Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (8 page)

“Simon,” giggled Vicky as her boyfriend fumbled with the clasp of her bra. “Are you sure this is right?”

“Course it is,” he smiled down at her. “Bugger,” he whispered when he struggled to unfasten her bra because his hands were shaking with excitement. He’d dreamed of this for weeks after reading all about the activities of Father Logan. He was addicted to true crime - books, documentaries, online articles, anything he could get his hands on and his erection was urgent and painful knowing he was so close to the body of one of the serial killers he was so fascinated with. He didn’t know what was more exciting - Vicky or the grave.

“It’s creepy knowing I’m lying on top of a murderer,” she said.

“It just makes it more exciting,” he replied, burying his face in her neck, sliding his hands under the cups of her bra instead because he couldn’t remove it.

“What if someone sees us?”

“Who’s going to see us? We’re all alone up here, with the ghosts.”

“Don’t say that, it’s spooky enough.”

Slowly he unzipped her jeans and slid his hand inside her panties, silencing her protestations as she released a sigh of pleasure, her lips curling into a lazy smile. “That feels good.”

“I know. Just relax,” he whispered, kissing her mouth.

As Vicky pressed her hands to his crotch she sensed someone standing over them. Opening her eyes she released a scream that made Simon jump.

“What is it?” he said, frowning down at her.

Fear had stolen her voice. Instead she nodded at something over his shoulder and he turned and released a cry of surprise when he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“So you want a taste of the Blair Dubh madness, do you?” said Graeme.

Both teenagers were terrified by the rage in his eyes. Simon’s potent erection deflated. Up close this wasn’t so much fun.

“We didn’t mean any harm,” he said, starting to roll off Vicky.

“Don’t move,” Graeme ordered and he went still. Beneath him Simon could feel Vicky had gone rigid with fright. When warmth seeped into his jeans he thought he’d wet himself, until he understood that it was her. Simon didn’t consider the man to be a serious threat, he thought one of the locals, pissed off with their antics, had come to give them a good scare. Well he wasn’t about to allow this idiot to make a fool of him, especially in front of Vicky. “I’m sorry if we upset you but were just having a bit of fun. We’ll go now.”

“No you fucking won’t. I said don’t move,” he barked when Simon tried rolling over again.

The stranger’s savage tone and the ferocity of his gaze finally told Simon that he wasn’t playing and something with cold bony fingers touched his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “We’ll leave now and we won’t come back.”

“You’re never leaving here,” said Graeme before pulling the trigger.

The bullet hit Simon in the back, ploughing through his heart and slamming into Vicky’s right shoulder. She cried out in pain and tried to scream but her voice was stolen as her whole body turned numb with shock.

“Don’t, please,” she whimpered, the tears starting to fall. Her sobs grew louder when the gun was aimed at her head and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. Simon’s dead weight was pinning her to the ground, making escape impossible. He was so heavy it was difficult for her to breathe and she had the horrible feeling she was going to sink into the grave beneath her.

Graeme’s glare was merciless. “You have desecrated holy ground. In turn, the sinner must be punished,” he said before pulling the trigger.

Her body jumped then went still, a single drop of blood oozing from the small hole in her forehead.

Graeme’s body sagged as sudden exhaustion sought to claim him. It had all happened so fast, there had hardly been time to think and the shock of it made him unaccountably sleepy. Sometimes he felt like this after an impulsive kill. It was as though the sheer speed and surprise of it all sapped his energy. But there wasn’t time for rest, he had so much work to do. The long night ahead stretched out before him, making him feel even more lethargic.

A growl of thunder overhead soon snapped him out of it. The storm was closer now, the energy crackling in the air re-energising him. He looked down at the bodies and sighed. So young. It amazed him how quickly evil could claim the innocent.

