The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2)

by Heather Atkinson

  “DCI Gray came here looking for you.”

  Her tears slowed to a sniffle then stopped altogether. “What?” she said, watery eyes as wide as saucers.

  “He thought he could save you but he was wrong. He’s dead now. The young detective who came with him is tied up in the oubliette waiting for the tide to come in. You’ll understand how he must be feeling right now. Pity he’ll never get to see his daughter being born. I killed Sally and Anita as well. I beat Sally to death, she was still turning tricks. It’s amazing she managed to earn any money she was so fucking dirty, still there’s always someone desperate enough. I stabbed Anita to death. She cried for the mummy she ran out on.”

  Rather than the anger he’d hoped for she just wailed louder, burying her face in her hands.

  “Oh Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, stamping his foot. “Stop being so fucking pathetic.” He didn’t have time for this shit, for all he knew the husband could be on his way back. He had to move things along even though some of the pleasure had been sucked out of it.

  “Come on,” he said, grabbing her arm and pulling her deeper into the boat.

  “Where are going?” she wailed between sobs.

  “I’ve been locked up with men for years thanks to you so you’re going to give me the relief I need.”

  He had thought this threat might finally force the anger out of her but instead her knees went weak and he had to pull her along the floor.

  “Oh for God’s sake. Get up you stupid bi…”

  He never got to finish the sentence because something sharp was plunged into his thigh. Acting on instinct he released her and clamped a hand to the wound, blood trickling through his fingers. He was appalled to see a fork sticking out of his leg.

  “Fucking hell,” he yelled.

  It was then he realised her crying had mysteriously stopped. When he looked at her he saw cunning in her intense green eyes, which burned with that fire he knew so well, that he’d hoped to provoke. Now he had and he was regretting it. The bitch had been playacting to make him lower his guard.

  As his mind frantically debated on whether to pull the fork out or leave it in situ her fist came at him, hitting him full on the nose, bouncing his head off the wall of the narrow passageway. Dazed, he slid to the floor, just managing to grab her leg as she tried to move past him. She fell onto her side, lashing out at him with her good foot when he tried to drag her back to him, catching him on the nose again, making him groan and release her.

  Putting her weight on her uninjured foot Freya hauled herself upright, limping her way towards the doors. She tried to think where she’d put the mobile phone Craig had given her. It was on the bed and she’d have to go past Docherty to get it. Better to keep going, keep moving, which was easier said than done. She was unable to bear any weight on her injured ankle, the joint feeling weird and swollen. Hopefully just a bad sprain, maybe not broken. Get off the boat, get to the top and scream your head off.

  Behind her she could hear Docherty scrabbling about followed by a cry of pain, probably as he pulled the fork out. As she mounted the first step she chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw he was already back on his feet with blood trickling from his nose, coming right at her. Taking a firm grip on the rails she pulled herself up the steps, only able to bear weight on one foot. Her fingers brushed the handle at the top. It wouldn’t open. She couldn’t understand why then she realised she hadn’t released the catch. She snicked it open and hauled herself outside, feeling his fingers brush the back of her foot.

  “Help,” she screamed, praying someone was on one of the neighbouring boats but her voice was swallowed by the gale. Scanning the area she saw she was entirely alone, the only sound the rush of water as the tide came in. In the distance she could see the pub, a beacon of hope, full of big burly men who could help her. Shame they didn’t even know she was in trouble.

  Docherty was up the stairs limping after her but still moving faster than she could. Freya assessed her options in an instant. She couldn’t get off the boat, down the dock and all the way into the village before he caught up with her and she wasn’t in much condition to fight but she had to keep moving. Without thinking about what she was doing she climbed over the edge of the boat and launched herself onto the one berthed alongside it, another little cabin cruiser. As she landed on her bad ankle she screamed in pain, doubled over and violently retched. For a horrible moment she thought she was going to pass out but she managed to cling onto consciousness. A loud thud behind her indicated Docherty was following.

