“Come on, wakey wakey,” said Docherty, slapping him about the face.
The detective groaned, panicking when he tried to put a hand to his head and couldn’t.
“Alright, calm down,” said Docherty, slapping him harder. A pair of wide brown eyes stared up at him, full of fear.
“You’re Docherty.”
“Yes I am you daft bastard. You just believed I was who I said I was. Do you know nothing? Fucking useless plod, I’m amazed you managed to get into CID.”
“I’m here with a colleague, he’ll be calling for backup as we speak. You can’t get away. Why don’t you just release me now and we’ll go and talk to him? I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Docherty flashed a malicious smile. “Sorry. DCI Gray’s dead.”
Kennedy swallowed hard. “No he’s not.”
He pulled the warrant card from his pocket and waved it in front of his face. “Then how did I get this?”
Kennedy’s lower lip wobbled, as though he was about to burst into tears before recovering himself. “You fucking bastard, you’re going down for that.”
“So you do have some balls after all,” replied a jovial Docherty. He couldn’t believe how well everything was going. Luck was certainly on his side. “Now, you’re going to make a call back to the station and tell your little piggy friends there’s no sign of me and that Freya and Supercop are back on the ocean waves.” He paused to ponder for a moment. “Tell them there’s a lead indicating I could be on Arran. Let the daft bastards waste their time trawling the islands.”
“Go fuck yourself you wanker,” retorted Kennedy before spitting in his face. The bravado drained right out of him when Docherty’s face hardened and all emotion vanished from his eyes.
“Not good,” he said before drawing back his fist.
The first time Freya spoke after returning to Nora’s cottage was to give her statement to the police. Her voice was soft and tired voice but Craig was just so relieved she was talking again.
After the officer left she finally looked at him. “I’m so tired. I need a lie down.”
“You can go upstairs,” said Nora.
“I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night up there. I’ll go back to the boat. Anyway, I can’t stand to watch that sideshow anymore,” she replied, indicating the tour group through the window. They hadn’t even begun the tour yet, hanging around to photograph the police packing up their things and leaving. Some of them had gone into the shop and emerged with macabre goodies. “I can’t believe Toby’s front. It’s breathtaking.”
“I wish there was something we could do to stop him,” said Craig, driven crazy with frustration that Toby was being allowed to get away with it, despite the objection of the entire village. It was so unjust. “I’ll come with you,” he said, getting to his feet.
“No thanks, I want some time alone.”
“You shouldn’t be on your own right now.”
“Mandy’s gone, I’ll be safe.”
“I didn’t mean that. You’ve had a shock.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I think I should come with you.”
“Will you please give me some space?” she snapped. When an embarrassed silence filled the room and Craig hung his head she kissed him on the cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout. I just want to be on my own.”
With that she wandered out the door. Craig watched her through the window with worry in his eyes. It was the first time she’d said she didn’t want him with her.
“Catch a grip of yourself,” said Nora, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “She looks tired, she probably just wants a bit of rest.”
“Yeah,” he replied, forcing a smile.
“Brew?”
“Go on then. Mum?” he called as she wandered towards the kitchen.
She stopped and looked at him questioningly.
“Do you think she’s going to leave me?”
“No Craig, I don’t. I think it’s Mandy whose upset her and that eejit out there with his little tours, not you. Just give her a bit of space, it’s important you don’t smother her.”
She disappeared into the kitchen. Craig turned back to the window to watch Freya walk down to the dock. She turned a corner and vanished, leaving him with his melancholy thoughts.
CHAPTER 26
“Yes, there’s no sign of him here,” Kennedy said into the phone Docherty had pressed to his ear. He couldn’t hold it himself because the cuffs were still on. Docherty had snapped the fingers of one hand before he’d given in to his demands to make the call. The pain was making him shake and it was an effort to prevent his teeth from clacking together. Shame swept through him because he knew he was condemning an innocent woman to death. Gray would be ashamed of him, a man like him would have died before betraying those he was paid to protect, but Kennedy didn’t have his fortitude or courage. He also had a heavily pregnant wife and he wanted to see his new daughter with every fibre of his being.
Docherty nudged him in the ribs, bringing him back to reality. “We’ve reason to believe he might be on Arran.” Kennedy’s pain-addled brain couldn’t come up with a single reply when the detective inspector on the other end asked him what had led him to that conclusion because they’d already checked there once and found nothing. Fortunately he was saved from replying because the line was terrible and briefly the connection was lost. When the man’s voice returned Kennedy hastily talked over him. “We’re on our way to the ferry port to see if we can pull any CCTV footage. DCI Gray will call you soon. Bye.”
Docherty hung up and Kennedy looked to him for approval.
“You did well. That will keep them busy long enough for me to do what I have to do.”
“You’re mad. You’ll never get away.”
“I don’t intend to. As soon as Freya’s dead I’ll give myself up. Thanks by the way, I couldn’t have done it without you,” he grinned.
“No,” groaned Kennedy, guilt overwhelming him. Suddenly inspiration struck. “Haven’t you hurt your family enough? Imagine how they’ll feel when they find out what you’ve done. I know only your dad visits you in prison. If you do this he’ll stop, the shame will be too much.”
