The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1)

by Heather Atkinson

  “So they’re both capable of violence?”

  “Oh yes. Howard might be small but he’s very strong and Toby, well I don’t want to sound like one of the many gossipy old women around here but he does have a vicious streak. Once he punched Howard and he fell and then he kicked him in the ribs for good measure, all because he took Catriona to the cinema.”

  Craig wondered if Catriona had bestowed too much attention on Howard and it had enraged Toby so much he’d killed her, or vice versa. But anger like that would have erupted in a spontaneous burst of violence, he would have strangled her or battered her head in. Why replicate a fifteen year old murder if it was spur of the moment?

  “Thanks Martin, you’ve given me lots to think about.”

  “I can call my Practice Manager, ask her to look into the other deaths in the village fifteen years ago.”

  “That would be great, thank you.”

  Craig left and returned to his mum’s, glad that Steve and Gary were still out. They were both getting on his nerves a little bit and he wondered if he’d chosen the right people to assist him.

  “You look tired,” he told Freya, who was slumped on the couch in front of the television.

  “Nora’s a hard taskmaster,” she replied. “Upstairs is absolutely spotless. I even had to clean the toilet bowl with a toothbrush, it was like being back inside.”

  “You’re not saying the prison officers were as harsh as my mum?” he replied playfully, sitting beside her.

  “I suppose that would be unfair on the PO’s,” she said with an impish smile that made him tingle.

  “Ah, you’re back,” said Nora, emerging from the kitchen. “How did it go?”

  “I can’t tell you Mum.”

  “Fine, I get it. By the way, that magazine I found under your bed was disgusting.”

  He would have denied it but his face turned scarlet.

  “What magazine’s this?” smirked Freya.

  “Just some police literature,” he said.

  “There were police officers in it but if they went around dressed like that all the time they’d end up with frostbite,” said Nora disapprovingly.

  Freya released an involuntary laugh, which she quickly stifled when she saw how mortified Craig was.

  “My cousin slept in there a few months ago when he came to visit, it must have been his,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “It was dated two weeks ago,” countered Nora.

  “I deny all knowledge.”

  “Hmmm. Anyway I’m about to make your day even better. Mad Mandy called.”

  “Oh great,” he sighed.

  “Who’s Mad Mandy?” said Freya.

  “My ex-girlfriend and one reason I moved back here from Inverness. Unfortunately I only found out she was completely insane after we’d moved in together.”

  The thought of Craig with another woman caused Freya an unexpected stab of jealousy. “So it’s over, is it?”

  “Yes, thank God.”

  “She’s already called four times today. She won’t stop until you speak to her, you know what she’s like,” said Nora before carrying the laundry basket through to the kitchen.

  “Are you going to call her?” said Freya. She held up her hands. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

  “It’s alright and I won’t if I can help it but once she called me a hundred and twenty three times in a day. I’ve changed my number twice but somehow she always gets hold of my new one.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Absolutely stunning,” replied Nora, returning to the room minus the laundry basket. “Six foot tall, long curly red hair, perfect bone structure, but completely mad mental. She’s a model, quite a successful one too and God complex isn’t the word.”

  “She’s a total nightmare.” Craig went silent when the phone started to ring again. “If that’s her I’m not here.”

  “I’m not your secretary,” snapped Nora, but she picked up the phone anyway. “Oh hello Mandy, sorry he’s still not back. He’s working. Now don’t do anything silly Hen, you’ve got such a bright future, think of your modelling career, your fans…oh just a second Love I think I heard him come in.”

  “No,” whispered Craig, frantically waving his hands back and forth.

  Nora covered the mouthpiece. “She’s threatening to kill herself again.”

  “It’s only a threat, she won’t actually do it.”

  Nora thrust the handset at him. “Talk to her yourself, she’s your problem.”

  Craig sighed and reluctantly put the phone to his ear, wincing at the screeching down the line. “Hello Mandy. Now stop being ridiculous. No I’m not coming back to Inverness, I’m happy here. We’ve gone through this so many times and I’m not doing it again,” he said, getting to his feet and leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

  “It’s a shame that relationship went wrong,” said Nora. “He was crazy about her when they first met.”

  “How did they meet?”

  “At a nightclub in Inverness. She seemed so sweet at first and of course what man wouldn’t be bowled over by a successful model.”

  Freya winced, wondering how an ex-alcoholic jailbird with no prospects could ever attract a man like Craig. She was stupid to even hope. Not that she wanted him anyway, she quickly told herself. Yeah, right.

  “They moved in together then it all started to go wrong. She cheated on him but got insanely jealous if he even talked to another woman. She got violent a few times too. You know Craig, he’d never hurt a woman, so when he didn’t hit back she thought that gave her licence to hit him more.”

  “The bitch,” scowled Freya.

  “So he left her and now she won’t leave him alone, even though it was over months ago. She doesn’t really want him, it’s all about control. He dared to leave her and she’ll do anything to get him back, just to prove to herself that she can.”

  “Is he likely to go back to her?”

  “Who knows. He did love her very much and I’m not convinced he still doesn’t.”

  “Oh.”

