“Do you remember we shared our first kiss in this room?” she said. She’d stayed here just after her mother died, too young to be left alone in her own home.
“Oh aye, I remember. I was so nervous and I had no idea what to do with my hands.”
She hesitated before saying, “I bet you do now.”
His eyes glimmered. “I’ve never had any complaints.” He turned her hand over and kissed the top of it. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“In a funny way I was, until history started repeating itself.”
He recalled Claire’s charred remains and his libido deflated. Freya sensed this and they relinquished each other’s hands, the moment gone.
“You should get some sleep,” she said.
He got to his feet. “Well goodnight, what remains of it.”
“Night Craig.”
“And make sure you clean off those boots.”
“I will.”
Unable to help himself he snuck one last glance at her exposed legs then left, thinking it was probably good that things hadn’t gone any further between them.
Freya flung herself back on the bed, simultaneously relieved and disappointed. He was the first man she’d really wanted since James.
Freya was a little ashamed of herself when she woke the next morning with butterflies in her stomach after two deaths, but she was excited about what had not quite happened with Craig the previous night. He’d given her such comfort that the shakes had gone, taking with them the urge to drink. Suddenly she didn’t feel quite so alone. She was surprised by how disappointed she was when he wasn’t downstairs.
“Where’s Craig?” she asked Nora, who was bustling about in the kitchen.
“He was up and away early this morning. He was on the phone to his DI and the Fiscal and I think they gave him a hard time. Poor boy, he’s doing his best. If that DI had arrived when she was supposed to he wouldn’t have been left SIO. Now he’s got to find a way of storing Claire’s body without destroying any evidence. I don’t envy him that task.”
Freya was relieved. At least he wasn’t trying to avoid her. “Do you fancy going for a walk?”
Nora gestured to the window. “In this?”
“Just down the road to my cottage. I need more of my stuff.”
“Okay. It’d be good to look at a different set of walls.”
They wrapped up tightly against the elements and in the fifteen seconds it took them to get down the street they were drenched. Fortunately their raincoats kept their clothes dry and they left their dripping jackets and boots in the porch and walked into the sitting room.
Freya froze. “Urgh. The dirty pigs.”
In the short time Gary and Steve had spent in her cottage they’d managed to clutter the place up with dirty plates and mugs and - to her disgust - a pair of dirty socks were crumpled in the middle of the floor.
“What’s that smell?” she demanded.
“That is the smell of men living together without a female presence,” announced Nora.
“I’ll be having a word with that pair. The letting agent would have a fit if he saw this.”
“Why don’t you get what you need and I’ll have a tidy up?”
“Thanks Nora,” she smiled gratefully.
While Freya ran upstairs, Nora collected up the dirty crockery and carried it through to the kitchen to wash up. As she plunged her hands into the hot soapy water, humming to herself, she caught sight of something at the window, a swirl of black. Pausing in her work she peered through the glass. When she saw nothing she just shrugged and continued washing up.
All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she sensed someone watching her. Looking back at the window she released a scream and staggered back, hands dripping suds.
There was the thunder of footsteps on the stairs and Freya appeared. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a face at the window.”
They both froze when they spied a shadow through the glass of the back door, which Freya knew was fortunately locked. It disappeared momentarily before reappearing, increasing in size as it grew nearer and nearer until it filled up the panel in the door, breath fogging up the frosted glass. There was a moment of silence during which they both held their breath, then a tremendous hammering started up on the door, shaking it in its frame.
Freya ran for the front door and locked it before pulling her mobile phone from her jeans pocket and dialling Craig’s number, praying she could get a signal. Stubbornly it refused to connect.
“Bloody storm, I can’t get through to Craig,” she exclaimed.
“Oh hell,” said Nora, not daring to take her eyes off the back door. The handle waggled up and down as the intruder attempted to open it. Freya grabbed one of the kitchen chairs and jammed it under the handle, so it couldn’t be moved. She faced the black shape through the frosted glass of the door, certain she could hear it breathing. Although she couldn’t make out any features it seemed to stare back at her. There was a swish of black and it disappeared from view. Nora and Freya clutched each other’s hands as it reappeared again behind the window overlooking the sink. One big fist slammed against the glass, making them both jump.
“I’ll try Craig again,” Freya whispered, pressing the phone to her ear. “Thank God it’s ringing.”
“Freya, I’m a bit busy.” His voice was faint, sounding as though he was a million miles away.
“Craig,” she yelled into the phone. “Me and Nora are at my cottage and someone’s trying to get in.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know.”
“On my…”
The line went dead and she prayed that last word was way. “Craig’s coming,” she told Nora.
“Thank God for that. He’ll see them off.”
The figure suddenly ducked out of sight.
“Where’s he gone?” said Freya.
“I don’t know.”
Anxiously they scanned each window, expecting to see a big black shadow reappear, but it seemed to have vanished.
