The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1)

by Heather Atkinson

  Freya came downstairs and sat at the kitchen table, picking at a plate of bacon and eggs. She’d put her armour back on; thick black eye make-up, black lipstick, hair pouring over her shoulders in a raven cascade. She wore tight black jeans, a jumper with a large skull on the front and fingerless fishnet gloves, fingers bedecked with rings. Gary’s face lit up.

  “Good morning Miss Macalister. Are you staying here now?” he asked her.

  “Yes she is,” replied Nora, “and I’m determined to feed her up, you need to put on weight Freya.”

  Freya opened her mouth to ask if Nora had any grapefruit instead of fried food then thought the notion might offend her, so she cut off a very small piece of bacon and reluctantly swallowed it.

  “Good girl,” beamed Nora.

  Gary sat beside Freya and started to discuss bands Craig had never heard of. He felt jealous, she looked so animated talking about something she loved and he wished he could join in. However he also knew Gary was full of shit and was using her love of music to chat her up. He couldn’t allow that.

  “That’s funny Gary,” he said casually, “because that time you gave me a lift to work you had Michael Buble on the stereo.” He smiled when he heard Steve snigger into his coffee.

  Gary was unperturbed. “I like all sorts of music.”

  “Me too,” said Freya. “I love a lot of classical.”

  When she and Gary resumed their conversation Craig glowered at his breakfast. After another ten minutes of their eager chatter he got to his feet and frowned at his constables, trying not to think about how annoyed he was. “Right you two, enough messing about. We’ve got a job to do. Get out there and interview everyone again. They won’t come to us in this weather so we’ll have to go to them.” His tone was harsh but he was too pissed off to care. Why he was pissed off he wasn’t exactly sure. She’s my friend, not his, he snarled inwardly. He glared at both Gary and Steve, daring them to object. Neither of them did. “I’ll try and get hold of the DI, we need a detective here.”

  “No one’s getting in or out of this village until the storm’s over, it’s probably why your killer picked yesterday to kill poor Catriona.”

  “You’re probably right Mum.” A horrible thought occurred to him. “These storms tend to last a few days. If he’s going to do it again he’ll do it while we’re still cut off.”

  “You really think someone else is going to die?” said a small scared voice.

  Craig gave himself a mental kick when he looked at Freya.

  “I can’t see the killer trying to burn anyone in the woods in this weather. The flame would keep going out,” said Steve. He recalled what had happened to Freya’s mother and his head snapped up, cheeks bright red and stammering an apology. But Freya ignored him, her attention fixed on Craig.

  “It’s a possibility,” said Craig gently.

  “No it’s not. That was Logan and he’s burning in hell where he belongs,” she told him firmly.

  “We’re not sure what to think yet. Hopefully it’s just an isolated incident.”

  “What if it’s not?”

  “We’ve no evidence to suggest otherwise.” With that he picked up the landline and started to dial. “You two, get to it,” he called over his shoulder at Steve and Gary.

  He was put through to DI Armstrong, but he could hardly hear a word she said the line was so bad.

  “No way across,” he managed to catch. “Maybe two days….keep me informed.” There was a bout of swearing on her end then the connection went dead.

  “Great,” he sighed. “It looks like we’re on our own.”

  “You can handle it, you’re a good officer,” said Nora.

  “I don’t have the experience for this, I’m not a detective.”

  “You could be easily. You’re just as good as them.”

  He thought her faith in him sweet, if a little misguided. “Thanks Mum.”

  “After what you did in Inverness this should be no problem.”

  “What did you do in Inverness?” said Freya.

  “He only brought down the Bellfield Monster single-handed,” she said proudly. “A serial killer who’d murdered five women. Where were all those fancy-pants detectives then?”

  “It was only luck, not good police work.”

  “He came at you with a knife and you won.”

  “What?” Freya looked to Craig. “Why didn’t you tell me? That’s amazing.”

