Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3)

by Heather Atkinson

  Craig peered through the crack in the pantry door and saw a figure enter. Beside him Bill was rapidly losing his cool - his teeth ground together, his hands gripping the shotgun were white and sweat broke out on his forehead and trickled down his face, leaving streaks. Unable to contain himself any longer, Bill released a startling roar and kicked the pantry door open.

  “Chew on this you fucking bastard,” he bellowed before pulling the trigger.

  “Stop,” cried Craig, grabbing his arm and tilting the barrel upwards. The discharged shot ploughed into the ceiling, punching a huge hole through it. The dog released a yelp and went charging upstairs in fright.

  “What are you doing you madman?” cried Hughes, cowering against the kitchen units.

  “You bloody idiot, I could have taken your head off,” exclaimed Bill. “Why the fuck are you creeping about a murderer’s house in the middle of the night?”

  “I could ask you the same thing and do you have a licence for that?” he said, pointing at the shotgun.

  “Yes I do you pompous little sack of spunk. Why don’t you piss off back to the pub with the other old ladies?”

  “Will you two keep your voices down,” chided Craig. “We have to get out of here, Graeme will have heard all that.”

  He saw Hughes’s face pale even more in the darkness and wondered if his bottle was going to go again. To his surprise the little man straightened himself up. “Then we’d better move fast.”

  Bill and Craig looked at each other with surprise when he walked to the back door and pulled it open.

  “Get back,” whispered Craig, dragging Hughes back inside. He pulled on the night-vision goggles and looked left and right, a little disorientated by the weight of them. “Okay, let’s move.”

  The others nodded and followed him to the right, away from the pub.

  “Where are we going?” whispered Hughes.

  “Here,” Craig whispered back, stopping at the back door to Jimmy and Lizzy’s cottage two doors down from Graeme’s.

  Just like every other cottage in Blair Dubh it was unlocked and they hurried inside.

  Graeme threw the whisky down his neck, the burn it created as it slipped down his throat making him grimace. The whisky was very peaty, not to his taste at all, he preferred his dram sweeter but he needed something to steady his nerves, he still couldn’t get his head round how wrong everything had gone. He was careful not to drink too much though, he was aware alcohol raised the blood pressure and encouraged bleeding and he’d done enough of that on Lizzy’s pristine kitchen floor.

  “You fucker Donaldson,” he growled as the red rage bubbled up inside him again. A weak flash of lightning outside strobed through the living room window. He could hear the water churning away just feet from the house. It was true what Freya had said, the elements really did rule Blair Dubh, they were everywhere - earth, air and water. The residents were at their mercy. Even now Graeme didn’t feel like the most powerful thing in the village, despite the lives he had taken because he was all too aware that if they wanted to the elements could destroy the entire village in the blink of an eye. A landslide could move down the huge, unstable hill on which was perched the castle, the sea could rise up and swallow it whole or the ferocious wind could blow their houses down. He wasn’t experiencing the sense of power and invincibility that he was forced to admit he enjoyed. The memory of Malcolm’s ruined body was returning to him more and more. He was starting to think that might be how he was going to end up.

  The tide of loneliness rolled over him again as potent and real as the water outside. He would love nothing more than to have a partner to talk things over with and help him decide what his next move should be but instead he was all alone. This village had a way of making you feel even more isolated, despite the close-knit community. Maybe that was why he was feeling this way, because he’d been around close relationships for two years now, the longest he’d stayed in any of his targeted villages. He’d met childhood friends and old married couples who had been together since they were teenagers. It didn’t bother him that he’d slaughtered some of those couples because that had only been for the greater good. But it did bother him that he wanted the same, a woman to share his life with, perhaps have a child who he could train to continue his work when he was too old, or dead.

  He could still vaguely recall that feeling of love when he was a child. His parents had been good parents and his sister, despite their spats, had been good to him too. He missed them all. He’d known what it was to live in a cosy, loving nest but the warm memory faded with each kill. Now it was just fragments of smiling faces and hugs, nothing tangible he could get hold of. He feared that one day his humanity would be destroyed altogether.