They both squealed when the banging started up again on the back door with renewed force, every considerable blow causing it to jump in its frame.
“Go away,” Freya screamed.
The hammering stopped. Heart pounding, Freya reluctantly approached the window overlooking the small back yard, allowing her a view of the door.
“Freya,” whispered Nora.
“It’s alright,” she whispered back.
Slowly she leant towards the window, her breath fogging up the glass. She leapt back and screamed when a black-clad figure appeared on the other side.
When Craig, Steve and Gary charged round the back of the house five minutes later and demanded to be let in Freya was curled up in a corner of the kitchen, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth, silent tears running down her face.
“Are you alright Mum?” said Craig when she opened the door.
“I’m fine but I don’t think she is,” she said, gesturing to Freya.
Craig raced to her side but she didn’t seem to notice his presence, staring at something only she could see.
“What happened?” he said, gently tapping Freya’s face to bring her round.
“She looked out of the window and saw something, I don’t know what. Then she screamed and curled up there and she’s been like that ever since. She needs a reviver. I’ll get the whisky from my cottage.”
“No alcohol,” said Craig firmly. “Freya, it’s Craig. What did you see?”
When she stared straight through him he slapped her face harder. “Freya, can you hear me?”
Her eyes settled on him and when they focused on his fluorescent jacket she screamed again and scrambled away from him.
“Shit,” he said, pulling off the jacket and throwing it aside. “It’s me, Craig. You’re safe with me, remember?”
Unfortunately at that moment the door banged open and Gary and Steve burst in. At the sight of them Freya shot to her feet and ran for t
he front door. In her panic she forgot that she’d locked it and frantically pulled at it, sobbing and shaking.
“Take off your jackets you idiots,” Craig snarled at them and they hurried to obey, Nora watching the scene in amazement. “Freya calm down, it’s me,” he repeated.
She threw a glance over her shoulder and when she saw it was just her old friend she started to cry. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright,” he said, slowly approaching her, hands held out before him. When he went to her she collapsed into his arms. “Let’s get you back to Mum’s.”
She nodded into his chest, clinging onto him. They left Gary and Steve at the house to take a more detailed look around while Craig was forced to brave the storm without his jacket, consequently he was soaked to the skin by the time they made it back but he ignored his own discomfort to help Freya remove her boots and coat like she was a child.
“Here, get that down you,” said Nora, emerging from the kitchen with a glass of whisky.
“Mum, I said no,” Craig told her.
“Don’t be silly, it’ll steady her nerves.”
“I’m a recovering alcoholic,” Freya said quietly, voice heavy with shame.
There was an awkward silence before Nora took the whisky back into the kitchen, deciding to knock back the contents herself. Then she hid the bottle in one of the cupboards.
“So you didn’t see anyone outside?” Nora asked Craig when she returned to the sitting room.
“No. There were some scuff marks on the back door where it had been kicked but that was all,” he replied, settling Freya on the couch. “Did you see anything Mum?”
“Oh yes. I was washing up at the time. Freya was upstairs getting some stuff together. I looked up and there was a face at the window.”
“Can you describe the face?”
She thought hard. “Not really, the rain was so heavy and it was only for a split second. They were dressed in black, that’s the only thing I registered.”
“Male or female?”
“Male I think but I can’t be certain. It scared the life out of me.”
“Freya,” Craig said gently. “Can you describe what you saw?”
“I can do better than that. I know who it was,” she said so quietly he had to strain to hear her.
“Who?”
“Father Alexander Logan,” she said, shivering at the name and hugging herself.
Craig thought about what Claire had said. “It couldn’t have been him, he’s dead.”
“It was him, all in black, like a giant bat.”
“You thought it was Logan because he wore the same clothes?”
She nodded, curling in on herself. Craig thought this explained her severe reaction back at her cottage. She’d been so certain it was Logan that she’d briefly reverted back to being that terrified eleven year old girl.
“Okay,” was all he said, not wanting to push her. She looked like she could shatter at any moment. Craig nodded at his mum to leave him alone with Freya, so she went into the kitchen and shut the door. “Freya,” he said, taking her hand. “Are you okay?”
“When I saw that figure I felt like I was a kid again, watching my mum being buried alive.”
This statement validated his theory and he felt awful for her. “I think this proves you’re in very real danger. From now on you don’t leave this house without me, Steve or Gary. They’re the only ones who can’t be the killer. Other than Mum they’re the only people I trust in this entire village.”
“I don’t intend to go out again in a hurry.”
He noted her shaking hands. “Is that nerves or the need for a drink?”
“Both. It’s going to be a lifelong battle.”
“Don’t give in, will you?”
“No way. I want to live.”
He was heartened by the determination in her voice. Taking one of her trembling hands he held it tightly and she started to calm down a little. Their eyes locked and Craig experienced the urge to kiss her. He thought he must be crazy .
“I made an idiot of myself back at the cottage,” she said.
