“It’s safe?”
“Yes it’s safe. The sniper’s dead.
“Who was it?” called out Howard.
“Adam. He killed himself.”
“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Toby.
Absolute silence reigned as Bill related what had happened. Shock washed over the room, some vocalising their pain, others taking it silently, stoically. Despite the different reactions, all were devastated.
“Not again,” groaned Gordon from behind the bar, looking more withered than ever. This was bringing the pain of his beloved wife’s death screaming back. “What’s wrong with Blair Dubh?” he called out helplessly, addressing the entire room. “Something is seriously fucked up here.”
Many of the residents would have protested against the use of such offensive language, but they all recognised the violent emotion he was experiencing so they kept their peace.
Nora nodded sadly. Despite how much it had hurt her she was relieved Freya hadn’t wanted to bring Petie here. The sense that she’d been betrayed by her daughter-in-law ebbed away, leaving her feeling very foolish. Craig could have been shot too, he could have died today and the last words they’d ever exchanged would have been cross ones. “Because this place is evil,” she called out.
Everyone went silent and turned to regard her, including Graeme.
“We all know it but no one ever wants to say it,” she continued. “We’re all so proud of our wee village but it’s rotten. On the surface everything is so pretty and clean but underneath it’s putrid. It started with Father Logan and it got worse because we ignored what he was. We let them take Freya away, drag her kicking and screaming from here and this is our punishment. This is going to keep happening until someone does something about it.”
“And what do you suggest Nora?” said Gordon. “Dig up Logan and throw his bones into the sea?”
Nora drained her whisky and banged the glass down on a table. “Why not? Let’s dig Lynch up too while we’re at it.”
“You can’t do that, it’s a desecration,” said Mary, one of the older village residents, scandalised.
“The only desecration is those two bastards still lying up there, in our churchyard. It’s wrong.”
“No, your plan is what’s wrong Nora,” retorted Mary.
“Did those monsters try to kill your daughter-in-law and the mother of your grandchild? No,” she cried, glad she was feeling protective of Freya again. It had pained her to have bad thoughts about her.
More people joined in the debate and a furious row erupted, fuelled by the large amounts of alcohol the villagers had thrown down their necks in an attempt to soothe their nerves after this latest atrocity.
Graeme leaned back against the bar, lapping it up, enjoying listening to them argue back and forth about digging up bodies in the hope it would improve their shitty little village. No one had a clue he was at the centre of the carnage, they’d just accepted it was Adam. Their stupidity and gullibility sickened him. They were all completely useless, taking up valuable resources that could be utilised by more useful members of society. Worst of all they were infected with evil, which made it vital they were eradicated as soon as possible. When the police had gone they would be.
A flash of lightening and a rumble of thunder made his guts clench, cold sweat breaking out on his spine despite the humidity. Suddenly he was twelve again, hiding under the kitchen table, watching that big pair of boots slowly circle the room. He could hear the heavy tread as they banged off the wooden floor, louder than the thunder. He could see his father lying on that very floor, his front stained with blood, hands clutching his chest. His eyes widened. “No, please no.” Another loud rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning and his dad’s chest exploded, blood and bits of bone and flesh spraying across the wall. His cries were silenced. Permanently. Another flash of lightning, clap of thunder and his dad’s body jumped again, his head splitting apart with the force of the shot ripping its way through his skull. Graeme had clamped his hands over his nose and mouth so tightly that he couldn’t breathe.
“Graeme, you okay?”
He shook his head and found himself back in the pub in Blair Dubh, a concerned Mary frowning up at him. Nearly everyone in this village was old, anyone with youth or ambition had left the second they’d got the chance. “Yes, fine thank you.”
“You looked like you were going to pass out for a second there.”
“No, I think it’s just the shock.” His voice sounded weak and soft, as though he’d just woken up.
“Sit down and I’ll get you another,” she said, indicating his whisky glass.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied, slightly confused, slumping onto a bar stool. Outside there was another crack of thunder and he jumped. It had always been this way. He could control the memories unless there was a thunderstorm, it was his Achilles heel. There had been a thunderstorm back then when he was twelve in his village in Sutherland in the far north of Scotland.
The gunman had used the thunderclaps to disguise the sound of the shots, which was why it had taken everyone so long to realise what was going on. Nine people had been murdered before the killer - a man Graeme had known since he was little - had been put down by his fellow villagers. Bill reminded him of Malcolm, he’d been big and strong with a beard too. But, unlike Bill, he’d been a loner, a recluse for years who had one day snapped for no apparent reason and gone on the rampage with his double-barrelled shotgun, a devastating weapon, which was why his father’s head and chest had exploded like fruit dropped from a great height.
“There you go,” said Mary, handing him another glass of whisky.
“Thank you.” He might want to kill the woman but there was no reason not to be civil.
Graeme forced his hand not to shake as he reached out for the glass and he was gratified when it was as steady as a rock. His mind had always had iron control over his body. It was all part of the discipline he’d carefully cultivated over the years.
“Feeling better?” said Mary.
“Much, thank you.”