He looked around to make sure no one had seen him but the graveyard was deserted. No one came here anymore, except for the odd hardy soul like Nora Donaldson, who regularly tended to the grave of her husband as well as those of Freya’s dead parents. Not many had her courage, they all thought it was a haunted place belonging only to the dead. Toby and his tour groups were regular visitors here too but Graeme, after careful monitoring of them through his binoculars, had noted that not even they stayed long. After taking photos of the graves of Logan and Lynch and their victims they quickly hastened away as the shadows moved in, telling them with their dark presence to get out of their territory, the living weren’t welcome.

Graeme left as quietly as he’d come, leaving the bodies lying on Logan’s grave. By the time anyone found them he’d be long gone.

CHAPTER 9

The residents of the village were reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the pub. Although Adam’s body had been carted away and the police had left they felt secure remaining where they were, there was safety in numbers after all. Just one look outside into the gathering darkness, brought on prematurely by the storm that was gaining in intensity, was enough to make every one of them reject the idea of departing and just order another drink from the bar instead. Gordon wasn’t in any rush to evict them either, he was raking it in and he’d never been one to stick to the official closing hours.

They were discussing happier, more hopeful things. They’d exhausted every possible avenue about what Adam had done and now instead they remembered Fred and Joanie, sharing the good memories they had of them, the rest of the pub listening as one by one they took turns reciting treasured little anecdotes. The two tourists were slumped in a corner looking bored, realising murder up close wasn’t as entertaining as they’d thought. Everyone was shiny-faced with sweat as the humidity rose but in contrast to the storm gathering outside the atmosphere inside was calm and quiet, the voices gentle and subdued. The adrenaline and fear was draining out of everyone, soothed by the camaraderie of old friendships and the comfort of long-loved faces.

When the door banged open they all raised a cheer. Jimmy entered, his injured arm bandaged and held in a sling, followed by Lizzy and Jeanette.

“Welcome back,” said Bill, holding his hand out for Jimmy to shake.

Jimmy looked from his injured arm to Bill with a raised eyebrow and his friend lowered his hand.

“Sorry, that was a stupid thing to do.” Instead Bill clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me buy you a pint.”

“Oh no he doesn’t, he’s on painkillers,” said Lizzy. “He’ll have an orange juice.”

“If I can’t have a pint after I’ve been shot then what’s the world coming to?” frowned Jimmy.

“Fine, drink your pint if you want to make yourself ill,” she huffed, folding her arms across her large bosom.

Jimmy gave Gordon a hangdog look. “I’ll have an orange juice.”

“I’ve got some alcohol-free lager if you want?” said Gordon. “I was reliably informed by the big Jessie who tried one that it tastes just like lager.”

Jimmy’s expression hardened. “Orange juice will be fine.”

“I’ll have a sherry,” said Lizzy cheerfully, earning herself a glare from her husband.

“Where’s Betty?” said Iza.

“Still in hospital,” replied Jeanette. “She had a heart attack so they’re keeping her in. She’s in a bad way.” Her tone intimated that Betty might not leave hospital alive and their joy at Jimmy’s safe return was dampened.

“Adam was all she had left,” said Nora. “Now he’s gone…” She trailed off and looked down at her hands. Craig, sat beside her, gently patted her shoulder.

Furnished with his unwanted drink, Jimmy held court as he related his version of events, skimming over the part where he was sick on seeing the McNab’s bodies and heaping praise on an embarrassed Craig.

When that fresh topic of conversation had been exhausted Ted and Iza, an elderly couple that had lived in the village for over forty years, decided it was time to leave.

“Stay for another drink,” urged Jeannette.

“We can’t I’m afraid, Ted needs his blood pressure medication,” Iza announced. “And I need my bed.”

“I won’t sleep tonight,” said Jeanette.

“I’m going to take a couple of my pills, they’ll knock me right out,” smiled Iza.

“You’re welcome to stay longer,” Gordon announced to the room.

“If we don’t go now then we’ll never leave,” called back Iza, pulling on her coat, buttoning herself up against the storm. “I want to get home before the weather gets worse. Night all.”