“I don’t give a shit what that set of bastards thinks,” he smirked before punching him hard in the ribs, smiling when he heard the bones crack. He used Kennedy’s tie to gag him then set about picking the lock on the grille covering the dank pit where Freya had almost died. He’d intended to throw her down there when he’d finished using her but he’d had a change of heart. It was the perfect way to dispose of this wanker.
“What are you doing?” whispered Kennedy, eyes bulging.
Docherty ignored him, concentrating on picking the padlock with the shim he’d made, a simple fizzy drink can with the top and bottom removed, the centre cut into strips and twisted together to form a makeshift tool that could be inserted between the padlock body and the shackle. He turned the shim while working the shackle, grinning when there was a satisfying click and he got to his feet and threw back the grille. Cool air rushed up at him from the pit, dragging with it the stench of decay. Something must have got trapped down there and died. Whatever it was it was about to have some company.
When Kennedy realised what he had in store for him he attempted to get to his feet, moaning into the gag with despair and terror.
“You’ll soon be put out of your misery DC Kennedy. The tide’s coming in. The tour group will be up here in a bit but not soon enough to save you. I drowned DCI Gray too. Give him his due he went out fighting but I bet you’ll be crying for your ma.”
Docherty rolled him towards the oubliette and Kennedy screamed into the gag, but the sound was too muffled to carry very far. He kicked and thrashed, agony shooting through his side as he wrenched his broken ribs.
“Molly,” he wailed, calling for his unborn daughter, the word echoing up the walls of the pit as he fell.
Docherty slammed the grille closed and peered down at the broken figure below.
“Thanks very much for your help Officer,” he called before hurrying away with a grin on his face. His path was free and clear.
Finally Steve and Gary had got the traffic moving, the battered vehicles towed to the verge to allow the line of cars to slowly pass, the passengers having a good gawp, some holding up their phones to film the wreckage. The passenger of the little white car, a young mother of two, had been carted off to hospital in critical condition.
“Look at that fucking dick,” said Gary as they watched two of their colleagues grilling the driver of the Audi, who had escaped with minor injuries. “He couldn’t wait a couple of minutes and now he might have killed that woman. Fucking prick, I want to put my fist through his skull.”
“I know how you feel,” sighed Steve, the image of the woman’s face covered in blood, a huge crack in her skull haunting him. “Let’s see how the fud’s doing with mental Mandy.”
They wandered back to their car, downcast and drained after a shitty morning. Just when they thought it couldn’t get any worse they opened the door to find Hughes unconscious and hogtied on the back seat, alone.
“Holy shit,” exclaimed Steve. “Hughes, wake up, wake up you stupid wee prick,” he said, slapping him about the face.
“What? What’s going on?” mumbled Hughes, coming round. He frowned at Steve. “How dare you strike a superior officer? I’ll…”
“Where’s Mandy?” snarled Steve, furious.
“Has she gone?” he said, confused.
“Yes she has. She knocked you out and tied you up with your own restraints. How could you let that happen?” roared Gary, hands bunching into fists.
“Now listen you…”
“No, you listen,” said Steve. “You’ve just lost a very dangerous prisoner. We told you we should have taken her back to the station but no, you insisted we attend that crash when there were other units available simply because you wanted to be alone with her. You did what Craig warned you against and fell for her charms. Now she’s gone back to the village to hurt Freya.”
“You cannot talk to me like this,” yelled Hughes, kicking his tethered feet in petulant anger.
“Don’t start,” snarled Gary. “You have made one almighty fuck-up so if I were you I’d shut my fucking geggy and find the mad bint. Steve, get in.”
They both jumped into the car, Gary hitting the siren as Steve turned the car around and sped back the way they’d come, the cars they’d directed past the accident hastily getting out of their way.
“Kill the siren,” said Steve once they’d passed the traffic. “We don’t want her to know we’re coming.”
Gary nodded and switched it off, foot tapping agitatedly, praying they weren’t too late.
“Will one of you please untie me?” said Hughes.
“You’re going to have to wait,” said Gary. “We’ve more important matters to attend to.”
“I insist…”
Gary rounded on him and Hughes went silent at the wrath in his eyes. “Shut it you. You’ve already done enough damage and I’m buggered if you’re going to delay us reaching Freya.”
For the first time in his life Hughes admitted to himself that he had messed up royally.
Freya’s feet were like lead as she walked back to the boat. Being in the village was really getting her down. She was ready to move on, whether that be back to Glasgow or further down the coast, just as long as it was away from here.