  An explosion from somewhere outside caused him to leap up and grab his rifle. What the fuck was that?

  Silently he moved to the side of the room and pressed himself back against the wall where he couldn’t be seen in the shadows. When the noise didn’t repeat itself he started to relax. Maybe the lightning had stuck something or maybe the sea had spewed a rock up onto the shore? Whatever it was, at least it had snapped him out of his fugue, he wasn’t usually one for feeling sorry for himself. Emotionally he was back on track, all trace of sentiment gone. He smiled as he caressed the gun. He was stronger than that, he had a higher purpose and he must stick to it.

  Another sound caught his ear, carried on the breeze. Voices, nothing more than whispers. Two of them, perhaps more. Cold fury rippled through his veins. How dare they leave the pub? What stupidity was this? It wasn’t the police, the motion sensors he’d planted through the woods and on the road leading into the village hadn’t been tripped and there was no way they could have come in by boat, the sea was too rough. He was willing to bet that Donaldson was at the bottom of this. He was out there, creeping towards him, thinking he could get the better of him. Graeme swallowed hard as he recalled Gordon’s gun belching its shot at him. What if he was armed with that weapon? There was no way Gordon could wield it now. It would just be like Donaldson to commandeer it, but then again, he wouldn’t leave everyone in the pub unarmed. He might not have a weapon at all.

  Quickly he ducked down behind the couch just as the handle of the back door started to turn.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Wait, let us go in first,” Craig told Hughes.

  “I’m in charge here, this is my ju…”

  “Jurisdiction, yes I know but I’m the one holding the shotgun and wearing the night vision goggles, unless you’d like to walk in there first unarmed and vulnerable?”

  Hughes’s lips pursed.

  “Come on Hughes, I thought you were going to stop being a dick,” said Bill.

  Hughes sagged. His moment to prove himself hadn’t come yet. “Okay, after you.”

  “Thank you,” said Craig impatiently. “Keep behind us. Bill, you take the other side.”

  Bill and Craig stood either side of the door leading into Jimmy and Lizzy’s cottage, shifting nervously. Craig’s hand rested on the handle and he looked to Bill, who nodded. Slowly he turned it and stepped inside.

  The first thing Craig noticed was the tang of blood in the air, very similar to copper, something he’d encountered many times in the line of duty.

  “Back, get back,” he yelled at the other two.

  “Why?” said Hughes, refusing to shift until he knew.

  Unable to go backwards Craig propelled himself forwards into Lizzy’s kitchen. Through the open door leading into the living room he glimpsed a shadowy figure crouched low, the glint of something metallic in their hands.

  Without thinking twice Craig raised the gun and fired, the retort in the confined space making his ears ring, a fresh wave of adrenaline pumping around his body.

  Divining what was happening Bill fired in the same direction. They caught a flash of movement, heard the front door open and saw someone run out.

  “Get back you bastard,” yelled Bill, chasing after him.

  “Don’t be stupid,�
�� said Craig, grabbing his arm and attempting to hold him back, but it was like trying to stop a freight train going at full speed. “Hughes, shut the door,” said Craig, still trying to slow the might that was Bill.

  For once he reacted quickly and slammed it shut, bringing Bill to a halt.

  “Let’s get after him,” exclaimed Bill, straining against Craig.

  “He’s got night vision and you don’t.”

  “Now’s the time to finish him off, like any wounded animal.”

  “You remember what happened to Gordon when he ran outside after him? Do you want to end up the same way?”

  Bill might have wanted revenge but he didn’t want to die for it. “Okay, what do we do then?” he said, ceasing his struggles.

  “We draw him away from the pub,” replied Craig. “Somewhere we can fight him on even ground.”

  “Nowhere’s an even fight if he’s got a sniper rifle,” said Hughes.

