She faltered, her hand going to the bruise on her right cheek.
‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ Strachan told her.
‘I’m 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 didn’t have my jeans on. I tried to yell or kick out, but I couldn’t. Then I felt…I felt my pants being pulled down…’
She broke off, her control slipping.
‘I just can’t believe it must have been someone I know! Why would anyone do something like that?’
Strachan turned angrily to Fraser. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you see this is upsetting her?’
‘It’s all right, really. I’d rather finish.’ Grace wiped her eyes. ‘There’s 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 weren’t 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?’
‘I’m afraid all I could smell was rotting fish and oil from the sack.’
I finished cleaning the graze on Grace’s 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 there’s a shingle beach that runs halfway back to the village. Towards the end of it there’s a path leading up to the cliff top. It’d 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 we’d gone into the house. We’d been more concerned with making sure Grace was all right than searching for whoever had assaulted her.
Fraser didn’t 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.
‘I’m 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 Strachan’s eyes, and a haunted look in them, as he watched her go out.
‘She’ll 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. ‘I’ve already told you. I came home and she wasn’t here.’
‘And where had you been, exactly?’
His tone wasn’t quite accusatory, but it didn’t leave much doubt why he was asking. Strachan regarded him with growing anger.
‘I’d gone for a walk. Up to the cairns, if you must know. I came home after I’d 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 hadn’t! So if that’s all, Brody, thanks for your help, but I think it’s 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. ‘Actually…I’d appreciate it if you’d stay for a while, David. Just to make sure that Grace is all right later.’
I’d have expected him to want to be alone with his wife. I glanced at Brody. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
‘There’s 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 wasn’t his fault. Or perhaps he just wanted company.
‘Thanks for staying. Just for an hour or so, until Grace goes to bed, then I’ll run you back to the hotel.’
‘Will she be all right left on her own?’ I asked.
That didn’t seem to have occurred to him. ‘Well…You can always stay here, I suppose. Or take my car. It’s an automatic, so you should be able to drive it one-handed.’
I’d already had one accident on Runa, and the prospect of trying to drive in my sling didn’t appeal. But I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.
‘Anyway, I’m forgetting my manners,’ Strachan went on. ‘Can I get you a drink? I’ve a bottle of twenty-year-old malt waiting to be opened.’
‘Don’t open it on my account.’
He grinned. ‘It’s the least I can do. Come on, let’s 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 Grace’s 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 they’d 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 didn’t think you drank,’ I said, putting the book back and going to the other sofa.
‘I don’t. 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.’
‘That’s all right, then.’
He took another drink.
‘You could do with getting some rest yourself,’ I told him. ‘Today’s been rough on you as well.’
‘I’ll cope.’
But his words couldn’t 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 it’s 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 you’re finally in control of your life, and then-bam! Something you never expected suddenly blindsides you.’