor where Strachan lay.

I gave a quick nod of assent. We can use the table to carry him.

Grace was still weeping as she cradled her brothers head. Strachan had been watching us in silence. Even though he must have been in agony he seemed remarkably calm. Almost peaceful.

Just leave me here, he said, his voice already weakening.

Thought I told you to be quiet?

He grinned, and for a moment looked like the man Id met when Id first arrived on the island. Grace was keening, an almost animal sound of grief as she stroked his face.

Im sorry, Im so sorry

Shh. Everythings going to be fine, I promise.

Fraser and Brody were struggling to right the heavy table. I went to the kitchens window, hoping it hadnt been painted shut. Even a little ventilation would be better than nothing. But Id only taken a few steps when I saw Strachan grope for something lying in the broken crockery nearby.

Get away from there, David, he said, holding it up.

It was the lighter for the gas range.

He had his thumb poised on the ignition button. Sorry, but Im not going anywhere

Put it down, Michael, I said, trying for an assurance I didnt feel. There was so much gas in the kitchen that one spark would set it off. I glanced uneasily at the portable heater that lay nearby. It had its own propane supply, and the cage containing the big cylinders was stored right against the kitchen wall. If the gas in here ignited they would all go up.

I dont think so Strachans pallid face shone with sweat. Go on, get out. All of you.

Dont be bloody stupid, Brody snapped.

Strachan raised the lighter. One more word from you, and I swear Ill press it right now.

For fucks sake, Brody, shut up! Fraser said.

Strachan gave a deaths head grin. Good advice. Im going to count to ten. One

What about Grace? I said, stalling for time.

Grace and I stay together. Dont we, Grace?

She was blinking through her tears, as though only now becoming aware of what was going on.

Michael, what are you going to do?

He smiled at her. Trust me.

Then, before anyone could stop him, Strachan wrenched the knife from his stomach.

He screamed, seizing Graces arm as blood gushed from the wound. I started forward, but he saw me and raised the lighter.

Get out! Now! he hissed through clenched teeth. Oh, Jesus!

Strachan-

Brody grabbed hold of me. Move.

Fraser was already running for the door. I took one last look at where Strachan lay, teeth gritted in agony as he held the lighter raised in one hand and gripped his sisters hand with the other. Graces expression was one of dawning incredulity. She looked across at me, her mouth opening to speak, and then Brody had hustled me out into the hall.

No, wait-

Just run! he bellowed, giving me a shove.

He kept hold of me as he pounded down the hallway, half dragging me outside. Fraser had reached the Range Rover and was fumbling for the keys.

Leave it! Brody snapped, without stopping.

The nearest houses were too far away to reach, but there was an old stone wall much nearer. Brody dragged me behind it, Fraser throwing himself down beside us a moment later. We waited, panting.

Nothing happened.

I looked back at the hotel. It seemed familiar and mundane in the twilight, its front door banging forlornly in the wind.

Been more than ten seconds, Fraser muttered.

I stood up.

What the hell are you doing? Brody demanded.

I shook him off. Im going to- I began, and then the hotel exploded.

There was a flash, and a wall of noise almost knocked me off my feet. I ducked, covering my head as pieces of slate and brick rained down. As the thuds began to peter out, I risked a look back up the hill.

Dust and smoke swirled around the hotel like a gauze veil. Its roof had been blown off, and bright yellow flickers were already visible inside the shattered windows, quickly spreading as the fire took hold.

People were running out of the nearby houses as the hotel began to blaze. I could feel the intensity of the heat even from where I stood.

I turned on Brody angrily. I could have stopped him!

No, you couldnt, he said, tiredly. And even if you could, he was a dead man as soon as he pulled out the knife.

I looked away, knowing he was right. The hotel was an inferno now, its timbered floors and walls reduced to so much kindling. Like everything else that had been inside.

What about Grace? I asked.

Brodys face was shadowed as he stared into the flames.

What about her?



CHAPTER 28

TWO DAYS LATER, the sky dawned bright and clear over Runa. It was approaching midday when Brody and I left his car on the road above the harbour and walked up to the cliff top overlooking Stac Ross. Seabirds soared around the tall black tower, while waves shattered against the rocks base, flinging slow-motion sheets of spray high into the air. I breathed in the fresh salt air, savouring the thin warmth of the sun on my face.