  “I hate to say it but he has a point,” said Bill.

  “Where’s your car parked?” Craig asked him.

  “On the car park next to the pub. Why, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m not sure yet. I just want to keep him busy until the Tactical Firearms Unit can get in.”

  “So you’re suggesting we drive about for what could turn into hours and let him use us as target practice?” said an incredulous Hughes. “Nice plan.”

  “I don’t hear you coming up with anything,” retorted Craig.

  “We’re wasting time here, he could be on his way back to the pub to take his revenge on them,” said Bill.

  “Perhaps,” replied Craig. He sighed as his mind frantically whirled but he had no clue what to do next. Graeme was an enemy he just couldn’t predict. The man was cool, resourceful and intelligent but also brutal and merciless. Targeting the pub now when he knew there were armed men after him would be foolish, he wouldn’t leave himself out in the open like that. “What do animals do when they’re wounded?” he asked Bill.

  “They make for home to lick their wounds,” he replied. “But Graeme didn’t go home, he came here.”

  “Obviously he wasn’t expecting to get hurt,” said Craig, “and he knows Lizzy used to be a nurse, he knew she’d have a good supply of bandages and medicines.” He walked back into the kitchen, drew the blinds and switched on a light. What was the point in trying to hide their presence when Graeme already knew they were here? It was then all the blood on the floor was revealed.

  “See all that, he must be in a bad way,” said Hughes eagerly.

  Bill shook his head. “Nah, spilt blood can often look like more has been lost than it actually has. But Gordon’s shotgun did do him some damage. He came here to patch himself up and now he’ll be hiding in his cave.”

  Craig and Bill smiled triumphantly at each other. “And we can trap him in there,” said Craig.

  “Let’s move,” replied an eager Bill.

  “Wait, what about me?” said Hughes.

  “You’re best waiting here,” replied Craig.

  “I want to help.”

  “Help? After you left Gary for dead. That’s help we can do without,” said Bill.

  “I panicked, I admit it but now I know who and what we’re up against.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re suddenly going to grow a spine.”

  Hughes turned to Craig imploringly. “Please let me help, I know I can.”

  “We can do without your sort of help,” said Bill. “You’re a fucking Jonah.”

  “You can’t keep me out of this, you have no right.”

  “I have every right after I watched you step over Gary, one of your own PC’s, like he was nothing,” said Craig. “Thanks to you he’s lying in the pub with a bullet in his back.”

  “That’s why I have to do this, I have to prove…”

  “That you’re not a gutless little turd?” said Bill.

  Hughes swallowed down his natural arrogance. “Yes. Come on, you could use a third pair of hands,” he pressed when Craig appeared to waver.

  Craig looked to Bill. “What do you think?”

  “Like he said, we could use a third pair of hands, but I don’t want him panicking and shooting one of us instead.”

  “Think you can keep a lid on it and keep your cool?” Craig asked Hughes.

  The little man nodded eagerly.

  Craig looked to Bill, who nodded. “Fine,” he sighed.

  “But if you put us in danger I’ll shoot you myself,” said Bill.

  “And I won’t stop him,” added Craig.

  “I won’t let you down, I promise,” he said like an eager puppy.

  “Does Jimmy have a gun?” Craig asked Bill.

  “He does. I’ll fetch it.”

  When he’d disappeared upstairs Craig rounded on Hughes, who literally jumped at the ferocity in his eyes.

  “Your incompetence almost killed Freya. I ought to take you down just for that,” hissed Craig.

  Hughes’s bowels loosened when Craig raised the shotgun and pointed it at his round gut. Nervously he cleared his throat. “Sergeant, I understand you’re tense right now but threatening me for something that happened eighteen months ago isn’t going to help.”

  “But it’ll make me feel better. If you fuck up like you did with Freya and Gary then there’s no more chances. You’re gone.”

  The menace in Craig’s voice made Hughes’s throat go dry. In the dark his eyes filled up with blackness and the shadows made his face look hard and angular. In sharp contrast his hands gripping the gun were white as they strained to stop himself from firing. Craig was a man capable of murder.

