‘Get inside!’
I didn’t need to be told twice. The sea was becoming more violent as the waves were funnelled in between the tall cliffs that bracketed the harbour. Now there was no up and down roll, only a nauseating corkscrew motion as the swells jostled each other, sending sheets of spray across the deck.
Grabbing at handholds to steady myself, I made my way back to the overheated cabin. I waited with Duncan and a pale-faced Fraser as the ferry manoeuvred into the harbour, juddering against the impact of the waves. Through the cabin’s window I could see them smashing against the concrete jetty, throwing up white clouds of spume. It took three attempts to dock, the entire boat vibrating as the engine revved to hold us in place.
We left the cabin, walking with difficulty on the swaying deck. There was no cover from the wind, but the cold air was wonderfully fresh, with a clean saline tang. Gulls wheeled and cried overhead, while on the jetty men were scurrying about, securing ropes and rubber fenders. Despite the cliffs, the harbour was fully open to the sea, with only a single breakwater jutting out to blunt the force of the waves. A few fishing boats were anchored here, jerking against their moorings like dogs straining at the leash.
Low houses and cottages clung barnacle-like to the steep hillside that dropped down to the harbour. The landscape that spread out behind them was a treeless green vista, windswept and bleak. In the distance, the skyline was dominated by a brooding peak, its tip lost in the mist of low clouds.
The young woman who’d introduced herself as Maggie Cassidy hurried off the ferry as soon as the ramp was lowered. I was a little surprised she didn’t say goodbye, but didn’t give it much thought. Behind me the Range Rover’s engine started up, and I turned to climb into the back. I noticed that Fraser let the young PC drive. The boat was still see-sawing on the swells, and he eased it carefully down the undulating ramp.
A craggy-faced man was waiting for us on the jetty. He was mid-fifties, tall and powerfully built, with the indefinable look of a policeman. I didn’t need to be told that this was the retired detective inspector who had found the body.
Fraser wound down the window. ‘Andrew Brody?’
The man gave a short nod. The wind ruffled his grey hair as he looked at the three of us inside the car. Behind him, the locals who had helped moor the boat watched curiously.
‘This all of you?’ he asked, his disapproval obvious.
Fraser gave a stiff nod. ‘Aye, for now.’
‘What about SOC? When are they coming out?’
‘We don’t know they are yet,’ Fraser retorted. ‘That decision’s not been taken.’
Brody’s mouth tightened at his tone. Retired or not, the ex-DI didn’t like being talked down to by a mere police sergeant.
‘Then what about CID? They’ll have to attend, regardless.’
‘A DC’s going to follow on from Stornoway after Dr Hunter here has taken a look at the body. He’s a forensic expert.’
Until that moment Brody hadn’t paid me any attention. Now he looked at me with more interest. His eyes were sharp and intelligent, and I felt in that brief moment I’d been assessed and judged.
‘There’s not much light left,’ he said, glancing at the darkening sky. ‘It’s only fifteen minutes’ drive, but it’ll be dark by the time we get out there. Perhaps you’d like to ride with me, Dr Hunter. I can brief you on the way.’
Fraser bridled. ‘I’m sure he’s seen burned bodies before.’
Brody regarded him for a moment, as though reminding himself he no longer held rank. Then he turned his steady gaze back to me.
‘Not like this.’
His car was parked on the quayside, a newish-looking Volvo saloon. The inside was spotless. It smelled of air freshener and, more faintly, of cigarettes. An old border collie was on a blanket in the back, black muzzle greyed with age. It stood up excitedly when Brody got into the car.
‘Down, Bess,’ he said, mildly. The dog immediately settled. Brody frowned as he examined the dashboard controls for the heater. ‘Sorry, not had it long. Still trying to work out where everything is.’
The headlights of the Range Rover told us Fraser and Duncan were following as we drove out of the harbour. The days didn’t last long this far north at this time of year, and dusk was already giving way to darkness. The street lights were on, illuminating a narrow main road barely deserving of the name. It ran up from the seafront through the village: a handful of small shops surrounded by a mix of old stone cottages and newer bungalows that had a temporary, prefabricated look.
Even from the little I could see of it, it was apparent that Runa wasn’t the backwater I’d expected. The ruins of a small, roofless church stood by the roadside. But most of the doors and windows in the houses we passed looked new, as though they’d recently been replaced. There was a small but modern school, and a little further out the timber structure of the community hall boasted a new extension that bore a sign saying Runa Medical Clinic.
Even the road itself had been resurfaced. It was only narrow, not much more than a single lane with semicircular passing places every hundred metres or so, but the smooth black tarmac would have put most mainland roads to shame. It climbed steeply through the village, then levelled out as we passed the last few houses. On a hilltop overlooking them, silhouetted against the darkening sky, was a tall and crooked standing stone, rising from the grass like an accusing finger.
‘That’s Bodach Runa,’ said Brody, seeing where I was looking. ‘The Old Man of Runa. Legend is he went out there to watch for the return of his son, who’d gone to sea. But the son never came back, and the old man stood there so long he turned to stone.’
‘In this weather I can believe it.’
He smiled, but it quickly died. After wanting me to ride with him, he now seemed uncomfortable, as though he was unsure where to start. I took out my mobile to check for messages.
‘You’ll not get a signal out here,’ Brody warned. ‘If you want to call out you’ll have to use either a landline or a police radio. And if we get a good blow even they don’t always work.’
I put my phone away. I’d half hoped Jenny might have left a message, though I didn’t really expect it. I’d call her from a landline later and try to smooth things between us.
‘So what sort of “forensic expert” are you?’ Brody asked.
‘I’m a forensic anthropologist.’
I glanced at him to see if I needed to explain. Even police officers sometimes had trouble with what I did. But Brody seemed satisfied.
‘Good. At least we’ll have one person out here who knows what he’s doing. How much did Wallace tell you?’
‘Just that it was a fire death, and that there was something odd about it. He wouldn’t say what, except that it wasn’t suspicious.’
His jaw set in disapproval. ‘Did he now?’
‘Why, are you saying there is?’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ Brody said. ‘You can make your own mind up when you see it. I just expected that Wallace would have sent a full team over, that’s all.’
I was starting to have a bad feeling about this. There were strict protocols to be followed if a death was suspicious, and normally I wouldn’t get involved until a Scene of Crime team had processed the site. I hoped Wallace hadn’t let his preoccupation with the train crash cloud his judgement.
But I also remembered what he’d said about Brody. Used to be a good man. Retired police officers often found it hard being out of the loop. Brody wouldn’t be the first to exaggerate in order to feel in the thick of things again. I didn’t put much credence in Fraser’s gossip about his crack-up, but I wondered if similar doubts hadn’t coloured Wallace’s decision.
‘All he wants me to do is take a look,’ I said. ‘If I see anything that suggests it might not be accidental, then I’ll back off until SOC gets out here.’
‘That’ll have to do, I suppose,’ Brody said grudgingly.