  Nora watched Freya from the corner of her eye. She’d seen how she looked at her son and even though she felt sorry for her and even liked her she didn’t want him taking up with her. Nora wanted him to meet a stable, baggage-free woman and that wasn’t Freya.

  That night while they slept there was a terrific hammering at the front door, causing the house to jump awake. Craig raced downstairs in jogging bottoms and a t-shirt, rubbing his eyes. He peered through the spy hole before opening the door to reveal Martin struggling to stay upright in the wind.

  “The Parish House is on fire,” he managed to shout.

  “Shit.”

  “The volunteer Fire Brigade’s up there but it’s all hands on deck.”

  “I’ll grab my constables and meet you up there,” he said before slamming the door shut in his face and running back upstairs.

  “What’s going on?” said Nora, appearing on the landing in her dressing gown.

  Freya emerged from her bedroom in a short black t-shirt and nothing else. Craig tried not to stare at her long slender legs. “Fire?” she said questioningly.

  “Up at the Parish House.”

  “What can we do to help?” said Nora.

  “Nothing, just stay here,” he replied before charging into his bedroom to throw on some clothes. Fortunately he had a spare uniform in his wardrobe then he pelted back downstairs, Freya and Nora following. Freya winced as he pulled on his fluorescent jacket and black boots then he hurried out into the night, calling at them over his shoulder to lock up behind him.

  He raced across the road, fighting against the wind and rain. Glancing up the hill towards the Parish House he saw an orange glow but that was all he could make out. He banged on the door of Freya’s cottage.

  “Open up,” he yelled.

  After rounding up his grumbling constables he shoved them out the front door and into his car. They drove up the road guided by the orange light emana
ting from the Logan residence.

  “Fire. Is this the second murder?” said Gary.

  “Let’s hope not,” replied Craig, focusing all his attention on the road ahead that was almost invisible through the heavy rain. They had to abandon the car halfway up the hill when it got stuck in the mud and struggled the rest of the way on foot, covered in mud and dripping wet again by the time they reached the house.

  They were greeted by Bill Miller, Brenda’s husband, who emerged from the house streaked with soot. “About bloody time you lot showed up.”

  “What have we got?” said Craig.

  “The fire was confined to the lower level. We’ve put it out, thank Christ.” His expression softened. “Claire’s dead.”

  “Right, I’m declaring this a crime scene,” said Craig forcefully.

  “Why, was it murder?”

  The wind was taken out of his sails. “I don’t know, I haven’t seen inside yet.”

  “Then how do you know it’s a crime scene?”

  “A woman’s died.”

  “Might have been an accident.”

  “Was it?” he said impatiently.

  “You tell me Poirot. I just pour water on things until they go out. I’m off to the pub for a stiff drink. Gordon’s opening it up for us heroes of the hour,” he said before striding away.

  “Is it safe to go in?” called Craig.

  “Aye,” he called back without turning round.

  “Don’t take offence Sarge, I think he’s trying to hide his upset behind a front,” said Steve.

  “I know. Come on, let’s get it over with. This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

  As they reached the house Adam stumbled out of the front door and leaned against the wall, looking dazed. At twenty two he was the youngest member of the volunteer brigade.

  “Are you alright?” Craig asked him.

  In response the boy doubled over and vomited into the bushes. They hastily walked past him and into the house to be greeted by a giant dressed in yellow and streaked with soot, a mask covering his face, breathing like Darth Vadar.

  He pulled off the mask to reveal Toby. “Jesus it’s a mess in there.” His face turned green and he charged past them and joined Adam throwing up in the bushes.

  “Oh this is going to be bad,” whispered Steve.

  Reluctantly they walked into the large sitting room to find three of the more seasoned men of the village staring sadly at something in the fireplace. Craig could smell the body before he saw it and his stomach turned over. He’d seen the victim of a fire before after a homeless man got trapped in a disused tenement the night some idiot decided to petrol bomb it.

  The body lay half in the gothic marble fireplace, the blackened legs hanging out. The rest of the room was untouched by the fire, which had been contained within the fireplace.

  “Oh God,” gasped Steve before clamping a hand to his mouth and running outside to join Adam and Toby throwing up in the bushes.

  Craig and Gary looked at each other before turning their attention back to the body.

  “What have we got?” said Craig, trying not to inhale.

  “I thought that would have been fucking obvious,” replied Jimmy, Lizzy Clark’s husband and Bill’s best friend.

  “I mean, were any accelerants used or did she fall into the fire?” he retorted, attempting to keep his temper.

  “There was a strong smell of petrol,” offered Jimmy, “but we’re no arson investigators, we’re just volunteers.”

  “I know and you’ve done a commendable job. So are you Acting Incident Commander?”

  “No way, I’m Station Commander but that’s it. You’re no’ lumbering me with fancy titles.”

  “And I’m no detective but I’m stuck with it. These are unusual circumstances and we’ve all got to band together.”

  Jimmy shrugged his big shoulders. “Alright, I suppose.”

  “Okay, first things first, are we sure that’s Claire?”

  “Got to be. She’s no’ here and the cross she always wore is burnt into the flesh of her chest.”