I was going home.

The police had arrived on Runa the previous morning. As though finally sated with the chaos it had overseen, the storm had blown itself out within hours after the hotel had burned down. Before the night was out, while the hotel ruins still smoked and smouldered, the phone lines had started working again. Wed finally been able to get word to Wallace and the mainland. Although the harbour was still too rough to allow anything in or out, the sky was still lightening when a coastguard helicopter clattered above the cliffs, carrying the first of the police teams that would descend on Runa in the next twenty-four hours.

As the island found itself at the epicentre of frenzied police activity, Id finally got a call through to Jenny. It had been a difficult conversation, but Id reassured her that I was all right, promised I would be home in another day or so. Even though the island was swarming with police and SOC, I couldnt leave straight away. Not only were there the inevitable interviews and debriefings to endure, but I still felt there was unfinished business. It would take days or perhaps even weeks to recover the bodies of Strachan, Grace and Cameron from the ruins of the hotel, assuming anything identifiable had survived its destruction. But there had still been Maggies and Duncans remains to attend to, and I wanted to be on hand while SOC examined them.

It wouldnt seem right to leave without see things through to the end.

And now I had. Maggies body had been taken back to the mainland the evening before, while Duncans remains had been removed from the camper van in the early hours. So had his Maglite, bagged up ready for laboratory analysis. Not only was it the right shape to have made the injury to his skull, but SOC had found what appeared to be traces of blood and tissue baked on to its casing. It would have to be tested to make sure, but I was more convinced than ever that Grace had used his own torch to kill him.

Id done as much as I could. There was no reason for me to remain on Runa any longer. Id said what few goodbyes I had to make; shared an awkward handshake with Fraser, then called to see Ellen and Anna. They were staying at a neighbours house for the time being, bearing up surprisingly well after what theyd been through.

The hotel was only bricks and mortar. And Michael There were shadows in Ellens eyes as she watched Anna play nearby. Im sorry hes dead. But Im more thankful for what was saved than what was lost.

Another coastguard helicopter was due within the hour, and once it had discharged its cargo of police officers it would take me back to Stornoway. From there Id fly to Glasgow and then London, finally completing the journey Id started a week ago.

Not before time.

Still, I didnt feel as elated as Id expected. Even though I was looking forward to seeing Jenny, I felt oddly flat as Brody and I walked up to the cliff where the helicopter would put down. Brody, too, was silent and lost in his thoughts. Although Id been sleeping in his spare room, Id not seen much of him since the mainland police teams had arrived. Ex-inspector or not, he was a civilian now, and hed been politely excluded from the investigation. I felt sorry for him. After all that had happened, it must have been hard for him to be brushed on to the sidelines.

When we reached the cliff top we rested. The stone monolith of Bodach Runa stood some distance away, the Old Man of Runa still keeping his lonely vigil for a lost child. The dip where wed found Maggies car was out of sight, but the Mini itself had been moved. Gulls and gannets wheeled and cried in the bright winter sunlight. The wind still gusted, but less strongly, and the clouds that had seemed a permanent cover were gone, replaced with high white wisps of cumulus that skated serenely across the blue sky.

In some regards, at least, it was going to be a beautiful day.

This is one of my favourite views, Brody said, looking out at the sea stack that rose like a giant chimney from the waves. The wind ruffled his grey hair, mirroring the movement of the waves two hundred feet below. He reached down to stroke his dogs head. Been a while since Bess has had a chance to stretch her legs up here.

I rubbed my shoulder through my coat. It was still painful, but Id almost grown used to it. Id be able to get it X-rayed and properly looked at once I was back in London.

What do you think will happen now? To Runa? I asked.

At the moment the island was still in a state of shock. In the space of a few days it had lost four members of its community, including its main benefactor; a tragedy made all the harder to accept because of the shocking manner of their dying. The gale, too, had added to the tally, swamping a fishing boat in the harbour and causing Strachans yacht to slip its chain. Wreckage from the beautiful boat would be found days later, but that was the least of the islands losses. It was the others from which it would struggle to recover.

Brody turned down his mouth. God knows. Might keep going for a while. But the fish farm, the new jobs, the investment, all thats gone. Cant see it surviving without them.

You think itll become another St Kilda?