“Night,” the pub called back to the pair of them as Iza took her husband’s arm and they exited the pub into the darkness.

This was the cue for the exodus to begin of the older residents who’d been exhausted by the day’s events. Slowly they began to gather up their things, taking their time about it, reluctant to go out into the storm and leave the cosy security of the pub.

“Do you want to go Mum? I can walk you back,” offered Craig.

“I need another drink first. Gordon, fill me up,” said Nora, gesturing to her glass.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” said Craig.

“I am your mother young man.”

“How could I ever forget?” he smiled, amused when she slurred her words.

“I’m old enough to know when I’ve had enough. Anyway I’m not on whisky, I’ve switched to wine.”

Craig considered telling her mixing her drinks would only get her drunk quicker but decided it would be best for their relationship - which was just getting back on track - if he kept his thoughts to himself, so he just let her get on with it.

Graeme watched the front of the pub from the side of Nora’s cottage. Unfortunately the curtains were shut, a habit of Gordon’s, but that didn’t matter, it wouldn’t be enough to protect them.

The adrenaline started pumping when the pub door opened and light flooded the darkened street. The storm was still rumbling on around him but he’d acclimatised to it and got the memories under control. They were once again safely locked away in a dark corner of his mind and he was in complete control of himself.

He raised the rifle, watching the two figures slowly wending their way down the road towards him, not a clue what was waiting for them in the dark. He smiled. This was going to be too easy.

One of the figures he recognised as Iza, the woman who cleaned in the pub. The way she shuffled her feet as she walked was very distinctive. Loathing roiled in his gut as he watched her wend her way down the street without a care in the world, her arm linked through her husband’s. They’d lived in Blair Dubh most of their useless little lives, they’d spent over forty years absorbing its wickedness and basking in sin. Time for them to go.

When Graeme had first started using night vision goggles he’d thought he wouldn’t be able to cope with the sense of claustrophobia they gave him. After cowering under the kitchen table while Malcolm methodically murdered his family he hadn’t liked being penned in, but he’d adapted to the goggles quite quickly. Now they felt like a second skin, they were his eyes in the dark, giving him advantage over his prey.

He took two long, deep breaths to steady himself, his finger gently squeezing the trigger. Whenever he was about to make a kill his heart sang and he truly felt that he was living among the angels.

Graeme fired twice in quick succession, the sound once again absorbed by the silencer. The two figures fell, just two faint lumps in the darkness. Graeme kept the scope on them a little longer, just to make sure there was no movement but there was nothing. They were gone. Just in time too because the pub door was opening again, throwing more light onto the ground. The sound of happy chatter from within rushed out onto the street. It was just more proof to Graeme that the residents were depraved. How could they enjoy themselves after three of their friends had been murdered?

Two more figures emerged from the doorway, letting the door swing shut behind them, blocking out the noise and light, which was a relief to Graeme. Once again it was just him and the sounds of nature, the irritable grumble of thunder above, lazy, as though it couldn’t be bothered quite yet to really get going. Graeme basked in it as he studied the two figures through the scope. He couldn’t tell who this pair huddled together were, they both had their hoods up, but from their gaits he could tell they were old, like most of the villagers.

He waited until they’d come across the bodies of their friends, saw them stop in their tracks, heard a muffle cry of horror. Let them see their own bloody fates before putting them out of their misery.

Two more silenced bullets resulted in two more bodies on the ground, lying close to the first two.

He smiled to himself as he jogged around the back of the cottages. He wanted to be more elevated, that was what he was comfortable with, so he went inside Nora’s cottage and ran upstairs. It amazed him how trusting the residents of Blair Dubh were after everything that had happened here. Maybe after tonight they’d learn to lock their doors, the ones who made it through the night anyway.

“God this is boring,” muttered Gary. He and Steve were stationed in Adam’s house, guarding the scene against intruders. “I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like anyone’s going to come in, is it?”

