I was getting obsessive.
He brought the teapot and three mugs over to the table. ‘It’s possible. But let’s forget Cameron for now and look at what else we’ve 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 it’s being treated as a murder inquiry.’
He didn’t look at Fraser as he spoke, but he didn’t 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 it’s called.’
I wasn’t so sure. ‘Have there been any other arson attacks or fires on the island?’ I asked Brody.
‘None that I know of. Not since I’ve been living here, anyway.’
‘So why now? I’m no psychologist, but I don’t 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 Donaldson’s body was left in the cottage instead of being buried or thrown off a cliff. Chances are it would never have been found then. We’re missing something here,’ I insisted.
‘Or just complicating things when there’s no need,’ Fraser countered.
Brody looked thoughtful as he poured the tea. ‘Let’s 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 yacht’s comms system. So whoever it was, it had to be someone who knew we can’t 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 weren’t working. One of them could have legged it up to the yacht while we were on the ferry. They’d just about have time to smash up the comms and do the business with Strachan’s 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 can’t just assume it was one of them. We don’t know who else they might have told. And let’s not forget there’s someone else who knew we wanted to use the yacht’s radio.’
I could guess what was coming. ‘You mean Strachan?’
He nodded. ‘You asked him about it when he came out to the cottage. He’s not stupid; he’d have put two and two together.’
I’d come to respect Brody’s instincts, but I was starting to think he was letting his animosity cloud his judgement where Strachan was concerned. I’d seen his reaction when he’d realized Duncan was dead. Even if his shock had been feigned, I didn’t 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? Doesn’t 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 yacht’s communications just to be on the safe side. I just don’t think we can afford to rule anyone out at the moment, that’s all.’
He was right, I realized. Duncan had already died because too much had been taken for granted.
‘I still don’t understand what was gained by smashing the yacht’s 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 mainland’s concerned, this is still about a month-old murder. Important, but not life and death. Even the fact we can’t get in touch won’t worry them overmuch, because they’ll know the phones and radios aren’t working. If they knew a police officer had been killed, there’d be a helicopter on standby ready to lift off the minute the weather permits. But as things are they’ll wait till it clears before they start things moving. So as long as we’ve no means of communication, the killer’s 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, we’re in the middle of nowhere.’
Brody smiled. ‘Don’t be fooled. There’s a hundred and fifty miles of islands and coastline out here for someone to lose themselves. Then there’s the British mainland, Norway, the Faroes and Iceland all within striking distance.’
‘So you think the killer’s planning to make a run for it?’
His dog came up and rested its head on his knee. Brody stroked it, fondly. ‘I’d say it was likely. He knows he can’t 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 hadn’t 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 car’s 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 he’d scented something.
‘Something’s 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 we’d 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.
Kinross’s ice-chip eyes brushed on Fraser and me before fixing on Brody.
‘We want some answers.’
With everything else that had happened, I’d forgotten about Brody’s 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.
‘You’re not a bloody inspector any more! I told you before, you’ve no authority to tell them anything!’
Brody kept his voice level. ‘They’ve a right to know.’
Fraser’s face had darkened. The shock of Duncan’s death-and perhaps his sense of guilt-had been building up all day. Now he was looking for somewhere to vent it.
‘A police officer’s been murdered! As far as I’m 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 didn’t warn them?’
‘He’s right,’ I said. I’d been in a situation once before where the police hadn’t released information, and people had died as a result. ‘You’ve got to tell them what we’re dealing with. If not you’re putting more lives at risk.’
Fraser had a cornered look about him, but he wasn’t giving in. ‘I’m not taking votes on it! I’m not telling anybody anything without proper orders, and neither is anyone else!’
‘No?’ A muscle was ticking in Brody’s jaw, but that was the only outward sign of any emotion. ‘That’s one good thing about being retired. I don’t have to worry about red tape.’