  He just shrugged, embarrassed.

  Freya felt guilty. She’d been so caught up in her own life that she hadn’t taken the time to ask about his. All she’d seen was the uniform and she was realising there was so much more to him than that.

  “It wasn’t much really.”

  “Don’t be so modest Craig, it was even in the papers down here,” said Nora.

  “Anyway, I’m going to have to interview you both again. Individually,” he told them, anxious to change the subject.

  “Why?” groaned Nora. “I already told you I didn’t see or hear anything.”

  “Fine but I would like to talk to Freya in private.”

  “I bet you would,” Nora said to herself as she left the room.

  Craig gestured for Freya to retake her place at the table and he took the seat opposite.

  “Have you finished with that?” he said, indicating her plate still full of food.

  She grimaced and nodded. “Nora’s a good cook but I can’t eat anything so heavy first thing in the morning.”

  “I know what you mean but if it isn’t greasy she doesn’t class it as breakfast,” he said, shoving the plate aside.

  “It’s a wonder you’re not obese.”

  “I’m often up and out before she’s awake,” he smiled. Those green eyes of hers locked with his and once again he was hit with something big and heavy. Annoyed with himself he dropped his inane grin and decided to get down to business. “Right, have you remembered anything else?”

  “Yes actually. Although I didn’t see anything I remember hearing something. Not at the time of the murder but later, just before you knocked on my door the second time.”

  Craig thought of the figure he’d seen but tried to keep his posture relaxed. “What did you hear?”

  “Someone moving around outside. It was probably just something blowing about in the wind.”

  “Probably,” he said, deciding to keep quiet about what he saw. For all he knew it was just a piece of loose tarpaulin fluttering about in the wind. Still, he was glad she was staying here. “I’m sorry to reopen old wounds but in light of what happened to Catriona I’m left with no choice. I believe you when you say Father Logan was The Elemental. What do you think was his motive?” he said, curious to hear her theory.

  “I didn’t put it together at the time, it was only years later when I was a bit more wordly-wise, but I think something was going on between him and my mum. I hate to say it but I do.”

  “You mean, they were having an affair?”

  “Logan came to the house a lot. When he visited I’d be sent upstairs or out to play. He was always so harsh, full of rough words, especially to me, he treated me like an inconvenience. I remember thinking shouldn’t a representative of God be kind and gentle?”

  Craig’s memories were all too clear of Freya when she was a little girl telling him the mean man in black was at their house again, but he didn’t want to lead her by mentioning it.

  “He used to snap at me to leave and Mum would tell him not to talk to me like that. He’d apologise but he didn’t mean it. I hated him even before he buried my mum alive. For years it was just her and me. She had the odd date but no one could ever compare to my dad. Then that arsehole came along and made me feel unwanted in my own home. I couldn’t understand why she was friends with such a horrible man but Logan was good-looking in a tall, scary sort of way. Do you remember what he was like when he was preaching? It was impossible to take your eyes off him, even when he was spouting all that fire and brimstone crap.”

  “I remember.
He used to scare me to death.”

  “You weren’t the only one. People were afraid to blow their noses in front of him in case he told them they were going to hell for it.”

  “What do you think his motive was?”

  “He was off his head, plain and simple. I did some research. The elements are earth, air, fire and water, all symbols of purification. Logan was obsessed with sin. I think he thought all four women were bad so he decided they weren’t fit to live, in his arrogant way. Maybe in his twisted logic he thought he was saving their souls. To him Mum would have been the worst offender, tempting him onto the sinful path. It would have been just like that bastard to blame her for the affair and not take responsibility for his own actions.”

  Craig found it very interesting that her theory tallied with their own. From what he remembered of Logan, his wild staring eyes, powerful voice and zealous ways, it was entirely plausible. “That fits in with what my dad believed.”

  “Do you know there’s a fifth element?”

  His eyes narrowed with interest. “No.”

  “Spirit, the ether. Are you sure there weren’t five victims?”