Not for a few years, perhaps. But eventually. His mouth quirked in a smile. Lets hope they dont drown their dogs when they go.

Will you stay?

Brody shrugged. Well see. Not as though Ive any reason to go anywhere else.

The border collie had crouched at his feet, head down on its paws as it stared up at him, intently. Smiling, he took an old tennis ball from his pocket and tossed it for the dog. It trotted after it, legs too stiff to run, then brought it back, tail wagging.

I just wish wed been able to talk to Grace, find out why she did what she did, I said, as Brody threw the ball again.

Jealousy, like Strachan said. And hate, I expect. Youd be surprised how powerful that can be.

That still doesnt explain everything. Like why she clubbed Janice Donaldson and Duncan, but used a knife on Maggie and Cameron. And the others that Strachan told us about.

Means and opportunity, I expect. I dont think she really planned anything, just acted when she got the urge. Duncans Maglite was probably lying to hand, and I dare say something similar happened with Donaldson. But well never know now.

The collie had dropped the ball at his feet again. Brody picked it up and threw it, then gave me a rueful smile.

There arent always answers to everything, no matter how hard we look. Sometimes you have to learn to just let things go.

I suppose so.

He took out his cigarettes and lit one, drawing on it with satisfaction. I watched as he put the pack away.

I didnt know you were left-handed, I said.

Sorry?

You threw the ball with your left hand just now.

Did I? I didnt notice.

My heart had begun to thump. A few days ago in your kitchen you used your right hand. It was when I told you and Fraser that whoever killed Duncan was left-handed.

So? Im not with you.

So I just wondered why you used your right hand then, but your left now.

He turned to look at me, quizzical and a little exasperated. Where are you going with this, David?

My mouth had dried. Grace was right-handed.

Brody considered that. How do you know?

When she had hold of Anna, the knife was in her right hand. Id forgotten about it till I saw you just now. I knew something still jarred, but I didnt know what. And when I saw Grace preparing food earlier she used the same hand then. Her right, not her left.

Perhaps your memorys playing tricks.

I wished it was. For a moment or two I even allowed myself to hope. But I knew better.

No, I said, with something like regret. But even if it was, we can check to see which hand the fingerprints on her paintbrushes and knife handles are from. Even if the prints werent clear, their angle would reveal that much.

She could have been ambidextrous.

Then well find equal numbers of both.

He took a long draw of his cigarette. You saw what Grace was like. You cant seriously think Strachan was lying?

No. I dont doubt she murdered Maggie, and God knows how many others before they came here. But Strachan just assumed shed killed Janice Donaldson and Duncan as well. He might have been wrong.

I was still willing Brody to laugh it off, to point out a fatal flaw in my reasoning. He just sighed.

Youve been here too long, David. Youre looking for things that arent there.

I had to moisten my mouth before I could get the next words out.

How did you know Duncan was killed with his own Maglite?

Brody frowned. Wasnt he? I thought thats what you said.

No, I never mentioned it. Id wondered, but only to myself. I didnt say anything about the Maglite until SOC got here.

Well, I must have heard it from one of them.

When?

He gestured with the cigarette, vaguely irritated. I dont know. Yesterday, perhaps.

They only removed the torch during the night. And no ones going to know for sure thats what killed him until lab tests have been carried out. They wouldnt have said anything.

Brody stared out across the sea at the black pinnacle of Stac Ross, squinting in the bright sunlight. Two hundred feet below us I could hear the waves crashing on the rocks.

Let it go, David, he said, softly.

But I couldnt. My heart was banging so hard now I could hear it.

Grace didnt kill Duncan, did she? Or Janice Donaldson.

The only answer was the crying of gulls, and the distant crashing of the waves below the cliffs. Say something. Deny it. But Brody might have been carved from the same stone as Bodach Runa, silent and implacable.

I found my voice. Why? Why did you do it?

He dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his foot, then picked up the stub and put it in his pocket.

Because of Rebecca.

It took a moment for the name to register. Rebecca, the estranged daughter who had gone missing. Who Brody had spent years trying to find. His words came back to me now, clear and awful in their implication: shes dead. And suddenly everything sprang into focus.

You thought Strachan had murdered your daughter, I said. You killed Janice Donaldson to try and frame him.

