“What’s going on?” she said.
“There’s been a death,” he replied.
“Who?”
“Catriona.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes widening with shock. “What happened?”
“We’re not sure yet.” He thought it best to lie to her for now. If she knew the truth she’d think it was happening again and he’d no proof of that. This was how the murders started last time, with a drowning in a bath tub. “Just stay inside and I’ll be back to update you.”
Her eyes swept to the cars and vans pulling up outside Catriona’s cottage, numerous fluorescent jackets leaping out of the vehicles and she was so nervous he could see the pulse jump in her throat. “Okay, thanks,” she said before hastily closing the door.
It was almost midnight by the time Catriona’s body was taken away. Normally CSI wouldn’t have been in such a rush but the road was becoming impassable and they wanted to get her out while they still could.
“Sergeant Donaldson, I want you and two PC’s to stay in the village. I don’t want it cut off without a police presence with a murderer on the loose,” said the Procurator Fiscal, a tall almost skeletal man with fuzzy gray hair. “DI Armstrong is following up on a case in West Kilbride and will come straight here as soon as she gets done.”
Craig felt better knowing a detective was going to take over responsibility, however DI Armstrong was a bitch of the first order. If anything went wrong she’d be sure to pin the blame squarely on him, it was how she operated. “Yes Sir. McKay, Reid congratulations, you’ve drawn the short straws. You’re spending the night here.”
Neither of the young PC’s appeared thrilled at the prospect but McKay was highly intelligent with a talent for getting people to open up to him while Reid was as hard as nails. Just the sort of officers you wanted with a killer on the loose.
“Sir, are you aware of what happened here fifteen years ago?” Craig asked the Fiscal.
“The Elemental Murders? Isn’t everybody? I believe the daughter of the fourth victim has just returned to the village?”
“Yes Sir, Freya Macalister.”
“And she has an extensive criminal record.”
“Nothing in this league.”
The Fiscal frowned at the defensiveness in his tone. “Sergeant, I trust in your ability to remain neutral and detached. I want you to prove you deserve your reputation.”
“Yes Sir,” he icily replied.
“Fine. Now I’m out of here before I get trapped in this Godforsaken place,” he said, seemingly forgetting it was Craig’s home.
“So, what first?” said PC Reid, a strapping six footer with a shaved head and deep set blue eyes. “Want me to interview Miss Macalister?”
“Now why would I want you to do that?” replied Craig.
“Just a hope. I saw her standing at her door. I love Goth birds. Very tasty.”
Both PC’s were surprised when Craig’s expression hardened.
“What have I said?” pouted Reid.
“We’re here to find whoever held a woman’s head underwater until she drowned. We are not here to have fun. If neither of you can grasp that fact then you can fuck off right now.”
“Sorry Sarge,” said Reid, hanging his head.
Even though he hadn’t done anything wrong Craig glared at McKay too for good measure, who likewise bowed his head.
“PC McKay, you speak to everyone in the surrounding cottages, see if they saw anything.” The tall lanky man with brown hair and the baby face nodded.
“PC Reid, you have the honour of guarding the crime scene. All night.”
“Sarge,” he muttered.
“I’ll go and interview Miss Macalister. The privilege of rank, eh Boys?” he called over his shoulder as he wandered outside and down the road to Freya’s cottage.
Not surprisingly, she was still wide awake when he arrived.
“Come on in,” she said. “You look freezing.”
Craig was pleased she’d let him in. After what he’d been told about PC Docherty he’d assumed she’d make him stand on the doorstep.
“Do you want a hot drink?”
“I’d love a coffee thanks,” he said, removing his coat as he recalled what his friend had told him and hanging it up in the porch. Then he followed her into the kitchen in just his black trousers and jumper.
Her hand shook as she spooned out the coffee into the mugs. Craig knew if she was ever to trust him properly then they had to talk about the elephant in the room.
“I heard about PC Docherty.”
The spoon clattered from her hand. “Who told you?” she said, clinging onto the worktop, keeping her back turned to him.
“I have a couple of friends in Glasgow. Apparently you know one of them, Sergeant Williams. He got talking about you.”
“So you didn’t call him to ask about me?”
If he told her the truth then he’d alienate her for good and probably drop the poor lovelorn Dr Pierce right in it. He had no choice but to lie. “No. We keep in touch regularly. When he called I mentioned my old friend had come back to Blair Dubh and he said he knew you. He’s pleased you got clean, he said to pass on his best.” She didn’t reply, just continued to cling onto the worktop, head bowed. “Animals like Docherty are rare Freya. The majority of us are good people.”
“I know but when I see the uniform, especially the fluorescent jackets, I get scared, I can’t help it. He always wore his jacket when he attacked me and when I see one now I just want to run.”
“Did he attack you a lot?”
She nodded. “Sometimes I’d fight back but that only made him angrier. A couple of times I managed to outrun him, but somehow he always found me and the beatings were even worse. I made sure I was constantly drunk so when he did find me I couldn’t feel it. But he’s in prison now and will be for a very long time.”
