Written in Bone by Simon Beckett

He had a mug of tea on the table in front of him. I still hadn’t eaten, but a drink would be welcome.
    ‘A whisky, thanks.’
    He went to the bar as I took the chair opposite him. Kinross gave him a nod as he made room. Cautiously respectful rather than friendly. There was no one serving, so Brody simply poured a measure of whisky into a glass, then chalked it up on a slate hanging by the bar.
    ‘Here you go. Fifteen-year-old Islay malt,’ he said, setting the glass in front of me with a small jug of water.
    I looked at his tea. ‘You don’t drink yourself?’
    ‘Not any more.’ He raised his mug. ‘
Slàinte.
’
    I added a little water to the malt. ‘Cheers.’
    ‘So did you get much done after I’d left?’ he asked, then smiled ruefully. ‘Sorry, shouldn’t ask. Old habits and all that.’
    ‘Not much to tell yet, anyway.’
    He nodded and changed the subject. ‘How are they settling into the camper?’
    ‘All right, I think. At least, Duncan is.’
    Brody smiled. ‘Drew the short straw, did he? Ah well, he’ll stay in worse places before he’s finished. That van stood me in good stead when I first retired. Not seen much use since I came out here, though.’
    ‘Duncan was saying you used to work with his father.’
    His smile grew reflective. ‘Aye. Small world, eh? We served in the Territorial Army together when we were both green PCs. Last time I saw Sandy his lad was still at school.’ He shook his head. ‘Where’s the time go, eh? One minute you’re chasing crooks and thinking about promotion, the next…’
    He broke off, brightening as Ellen came over. ‘Can I get you something to eat, Dr Hunter?’ she asked.
    ‘That sounds good. And it’s David.’
    ‘David,’ she corrected herself, smiling. ‘I hope Andrew here’s not bothering you. You know what these ex-policemen are like.’
    Brody wagged a finger, mock-stern. ‘Careful, that’s slander.’
    ‘Would a slice of home-made apple pie make amends?’
    He patted his stomach, regretfully. ‘Tempting, but I’d better not.’
    ‘The sky won’t fall if you treat yourself for once.’
    ‘You can never be too careful.’
    Ellen laughed. ‘Aye, I’ll remember that next time you sneak sweets to Anna.’
    The big man who was with Kinross suddenly raised his voice. ‘Another couple of drams here, Ellen.’
    ‘In a minute, Sean.’
    ‘Shall we help ourselves, then? We’re dying of thirst.’
    It was the woman at the bar who’d spoken. She was drunk, a condition I guessed from the look of her wasn’t unusual. A few years ago she might have been attractive, but now her features were puffy and etched with bitterness.
    ‘The last time you helped yourself, Karen, you forgot to chalk it up,’ Ellen retorted. There was steel in her voice. ‘I’m having a conversation. I’m sure you can survive for a few more minutes.’
    She turned back to us, and so missed the anger that clouded the woman’s face. ‘Sorry about that. A few drinks and some people forget their manners. Now, I was asking you what you wanted to eat. There’s mutton stew, or I can make you a sandwich if you’d rather.’
    ‘Mutton stew sounds good. But I don’t mind if you serve them first.’
    ‘They can wait. It’ll do them good.’
    ‘Ellen…’ Brody said, quietly.
    She sighed, then gave him a tired smile. ‘Aye, all right. I know.’
    He watched her go to the bar to serve them. ‘Ellen can be a little…fiery,’ he said, but with affection. ‘Causes friction sometimes, but the hotel’s the only watering hole on Runa, so everyone either abides by her rules or stays home. She’s a good cook, too. Did a college course on the mainland. I eat here most nights.’
    Even if Fraser hadn’t mentioned on the ferry that Brody was estranged from his wife and daughter, I would have guessed that he lived on his own. There was something intrinsically solitary about him.
    ‘Does she run this place by herself?’
    ‘Aye. Not easy, but between the bar takings