The pain in his eyes was confirmation enough. He took out another cigarette and lit it before he answered.

It was an accident. Id been trying to put together evidence against Strachan for years. Thats the only reason I moved out to this godforsaken island, so Id be close to him.

A gull soared overhead, wings tilting as it caught the air currents. Standing there in the cold winter sun, I felt a rush of unreality, like plunging too fast in a lift.

You knew thered been other deaths?

The wind whisked away the smoke from his cigarette. I had a good idea. Id already started to think Becky was dead. Id been able to follow her trail so far, but then it just stopped. So when I heard rumours about her seeing some rich South African before shed vanished, I started digging. I found out that Strachan had moved around, lived in different countries but always for short periods of time. So I looked at newspaper archives of places where hed settled. I found reports of girls being murdered or disappearing around the same time. Not in all of them, but too many to be coincidence. And the more I looked, the more convinced I was that Becky was one of his victims. Everything fitted.

And you didnt tell the police? You used to be a detective inspector, for Gods sake! Theyd have listened to you!

Not without proof they wouldnt. Id pulled in every favour I could when I was looking for Becky. A lot of people thought Id lost the plot as it was. And if Id confronted Strachan hed have just gone to ground. But Rebecca had been using her stepfathers name. There was no way he could connect us. So I decided to play the long game and came here, hoping hed slip up.

I was shivering as I listened, but the chill I felt had nothing to do with the cold.

What happened? Did you get tired of waiting? I asked, surprising myself with my own anger.

Brody flicked the ash from his cigarette, letting it disintegrate in the wind.

No. Janice Donaldson happened.

His face was unreadable as he told me how hed followed Strachan on his trips to Stornoway, inventing business and meetings of his own, taking the ferry to arrive first whenever Strachan had gone on the yacht. To begin with hed been worried that Strachan had been preparing to select another victim. But when nothing happened to any of the women he spent time with, Brodys relief turned first to puzzlement, then frustration.

Finally, hed approached Janice Donaldson in Stornoway one night after shed left a pub. Hed offered to pay her for information, hoping to learn more about Strachans habits, perhaps discover a tendency towards violence. It had been the first time hed shown his hand against his enemy, a calculated gamble, but he reasoned that the risk was worth it. It wasnt as if Donaldson knew who he was.

Or so hed thought.

She recognised me, Brody said. Turned out she used to live in Glasgow, and Id been pointed out to her when Id been searching for Becky. Donaldson had known her. Shed been thinking about claiming the reward I was offering for information, but shed been picked up for soliciting before she had the chance. By the time she was back in circulation Id gone. So she offered to sell it to me now.

He drew down a lungful of smoke, blew it out again for the wind to take away.

She told me Becky had been a prostitute. I suppose on some level Id already guessed, given the way shed been living. But actually being told it, by someone like thatWhen I refused to pay her, she threatened to tell Strachan who I was, that Id been asking questions. Then she started saying things about Rebecca, things no father wants to hear. So I hit her.

Brody held out his hand, considering it. I remembered how easily he had battered Strachan senseless in the broch. I was conscious of the constriction of my sling under the coat, and of the cliff s edge only a few yards away. It took a conscious effort not to look at it, or to step away from him.

I always had a temper, he went on, almost mildly. Thats why my wife left. That and the drinking. But I thought Id got it under control. Nothing stronger than tea these days. I didnt even hit her very hard, but she was drunk. We were down at the docks, and she fell backwards, cracked her head on a stanchion as she went down.

Not a club after all, then, but an impact all the same. If it was an accident why didnt you turn yourself in?

For the first time there was heat in Brodys eyes. And be sent down for manslaughter, when that murdering bastard was still free? I dont think so. Not when there was another way.

You mean frame him.

If you like.

It made a twisted sort of sense. There was no link between Brody and Janice Donaldson, but Strachan was a different matter. If she was found dead on Runa, when it emerged that he was one of her clients-and Brody would have made sure that it did-then suspicion would quickly focus on him. It wasnt ideal, but it would have been a justice of sorts.

For Brody that was better than nothing.

Something else had occurred to me as Id listened. I thought again how the cracks had crazed Janice Donaldsons skull without actually breaking it.

She wasnt dead, was she?

