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 Duncan’s 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 body’s position on a notepad I’d borrowed from the Range Rover. It wasn’t 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 I’d been looking for.
A gaping hole in the skull, the size of a man’s 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 wasn’t the police Range Rover that was approaching, it was Strachan’s gunmetal-grey Saab.
Brody’s 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 shouldn’t be here.’
But Strachan wasn’t 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. ‘Who…who is it? The young policeman?’
‘Brody and Fraser are going to be back any time,’ I said, by way of answer. ‘You shouldn’t let them find you here.’
‘To hell with them! This is my home! I’ve 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 can’t be happening. I thought the community centre might be an accident, but this…’
I didn’t 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 won’t be able to get out here in this weather. And you’re not going to be able to keep this quiet. There are going to be a lot of frightened and angry people wanting answers. You’ve got to let me help. They’ll 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.
‘I’m not going to let someone destroy everything we’ve done here.’
It was tempting. I knew from bitter experience how ugly the mood could turn in a small community like this. I’d felt the brunt of it myself once, and that had been in a community I’d been part of. Out here, cut off from all contact with the outside world, I didn’t 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. It’s got satellite communication as well if you need it. Why, aren’t the police radios working?’
I didn’t want to tell him we didn’t 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. It’s just useful to know there’s an alternative if Fraser’s 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 road’s 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 Strachan’s 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 yacht’s radio. Brody sighed.
‘I should have thought of that myself. But we don’t need Strachan’s yacht. Any of the boats in the harbour will have ship-to-shore. We can use the ferry’s.’
‘The yacht’s nearer,’ I pointed out.
Brody’s 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. You’re 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 doesn’t 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 Duncan’s body, lying exposed to the elements like a sacrifice, he faltered.
‘Oh, Jesus…’
‘If it’s any consolation, he wouldn’t 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 sergeant’s eyes. Brody had come to stand with us.
‘You sure?’ he asked.
I glanced at Fraser. This wasn’t 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 policeman’s engaging grin.
I felt myself falter. The puzzle, not the person. I pointed to the gaping hole in Duncan’s 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. ‘Couldn’t that have happened in the fire, like you thought Janice Donaldson’s had?’
‘There’s 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 didn’t know what hit him.’