  “I won’t let you down,” said Hughes, voice high and weak.

  Craig leaned closer, lips drawing back to reveal small white teeth which, to Hughes, suddenly looked sharp. “Yes you will.”

  Hughes pressed himself back against the wall in an attempt to get away from that disturbing face.

  It was a relief when Bill returned clutching a second shotgun. He looked to Craig, who nodded solemnly, then held it out to Hughes.

  “You said you know how to handle one of these?” said Craig.

  “I do,” replied Hughes, glad his face had returned to normal.

  “Show us.”

  Hughes took the shotgun and both Craig and Bill were forced to admit he handled it with great competence as he broke and loaded it.

  “Fine, you can come, but you do what I say when I say it,” said Craig. “And no arguing. There won’t be time for a debate when we’re in the thick of it.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Let’s move.”

  The second Graeme entered his house he knew someone had trespassed. He could smell them, feel them. His personal space had been invaded and he was furious. Not only that but someone had shot a large hole in his kitchen ceiling and poor little Nippy was upstairs cowering under a bed, refusing to come out. The noise he heard in Lizzy’s house must have been a shotgun being discharged. Craig must have got spooked and fired at something, but then again Craig didn’t seem the type to get spooked. Perhaps it was Bill, who’d he seen charging into Lizzy’s kitchen after him, looking disturbingly like Malcolm with his huge bear-like build and thick beard.

  He puffed out his cheeks as the fury built up again. They had the fucking cheek to come in here, freak out his dog and put holes in his ceiling. They were going to pay.

  Suddenly every nerve in his body started tingling, warning him danger was near.

  There was the tread of footsteps outside the front door, soft yet sure of themselves. Graeme’s lips curled. Donaldson. He’d found him again.

  Keeping low, he picked up his rifle and ducked behind the couch, waiting for his guest to arrive.

  So he was disconcerted when he heard someone approaching the back door too. He looked from the back to the front, starting to feel penned in, trapped. He expected one of the doors to open but nothing happened. They must suspect he was in here and they weren’t willing to walk right in and give him a
prime target. Instead they were going to wait, keeping him trapped inside until the police got through. Why had he come back here? He knew they suspected he was responsible but instinct had propelled him home when he was injured and feeling vulnerable. He wasn’t vulnerable anymore, he was fucking livid and he wasn’t going to sit about and let them come for him.

  He raised the gun when a shadow flickered at the window.

  Seeing the line of emergency vehicles and news vans chaotically parked at the mouth of the road leading into Blair Dubh brought back a lot of bad memories for Freya. It was just confirmation that she was in hell again.

  At first the reporters standing around idly sipping coffee from polystyrene cups didn’t pay her any attention. They just assumed she was another gawker and there were plenty of those hanging about.

  Freya tilted her face to the sky, assessing the weather. A storm was brewing, the black clouds ominous and roiling overhead, flickering with lightning and suppressed rage. The hairs on the backs of her arms stood up with the build up of static electricity. There wasn’t much time.

  The reporters finally realised who she was and surrounded her, taking photos, all the flashes going off in the darkness making her squint. She put a hand up to shield her eyes, attempting to move away from them but they penned her in, shouting out their idiotic questions.

  “Leave me alone,” she yelled.

  They only tightened the circle around her. Panicking she lashed out, shoving a man with a camera pressed to his eye and he fell backwards, taking another of the vultures down with him. Spotting her chance she leapt through the gap they’d created.

  “Eric,” she called as the reporters made chase. She hated them, they’d made her life a misery too many times.

  He grasped her hands and pulled her towards him, ushering her through the police cordon where they couldn’t follow, flashing his warrant card at the PC on sentry duty.

  “Fucking gannets, aren’t they?” said the PC, nodding in the direction of the reporters who were still snapping photos of Freya, but at least they were at a safe distance.