  The next boat wasn’t so easy. It was a yacht with a guard rail and she couldn’t jump over it. Instead she reached out and fell forwards, grabbing onto the rail with both hands, and heaved herself onto it, the muscles in her arms screaming in protest. When Docherty tried to follow she picked up an oar used for the tender and whacked him on top of his hands, causing him to release the rope. Freya’s face was burning with the strain, heart beating a frantic tattoo and she knew she couldn’t go any further. If she jumped on her injured ankle once more she’d pass out and she’d be finished. Besides there was no boat next to this one and she couldn’t cope in the water with her bad ankle.

  Looking up the road to the pub her heart lifted to see Craig wending his way from the village back to the dock, talking with Bill and Fred.

  “Craig,” she yelled at the top of her lungs, giving Docherty another rap on the knuckles when he tried to jump the rail again. He’d tied a tea towel around his leg to staunch the blood flow. He looked stronger already, in better shape than she was.

  “Craig,” she screamed again but the tide was coming in, the crash of the waves hitting the shore drowning her out, agitating the boat and she almost lost her balance.

  Looking round she saw the box holding the rescue flares. After giving Docherty another rap on the knuckles, making him curse and swear she pulled open the box and took out the flares. Docherty took the opportunity to jump onto the boat and she backed away holding the flares, glad Craig had shown her how to use them. Before she had the chance Docherty rushed her.

  “Craig,” she screamed again as he charged at her. She tried to get away but she was exhausted and there was nowhere to go. Docherty slammed into her and they both toppled off the boat, hitting the dock hard. He landed on top of her, knocking the air out of her lungs and he grabbed her head and bounced it off the wood. The blow stunned her and she gazed up into his angry face, which swam in and out of focus.

  “He’s not coming, he didn’t hear you bitch,” he growled before wrapping a rope he’d taken off the boat around her neck and pulling it tight.

  In the fall she’d dropped one of the flares, but he’d failed to notice the other still clutched in her hand.

  “Shit,” he yelled, just managing to roll off her as she raised it, orange smoke pouring out of the end. There was no way Craig could miss it.

  CHAPTER 27

  “Which bloody idiot’s setting off a flare on shore?” frowned Bill.

  They all turned to see the orange smoke billowing up into the air.

  “There’s two figures on the dock,” said Craig, squinting against the sunlight. “They look to be lying down.” He caught a glimpse of long black hair and panic shot through him. “Freya,” he bellowed, tearing down the dock.

  “Get the other men from the pub,” Bill told Fred before hurtling after Craig.

  Fred nodded and rushed back to the village as fast as his old legs would allow.

  In the haze of smoke Freya felt someone grab her and pull her off the dock onto the shingle. It was only a short drop and she slithered off rather than fell, landing on her front. The flare fell from her hand and rolled into the water where it was extinguished. With a groan she pushed herself up onto all fours, spitting out bits of shingle stuck to her lips. As the tide washed in, the white foam thundering towards her, she tried to get back on her feet. She hobbled forwards a few steps then caught sight of something turning in the water, battered about by the white horses. It was pus
hed towards her and she screamed as the thing was flipped onto its back to reveal glassy eyes, jaw hanging open, long monkey arms floating by its side.

  “No,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears.

  Docherty jumped down beside Freya and forced her back down to the shingle. He didn’t have much time, Donaldson must have seen the smoke and he would be on his way. He had to do it now but he was puzzled by the sudden appearance of the tall skinny redhead who would have been beautiful if her eyes hadn’t been so wide and manic.

  “Fucking finish her off. Do it now before he gets here,” she screeched at him.

  So the mad harpy had escaped from the police. At least she seemed to be on his side. The rope still dangled from Freya’s neck and he grabbed the two ends, twisted and pulled.

  Freya just managed to get two fingers of her right hand in between the rope and her neck. She grimaced with pain as Docherty yanked on the rope as hard as he could, pulling Freya up onto her knees, her spine arching backwards.

  “Go on, do it. Fucking kill her,” screamed the mad redhead.

