The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (19 page)

“I wondered if you’d run any checks on Graeme Doggett?”

“Don’t you worry Freya Sweetheart,” said Gary, taking the opportunity while Craig was out of the room to put his arm around her. “We have after he was up at the churchyard today and he’s clean. No prior history.”

“Did you find out where he’s from?”

“Fife.”

“That accent’s not Fife.”

“He’s moved around a bit,” said Steve.

Freya forced herself not to look Graeme’s way, not wanting him to know they were discussing him. “When we were in the church he kept talking about evil.”

Their interest was piqued. “In what way?” said Steve.

“He said only me and him really understood evil, that it was close and was seeking me again.”

“Sounds like a threat to me,” said Gary. “Let’s haul him in.”

“Alright, take it easy Starsky,” said Steve, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You know that’s not enough.”

“He’s a loony,” said Gary.

“Very succinctly put,” smiled Steve, taking a swig of lager. He looked over Freya’s shoulder and his smile fell. “Oh Christ.”

“What?” said Freya, turning to see what had had such a dramatic effect on him. Sergeant Hughes, now in civilian clothes, was bustling his way towards them, full of his own self-importance.

“Crap,” said Gary. “What’s he playing at? He never comes in here. Is it too late to hide from the silly wee bastard?”

“Ssshh,” said Steve. “He’ll hear you.”

But Hughes’s attention was focused on Freya. “Mrs Donaldson, good to see you again. May I call you Freya? Thank you,” he said without waiting for her to reply. “How are you feeling after the nasty shock you got earlier?”

“Fine thank you.”

“I want you to know that my men and I are doing all in our power to find this man.”

“I’ve every faith in Steve and Gary. They’re very good officers.”

Hughes stood there, chest puffed up, eyes wide like an expectant puppy, obviously waiting for the same compliment to be bestowed on him. When the desired praise didn’t materialise he deflated.

Freya was relieved when Craig emerged from the toilet. When he saw Hughes he rolled his eyes and appeared tempted to run out the back way, but one warning look from her had him slinking back towards them.

“DS Donaldson,” beamed Hughes. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Aye go on then. I’ll have a pint please.”

“Pint it is. Freya?”

“Lemonade thanks.”

“Go on, have a real drink.”

“Lemonade will be fine.”

“Have something stronger, I insist.”

“I don’t want anything stronger, I want a lemonade,” she said, her face flushing.

“How about a glass of wine? I’m a good judge of people and I bet you’d love a cool crisp white wine.”

“No.”

“I can’t watch,” said Steve, staring into his pint while Craig and Freya got madder and madder.

“I can,” replied Gary. “I hope one of them gubs the prick. My money’s on Freya.”

“Freya knows her own mind and she wants a lemonade,” Craig told Hughes.

“Nonsense,” said Hughes cheerfully, clapping his hands together. “Pint of lager and white wine and lemonade please Landlord.”

Gordon looked to Freya, not sure what to say.

“I’m a recovering alcoholic,” Freya told Hughes quietly.

“What’s that you say?”

“I’m a recovering alcoholic,” she said loudly, “which is why I want a sodding lemonade.”

The whole bar went silent, Gary trying not to snigger as Hughes curled in on himself, blushing furiously.

“Forget the drink,” she said. “We’re leaving.”

“Well done you tit,” Craig barked at Hughes before following his wife to the door.

Freya had to pass Graeme on her way out and he caught her eye. She got the feeling he was trying to tell her something but she had no idea what that was.

“Freya, I’m sorry,” called Hughes.

“It’s Mrs Donaldson to you, you wee fud,” she yelled back.

When there was a loud snort of laughter from behind him Hughes whipped round to see Gary desperately trying not to laugh.

“Something wrong PC Reid?”

“No.”

“No what?”

“No please.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m your superior officer.”

Gary shrugged. “We’re not on duty now.”

“I don’t care.”

“Gie the lads a break,” said Gordon, putting a pint down in front of Hughes. “They came through for us when we needed them and we think a lot of them in Blair Dubh. So I suggest you quietly finish your drink and let them enjoy their night off.”

Hughes glanced around the room and saw the entire pub staring at him, their expressions not exactly friendly. He faced front and sipped his pint. Out of the corner of his eye he spied a pale thin man watching him. For some indefinable reason the sight made him shudder and he hastily averted his eyes, thinking what a weird lot they were in this village.

CHAPTER 20

“What a wanker,” stormed Freya as they exited the pub.

“I feel sorry for Steve and Gary,” replied Craig. “I’m amazed one of them hasn’t punched him yet.”

“There’s time,” she said darkly.

“Obviously he’s not big on doing research either. Unprofessional. Very unprofessional.” Silently Craig cursed Sergeant Hughes. Just when they were finally starting to relax and enjoy themselves he had to come along and spoil it.

“Do you mind if we take a walk up to the graveyard? I need to see Mum and Dad’s graves back to normal.”

“Course we can, if you’re not worried about Mandy lurking about.”

“She doesn’t worry me.” She linked her arm through his. “I’ve got my big strong policeman to protect me.”

He smiled down at her, unable to enjoy the beauty of the evening as he was too busy looking for mad redheads hiding in trees. They walked up the hill in silence, enjoying the view, the last of the boats just returning to dock. The sky was streaked with a myriad of colours, the breeze a warm and gentle caress, the scent of wildflowers on the air.

“I love Blair Dubh when it’s like this,” said Freya.

“I know what you mean,” he replied. “Shame about all the serial killers.”

“Will we be able to leave tomorrow?”

“Bill said it should be fine once he’s finished the repair job. Do you want to go home?” He was downhearted that his big idea had been such a failure.

