I lay in the darkened room, listening as my heart rate gradually returned to normal. It seemed that the wind didn’t sound quite so bad, and as I drifted off again I allowed myself a faint stirring of optimism that perhaps the storm had peaked, that tomorrow the police would finally be able to make it out here.
I should have known better. Because the weather, like Runa itself, was just saving the worst till last.
CHAPTER 21
THREE O’CLOCK IN the morning is the dead time. It’s the time when the body is at its lowest ebb, physically and mentally. The time when defences are lowest, when the promise of morning seems impossibly distant. It’s when worst imaginings seem inescapable, darkest fears about to be realized. Usually it’s just a state of mind, a biorhythmic trough we emerge from with the first paling of dawn.
Usually.
I surfaced from unconsciousness reluctantly, knowing I would find it hard to sleep again once I was fully awake. But as soon as I thought that, of course, it was too late. The bed springs squeaked under me as I looked at the clock. Just after three. I could feel the night-silence of the hotel all around me. Sinister creaks and groans as the building shifted and settled, like an arthritic old man. Outside the wind still blustered. I lay staring up at the ceiling, feeling sleep retreat further without knowing why. Then I realized what was different.
I could see the ceiling.
The room wasn’t dark. A faint glow was coming through the curtain. My first thought was that it was from the street lamp outside the hotel, that the power must be back on. I felt a surge of relief, thinking that if the electricity had been restored, then perhaps the phones had been too.
But even as I was thinking that I noticed how the light coming through the window wasn’t constant. It had a febrile, flickering quality, and when I saw that my relief died.
I hurried to the window and pulled back the curtain. The rain had stopped, but the street lamp outside was dead and dark, quivering in the wind like a limbless tree. The light I’d seen was coming from the harbour, a sickly yellow glow that reflected from the wet rooftops of the houses, growing brighter every second.
Something was on fire.
I quickly pulled on my clothes, wincing as my injured shoulder complained. I hurried down the hall and banged on Fraser’s door.
‘Fraser! Wake up!’
There was no answer. If he’d stayed in the bar all night as I’d expected, trying to drown his guilt and grief over Duncan, there was no way I’d raise him.
Leaving him, I ran downstairs. I expected Ellen to have been woken by the commotion, but there was no sign of her. The wind tried to rip my coat from me as I rushed outside, struggling to fasten it over my arm. Further down the hill people were emerging from houses and banging on doors, their voices calling urgently to each other as they hurried towards the harbour.
As I passed the lane that ran behind the hotel, I noticed that Ellen’s old Beetle wasn’t there. I guessed she’d already gone to investigate the blaze, but there was no time to give it much thought. The glow in the sky was brighter now, shining on the rain-slick street. I thought it might be the ferry that was burning, but when I reached the quayside I saw it was still moored safely out on the jetty, caught in the dancing light from the shore.
The fire was in the boatyard.
Guthrie’s derelict fishing boat was ablaze. Its stern was already engulfed, the small wheelhouse on its deck burning fiercely. Flames were flowing over its half-timbered hull with a sinuous grace, hiding it behind fluid black smoke. Figures were scurrying about, snatching up buckets and yelling at each other over the din of the flames. Guthrie was bellowing frantic instructions, and I saw Kinross emerge from the workshop with a heavy fire extinguisher, hunching against the heat as he ventured as close to the flames as he could.
A hand fell on my shoulder. I turned and saw Brody, face jaundiced by the yellow light.
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘No idea. Where’s Fraser?’
‘Guess.’
We broke off, coughing as a sudden shift in wind sent the smoke over us. The wind was shredding the flames into a wildly flapping sheet. It seemed like most of the village was there now, either watching helplessly or trying to fight the blaze. Buckets were being passed along a line, and a hose had been rolled out, its thin jet vanishing ineffectively into the flames. It was obvious they couldn’t save the boat, but the priority now was making sure the fire didn’t spread.
Across the yard, I caught a glimpse of Maggie’s distinctive red coat as she stood with a group of onlookers. Standing by himself, a little way from everyone else, was Cameron, his face hollowed and shadowed as he stared at the flames. I looked around for Ellen, but couldn’t pick out her face in the crowd. I’d assumed she’d come down to the harbour, but now I thought about it, it seemed odd that she hadn’t woken Fraser or me first.
Brody saw me looking round. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Have you seen Ellen?’
‘No, why?’
‘Her car had gone from the hotel. I thought she must have come down here.’
‘She wouldn’t have left Anna,’ Brody said, scanning the crowd. There was a note of anxiety in his voice.
Even now I can’t remember when I became aware of a sudden tension in the air. It was like a ripple of communal unease, spreading as quickly as the flames themselves. I looked back towards the boat, already feeling a dawning presentiment of disaster without knowing why. It was fully ablaze now, flames funneling into the gap formed by the missing hull timbers. And then the wind gusted, lifting the veil of smoke to reveal something moving inside.
Cocooned in fire, a human arm was slowly lifting, as though in salute.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Brody breathed.
Then, with a flurry of sparks, the deck collapsed and buried the awful sight from view.
Pandemonium broke out. People were crying and yelling instructions, shouting for someone to do something. But I knew better than anyone there that there was nothing anyone could do.
I felt a sudden grip on my shoulder, strong enough to hurt even through my coat. Brody was staring at me, his face etched with an unforgettable expression. He uttered just one word, but it was enough.
‘Ellen.’
Then he was barging people aside as he ran towards the burning boat.
‘Brody!’ I yelled, going after him.
I doubt he heard. Only when the flames beat him back did he stop. I grabbed hold of him, flinching from the heat. We were close enough for our coats to steam. If the boat collapsed now we’d be caught in it.
‘Come on, get back!’
‘She was moving!’
‘It was only a reflex! It was the fire, that’s all!’
He pulled away from me, staring into the flames as though trying to find a route into them. I grabbed him again.
‘Whoever it is, they’re dead! You can’t do anything!’
What we’d seen wasn’t a sign of life. If anything it was just the opposite, a blind, mechanical motion caused by the arm’s tendons contracting in the intense heat. There was no chance anyone could have survived the fire for this long.
The truth of what I was saying finally penetrated Brody’s frenzy. He allowed me to pull him away, stumbling like a man caught in a nightmare. What was left of the boat looked as though it could collapse any second. Shutting out thoughts of who the victim might be, I ran to where Kinross was still futilely spraying the fire extinguisher on to the flames. His face was savage and angry as he edged as close as he could. Nearby Guthrie’s meaty face was streaked with tears, either from the smoke or the sight of his dream going up in flames.
‘We need to get the body out!’
‘Get the fuck out of my way!’
I grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t put it out! Get some poles! Now!’