Brody stared across at Stac Ross. I thought she was. Id put her in the car boot, but I wouldnt have risked bringing her over on the ferry if Id known. It wasnt until I opened it over here and saw shed thrown up that I realized. But she was dead then, right enough.

No, I thought, she wouldnt have survived the ferry crossing with an injury like that. At the very least it would have caused haemorrhaging that would have been fatal without fast medical attention, and perhaps even with it.

But she hadnt been given the chance.

So Brody had gone ahead as planned. Hed planted evidence at the crofters cottage that would further incriminate Strachan: dog hairs from his retriever, an imprint from one of Strachans wellingtons that Brody had taken from their barn one night, and which hed then hidden back there for the police to find. Then hed set fire to the body, not only to destroy any traces that might link him to it, but also to hide the fact that Janice Donaldson hadnt died in the cottage, as an examination would otherwise have found. Hed even sold his car and replaced it with a new one, because he knew there would be microscopic evidence left in the boot no matter how thoroughly he cleaned it. Using all his experience as a police officer, Brody had tried to anticipate everything.

But with murder, as with life, thats never possible.

His cheeks hollowed as he drew on the cigarette. I was going to let someone else find the body. But after a month of waiting, knowing it was just lying there, I couldnt stand it any longer. Christ, when I went in again and saw it He shook his head, mutely. Id not used much petrol, just enough to make it look like a botched attempt to torch the body. I wanted it to be identified, to obviously be murder, that was the whole point. But all I could do then was report it and hope that SOC did their job properly.

But instead of SOC, hed got a drunken police sergeant and an inexperienced constable. And me.

I felt physically sick at the extent of his betrayal. Hed used us all, playing on our trust as hed steadily pointed us towards Strachan. No wonder hed been so loath to accept Cameron or Kinross as suspects. An acid sense of bitterness rose up in my throat.

What about Duncan? I asked, too angry to care about provoking him. What was he, collateral damage?

Brody accepted the accusation without flinching. I made a mistake. When the cottage collapsed, it wiped out all the evidence Id planted. I was starting to worry that there wasnt enough to incriminate Strachan even if the body was identified. Id been sounding out Duncan, knew he was a smart lad. So I decided to use him.

He shook his head, annoyed with himself.

Stupid. Should have known better than to complicate things. I didnt say much, only that Id got my suspicions about Strachan, and that someone ought to look into his background. I thought I could steer bits of information his way, let him take the credit for it. And then I cocked up. I told Duncan that Strachan had been visiting prostitutes in Stornoway.

Brody studied the glowing tip of his cigarette.

First thing he asked was how I knew. I told him it was just gossip, but I knew that wouldnt hold up. No one else on Runa had any idea, you see. Lousy timing, too, because right afterwards you announced that the victim was probably some prostitute from a big town. I could see Duncan was already starting to wonder how Id known. I couldnt risk it.

No, I realized, he couldnt. Now I understood the reason for Duncans distraction the last time Id seen him alive. Perhaps his suspicions were already taking root even then. Brody couldnt allow that. He couldnt afford to let anyone suspect he might have been stalking Strachan, that he had a motive for bringing him down.

Even if that meant keeping quiet about his own daughters murder.

He sighed, regretfully. Its the little things that trip you up. Like that bloody Maglite. Id taken a crowbar with me to the camper van, but Duncan must have seen my torch while I was outside. I could have jumped him once he came out to check, but I waited until he was back inside. Putting it off, I suppose. He left the Maglite on the table when he let me in, so I picked it up and hit him with it. He gave a shrug. Seemed the thing to do at the time.

The disgust I felt only fuelled my anger. The fires were just a distraction, werent they? Torching the community centre and the camper van, it wasnt to destroy forensic evidence. You just wanted us to think it was, so Duncans death would look incidental. And you could incriminate Strachan at the same time, planting the broken petrol cap-

I broke off, staring at him as another missing piece fell into place.

Thats why Graces car ran out of petrol. You siphoned it off to use to start the fires.

I had to get it from somewhere. If Id taken his it might have tipped him off. Brody had been gazing out at the horizon, but now he turned to me. For the record, I didnt realize you were still in the medical centre when I started the fire. There were no lights on, and what with the power cut I thought itd be empty.

Would it have made any difference?

He flicked ash from his cigarette. Probably not.

