It could have been worse, I supposed. At least there were no photographs.
‘It came over on this morning’s ferry,’ Strachan said. ‘I thought you’d want to see it.’
‘Thanks.’ But the article had rekindled my sense of urgency. ‘I hate to ask after all you’ve 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 don’t think he was convinced. ‘I’ll be downstairs. Help yourself to the shower.’
I waited until he’d gone, then grabbed the phone. Wallace’s 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. ‘You’re certain?’
‘She’d 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 didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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. ‘There’s no way you could have made a mistake?’
I took a moment to reply, not trusting my temper. ‘You wanted my opinion, you’ve 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, ‘I’ll have a support team and SOC out with you first thing tomorrow morning.’
I glanced out of the window. The light was already fading. ‘Can’t they be here sooner?’
‘Not a chance. They’ll have to get out to Stornoway first, then go from there to Runa. That’s going to take time. You’ll just have to sit tight until tomorrow.’
I didn’t like it, but there was nothing more I could do. After Wallace had ended the call, I dialled Jenny’s mobile. It went straight to voicemail. I left a message telling her I was sorry for not calling, that I was all right, and I’d call her again later. It seemed inadequate and unsatisfying. I’d have given anything to be able to see her just then. But that wasn’t going to happen either.
It was only as I put down the phone that I realized I’d 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 I’d managed to pull on my thick sweater I felt as though I’d 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. I’d almost gone past before I noticed that the name at the bottom corner was Grace Strachan’s.
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 won’t be a minute. He’s 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.’
‘He’s 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 wasn’t until then that I realized how hungry I was. I hadn’t eaten since the previous day.
Grace seized on my hesitation. ‘How about a sandwich? Or an omelette?’
‘Really, I don’t-’
‘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 you’re from London,’ she said, briskly beating them.
‘That’s right.’
‘I haven’t been there in ages. I keep trying to get Michael to go, but he’s a terrible stick-in-the-mud. Hates being prised off the island. Won’t go any further than Lewis, which isn’t exactly a cultural Mecca, let me tell you.’
Stick-in-the-mud wasn’t a phrase I’d have associated with her husband. But then, as I’d 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. We’ve always tended to go for fairly out of the way places. You’d think we’d be bored, but we never are. Michael’s 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, it’s just a hobby. But that’s 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 it’s great being able to work with them.’
A wistfulness briefly touched her face, and then was gone. I looked away, feeling uncomfortably as though I’d had a glimpse of something private. I’d already surmised that she and Strachan didn’t 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.’
‘She’s lovely, isn’t 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 isn’t 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, we’ve known each other practically for ever.’
‘You mean, as in childhood sweethearts?’
She laughed. ‘I know, it’s a terrible cliche, but it’s true. We grew up near Johannesburg. Michael’s older than me, and when I was little I used to follow him around. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy it out here. I like to be able to keep him to myself.’