  Steve - who had just returned to the room - heard this comment, heaved and had to run back outside.

  Craig ignored him. “Is this the only room affected?”

  “No, the study’s been burnt out.”

  “Shit,” he said, resisting the urge to run and check how much damage had been done. He had to do this properly. “Is the building safe?”

  “Aye, it’s only this room and the study affected. No supporting walls or timbers damaged.”

  “How did you discover the fire?”

  “Martin told us.”

  “What was he doing here?”

  “Checking on Claire apparently. You’ll have to ask him for more details. When we got here she was burning in the grate, already dead. I’m no expert but I think someone poured petrol on her and set her on fire, it stank of it.”

  “Have you seen a jerry can anywhere?”

  He shook his head negatively.

  “Was the door open when you got here, you didn’t force entry?”

  “It was open. I don’t know how Martin got in.”

  “I’ll speak to him. Has anyone been hanging round, asking about the fire?”

  “None of the lads have mentioned it.”

  “Steve, that’s something you can do,” he called when his constable returned, looking peaky. “Go back outside and check there’s no one hanging around with an unusual interest in the fire. Speak to any witnesses then check all the doors and windows for forced entry.”

  Steve could have wept with gratitude and he nodded and raced back outside before Craig could change his mind.

  “Okay thanks Jimmy,” said Craig. “We’ll take it from here. Finish up and get yourselves to the pub, you deserve a drink.”

  “Thank Christ for that.” He looked into the grate, eyes sad. “We’ve not seen anything like this since Mary Cassidy was tied to a pike in the woods. I was at that shout too.”

  “I know,” said Craig quietly. If there was any doubt the killer was mimicking the original murders it had just been violently eradicated.

  “So, what do we do now?” said Gary sounding a bit lost as the fire crew filed out.

  “Well, we’ve no crime investigator, no fire scene examiner and no sodding detectives.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Let’s start with what we know best. Let’s cordon off the area.”

  “Okay,” said Gary, looking happier. This he was familiar with.

  After putting up crime scene tape, securing the windows and locating the keys for the doors they returned to the grisly scene in the sitting room.

  “Is it me or is the smell getting worse?” said Gary.

  “It’s getting worse but we can’t open a window, rain could get in and contaminate the scene.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Craig desperately wished the weight of this had landed on someone else’s shoulders. “If this was a normal investigation I’d be checking the local petrol stations to see if any cans of petrol had been bought recently, but this isn’t a normal investigation. People in this village have cans on standby because they can be cut off from civilisation so easily, so chances are the petrol might have been bought so long ago there’ll be no CCTV footage anyway, that’s even if I could get out of the village. Take a look outside, there’s some equipment out back. See if any of it takes petrol. The killer might have used that.”

  “Sarge,” he said almost with a smile, eager to get out of that room.

  Not wanting to be alone with the body Craig decided to examine the study. The room was a shell, the furniture melted or completely destroyed and the stench of petrol was strong. The desk was barely managing to stay upright, its legs burnt away to spindles. Worst of all, that cupboard with all those enticing files had been obliterated. But he did have one piece of luck; those weird books had been saved. Pulling on his gloves he took them off the shelf and flicked through them, hoping to get a better insight into the mind of Alexa
nder Logan. A horrible thought occurred to him. Had his visit to Claire triggered her death? Did she know something that the killer was frightened she’d reveal? One thing was for sure, this study had held a clue to it all, but now that clue was gone.

  There was a loud groan followed by an enormous bang.

  “Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Craig, dropping the book.

  Logan’s desk had collapsed, the ruined legs finally giving way. He bent to retrieve the book, which had fallen open at an old drawing of a witch being drowned. Picking it up he flicked through it and found another of a witch being burnt at the stake.

  “Is that what it was Logan? Did you believe they were witches? You mental bastard.”

  Craig’s head snapped up when he heard those slow steady footsteps outside the door again, the ones he thought he’d heard on his previous visit.

  “Hello?” he called.

  There was no response, the only sound those footsteps getting nearer and nearer. Craig backed up towards the window, afraid of seeing a tall figure in black stride into the room ready to condemn his soul to hell.

  Instead Steve and Gary entered the room, both dripping wet and shivering but bright eyed with the hunt and fresh air.

  “Oh thank God,” breathed Craig.

  “What’s up Sarge? Getting spooked?” said Gary.

  “Aren’t we all?” replied Steve. “This whole village creeps me out.”

  “Did you find anything?” said Craig, keen to move the conversation on.

  “There were no witnesses except the doctor,” began Gary. “The only people who came up here were the volunteer fire brigade.”

  “Did you interview Martin?”

  “He’s down at the pub attending to one of the firemen,” replied Steve. “Apparently one of them got tangled in the weeds in the garden like we did, fell flat on his face and knocked himself out.”

  “Alright, I’ll interview him later.”

  “And there were no signs of forced entry. Whoever it was, she let him in or she left the door unlocked.”

  “Okay, good job Steve,” he said, thinking he needed to hear those words.

  “Thanks,” he smiled, reminding Craig of an enthusiastic puppy.