  Docherty needed no encouragement, grunting with exertion as he twisted the rope tighter, Freya’s fight to pull it away from her throat weakening. Her free hand grabbed some pebbles and threw them over her shoulder. He closed his eyes, the stones harmlessly bouncing off his skin. He groaned with pleasure as he listened to her choking, her free hand thrashing uselessly, trying to get a grip on him and failing.

  “By the way Freya,” he said as he choked her, “I’ve killed three people. I’m officially a serial killer, the third one in Blair Dubh but I get to be the one who finishes the job on you. Soon you’ll be in that fucking weird graveyard with your parents and Logan and Lynch,” he said before sticking his tongue in her ear.

  The pounding of footsteps made them both look up to see Craig tearing towards them followed by Bill.

  “Leave him to me,” said Mandy, preening herself before turning to face Craig with her most charming smile. “Craig darling…”

  He jumped down off the dock and shoulder-barged her out of the way, knocking her into the incoming tide.

  Docherty didn’t pay any attention to the approaching figures, he knew he was going to get captured, he just wanted to finish Freya before that happened. With a grunt he pulled harder on the rope, the tendons popping out in his neck with the strain. He released another loud groan, revelling in the choking sounds emanating from her gaping mouth and the way her eyes bulged. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something running at him and he gave one final hard tug on the rope before it slammed into him, knocking him off Freya. Before he had chance to pick himself up he was being dragged across the shingle by the scruff of the neck towards the water that was rolling in with much more force, generating a thick white foam. He tried to wriggle free of Supercop’s grip but it was impossible.

  As his head was forced underwater he realised his mistake. He’d expected Donaldson to come at him like a copper; arms twisted behind his back and pushed face down, maybe a couple of punches that his lawyer could later use to claim police brutality but instead he’d come at him like a husband. The salty water filled his nose and mouth, choking him, his limbs flailing uselessly, desperate to get in a hit but failing miserably. Docherty was pulled back out of the water and he drew in a huge gulp of air. Panic seized him when he realised Supercop was going to kill him.

  “You’re fucking dead,” hissed Donaldson’s voice in his ear before he was thrust back under the water.

  Freya raised her head slowly and painfully to find herself staring into Bill’s shocked face.

  “Are you alright?” he said, removing the rope from her neck and throwing it away in disgust.

  She nodded, gasping for breath while pointing at Craig trying to drown Docherty.

  “I’ll sort it,” said Bill.

  She watched as he waded through the water and grabbed Craig, wrapping his arms around his chest and dragging him backwards, all the while Craig fighting to get back at Docherty.

  Time stood still for Freya as she stared at Docherty lying face down in the water. Oh my God he’s killed him. When he raised his head and took in a breath she was relieved, not for his sake but for Craig’s. She didn’t want him to get into trouble for that waste of space.

  There was a loud screech from behind her and Freya turned to see Mandy running at her, red hair sodden and plastered to her face, eyes bulging and taloned hands outstretched, screaming like a banshee. Freya tried to get to her feet but she was exhausted and in pain. Her hands slipped on the damp shingle, the incoming tide rushing around her, soaking her legs and back and all she could do was watch helplessly as Mandy advanced on her, those taloned hands reaching out for her...

  Mandy’s eyes widened as she was pulled backwards, spun round and slammed face down on the ground, her wet hair splaying out around her like exotic seaweed.

  “Davey,” exclaimed Freya.

  “Hello hen,” he said as he pinned down the struggling Mandy, who twisted and snarled in his grip, spitting insults about how fat he was, but it was like water off a duck’s back. “Why don’t you shut it you mad bint,” Davey told Mandy. He looked back to Freya. “Are you alright?”

  “I’ll live,” she grimaced, hauling herself upright and balancing on her good foot.

  The waves were crashing in now, driven by the breeze that had picked up again, white foam splashing her legs and soaking her feet. The cool water felt good, her upper half was burning in the heat.