“I don’t know. Toby might try and there’s those two tourists from his murder tour. I bet they’d love a good poke around to pick up a souvenir or two.”

“Maybe you’re right,” sighed Gary.

“You should have had some foresight like me and brought a book to read,” said Steve, holding up his copy of Madame Bovary.

“I don’t read books.”

“You could have brought your colouring book.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

Steve sighed and closed his book. “Fine, if you’re going to sulk why don’t you go back to the pub?”

“Great,” he grinned.

“Just for an hour, then it’s my turn.”

“Oh. Better than nothing I suppose.”

“Be grateful. I know you had a sneaky wee bevvy when you went across to ask the Sarge if he’d made any progress on his theory.”

Gary coloured. “Gordon offered. It would have been rude to say no.”

“Bollocks. Go on before I change my mind.”

As Steve returned to his book Gary rushed for the door before he did indeed change his mind. Just as he pulled it open the outside world was lit up in stunning clarity, highlighting every shadow and shape. In that brief second before it went pitch black again Gary saw something that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. He slammed the door shut, the massive thunderclap drowning out the sound.

“What’s up with you? Scared of thunder?” smiled Steve.

“There’s four bodies outside.”

“What are you on about?”

“Sorry, maybe I’m not making myself fucking clear. There’s four bodies outside on the ground. Dead.”

“Really?”

“No, I decided to make it up for a laugh,” he said sarcastically.

“Well don’t just stand there, let’s get outside,” he said, scrambling to his feet.

“Hold your horses,” said Gary, blocking his way to the door. “You haven’t thought this through, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s been a sniper in the village.”

“He’s dead.”

“Craig doesn’t think so.”

“Jesus, you’re right. You think the sniper’s not finished yet?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“I’ll call Craig on the radio.”

“He doesn’t have a radio, he doesn’t have any of his equipment, he’s off duty.”

“Shit. Hughes then?”

“The fud? Yeah, go for it. Hopefully he’ll stick his head out the door for a look.”

“I’ll call it in then. We need TFU back here.”

The two men looked at each other with dismay when there was nothing on the other end except the crackle and hiss of static.

“I’ll try mine,” said Gary but he got the same result.

“I thought Airwave radios could handle bad weather,” said Steve.

“Yeah but this is Blair Dubh. You remember what Freya said, it’s like it’s alive. It doesn’t want us to call for help.”

“Don’t be so fucking silly,” said Steve, unease making him shiver. “We have to do something, we can’t just hide in here. Are you sure of what you saw? It might have been a rolled-up carpet or something.”

“Why would anyone dump some carpet on the pavement? You know how anal they all are about keeping their village tidy and have you heard of a carpet that bleeds?”

“They might not have been shot, they might have had a heart attack or something.”

“What, four of them at the same time?” exclaimed Gary. “Someone’s fucking killed them, I’m telling you.”

“We don’t know they were shot.”

“What if they were and the killer’s waiting for another target to pop their head out the door?”

Both men looked at each other helplessly, not a clue what to do.

“I’ll call Craig on his mobile,” said Steve.

“Good luck with that one.”

Steve felt like throwing his phone against the wall when it refused to connect. “Fucking village, I hate this place,” he yelled. He looked helplessly at Gary. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know, you’re supposed to be the brains around here. Wait, I’ve had an idea. The landline.”

“You’re not supposed to use them during thunderstorms, they can conduct electricity. If lightning strikes the ground when you’re on the phone it’ll blow your brains out.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s true. Wait, is that only if it’s cordless?”

Gary dashed to the phone that Betty kept on a table next to her armchair. “No, it’s not cordless. It’s one of those for blind people with massive buttons.” He chewed his lip before snatching up the handset. “Fuck it, I’ve not got much brains to blow out anyway.” When he heard a deafening crackle on the other end he released a gasp and slammed it back down. “Maybe not. So what now?”