Freya’s chest heaved and tears rolled down her face as she listened to the horror of her mother’s last moments recited so coldly.
“It was all over with quickly. After he’d finished patting down the earth I saw his head snap round. He had the most remarkable eyes, don’t you think? They were capable of striking the fear of God into you. At first I thought he’d seen me, then I realised he was looking down the road. At you. Scared little girl that you were you screamed and ran and he chased you with the fury of hell inside him. If he’d caught you I’ve no doubt he would have killed you. To him you were just as guilty as your mother.” He touched her face, making her grimace. “And that’s why I know you’ll understand Freya, because you saw him that night, just as I did. I always felt we were kindred spirits after that. I never told him I’d seen him, I kept it entirely to myself. It was only thirteen years later when I went to see Father Logan on a home visit that it came out. He wasn’t too well by then; angina, early stage diabetes and his mind was starting to wander, but let’s face it, it had never been that stable to begin with. He would talk about your mum a lot, she seemed to haunt him. On two occasions when I visited him he spoke to her as though she was sitting next to him, reaching out to pat her knee and calling her Dear. So I told him what I saw that night. I wasn’t afraid of him any longer because I was younger and stronger. He frowned at me down his long face, as though trying to work out what I meant then he realised and he actually smiled. He called me a tricky wee bairn. I asked him why he’d done it and he told me because he trusted me after I kept his secret for so long. He said Rose brought it on herself for being a wicked woman who tempted him from the straight and narrow. Apparently he decided the baby had to be disposed of. He couldn’t have the rumours and whispers behind his back as the child grew, he had a position to maintain. Being a good Catholic Rose refused to have an abortion and chastised him for suggesting it in the first place. She told him she could never kill any child of hers and she was having it whether he liked it or not. He genuinely loved her and saw her defiance as a wickedness, a wickedness he blamed on Lorna MacDiarmid, who she was close to. You see, Lorna had indulged in an affair herself with her violent husband’s brother and Logan thought she had corrupted Rose. He actually thought she was a witch and casting spells over the other women his roving eye admired to try and tempt him.” He giggled, a creepy high-pitched sound. “He read about how witches would be ducked under water so he drowned Lorna. It was meant to be a test but he got carried away and ended up killing her. That gave him a taste for murder. However he didn’t want to punish the other women, who he thought had been infected by a witch through no fault of their own. Instead he wanted to cleanse them of their sin, like a good priest. So he used a ritual he’d learnt long ago involving purification and the elements. I mean, how ridiculous, he was completely round the twist, just like his mother. Logan was the one who knew everyone’s secrets, thanks to the confessional. It was why no one could discover a link between the victims, because those few who did know about the deceased’s transgressions were hardly likely to blurt them out and destroy their good name. That’s the wonderful thing about this village, appearance and form before the truth. It was what enabled them to let you be taken away. That saved your life too because if you’d stayed Logan would have tried to finish you off, he told me so. According to him you were full of your mum’s wickedness and he was certain you’d sink into sin and depravity in your adult life. Give him his due, he was right.” She tried to mumble something but the words were muffled by the funnel still sat in her mouth. He pulled it out. “What?”
“Ether,” she gasped, “the fifth element. He killed a fifth victim, didn’t he?”
Pleasure once more filled Martin’s eyes. “No. He was the fifth victim.”
“You killed Logan?”
“Oh yes. Well, it was more euthanasia really. His faith never wavered and he was convinced he was going to God, despite the lives he’d taken. He was tired and wanted to be with Rose again and being Catholic he couldn’t do it himself. So I did what he asked me to do, I gave him an ether overdose. With a medical history like his no one thought his death unusual. That was my first.”
“Were there others between Logan and Catriona?”
The smirk fell and tears filled his eyes. “No. It’s all your fault,” he yelled in her face. His hand pressed down on her injured wrist, grating the broken bones together, making her scream. “I’d managed to put what I did to Logan behind me but I wanted to repeat the experience. Taking someone’s life is such a rush. We can all be gods should we so choose but there are few of us who seize the chance. That’s what Catriona did when she killed our baby.”