Jesus Christ, didnt you ever think you could have been wrong? That there was something else going on? What about when the yacht radio was smashed and Grace was attacked? Didnt you wonder why Strachan would do something like that when he hadnt killed anybody?

Anybody here, perhaps, he said, and for the first time there was an edge to his voice. I assumed he was panicking. I thought he wanted to get off the island before the police started questioning everyone. He wouldnt have wanted them looking too closely into his past.

But it wasnt his past that was the problem, was it? It was his sisters. You picked the wrong Strachan!

He sighed, looking out at the horizon again. Aye.

There was an appalling irony to it. Because of Brodys attempts to frame her brother, Grace had believed along with everyone else that there was a killer loose on Runa. Shed even believed shed almost been a victim herself. So shed taken advantage of the situation, murdering Maggie and burning her body so it would appear that the killer of Duncan and Janice Donaldson had claimed another life.

Full circle.

Was it worth it? I asked, quietly. Duncan and the rest. Was it worth all those lives?

Outlined against the cold blue sky, Brodys hewn features were unreadable in the morning wind.

You used to have a daughter yourself. You tell me.

I had no answer to that. The anger was ebbing from me now, leaving in its wake a leaden feeling of sadness. And a chilling awareness of my own situation. For the first time I realized how careful Brody had been to put the cigarette stubs back in the packet. Hed left nothing to show hed been here. Even if Id had both arms free he was bigger and stronger than me. Hed already killed twice. I couldnt see him balking at a third time.

I took a quick look at the cliff edge, only yards away. You wont be leaving Runa today after all, I thought, numbly.

A dark fleck had appeared on the horizon. It was too still to be a bird, hanging apparently motionless in the sky. The coastguard helicopter was early, I realized, but the surge of hope quickly died. It was still too far away. It would take it another ten or fifteen minutes to get here.

Too long.

Brody had seen it too. The wind ruffled his grey hair as he stared at the approaching speck. His cigarette had burned almost down to his fingers.

I used to be a good policeman, he said, casually. A lousy husband and father, but a good policeman. You start off on the side of the angels, and suddenly you find out youve become what you hate. How does that happen?

I glanced desperately at the helicopter. It didnt seem to have grown any bigger. At this distance no one on board would even be able to see us. I began trying to work my arm from the sling under my coat, knowing as I did that it wouldnt do any good.

So what now? I asked, trying to sound calm.

Something like a dry smile touched his mouth. Good question.

Janice Donaldson was an accident. And what happened to Rebecca will be taken into account.

Brody took one last draw on his cigarette, then ground it out carefully on the sole of his boot. He put the stub in the packet with the rest.

Im not going to prison. But, for what it counts, Im sorry.

He turned his face up to the sun, closing his eyes for a moment, then reached down to stroke the old border collie.

Good girl. Stay.

I took an involuntary step back as he straightened. But he made no move towards me. Instead he began walking unhurriedly towards the edge of the cliff.

Brody? I said, as his intention began to dawn. Brody, no!

My words were carried away. I started after him but hed already reached the edge. Without hesitating he stepped out into space. For an instant he seemed to hang there, borne up by the wind. Then hed gone.

I halted, staring at the empty air where hed been a moment before. But there was nothing there now. Only the cry of the gulls, and the sound of the waves crashing below.



EPILOGUE

BY SUMMER THE events that had taken place on Runa had started to recede, faded by the blunting effect of memory. The post-mortem into what had happened had produced little that wasnt already known. At the end of it, as Strachan had said, the dead were still dead, and the rest of us got on with the business of living.

A search of Brodys house turned up the file that hed put together on Strachan. It was a good, solid piece of police work, which was no less than Id expect. He just hadnt dug quite far enough. Like everyone else, Brody had never thought to question whether Grace might not be Strachans wife.

It had proved to be a fatal omission.

But the file still provided a chilling roll call of victims, although there was no way of knowing how many Brody-like Strachan-might have missed. It was probable that the fate of some of Graces victims would never be known.

Like Rebecca Brody.

Her fathers body had been recovered from the sea by a fishing boat a week after hed thrown himself from the cliff. The fall, and the salt water, had carried out their usual disfiguring transformation, but there was no room for doubt. That loose end, at least, could be securely tied off, which I thought Brody would appreciate.