  As she looked down at the waves rushing around her they seemed to slow down, decelerating as they hit the beach. The breeze blew her hair around her face in slow motion and it was a huge effort for her to raise one hand and pull it out of her eyes. Mandy writhing on the beach, Craig being restrained by Bill and Gordon from attacking Docherty again, DCI Gray’s body being jolted by the tide, even the seagulls hovering overhead, everything seemed so unreal and dreamlike, as though someone had pressed the pause button on a film she was watching. Surely this couldn’t really be her life? Her head turned excruciatingly slowly to look up the hill towards the church and she saw the black clad figure standing there, watching them, his clothes billowing up around him in the breeze. She blinked, her eyelids closing with frustrating sluggishness and when she’d opened them he’d gone. The roar of the tide had slowed to a lifeless groan and she imagined it was the voice of the land calling to her. She turned her head back the other way, slowly, unhurriedly and saw it wasn’t Blair Dubh calling to her at all but Craig. He threw off Bill and Gordon and half-ran, half-stumbled towards her to envelop her in his wet arms. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “Sore neck, sprained ankle but I’m okay.”

  He kissed her hard then pulled her into his chest. She could feel his whole body shaking.

  “Davey,” he said. “Can you handle her?”

  “No problem. You look after Freya,” he replied, one beefy hand holding both Mandy’s arms behind her back, the other holding down her head, being careful to avoid her gnashing teeth.

  “Do you know who he is?” Craig asked Freya, nodding in Docherty’s direction.

  Freya was astonished. He’d been willing to kill Docherty even though he had no idea who he was just because he’d hurt her.

  “Docherty.”

  “He’s in prison,” he frowned.

  “He escaped.” She recalled what he’d told her and her eyes widened. “DCI Gray came here to warn me and Docherty killed him. He said he’d trapped another detective in the castle oubliette. The tide’s coming in.”

  The village men swarmed onto the dock, the younger and more able leaping off it and rushing to haul Gray’s body onto the beach. The older and more infirm remained on the dock, looking down on the circus from above.

  Craig kissed her then jumped up onto the dock calling for some of the men to join him. As Freya watched him go Lizzy and Jeanette rushed up to her, the former wrapping a thick blanket around her shoulders.

  “Are you hurt?” Lizzy asked her.
/>   “I sprained my ankle but I’m okay,” she replied watching Docherty struggling on the ground. Gordon was holding him down while Bill tied thick rope around his wrists. Docherty’s head snapped up, his blazing eyes fixating on her and she stared back at him, refusing to back down even though she was still afraid of him. He’d come so close to killing her. Her defiance sent him into a fury and he kicked and snarled, knocking Gordon away. Bill clamped one enormous hand on the back of his head and pushed him into the shingle, twisting his head back and forth, opening up cuts on his face. Docherty screamed and when Bill released him blood was trickling from several small cuts, tiny bits of stone stuck in the wounds. At least he was quieter.

  “Help me down someone, for God’s sake,” said a voice Freya knew all too well.

  Two men assisted Nora down. Once on the shingle she pushed them out of the way and ran to Freya.

  “Oh my poor girl,” she said.

  Freya clung onto her and finally let the tears come.

  “It’s okay, you’re safe now,” she soothed, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “You’re safe.” She spotted Mandy still lying prone on the beach. “What’s that nasty piece of work doing here? She was supposed to have been arrested.”

  “She helped Docherty try to kill me,” said Freya, wiping her eyes.

  “But you wouldn’t let them.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Nora smiled and gently patted her face. “Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?”

  Freya couldn’t resist a small smile.

  “Oy Jimmy, tie her up too. She’s already escaped once from the police,” Nora ordered him, gesturing at Mandy.

  He nodded and stood over her looking grim, brandishing a rope.

  CHAPTER 28

  Craig’s lungs burned as he raced towards the castle accompanied by two of the younger village men, his heart sinking when he saw how high the tide was. They didn’t have the time or equipment to get the man out via the castle like they’d got Freya out. There was no choice, they had to use the rock-cut passage in the cliff that would lead them straight into the base of the oubliette.