“Your baby?” she managed to whisper, shaking with pain, her wrist agony.
“It’s amazing how closely my life has followed the path of Logan’s. A highly respected member of the community with a reputation to protect. We’d been seeing each other quietly for two years. I loved her. Then she betrayed me, aborted our baby before she even told me she was pregnant. If I hadn’t been her GP I wouldn’t have found out at all but she caught an infection and came to me for treatment. She tried to pretend it was just some random infection but I’m not stupid and she confessed. All my life I’ve wanted to be a father and she took that from me, destroyed what was mine without even pausing to consider whether I had a say. She told me it was her body and her decision and she was too old to be a mum, it wasn’t what she wanted.” He glared down at Freya. “What about what I fucking wanted? Suddenly Logan’s words about the sin of women made sense. Catriona was just like them and I wanted to punish her. We used to meet in private at her cottage three afternoons a week. She thought I was over the baby, that we were okay. When I suggested we take a bath together she was all too eager. I used the water to cleanse her of her sin, just like Father Logan did, so she could meet God with a clear conscience. She fought hard, she wanted to live but I was too strong for her. However killing her wasn’t enough, it was like something had been woken in me, something that could only be satisfied by murder. I recalled how Father Logan used to preach about the sin of women leading to all the evils in the world, so I chose the other women who had committed the same sin…”
“Abortion.”
“Thank you for registering with my practice Freya. It was thanks to you I got the idea in the first place. Of course I was curious to learn where you’d been for the past fifteen years and when I read about what you did when you were sixteen the plan just fell into place. A way to punish Catriona and others like her and fulfil Father Logan’s dying wish; the death of the one person who could testify to his own sin. How poetic that person is also the daughter of Rose McAllister.”
Behind Martin she saw Gary shift slightly, as though he was starting to come round. All she had to do was keep him talking until then. “Wait a minute, are you seriously suggesting Claire Logan had an abortion?” she said, wishing the throbbing in her wrist would abate, it was making her feel very sick.
“Oh yes, many years ago of course. A little indiscretion a few months after her husband died. Logan never knew but I was so fascinated with his family’s history I just had to look back through the medical records left from old Doctor Booth’s time. It surprised me as much as you. I told Logan just before I killed him and he was furious. He said she needed to be purified for her sin to protect her immortal soul and I promised to do that for him. The thing is, Claire was so round the bend she thought I was Logan, returned from the dead. I just put on the robes and spouted some old Latin and she started to believe her precious son had returned. When I gave her the gold cross I took from the Sacristy I had her in the palm of my hand. I poured petrol on her and she lay down on the fire willingly because it was what I - or rather what Logan - wanted, so technically I didn’t kill her. She would have done anything for her darling son.” A string of drool dangled from his lower lip and Freya tilted her head slightly so it wouldn’t land on her face. “She was screaming in agony but I told her she had to tol
erate it if she wanted her soul to be saved, so she flung out her arms and called on Christ to help her. Her will was so strong she managed to endure and didn’t get up and run around the room screaming. I quite admired that. Took me ages to get the stink of her out of Logan’s old robes, the ones he’d committed his own murders in. I kept them at the church because if anyone had found them in my house they would have realised what I’d done. Then your stupid boyfriend took them.”
“Claire must have been as insane as her son. Why did you burn the study?”
“Logan had photos of his victim’s bodies as well as notes about their sins hidden in folders among the minutes of the parish meetings. I mean that stuff was so boring it was unlikely anyone would ever look through it. I enjoyed sitting at his desk and looking at the photos when Claire let me in. When I saw Craig and one of his pet poodles going up to the house to speak to Claire I knew the fun was over and I had to dispose of both her and the contents of the study as quickly as possible.”
“He had photos of my mum?” she said, tears fuelled by pain and anger filling her eyes.