“It’s getting to us all is this. My nerves are shot,” she said kindly.
Mary quickly forgot him when an exhausted-looking Craig came through the door. She joined the rest of the residents in surrounding him, demanding to know more. Nora shoved them all out of the way, barging a path through them with her crutches to embrace her son. Graeme smiled. He had to give Nora her due, she was one tough little lady. Must be where Craig got it from.
“I’m sorry,” Nora told her son, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her.
He smiled down at her. “It’s okay.”
Graeme listened to Craig address the room, who did his best to soothe the worried residents, assuring him his colleagues had everything under control. His calm, professional tone helped soothe their fears and the atmosphere in the pub was ramped down a notch. Graeme thought it a pity he had to die, he really was very good at what he did. Blackness draped itself over Graeme. If it hadn’t been for that man he’d have been close to fully executing his grand plan by now. The village wouldn’t have had a clue what he was up to and he could have continued quietly picking them off one by one. The interfering bastard had to go. It made Graeme feel powerful to think that he was the proverbial wolf among the sheep, that they had no idea the real killer sat among them and drank with them. They were all so stupid it was almost laughable. Except for Donaldson. He’d have to go first then the rest of them would be sitting ducks. Easy.
He watched with interest as Craig retreated to the back room, taking his mobile phone out of his pocket. No doubt he was going to call Freya. His loathing for the man only deepened.
Freya frantically paced her office as she listened to Craig on the other end of her mobile phone.
“Come home, now. Please,” she said.
“I can’t, I’ve got to give a statement. I’m tangled up in this investigation and I think there’s more to it. How would Adam know how to operate a sniper rifle?”
�
�It’s not up to you to find out, you work for Glasgow Police. Leave it to the local police to find out.”
“No one’s looking, they’re all convinced Adam’s guilty.”
“Then leave it at that and come home.”
“What if I’m right? That means there’s still a murderer here.”
“All the more reason for you to leave.”
“Freya, my mum lives here.”
She huffed out a breath and pressed a hand to her forehead. What could she say to that? “What’s the weather like?”
“Eh?” he replied, thrown by the sudden change in topic.
“What’s the weather like?”
Finally he cottoned on to what she was referring to. “It’s calm.”
“What about the heat? Is it building up? I haven’t forgotten Blair Dubh is prone to electrical storms this time of year.”
“It’s warm but there’s no storm. Babe, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s that sodding village. Come home, I’m begging you.”
“I can’t, not yet. Just give me one more day.”
Freya was close to tears. Danger was back in Blair Dubh and her husband was right in the thick of it.
“For my mum if no one else,” he pressed. “I want to make sure she’s safe.”
Freya knew she had no choice but to agree. They both felt guilty for not taking Petie to visit his gran. “Fine. You’ve got one day. If you don’t turn anything up then please come home.”
“I will. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“How can I not worry? You’re in the gateway to hell.”
“It’ll probably turn out that Adam was guilty and he killed himself because he couldn’t live with what he’d done. I just need to be sure Mum’s safe.”
“Course you do. Just for God’s sake be careful. Me and Petie need you back in one piece.”
“I will, promise. I miss you.”
“Miss you too,” she replied, smiling despite how afraid she was.
“How’s the wee man?”
“He’s great. He’s watching a puppet show at nursery today. Punch and Judy.”
“Christ, let’s hope they don’t all burst into tears. Punch and Judy’s really freaky.”
“Petie’s tough. He’s his father’s son.”
“More like his mother’s. He’ll probably end up sticking the heid on Punch if he annoys him.”
She released a giggle that quickly faded to nothing when fear gripped her heart. “Come home Craig,” she said, voice cracking.
“Are you crying?”
“No.”
“Aye ya are. Adam’s dead, the danger’s gone.”
“Yeah,” she said, convincing neither of them.
“I’ve got to go, the wee fud’s calling me.”
“Not Hughes?” she groaned.
“The very same.”
“I can’t believe he held onto his job after what he did.”
“Me neither but that’s what you get when you’re best pals with the chief constable.”
“Are Steve and Gary there?”
“They are.”
This was a bit of comfort for Freya. “How are they?”
“Good. Steve’s engaged.”
“Lovely. Give him my congratulations.”
“I will. Sorry babe, I’ve really got to go. I’ll give you a bell tonight.”
“Okay. Take care. Love you.”
“Love you too loads. Bye.”
After he’d hung up she slumped into her office chair and buried her face in her hands, fighting the urge to cry. The door opened and a big bearded man with a huge paunch and arms covered in tattoos walked in. Davey had counselled her when she was trying to wean herself off her alcohol dependency and now he was her mentor. He’d helped her train to become a drug and alcohol counsellor and he ran the centre they both worked out of.
“Freya hen, what’s the matter?” he said, hastening to her side, the concern on his face at odds with his intimidating appearance.
“Craig’s in Blair Dubh. There’s been a shooting. Three people are dead.”
“Jeezo. I heard something about that on the radio but I didn’t realise it was in Blair Dubh. What the hell is wrong with that place?”