  Craig opened his mouth in denial then closed it again. He couldn’t recall a death after Rose Macalister but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to check.”

  “Surely that would have been attractive to him? I bet you there’s another victim, one everyone thinks died naturally.”

  “I’ll check, I promise. I want you to know, Dad fought hard to prove Logan was guilty but the odds were stacked against him.”

  “He was a good man. You must miss him.”

  “Every day,” he said sadly.

  “He’d be so proud of you arresting a serial killer.”

  “Like I said, it was pure dumb luck. In Inverness we had a killer abducting women from Bellfield Park. He’d rape them, cut their throats then dump them back in the park. I was part of the team going door-to-door. I knocked on Lee McDonald’s door. He looked pretty non-threatening, mid twenties, lanky, sticky-out ears. When I asked him if he’d heard or seen anything a woman screamed for help from inside his house.” Craig repressed a shudder. “He changed right before my eyes. The little boy lost look fell away and underneath he was an animal. He pulled a knife and went for me. We fought, I got the knife off him and punched him in the face until he lost consciousness. We found Denise Brown, eighteen years old, hog-tied in his kitchen. If he’d tied her gag any tighter I wouldn’t have heard her.”

  Freya stared at him in horrified fascination. “Was she okay?”

  “Fine. He’d beaten her up a bit, but overall she was okay. Much better than his five previous victims.”

  She noted the flicker in his eyes. “Were you okay?”

  “Yeah, just a couple of cuts on my arms, defence wounds.”

  “That wasn’t just luck, it was good police work and you were very brave,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. She was surprised by what she’d done and quickly retracted her hand, looking embarrassed. “I just mean you’ve done so well for yourself, achieved everything you wanted to. It’s good.”

  Craig was overcome with sadness. She’d wanted to be a doctor, it was something she was adamant about throughout her childhood, so adamant that her mum bought her one of those toy doctor’s kits and she’d adored it, kept it for years. She’d played doctor on him, examining him, making up mad maladies and prescribing even madder cures, the sort that only children can dream up. He shifted in his seat, watching her from the corner of his eye as he wondered if she still had it. Playing doctors and nurses now would be so much more interesting. He shook away the unwanted dangerous thoughts and cleared his throat.

  “Am I making you nervous?” she said.

  “No, why?”

  “You were looking at me funny.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

  “I know the way I look can make some people uneasy.”

  “I think it suits you. Scary but cool.”

  “Thanks,” she smiled.

  “I wish I’d been there when you walked into the pub, I bet their expressions were priceless.”

  “I thought they were going to fetch their pitchforks and torches. They might have done if Catriona hadn’t recognised me.” Her smile dropped. “Get the bastard who killed her Craig, she didn’t deserve that.”

  “I will. Problem is, I’ve no bloody idea where to start. Logan’s dead.”

  “So someone’s continuing his work.”

  “But who? His only living relative is his mum.”

  “That insane old bitch is still going? She sat up there in the Parish House like the Queen of Sheba. She really thought she was something special because her darling son was the village priest. She was always having a go at my mum for being a single parent, even though she was a widow.” Freya scowled at the memory of the small grey haired woman with the indomitable will and the big hairy mole on her chin.

  “There was a bit of a Norman Bates thing going on between her and Logan. I always thought if she died first he’d have her stuffed and put in pride of place in her chair by the fire.”

  “No wonder he turned out to be such a zealot, growing up with her.”

  Their eyes locked as they both came to the same conclusion.

  “I think I should have a word with Mother Logan,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Is she still in the Parish House?”

  “Oh yes. Social Services have tried to get her out many times but they’ve always failed.”

  “How old is she? She must have been in her seventies when I was here.”

  “She just looked older than she was. She’s in her early eighties now. Still as strong as an ox and as pleasant to be around as a scorpion.” He gazed out of the window, the view obscured by the rain pouring down the glass and he was reluctant to leave the warm house and congenial company to visit a creepy old woman in an even creepier house in a storm. “I think I’ll drive.”

