Written in Bone

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 crofter’s 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 smoker’s 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 Duncan’s supper out to the camper van. I hesitated, feeling the usual stranger’s 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. ‘Won’t 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 hadn’t 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 don’t 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 I’d left?’ he asked, then smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry, shouldn’t 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, he’ll stay in worse places before he’s 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. ‘Where’s the time go, eh? One minute you’re 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 it’s David.’

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

Brody wagged a finger, mock-stern. ‘Careful, that’s slander.’

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

He patted his stomach, regretfully. ‘Tempting, but I’d better not.’

‘The sky won’t fall if you treat yourself for once.’

‘You can never be too careful.’

Ellen laughed. ‘Aye, I’ll 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? We’re dying of thirst.’

It was the woman at the bar who’d spoken. She was drunk, a condition I guessed from the look of her wasn’t 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. ‘I’m having a conversation. I’m sure you can survive for a few more minutes.’

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

‘Mutton stew sounds good. But I don’t mind if you serve them first.’

‘They can wait. It’ll 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 little…fiery,’ he said, but with affection. ‘Causes friction sometimes, but the hotel’s the only watering hole on Runa, so everyone either abides by her rules or stays home. She’s a good cook, too. Did a college course on the mainland. I eat here most nights.’

Even if Fraser hadn’t 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 wasn’t one. Anna’s father was someone she met on the mainland. She doesn’t talk about it.’

The way he said it made it clear that he wasn’t going to either. He cleared his throat and nodded towards the group at the bar.

‘Anyway, let me tell you about some of Runa’s local colour. Kinross you’ll have met on the boat. Surly bugger, but he’s had it rough. Wife died a couple of years ago, so now there’s 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. He’s got an old one he’s 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 he’s had too many.’

He was interrupted by a raucous laugh from the woman.

‘That’s Karen Tait. Runs the general store, when she’s sober and can be bothered. Got a sixteen-year-old daughter, Mary, who…well, she isn’t what she should be. You’d think Karen would be at home with her, but she’d 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. I’d 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 won’t 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. It’s a raw one out there tonight,’ he said, shrugging out of his coat.

There was a chorus of ‘Feasgar Math’ and ‘aye’s. 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 didn’t 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 I’ll 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. I’ve 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 I’ve been hearing about. I’m Michael Strachan.’

I’d already guessed this must be who Fraser had told me about on the way back from the cottage: Runa’s unofficial laird, and the owner of the big house. He was younger than I’d 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 Brody’s 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 he’d 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 Brody’s?’ he asked.

‘We only met today.’

He grinned. ‘I’m afraid he doesn’t approve of me, as you probably noticed. I’m sure he was a good policeman, but God, the man’s dour!’

I didn’t say anything. I’d been quite impressed by Brody so far. Strachan slouched easily in his chair, casually resting one foot on his knee.

‘I gather you’re a…what is it? A forensic anthropologist?’ He smiled at my surprise. ‘You’ll find it’s hard to keep anything a secret on Runa. Especially when we’ve 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 she’d pumped me for information.

And I’d fallen for it.

‘Don’t feel too bad,’ Strachan said, interpreting my expression. ‘It isn’t 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 doesn’t sound anything like that.’

He paused, giving me a chance to comment. When I didn’t he went on anyway.

‘What was it, some kind of accident?’

‘Sorry, I can’t really say.’

Strachan gave an apologetic smile. ‘No, of course. You’ll have to excuse my curiosity. It’s just that I’ve got what you might call a vested interest in this place. I’m responsible for a lot of redevelopment here. It’s brought more people to the island than we’re used to-contractors and so on. I’d hate to think I’d imported big-town troubles as well.’

He seemed genuinely concerned, but I wasn’t going to let myself be drawn. ‘You don’t sound like a local,’ I said.

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

‘It’s a long way from South Africa.’

Strachan tousled his dog’s ears. ‘I suppose it is. But we’d 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.’

I’d 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. ‘We’ve still got some way to go. And I don’t want to make out it’s all down to me. But Runa’s our home now. Grace, my wife, helps out at the school, and we do what we can in other ways as well. That’s why I worry when I hear about something like this happening. Hello, what’s up, Oscar?’

The golden retriever was looking expectantly at the doorway. I hadn’t 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 don’t 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 didn’t need to be told to know that she was Strachan’s wife. It wasn’t 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 Fraser’s envious comment earlier: His wife’s supposed to be a stunner.

He was right.

She’d 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, don’t 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.

‘David’s a forensic expert. He’s come out with the police,’ Strachan explained.

‘God, what an awful business,’ she said, growing serious. ‘I just hope it’s no one from here. I know that sounds selfish, but…well, you know what I mean.’

I did. When it comes to ill fortune we’re 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 I’ll see you again before you leave.’

Grace arched an ironic eyebrow. ‘Don’t I even get a drink now I’m here?’

‘I’ll buy you a drink, Mrs Strachan.’

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

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

‘Sorry, darling, I thought you wanted to get back,’ Strachan apologized. ‘I was planning to cook mussels for dinner. But if you’re 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. There’s a group of them, which is unusual. Neolithic. They’re quite something.’

‘Not everyone’s as morbid as you, darling.’ Grace shook her head in mock-exasperation. ‘Michael’s fond of archaeology. I think he’d rather have old ruins than me, sometimes.’

‘It’s 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 Grace’s 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 didn’t appear to notice. ‘Hello, Ellen. Did you like the painting Anna did at school the other day?’

‘It’s on the fridge door, with the rest of the gallery.’

‘She’s got real promise. You should be proud of her.’

‘I am.’

Strachan moved towards the door. He seemed impatient to leave. ‘Well, we’ll let you get on. Night.’

Ellen’s 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 wasn’t the only person on Runa who didn’t seem overly impressed by the island’s golden couple.

‘Bitch!’

The word seemed to ring in the quiet of the bar. Karen Tait’s mouth was pressed tight with bitterness as she glared at the door, but it wasn’t clear which of the two women who’d just left the insult was aimed at.

Kinross levelled a warning finger at her, eyes angry above the dark beard. ‘That’s 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 someone’s 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 don’t know when I realized I wasn’t 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 wasn’t my dead wife.

Who are you? I said, or thought I said. The words didn’t seem to disturb the cold air of the room.

The figure didn’t 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. I’d been dreaming. A disturbingly realistic one, but a dream none the less.

For a long time after my wife and daughter had been killed, I’d 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 didn’t reappear. But I continued to stare into the dark outside the window until the cold air sent me shivering back to bed.