“Oh yes, naked and unconscious in that hole. He got off on looking through them and he liked to look out of his study window at their graves. Sshh, it’s alright,” he soothed when she started to cry. “She’s with God now, cleansed and reborn. You should be grateful to Logan.”
“Grateful?” she cried. “I hate that bastard.”
His expression hardened, the string of drool finally dripping from the corner of his mouth and landing on her face, sliding down her cheek and staining the pillow. “That is no way to talk about the saviour of your mother’s soul.”
“What about Brenda?”
“She had an abortion after having an affair with the soldier. That was in Doctor Booth’s notes too. I injected her with wasp venom. The injection I gave her at the pub to counteract the venom wasn’t epinephrine, it was more venom. I killed her right in front of her husband and he didn’t have a clue.”
“You evil twisted bastard. You’re going to burn in hell along with Logan.”
“No I’m not, I’m doing God’s work by eradicating the evil in this village. Now the explanations are over we get to the fun bit.”
Without warning he punched her in the face, knocking her head sideways into the pillow then the funnel was plunged back into her mouth and she coughed and gagged on the hard plastic. Freya beat at him with her good arm, but he didn’t even notice her feeble attempts as he reached into his medical bag.
“Ether is the fifth element Freya,” he said, producing a bottle of vodka. “Also known as spirit.”
CHAPTER 19
Freya’s thrashing increased as Martin ripped the top off the bottle and tipped the vodka down the funnel. She gagged when the burning liquid hit the back of her throat, stinging tears of pain and horror filling her up along with the alcohol. She groped for something to use as a weapon, her hand finding his bag.
“Poor Doctor Pierce told me all about your alcohol problem,” Martin explained as he attempted to pin her down while continuing to pour the alcohol down her neck. “I did feel a bit of a kindred spirit with him; both doctors who had their children taken from them by scheming women. He told me he loves you. Imagine how disappointed he’ll be when he discovers the woman he’s given his all to, who made him a faithful promise, betrayed his trust for the demon drink. Ow.”
Martin howled in pain as the empty syringe was plunged into his hand. Freya found herself released and she slid off the bed and onto the floor and thrust the fingers of her good hand down her throat, bringing the fiery liquid back up. With a horrible retch, she vomited the clear fluid up all over the carpet, tears blinding her, the blood thundering in her head and body shaking uncontrollably.
Martin yanked the needle out of his hand and reached down for her, grabbing a handful of hair and dragging her back onto the bed. He punched her in the stomach and - deciding to dispense with the funnel - shoved the bottle into her mouth instead and started to pour again. Freya managed to get her legs between him and herself and tried to kick him away but in his madness he was intensely strong, focused only on finishing the job and she couldn’t get free, the scorching trail of vodka slipping its way inside her, working its way towards her internal organs, preparing to shut them down once and for all.
The bottle was violently torn from her mouth when Gary came out of nowhere and hurled himself at them, knocking Martin off her. Once again Freya thrust her fingers down her throat, spewing vodka all over the bed.
While the two men violently fought she rolled onto the floor and dragged herself across the carpet to the door, praying her blurred vision was because of the blow to the face and not the alcohol. Her legs refused to cooperate, head spinning as she hauled her heavy body out of the room and to the top of the stairs.
“Help,” she tried to call, but all she could manage was a weak rasp. There was no way she could tackle the stairs in the state she was in. The sounds from the spare bedroom were becoming alarming.
Then all went quiet.
Freya paused, straining to listen, praying Gary would walk out of that room and tell her Martin was under arrest and everything was okay. But he didn’t. There was nothing but the awful protracted silence. Just like the night her mother had died, she was overcome by a sense of wrongness.
Move, do something her instinct screamed at her.
As she couldn’t go downstairs she did the only thing she could do and that was back up towards Craig’s bedroom, pushing herself along, unable to stand. She reached the door just as Martin stepped out onto the landing breathing hard, blood trickling from a cut to his forehead. He took a step towards her then froze at the sound of a car engine. Peering through the window at the top of the stairs he saw Craig’s car pull up.