  “Be careful. It can get really muddy up there.”

  “I’d better check on her anyway. A home help goes up twice a week but they won’t be able to get anywhere near at the moment. You’ll stay inside, won’t you? Stay safe.”

  “I’m hardly going out for a stroll, am I?” she said, but it was good-natured. “I’ll help Nora with the housework as a thanks for letting me stay.”

  “I’d say enjoy but I’m not sure you will. She’s a domestic tyrant.”

  At that moment Steve returned to the house and pulled off his jacket. “I’m bursting for a pee. You won’t believe how much tea I’ve drunk this morning.”

  “Make it quick then you’re coming with me,” said Craig.

  “Where to?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.”

  After Steve had relieved himself, he and Craig exited the house and hurried through the rain to Craig’s car. Freya watched from the window, shivering slightly. When she’d been alone with Craig she’d felt completely safe but in the rain, his features obscured, he could so easily be PC Docherty.

  An arm around her shoulders made her jump.

  “You alright Hen?” said Nora.

  “Fine.”

  “This business is making us all edgy. I only hope it’s not like the last time, with all the paranoia.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I suppose you were too young to understand. Think about it, a small village, people who’ve known each other their entire lives trapped together with a murderer on the loose. Although there wasn’t a storm back then the police said no one was allowed to leave because we were all suspects. Old secrets and rivalries surfaced. A few quarrels broke out, there were even a couple of fights, neighbour turning on neighbour, accusations flying about. It was terrible and it looks like it could be starting again.”

  “You don’t think Catriona’s death is a one off?”

  “No I don’t.” She smiled and patted Freya’s cheek. “You know, now I’ve got used to your new look I quite like i
t. I always wished I’d done something daring when I was younger but I played it safe and now it’s too late.”

  “Safe is good,” she said quietly.

  Nora saw the sadness in her eyes and wanted to snap her out of it. “Let’s tackle the bedrooms first, eh?”

  Freya smiled. “Okay.”

  “It’s nice having another woman about the house. I’ve always lived with men. It’s refreshing living with someone who smells nice and tidies up after herself.”

  Despite everything, Freya smiled. Nora was still the warm maternal woman she remembered and she was grateful for her.

  CHAPTER 7

  “Who lives here, the Munsters?” said Steve as they sat in Craig’s car, staring up at the Parish House. It was a big granite edifice with its very own tower, looming over them and blotting out the turbulent sky. Crows hunkered down in the eaves, sheltering from the wind that ruffled their feathers. The garden that Logan had kept immaculate was overgrown, weeds asphyxiating the roses that had once been his pride and joy.

  Carefully they picked their way up the path, trying to avoid the brambles that snagged at their trouser legs. They managed to get to the front door without incident and Craig rang the old pull-cord bell, one sombre note echoing throughout the house. The wind was even wilder up here and they had to hold onto their hats to prevent them from blowing away, huddling up to the front door for shelter. When it did eventually open they almost fell inside.

  They were greeted by a wizened old woman dressed entirely in black. Since the day her husband died fifty years ago Claire Logan had kept to her mourning clothes. Her hair was silver and fell to her waist and her eyes - that had once been the same piercing blue as her sons - were rheumy with cataracts and glared at the two officers with sheer malevolence.

  “What’s the meaning of this? Are you spying on me?” she demanded in a voice croaky with age.

  “No Mrs Logan. It’s me, Craig Donaldson. I work for the police now,” he said in that voice everyone reserves for the very old and deaf.

  “Well I didn’t think you were lollipop men, ya clatty wee bastard. Always covered in muck and filth you were, always up to something.”

  Craig was shocked. She used to be so straight-laced she wouldn’t have dreamed of swearing but he’d heard she was going senile, which was why Social Services wanted her in a home and not rattling around up here, alone.