The kettle boiled and she set about making the coffees, indicating the conversation was at an end.
Gently he rested his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t lump me in the same category as him. I would never hurt you.”
“I know.”
Those green eyes turned on him again and he swallowed hard. Every time she looked at him it was like being hit by a sledgehammer. Just to be safe he released her and retreated across the room. She picked up her coffee, handed him a mug and he followed her into the sitting room. When she sat on the couch he took the armchair by the fireplace, wanting to maintain some distance between them.
“I have to tell you Freya, Catriona’s death wasn’t an accident. She was murdered.”
Her hand slipped and she almost dropped the mug. “What happened?”
“She was drowned.”
“That’s how it began fifteen years ago. Lorna MacDiarmid was drowned in the bath of her cottage. It’s starting again.”
“As yet we don’t know that for sure.”
“Not until there’s a second death and there will be.”
“How can you be so sure? Father Logan’s dead.”
“I just know, I can feel it.”
“We can’t get ahead of ourselves and make assumptions. Now, did you see anyone go in or out of her cottage? You have a pretty good view of it from here.”
“No I didn’t. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise.”
“Am I a suspect?”
“Why would you think that?”
“There hasn’t been a murder in this village since the last time I was here, at least, I’m assuming there hasn’t.”
“You’re right, there hasn’t.”
“Then I return and a woman dies. Before you ask I’ve been here alone all day and there’s no one to back me up on that.”
“I appreciate how candid you’re being.”
“It’s not my first time being interviewed by the Police. I did hope it wouldn’t happen again.”
“You’re being interviewed as a possible witness, not a suspect,” he lied. “And as yet there’s nothing to indicate this is l
inked to The Elemental Murders.”
“But it has to be.”
“Not necessarily.”
“If it’s not then it’s an incredible coincidence.”
“Then who is it? Logan’s dead.”
“He had plenty of admirers. Maybe someone wants to continue his work?”
Craig appeared unconvinced. “Right,” he said, getting to his feet, “I’ve got to carry on with the interviews. Make sure you lock up behind me.”
“I will.”
He closed the sitting room door so she couldn’t see him pulling on his coat. As he left he glanced over his shoulder and saw her watching from the window, arms wrapped tightly about herself and he had no wish to leave her alone. As well as a suspect she was also a target.
CHAPTER 5
An hour after the last police vehicle departed the sea finally rose up to claim the only road out of the village. There wasn’t a soul outside as the rain soaked the ground and the wind hammered at the small but steadfast cottages.
Craig and PC Steve McKay hurried back to the Donaldson cottage, leaving PC Reid to stand guard at the crime scene. It wasn’t necessary, CSI had completed their investigation but Craig wanted to teach him a lesson. If they were going to be stranded here for a few days it was important he establish his authority immediately. DI Armstrong hadn’t made it in before the storm arrived so it seemed he was Senior Investigating Officer. He wasn’t sure whether that filled him with excitement or terror.
His mum was in her element as she set about preparing the spare room for Steve and making them something to eat, although it was after two in the morning. Finally she felt like she had a purpose again for the first time since her husband’s death.
“It’s something to do with Freya coming back, I’m certain,” said Nora as she served Craig and Steve sausage and eggs. “Have you interviewed her yet?”
“We can’t discuss the investigation with you Mum.”
She appeared disappointed. “Your dad always did.”
“Times have changed.”
“The DI would have his balls for earrings,” said Steve.
“Language young man,” she chided.
“Sorry,” he blushed.
“Well I have no wish for that,” she continued, “I am still hopeful of grandchildren one day but if Freya is involved I hope you won’t let sentiment get in the way. You know they were best friends when they were wee, don’t you Steve?”
“No,” he replied, glancing at his sergeant.
“We haven’t seen or spoken to each other in fifteen years,” said Craig, feeling the need to defend both himself and Freya. “Catriona was a fit and feisty woman, taller and heavier than Freya. She wouldn’t have the strength to hold her head under the water long enough to drown her.”
“She could have knocked her out first or drugged her?” offered Nora.
“Catriona was badly beaten first, she fought hard, so it’s unlikely she was drugged. Oh crap,” he said when he realised he’d given something away.
“Language Craig.”
“Sorry Mum. Now I know how you got so much out of Dad.”
She smiled slyly. “You need to wait for the results of the tox screen to be absolutely sure,” she said sagely. “If she was drugged then someone as slight as Freya could have killed her.”
Craig thought about Freya’s history of violence then quickly pushed away the unwelcome theory forming in his mind and cleared his throat. “Anyway, how can you talk about Freya like that? You’ve known her since she was a bairn.”
“No I haven’t. I knew her until she was eleven years old. She’s a stranger to me now, I don’t know what she’s capable of and neither do you. You’ve got to remain detached Craig.”
He leant back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. “We don’t need the DI here, do we Steve? We’ve got Mum. Looks like she’s going to solve it all on her own.”
“I can help, I learnt a lot from your dad,” she said eagerly.
“I’ll tell you what you can do,” said Craig. “I was only eleven when the original murders happened but you know all about them, Dad told you everything.”