Hed always hated mess.

Not everything had such a neat resolution. Fuelled by spirits from the bar and oil for the generator, the fire had completed the destruction started by the exploding gas canisters and razed the hotel to the ground. A few charred pieces of bone, too damaged by the heat to yield any DNA, were identified as Camerons because of their location in the bar. But Grace and Michael Strachan had been together in the kitchen when theyd died. What few calcined bone fragments were recovered were impossible to differentiate.

Even in death Strachan hadnt been able to escape his sister.

Ironically, for the moment at least, Runa itself still seemed to be prospering. Far from becoming another St Kilda, the publicity it received had brought an influx of journalists, archaeologists and naturalists, as well as tourists drawn by its new-found notoriety. How long it would last remained to be seen, but Kinrosss ferry was suddenly very much in demand. There was even talk of building another hotel, although it wouldnt be Ellen McLeod who was running it.

Id met Ellen again at the inquest into Brodys suicide. She carried herself with the same steel-tempered dignity I remembered, but while there were still shadows in her eyes, there was also a new optimism. She and Anna had moved to Edinburgh, living in a small house paid for by the hotels insurance. Both Strachan and Brody had left them well cared for in their wills, but Ellen put everything they left her into a fund to help rebuild the island. It was blood money, shed said, with a flash of her old fierceness. She wanted nothing to do with it.

But there was one thing they had brought with them from Runa: Brodys border collie. It had been either that or let her be destroyed, and, as Ellen said, it wouldnt have seemed right to punish the old dog for the crimes of its owner.

I thought Brody would have been grateful for that.

As for me, it was surprising how quickly life slid back to normal. There were still days when Id wonder how many people would still be alive if Id never gone to Runa, if Janice Donaldsons murder had been dismissed as an accident. Oh, I knew that Brodys poisoned obsession with Strachan would have driven him to try again, and that Graces madness would have resurfaced eventually. But the butchers bill still weighed heavily on my conscience.

One night as I lay awake thinking about it, Jenny had woken and asked what was wrong. I wanted to tell her, wanted to exorcise the ghosts that had followed me back from the island. Yet somehow I couldnt.

Nothing. Id smiled to reassure her. Knowing as I did that it was the small lies that eroded a relationship. I just cant sleep.

Things had been tense enough between us anyway after my return. What had happened on Runa had only served to reinforce her dislike of my profession. I knew she thought it was too much of a link to the past, that it tied me to my own dead in a way she mistrusted. In that she was wrong-it was because of what had happened to my family that Id once tried to give up my work. But Jenny remained unconvinced.

Youre a qualified GP, David, she said, during one of our not-quite-arguments. You could find a job in any number of practices. I wouldnt care where it was.

And what if thats not what I want to do?

It used to be! And itd be about life, not death!

I couldnt make her understand that, as I saw it, my work was already about life. About how people had lost it, and who had taken it away. And how I might help keep them from taking anyone elses.

But as the weeks passed, the friction between us eased. Summer came, bringing hot days and balmy nights, making the events on Runa seem more distant than ever. The questions about our future still remained, but they were shelved by mutual, if unspoken, consent. Yet the tension was still there, not yet gathering into a storm, but never far below the horizon either. Id been invited for a month-long research trip to the Outdoor Anthropology Research Facility in Tennessee, the so-called Body Farm where Id learned much of my trade. It wasnt until autumn, but so far Id put off making a decision. It wasnt just my being away that would be a problem, although Jenny wouldnt like it. It was the statement of intent that making the trip would represent. My work was a part of me, but so was Jenny. Id almost lost her once. I couldnt bear losing her again.

Even so, I continued to stall, putting off the moment when I would have to decide.

Then, late one Saturday afternoon, the past caught up with us.

We were at my ground-floor flat rather than Jennys, because it had a small terrace at the back, big enough for a table and chairs during summer. It was a warm, sunny evening, and wed invited friends round for a barbecue. They werent due to arrive for another half-hour, but Id already started the fire. Cold beers in hand and the scent of charcoal in the air, we were enjoying the weekend. Barbecues had good associations for us, a reminder of when wed first met. Jenny had brought out bowls of salad, and was feeding me an olive when the phone rang.

Ill get it, she said, when I started to put down the tongs and spatula. Youre not getting off cooking that easily.