“Fuck,” hissed Martin. He looked back at Freya, who watched him apprehensively. She was weak but still strong enough to put up a fight. There was no choice. With one last glare at her he ran down the stairs, just managing to get out the back door before Craig and Steve charged through the front.
“Freya,” bellowed Craig as he took the stairs two at a time.
“Here,” she said, resting her back against the wall, tempted to slip into the oblivion wanting to overtake her but she wouldn’t let it, terrified in case she didn’t wake up again. She had no idea how much of the vodka her body had absorbed.
Craig knelt by her side and grasped her hand. “Are you alright? Jesus, is that alcohol?”
She nodded slowly. “Vodka. Martin tried to force me to drink it, he’s the killer,” she breathed, the urge to sleep becoming overwhelming. “Spirit…fifth element.”
“Oh hell, how much did you drink?”
“Don’t know. I was sick. You need to check on Gary,” she said, raising a shaky hand to the door leading into the spare bedroom.
Craig nodded at Steve, who strode inside.
“The ambulance is standing by, it should be through soon, just hold on,” Craig told her.
“It was because of the abortion,” she murmured, her sight growing increasingly hazy, Craig’s handsome face fading before her eyes.
“I know all about it. Don’t worry yourself.”
A pale-faced Steve reappeared “Sarge, he really needs an ambulance, he’s in a bad way. He’s taken a couple of blows to the head.”
“Shit.”
“You need to arrest him. He’ll hurt someone else,” ended Freya.
“Hello? Only me,” called a voice. “Bill and Jimmy are here, they want to apologise to Freya.”
“Mum, get up here now,” yelled Craig. “Bring them with you.” Craig turned back to Freya. “I’ve got to get Martin but I’ll be back soon, I promise.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” he said before kissing her. “Mum, have you seen Martin?”
“Actually we have, running into his cottage. Freya, what happened to you? What’s that smell?”
“Vodka. Martin’s the killer. He tried to force Freya to drink al
cohol but she threw it back up. Can you look at Gary? He’s got a bad head injury,” Craig said, pointing in the direction of the spare bedroom. “I’ve got an arrest to make. Come on Steve.”
Determinedly Craig got to his feet and sped back down the stairs, Steve following.
“Jimmy, fetch Lizzy,” said Bill. He crouched before Freya and took her hand. “Alright Sweetheart? Just hang on, the ambulance will be here soon enough.”
She managed to give him a weak smile, deciding to forgive him for locking her up in the cellar. He’d suffered too at the hands of Martin Lynch.
Craig and Steve hauled a grimacing Adam out of the back of the car and laid him down on the couch in Nora’s living room. When Jimmy returned with Lizzy they left him in her hands and ran outside. Craig kicked in the front door of Martin’s cottage and checked every room but he wasn’t there.
“Bugger, where’s he got to?” said Craig.
“Probably trying to get out of the village before back-up gets in,” replied Steve.
“He’ll have to go straight past them to do it, there’s no other way out. He can’t leave by boat, not unless he wants to drown.” A horrible thought occurred to Craig and he dashed upstairs into the bedroom. “He’s a member of the local gun club, he has his own shotgun. Crap,” he said when he saw the lock box hanging open, empty.
Martin watched the convoy of police vehicles, ambulances and - for a reason he couldn’t understand - a fire engine slowly making their way along the road in, taking it carefully because there was still a significant amount of water on the road. In the lead car, a black Mondeo, sat a hatchet-faced woman with incredibly straight black hair and a thick fringe. He guessed this was the detective inspector Craig had moaned so much about. He wondered if she had made it in before the road flooded would he have been caught sooner? Craig had been blinded to the possibility of anyone here being a murderer because he had known them all his entire life. Would an outsider have seen things differently? Those two numpties he had to assist him hadn’t, so maybe not.
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 24
