He wrenched free, and for a second I thought he might take a swing at me. Then he bellowed to the other men battling the fire, shouting for them to fetch scaffolding poles and long pieces of timber from the building supplies stacked nearby.
Feeling helpless, I could only stand with Brody and watch as they began using them to try to snag the body from the flames. Guthrie and another man skittered back as part of the fire collapsed, sending sparks gyrating crazily into the sky. There was no way the body would survive such rough handling unscathed, but there was no alternative. If it wasn’t recovered now, the fire would destroy any forensic evidence that might be left anyway.
More than that, though, it would have been unthinkable to simply wait until the fire had burned itself out.
Brody’s face was haggard. It can’t be Ellen, I told myself, feeling an awful hollowness. I tried to think of where she could be, of another reason for her car to be missing. But that only raised even worse questions. Dear God, what about Anna? Where’s she?
I knew I should go back to the hotel to see, but I was afraid of what I might find. Across the other side of the yard I caught a glimpse of Maggie’s bright red coat. Seeing her, I felt my anger start to rise. Whatever she’d kept from me earlier might not have been able to prevent this, but she’d hidden behind her profession for long enough.
Skirting the burning boat, I started across the yard, and as I did I almost bumped into someone coming the other way.
It was Ellen.
She was carrying Anna on one shoulder. The little girl was half asleep as she stared at the flames.
‘What happened?’ Ellen asked, staring past me to the fire.
Before I could answer Brody came running over.
‘Thank God you’re all right!’
He seemed about to hug her but stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Ellen was looking bewildered.
‘Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve been at Rose Cassidy’s. Look, why are you both staring at me like that? What’s going on?’
‘You were at Maggie’s grandmother’s?’ I asked, recognizing the name. Something dark and unsettling began to twitch in my subconscious.
‘Aye, she had a fall, so one of her neighbours came to fetch me. Rose isn’t fond of Bruce Cameron,’ she added, wryly. A crease of concern appeared between her eyes. ‘Poor woman’s worried more than anything. Maggie went out earlier and hasn’t come back.’
The sense of foreboding was growing stronger. ‘I just saw her. She’s down here,’ I said, looking round.
There was no longer any sign of Cameron, but Maggie was still where I’d last seen her, watching the boat burn with Karen Tait and a group of other islanders. She had her back to me, an unmistakable figure in her oversized coat. I went across, driven by an apprehension I still couldn’t name.
‘Maggie?’ I said.
But at that moment a cry went up from the boat. ‘Over here. We’ve got it.’
I looked over, saw that the men had succeeded in dislodging a still-burning shape from the fire. Kinross and the others pawed at the blackened object with poles, trying to drag it further away from the flames. It could almost have been a log, its smoking surface still licked by tongues of flame.
But it wasn’t.
I’d actually started to go over when Maggie turned round, and shock rooted me to the spot.
The face gazing back at me from inside the red hood wasn’t Maggie’s. It was a teenage girl’s, blank and uncomprehending.
Mary Tait. The girl I’d seen outside my window.
CHAPTER 22
AN EERIE SILENCE had descended in the boatyard, a collective hush as people saw what had been pulled from the blaze. Then the spell broke. A fresh clamour erupted all around me as people jostled to either get away from the sight, or to get a better look.
But I was still struggling to recover from the shock of seeing Karen Tait’s daughter wearing Maggie’s coat. Because it obviously was Maggie’s. The distinctive red coat had seemed huge on the reporter, but Mary Tait was much bigger. Large as the coat was, it looked almost too small for her heavy frame.
Karen Tait, Mary’s mother, had turned to glare at me, but by now Brody had followed me over.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
I found my voice. ‘That’s Maggie’s coat.’
‘He’s lying!’ Karen Tait bridled drunkenly. But there was a shrillness to the accusation that didn’t ring true.
Kinross had broken away from the group of men by the fire and was pushing his way towards us. His son trailed behind, the firelight cruelly highlighting his pockmarked features with shadowed craters. At the sight of Kevin, Mary’s face broke into a beaming smile, but it wasn’t returned. When the teenager saw where his father was heading he dropped back. Mary’s smile faded as he slunk away into the crowd.
Kinross was blackened and stinking of smoke, still clutching the charred pole he’d used to drag the body from the fire. He hawked and spat a glob of sooty phlegm on to the floor.
‘We’ve got it out, like you asked.’ He looked from me to Karen Tait. ‘What’s going on?’
‘It’s them, they’re calling Mary a thief!’ Tait cried.
Brody didn’t react to the accusation. ‘That’s Maggie’s coat Mary’s wearing.’
Tait’s face contorted. ‘That’s a lie! Don’t believe him!’
But Kinross was staring at the girl’s coat with recognition. I remembered how he and Maggie had bantered on the ferry. There had been real affection there. He looked back at where the other firefighters had gathered to stare at the smouldering body they’d pried from the flames, and I saw him make the same connection I already had.
‘Where is Maggie?’ he asked sharply.
No one answered. Something in Kinross’s expression seemed to close down. He swivelled his gaze back towards Karen Tait.
‘We don’t have time for this now,’ I said quickly, trying to ignore my own fears for Maggie. ‘We need to get this place secured, and get the body somewhere safe.’
Brody nodded. ‘He’s right, Iain. This can wait. We have to get everyone out of here. Will you help?’
Kinross didn’t respond. He continued to stare at Karen Tait, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. He levelled a finger at her.
‘We haven’t finished,’ he warned. Then, turning his back, he began yelling instructions to clear the yard.
Leaving Brody to watch Karen Tait and her daughter, I pushed my way through to the body as Kinross and a handful of other men began herding people away. It lay charred and twisted on the dirty concrete floor of the yard, a sight that was both pitiful and horrific. Rain had puddled nearby, and in the light from the burning boat oil glistened on the water like a dead rainbow. Tendrils of steam rose from the cooked flesh, and I could feel the heat still radiating from it, like a joint left too long in the oven. The mouth had pulled open as though in a rictus of agony. I knew that was fanciful, that it was an inevitable effect of the tendons contracting in the fire, but somehow I couldn’t shake the image.
Please, let me be wrong.
I turned to Guthrie as he went past, ushering a huddle of people from the yard. ‘Can I have a sheet of plastic or tarpaulin?’
I thought he either hadn’t heard or was ignoring me. But a few moments later the big man returned with a bundled-up piece of dirty canvas. He thrust it out at me.
‘Here.’
I started to open it out, struggling in the high wind with only one arm. To my surprise Guthrie came to help. As we wrestled with the flapping canvas, a figure emerged from the shadows. In the flickering light from the flames, I saw it was Cameron. He stared down at the body.
‘Dear God,’ he whispered. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘What can I do?’
There was none of his usual bombast, and I wondered if he was only now starting to realize what was at stake. I might have accepted his offer, but Guthrie didn’t give me the chance.
‘Fuck all, as usual,’ he rumbled dismissively. You think a bandage is going to do any good here?’