Smiling, I watched her go inside. Shed grown her blond hair longer recently, long enough to tie back. It suited her. Contentedly, I took a drink of beer and turned my attention back to the charcoal bricks. I was squirting lighter fuel on to them when Jenny came back out.

Some young woman for you, she said, arching an eyebrow. Said her name was Rebecca Brody.

I stared at her.

Id never told Jenny what Brodys daughter was called. I knew she wouldnt want to know such details, and hearing the name from her, now, after all these months, left me speechless.

Whats wrong? Jenny asked, looking worried.

What else did she say?

Not much. She just wanted to know if you were in, and said shed like to call round. I probably didnt sound very enthusiastic, but she said it would only take a few minutes. Look, are you OK? You look like youve seen a ghost.

I gave an uncertain laugh. Funny you should say that.

Jennys face fell when I told her who the caller was.

Im sorry, I said when Id finished. I thought she was dead. God knows what she wants. Or how she found out where I live.

Jenny was silent for a moment, then gave a resigned sigh. Dont worry, it isnt your fault. Im sure shes got a good reason.

The door buzzer sounded from the hallway. I hesitated, looking at Jenny. She smiled, then leaned forward and kissed me.

Go on. Ill leave you in peace while you talk to her. And you can ask her to stay for something to eat, if you like.

Thanks, I said, kissing her before going inside.

I was glad Jenny had taken it so well, but I wasnt sure I wanted Brodys daughter as a guest. I couldnt deny I was curious, but I felt oddly nervous at the prospect of coming face to face with her. Her father had died believing she was dead.

And five other people had died because of it.

But she could hardly be blamed for that, I reminded myself. Give her a chance. At least shed made the effort to come and see me. She wouldnt be doing that unless she felt some responsibility for what had happened.

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

A red-haired young woman stood on the doorstep. She was slim and tanned, a pair of dark sunglasses perched on her face. But neither they, nor the unflattering loose dress she wore, could hide the fact that she was startlingly attractive.

Hi, I said, smiling.

There was something familiar about her. I was trying to place it, looking for something of Brody in her without being able to find it. Then I smelt the musky scent she was wearing and the smile froze on my face.

Hello, Dr Hunter, Grace Strachan said.

Everything suddenly seemed both slowed down and pin-prick sharp. There was time to think, uselessly, that the yacht hadnt slipped its chain after all, and then Graces hand was emerging from her shoulder bag with the knife.

The sight of it freed me from my shock. I started to react as she lunged at me, but it was always going to be too late. I grabbed at the blade, but it slid through my hand, slicing my palm and fingers to the bone. The pain of that hadnt even had time to register when the knife went into my stomach.

There wasnt any pain, just a coldness and a sense of shock. And an awful sense of violation. This isnt happening. But it was. I sucked in air to shout or scream, but managed only a choked gasp. I clutched hold of the knifes handle, feeling the hot sticky wetness of my blood smearing both our hands, gripping it as tightly as I could as Grace tried to pull it out. I held on even as my legs sagged under me. Keep hold. Keep hold or youre dead.

And so is Jenny.

Grace was grunting as she tried to tug the knife free, following me down to the floor as I slid down the wall. Then, with a last frustrated gasp, she gave up. She stood over me, panting, her mouth contorted.

He let me go! she spat, and I saw the tears running in parallel tracks down her cheeks. He killed himself but he let me go!

I tried to say something, anything, but no words would form. Her face hung above me for a moment longer, ugly and twisted, and then it was gone. The doorway was empty, the sound of running feet a fading echo on the street.

I looked down at my stomach. The knife handle protruded from it, obscenely. My shirt was soaked through with blood. I could feel it under me, pooling on the tiled floor. Get up. Move. But I no longer had any strength.

I tried to shout out. All that emerged was a croak. And now it was growing dark. Dark and cold. Already? But its summer. There was still no pain, just a spreading numbness. From a nearby street, the chime of an ice-cream van drifted cheerfully on the air. I could hear Jenny moving around on the terrace, the tinkle of glasses. It sounded friendly and inviting. I knew I should try to move, but it seemed like too much effort. Everything was growing hazy. All I could remember was that I couldnt let go of the knife. I didnt know why any more.

Only that it was very important.