“I wish I knew. Apparently Adam Michie, the young blond lad who lives in the village, went on the rampage.”
“Adam, I met him the last time I was there. He seemed so harmless.”
“Apparently he snapped and took out Fred and Joanie with a sniper rifle before killing himself.”
“Fucking hell. Is Craig alright?”
“Yeah, he’s fine.”
“That’s a relief. It said on the radio he was shot at.”
Freya shot up out of her chair, eyes wide. “What?”
Davey realised his error. “He didn’t tell you?”
“No, he fucking didn’t.”
“Oh crap,” he muttered, running his fingers through his long beard.
“What happened?”
“Nothing, I’ve probably got it all arse about face as usual.”
“Davey,” she said in a warning tone.
He sighed heavily. “Okay. Apparently a police officer and two other men went into the cottage to check on the two residents, who it turned out were dead. The sniper had set a trap and opened fire on them when they went into the bedroom. One of the men got hit in the arm. Nothing serious, just a graze. That’s what it said on the radio. The story’s probably been sexed up anyway. What actually happened was probably nothing like that.”
Freya took a deep breath, willing away the rising hysteria. “The bastard. Why didn’t he tell me?”
“Because he didn’t want to worry you. He knows you’re already on edge.”
“He didn’t tell me because he wants to spend another day in the village, he thinks Adam’s innocent.”
“He does? Why? Sounded pretty cut and dried to me.”
“Obviously not.”
“Maybe he wants to be sure. He’ll come back tomorrow, you’ll see.”
“You don’t understand. Craig’s an amazing copper, he has a sixth sense for the job. If he thinks something isn’t right then believe me, it’s not.” Freya was torn between tears and violent anger, the same anger she’d struggled with for so many years and had overcome. Now she was wrestling with it once more. She snatched up her phone and tried to call Craig back, but it wouldn’t connect.
“Bloody signal,” she muttered, throwing her phone back onto her desk. The signal in Blair Dubh was temperamental at best. What should she do? The thought of going back to that village terrified her and there was no way she would risk her son’s life by taking him with her, but she was desperate to go down there and drag her husband home. However that left her in a quandary. Bad things happened in Blair Dubh when she was there. What if her arrival made it worse? Plus the more she pushed Craig the more he’d resist, he could be stubborn like that. She would only be on a fool’s errand and at the same time put everyone in the village at risk. She would be better off staying put but the sheer helplessness nearly overwhelmed her.
“Freya, he’ll be fine,” said Davey, firmly grasping her by the shoulders. “Stop panicking.”
“I can’t. You don’t know what that place is like.”
Davey recalled seeing Freya beaten and bleeding on the ground while Craig’s mad ex-girlfriend tried to finish her off. “I think I have a wee idea but it won’t do anyone any good if you go charging in there. He’ll be back tomorrow safe and sound. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Take Petie out somewhere fun and cheer yourself up?”
“Yeah, I just might. Thanks Davey, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate now anyway.”
Davey watched Freya leave, misery etched all over her face. Everything had been on the up for her - she had the man of her dreams, a child and a great career and now this had landed on her shoulders. He experienced a sense of anger against Craig for spoiling it for her. If anyone had suffered eno
ugh it was Freya and he should have considered her feelings more and come home. But then again, Craig was a good copper and would be determined to see justice done, it was written in his DNA so it would be impossible for him to go against that instinct. Freya understood that, which was why she was restraining herself and letting him do what he felt he had to do. Davey just hoped the danger in Blair Dubh was indeed well and truly gone.
CHAPTER 7
“I’ve already given my statement,” snapped Craig. “Why are you in here bothering me about it?”
Hughes’s smile was patronising. “You haven’t given it officially, you’ve only spoken to the TFU.”
“Actually I spoke to DI Murton, so why don’t you get back to the McNab’s cottage and do your bloody job.”
Hughes’s chubby face flushed again. “You have no right to speak to me in that manner.”
“I have every right after your breathtaking incompetence nearly killed my wife,” Craig spat in his face. “Just the sight of you makes me want to smash your face in.”
“You can’t speak…”
Craig grabbed him by the front of his stab vest and pulled him close. “Finish that sentence and see what happens.”
A hand rested on his arm. “Craig, let the man go.”
His mum’s voice barely permeated the rage that was slowly enveloping Craig. Hughes watched, shocked as a shadow appeared to descend over his face, making his grey eyes shine. He winced as the strong hands gripping him tightened.
“Craig,” repeated Nora in a louder, stronger voice. “Stop it. He’s not worth ruining your career for.”
With a snort of disgust Craig shoved him away and Hughes hurried out the door, head bowed in embarrassment, everyone talking and pointing at him as he went.
“You okay?” said Nora, a little concerned by the fury in her son’s eyes. Yes he had a temper but he looked ready to commit murder.
“He just winds me up,” he muttered. He smiled when she hugged him. “I’m fine, really.”
Nora forced herself to release him, not wanting to embarrass him in front of the entire pub. “I’m just so glad you’re safe.”
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 5