“Aye he did,” she said proudly before pouring them out a whisky each and settling into the chair at the head of the table with her glass, the chair her husband used to occupy. The image reminded Craig of when he was younger. His mother was a gifted storyteller and as well as weaving stories about fairies, witches and giants she used to tell ghost stories, but only when it was dark and stormy, like tonight. Often there would be a little blond girl sat at the table with them, gripping onto his hand for dear life when they got to the scary bit.
His mum seemed to realise what he was thinking and patted his hand.
“Lorna MacDiarmid was the first, drowned in her bath, just like poor Catriona. She was a nice woman, mid forties, attractive. Respectable. But she did have a violent ex-husband and she came back to the village to get away from him. Lorna had moved away to Aberdeen a few years before but said it never felt like home. Naturally we all thought he was responsible and your dad tracked him down but he was up north when she was killed. Pete considered the possibility that he hired someone to do it, there was no other possible motive or suspect. It didn’t even occur to him that it could happen again, until poor Mary Cassidy was burnt to death.”
Steve grimaced at the overcooked sausage on his plate. “Burnt to death?”
“She’d been tied to a stake, covered in petrol and set on fire,” said Nora quietly, crossing herself. “The first anyone knew of it was when we saw smoke coming from the woods behind the church. The volunteer fire brigade were first on the scene and got the fright of their lives. Mary was killed two days after Lorna.”
“Is that all?” said Steve, wide eyed. “Normally serial killers leave a bigger gap between victims.”
“Not The Elemental. Rhona Campbell was found dead less than twenty four hours later on her boat, a carrier bag taped round her head. The day after that Rose Macalister was buried alive in a makeshift grave in the churchyard.” Nora rested her elbows on the table, the lamplight casting eerie shadows on her face, the wind howling around the house and rain spattering against the windows. Steve was staring at her with his mouth open and Craig half-expected him to grab his hand, just like Freya used to. “And that’s when all hell broke loose,” she continued. “Little Freya Macalister heard her mummy leave the house, which she thought strange because Rose was a very conscientious mother and she would never have left her alone at night. What happened next we only know because of Freya. She watched her mother walk up the hill with a tall figure dressed in black. Worried about her, Freya pulled on her coat and shoes and followed. It was summer then, so the weather wasn’t that bad but it was pitch black and windy and she lost them in the darkness. Thinking her mother had gone to the castle Freya wandered up there, stumbling about in the dark. It was fortunate she knew that ruin so well or she might have had an accident. When she didn’t find her she took the path to the church instead, just in time to see the same tall figure who’d led her mummy away shovelling earth into a grave. How did she know her mummy was in that hole? Because her nightgown and robe were heaped next to it. Freya stared at it, mesmerised, attempting to work out what was happening. The clouds lifted and the tall figure saw her bathed in moonlight. He threw down the shovel and ran for her. Freya raced back down the hill, screaming her lungs out. Sound carries far here and we all heard her and came out to see what was going on. She ran straight into my arms, hysterical, saying over and over that Father Logan had buried her mum in the graveyard and she wasn’t even dead. We all thought she’d had a bad dream and sleepwalked out of the house but when we took her back and saw Rose wasn’t there some of the men - including my Pete - grabbed their shovels and went running up to the graveyard. By the time they reached poor Rose she was already dead. Not only had she been buried but her head had been bashed in with the shovel used to dig her grave. Freya was very traumatised, the doctor had to sedate her just to
stop her screaming. You remember Craig?”
“How could I forget?” He could still hear her screams, fifteen years later.
“Despite her accusations Father Logan was his cool suave self. Pete interviewed him personally and he claimed he was at the Parish House with his mother, a mad old harridan if ever there was one. When she backed him to the hilt Pete was powerless. Father Logan even sympathised with the poor child and said he would pray for her. Of course no one believed he was guilty. They thought the killer wore long black clothes and Freya’s young scared mind just assumed it was him. Everyone except Pete, he was certain he was guilty.”
“Why?” said Steve.
“Because Freya insisted she’d seen his face, not just his clothes and because of the way the women died.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Think about it; water, fire, air, earth.”
“The elements,” said Steve, “which is why you called him The Elemental.”
“Precisely. Pete did some research. The elements are used in purification rituals. Father Logan was always preaching about sin. What if he thought those women were tainted and needed purifying? What if by killing them he thought he was saving their souls?”
“The Confessional,” said Craig, getting into the theory. “They would have confessed their sins to him.”
Nora nodded and patted her son’s hand. “That’s just what your dad thought.”
“But why those women?”
“Pete had been suspicious of squeaky clean Father Logan for a while. In the weeks leading up to the murders he’d noticed Logan spending a lot of time at Rose’s cottage, rather more than was seemly for a man in his position.”
“They were having an affair? I find that hard to believe,” said Craig, recalling the intensely religious man who’d given him the fear when he was a kid.
“Pete was certain he was right when Rose’s autopsy showed she was three months pregnant.”
Craig’s eyebrows shot up. “Was Freya told?”
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 6