As she rounded the side of the pub the view of the water opened up to her and she felt sad that she couldn’t love this place like she had when she was a bairn. Back then it had been her universe, from the single road leading into the village to the edge of the woods, the two boundaries. Here had been her home, family and friends and nothing outside that cosy little bubble had mattered. Now the bubble had burst she saw it for what it really was; sinister, unnerving, a nest for dark and scary things that wanted to hurt her. Even now in the bright sunshine there was an underlying hint of menace, the castle and graveyard hovering over the village a constant reminder of the horrors this place held. When she’d been living rough she’d often lost herself in a pleasant dream of coming back here to live a happy decent life with a man she loved, raising their children together. It had all been pure fantasy of course because in it her parents were still alive. In her dream the man hadn’t been Craig but back then she hadn’t thought she would ever see him again, never mind marry him. The children were a dream too, another one that had been snatched from her. It was her own fault for allowing herself to be too happy. Life always kicked you hardest when things were at their best.
Her melancholy was upsetting Craig, she could see it in his eyes and the little worry lines in his brow, but the sadness was sapping her energy and she couldn’t be bothered reassuring him again. She’d already done it and was tired of repeating herself. Blair Dubh was getting to him too, they needed to leave but that wouldn’t be possible until later today at the earliest when Bill had completed his repairs.
She clambered onto the boat, realising the swaying no longer bothered her and went below, careful to lock the tinted glass door behind her. Mandy might have been carted away but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be security conscious.
Freya had just laid down on the bed, enjoying the peace and quiet when there was a knock at the door. She frowned and sat up. Who the hell was that?
Peering up the steps she could make out a shadow at the top but because the glass was tinted to keep out the glare of the sun she couldn’t make out any features.
“Police, open up. It’s an emergency.”
Freya walked up the steps, pulled open the door and a rush of wind blew through the boat but her attention was on the man before her. He thrust a warrant card in her face. “I’m DC Kennedy. I’m here to warn you that John Docherty has escaped from prison.”
“No,” she gasped, reeling. She was so shocked she failed to compare the image on the warrant card with the face before her, not realising the person in the photo didn’t have a shaved head or a beard. He slipped the ID back in his pocket before she had the chance to examine it more closely.
“Have you seen him at all?” said the man.
“No,” she murmured, feeling sick, not focusing on the man’s features. “How did he do it?”
“During the riot. He switched places with an injured guard who’s only just recovered sufficiently to speak. I’m sorry Mrs Donaldson, there has been a serious lapse in the prison service and I can assure you there will be an investigation. So you haven’t seen him at all?” Docherty hoped she couldn’t hear the glee in his voice. She didn’t have a fucking clue it was him, the stupid cow. She looked stunned and very afraid. He could smell her too, her feminine muskiness lurking beneath her perfume. When she’d lived on the streets, no matter how dirty she was, he could always smell her beneath the coat of filth.
She shook her head. “No.” Something was wrong. She knew if Docherty was at liberty he would have come straight for her.
Then it struck her. The wind had started up again. Danger was near.
Finally she focused on the face before her and it felt like an electric shock ran through her body.
“No,” she managed to scream before he pushed her backwards.
Freya tumbled down the stairs, her back hitting the hard steps before slamming onto the floor of the little sitting area and she found herself staring up into the face of a man she was petrified of. Panic gave her the impetus she needed to get up off the floor but she screamed again when pain shot through her ankle. She must have injured it in the fall. Desperately she tried to limp towards the tiny bathroom, which had a lock but he was on her before she could get there, dragging her backwards by her hair. She lashed out with her fists, managing to catch him in the chest but he refused to let go, winding her long hair around his hand and pulling her close. He drew the knife from his belt and pressed it to her throat.
“I’ve waited fucking years for this,” he gloated, his heart hammering, erection straining against hi
s jeans. “I’ve killed you so many times in my head. Now I get to do it for real.”
“Is it true…about how you escaped?” she grimaced as he pulled her even closer by her hair. “And you desecrated my parents’ graves?” For some reason it was very important that she know.
“Yes and yes again. I want you to know that I pissed on your parents too.”
“Bastard,” she spat.
“You’ve done really well for yourself Freya, you’ve got yourself a nice life. Who would have thought all those years ago you’d be on a boat like this?”
She released a cry of horror when he licked her cheek and she felt his erection pressing against her side.
“Get the fuck off me,” she said, struggling in his arms.
Afraid someone would hear her cries he punched her in the face, knocking her to the floor where she remained crouched trying to recover her breath, tears of pain and fear filling her eyes.
“You’re not crying, are you?” said Docherty. “Where’s the Freya who fought me? You whimpering little cow.” He was disappointed as well as disgusted. This wasn’t what he’d envisioned, her on the floor blubbing. He wanted the struggle, it would only make it more satisfying when he overcame her. She’d gone soft since she’d come off the streets.
“Come on bitch, fight back,” he snarled, kicking her in the ribs, knocking her onto her side where, to his revulsion, she just lay crying.
Docherty was starting to panic. His big moment was going wrong, she was ruining it. Determinedly he put the knife down on the table and dragged her to her feet by her wrists. “Put up a fucking fight,” he spat in her face.
Freya backed away from him, holding out her hands to try and ward him off, barely able to look at him.
“No, you are not spoiling this for me.” Then he remembered something. Freya always fought best when she was angry, that emotion was her driving force. In the past, even though she’d always been scared of him, it was her moral outrage that had made her fight back.
The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) Page 23