“It’s already forgotten. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. We need to finish up at the Parish House,” he said, gently extricating himself from her.
“Oh, okay.”
“I’ll get Gary to wait here until I come back, just in case the figure in black makes a reappearance.” He half hoped his colleague’s clumsy flirting would charm her and take her attention off him. He attempted to ignore the pang of pain the prospect caused him.
“Stay close to them,” Craig told Gary when he arrived.
“I’ve no problem with that Sarge,” he replied, eyes on Freya. “She’s okay now, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, the figure at the window brought back some bad memories.” He was a little taken aback when Gary gave an understanding nod.
Craig watched him take a seat beside Freya and regard her with concern. As they launched into another conversation about music, he felt that pang again.
CHAPTER 10
The search of the Parish House yielded nothing. Between Craig and Steve it took the rest of the day, even though some of the rooms were empty. Craig had felt sure they’d find something crucial to the case but if there was anything to find he assumed it had been burnt up in the fire. Neither had they come across any more pressed roses even though they’d examined every book in the study. On top of that he received a phone call from DI Armstrong that he really didn’t need.
“Shit,” he sighed, hanging up.
“What’s up?” said Steve, dragging himself out from under Claire’s bed where he’d found nothing but dust and a large dead spider.
“Just bloody Armstrong telling me what will happen to my career if I don’t catch the killer. As usual she didn’t give me anything useful.”
“She’s an arsehole. You know when she was in West Kilbride when she was supposed to be here?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s well known she’s shagging a CPS lawyer who lives there. I bet she was with him instead of doing her job.”
The knot of muscle at the base of Craig’s jaw pulsated with anger. “And thanks to her love life we’re stuck in this hell hunting a murderer with sod all to go on.” He was tired and the prospect of the meeting in the Community Hall that evening made him positively miserable. “Let’s get back to Mum’s. We can’t do anything else here and I’m starving. A whole day wasted. I felt sure we’d turn something up.”
Nora had dinner ready when they arrived and the five of them ate in silence, Craig’s bad mood infecting them all. The responsibility was pressing down on him and Steve and Gary were both glad they weren’t sergeant. When they’d finished eating the two constables scurried across the road on the pretext of changing before the meeting, but in truth they just wanted to escape the atmosphere. Nora shut herself away in the kitchen listening to music and cleaning her heart out while Craig slunk upstairs, leaving Freya alone on the couch.
After some deliberation she went upstairs to make sure he was okay. He’d been so kind to her she wanted to return the favour. She encountered him coming out of the bathroom, freshly showered in a second futile attempt to scrub off the stench of burnt Mrs Logan, a white towel around his waist. A blush crept up Freya’s neck and into her face, torn between admiring the tattoo on his chest and the muscles.
“I err…,” she began, forgetting what she wanted to say. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were in the shower.”
“Do you need the bathroom?”
She blushed deeper. “No. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You seem pretty down.”
“I’d feel better if I had a bloody clue what I was doing,” he sighed before walking into his bedroom.
Taking a deep breath she followed him in. “You’re doing a great job.”
“If I was then Claire would still be alive.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“I watched the first Elemental case destroy my dad. I feel
like this one is doing the same to me. I can’t stop thinking about it but it’s like I’m staring at a brick wall. Another woman is going to die and I can’t stop it.” His gaze softened. And it could be you.
Freya saw his genuine distress and went to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, resting her head on his bare shoulder. Despite his reticence, Craig hugged her tightly, enjoying how soft and warm she felt, how nice she smelled.
“You’re doing all you can. Not even DI Armstrong could do any more.”
“I feel useless.”
“You’re not. You’re an excellent police officer, it’s what you were born to do and you will catch this bastard.”
“Thanks for your faith in me.”
“You’ll always have it.”
That actually meant a lot and he clung onto her tighter.
“Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”
He gave her a mischievous grin. “You should be careful making an offer like that to a man wearing nothing but a towel, but there is one thing. You could show me your tattoo.”
She smiled. “You really want to see it?”
“If it’s not in too sensitive a place?”
“I suppose it’s only fair, I’ve seen yours a few times now.”
“Go on then,” he said, smile broadening.
She turned her back to him and lifted her jumper to reveal a path of fire emerging from the waistband of her jeans and blazing up her spine, leading to those flames he’d seen yesterday licking up her neck. To the left of the flames was a tidal wave that threatened to crash down onto the flames and on the right were two lines of Chinese symbols. He also noted she wasn’t wearing a bra.
“That’s amazing,” he said.
“It hurt like a bugger over the spine.”
“I’ll bet it did but they’ve done a fantastic job. How many sittings?”
“I lost count. I had a bit more added whenever I had the cash. It took a year and a half.”
“What do the symbols mean?”
“They’re Chinese for earth and air. Obviously you can’t draw air and it was the only way I could stand to have earth put on my body. I thought it might help my recovery by being open about what happened and trying to face it. Plus I love tattoos.”
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 13