“No, let’s go a bit further down the coast. Arran’s not far or we could go onto Turnberry like you suggested.”

“You really mean that?”

“I do. Mad Mandy and that wee wank back there are not ruining our holiday.”

He stopped her just before they reached the graveyard. “I’ve been thinking. If you can’t pregnant with my…stuff then you should use donor sperm.”

“No.”

“I won’t mind if it means you get a baby.”

“Craig, this isn’t about me having a baby, it’s about us creating something together and if I can’t have your baby I don’t want one.”

“This might be your one chance to be a mum.”

“It means nothing if you’re not the dad.”

“I don’t want you missing out on something you really want because of me.”

“The only thing I really want is you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

He crushed her to him, kissing her hair, keeping her close as they continued on their way, passing through the gates of the graveyard. The beauty of the evening was lost on this part of the village. The fading light scattered strange shadows, making them think there was someone standing just off to the side, but every time they looked there was no one there.

“Fred did a good job,” said Freya.” He even replaced the flowers.”

“He did. No one could ever tell just by looking at them.”

Freya felt much better now the graves had been filled in. “I’ve been thinking,” she began thoughtfully. “Digging up graves isn’t exactly Mandy’s style. She’d be too afraid of breaking a nail or getting dirty.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past her. Anyway, she’s not so averse to dirt. She goes camping.”

“Camping, her? I thought she’d be five star hotels all the way.”

“Her aunt took her camping in France every year when she was growing up. She’s quite the outdoorswoman, you’d be surprised. She has all the mod cons though of course.” Craig sighed and looked to the dense woodland surrounding the village. “Camping. Jesus, why didn’t I see it before? She’s in there.”

“Are you sure?” said Freya doubtfully.

“Where else can she be? Steve and Gary checked the local hotels and B&B’s and…” He trailed off as he gazed at the boats below.

“Don’t tell me she’s an expert sailor too?”

He nodded. “She is, thanks to an ex-boyfriend. She used to brag constantly about the millionaire who wanted to marry her.”

Movement to his right caught his eye and he spun round. He couldn’t see anything but he was certain someone had been standing at the rear of the cemetery, on the periphery of the trees.

“Stay here,” he told her.

“What is it?”

“I saw someone. I’ll call Steve and Gary and tell them to get their backsides up here.” He took out his phone and hastily dialled, not wanting to take his eyes off the dense woods. God only knew what dangers its depths hid. He offered up a silent prayer when the call connected. Thank Christ there was a signal, although he didn’t know how long it would last. “Steve, I need you and Gary at the cemetery right now. Don’t moan, it’s important. The fud? Try and ditch him but if you can’t then let him come. An extra pair of eyes might be useful.”

He hung up and looked to Freya. “They’re on their way.” The snap of a twig in the trees had him peering into their shadows. “Wait here,” he told her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going right in, just here. I’ll still be able to see you. I’m sure someone’s in there.”

Freya watched him vanish into the line of trees and she hoped he could still see her because she certainly couldn’t see him. The breeze blew harder, chillier, and she clutched her arms about herself and shivered.

She jumped when she saw something in the corner of her eye and, spinning round, was confronted by nothing except the graves standing out against the darkening sky.

“Craig,” she said, not wanting to shout too loud for fear of rousing something nasty. She strained to listen but could hear nothing over the gathering breeze. “Craig,” she repeated louder.

More movement made her whirl round, seeking the source, but still she was alone.

“Stop being stupid,” she muttered, forcing herself to relax.

Docherty couldn’t believe his eyes as he looked through one of the church windows. There was Freya Donaldson, all alone and vulnerable in a deserted graveyard. He’d had his doubts about spending the night in here but now he could see it was the best decision he’d ever made. But he had to approach cautiously, she’d see him coming a mile off. He’d go out the back way and into the woods. From there he could circle her undercover of the trees and leap out at her when she least expected it.

Freya was acutely aware of Logan and Lynch’s graves either side of her and she felt penned in by them. She imagined them clawing their way out of their earthy pits, dragging themselves to the surface and crawling on their bellies towards her, intent on finishing what they’d started. Her head snapped from one grave to the other, pulse jumping, breathing accelerating, but all was quiet. She looked back to the line of trees where Craig had disappeared, praying she’d see him emerge, but there was no sign of him and she hoped he was okay. What if Mad Mandy had attacked him and he was lying in there bleeding?

She was about to plunge into the woods after him when she hesitated. If he came out and she wasn’t here he’d panic and form a search party. It would be like when they were kids all over again and they’d got lost in the woods when they were playing. The whole village would be pissed off with them. Besides, if anyone could take care of himself it was Craig. It would take someone much harder than Mandy to get the better of him. He’d be back in a minute, he’d promised not to stray far.

The breeze kicked up even more, blowing her hair across her face. Frantically she pushed it away, not wanting her vision to be obscured for a single second. The wind was causing the waves to crash against the shore, throwing the boats about in their berths. Their own Far Tide was being tossed up and down by the large swells and she hoped it didn’t sustain any damage, especially as it didn’t belong to them.

It was growing darker, the sun sinking rapidly, just a few dying rays of light fighting for a little more life. For the first time since the heat wave began Freya felt cold and she wasn’t sure it was entirely to do with the weather. The dead in Blair Dubh were never really gone. They lingered, taunting the living, a perpetual reminder of the frailty of human existence and how quickly and stealthily death came to this place.

“Stop being morbid,” she told herself.

Docherty watched Freya from the trees, dread written all over her face. He couldn’t really blame her, standing all alone in the middle of
that
graveyard. It was one freaky place. However her jumpiness meant she would be on her guard so he’d have to move fast.

He crept through the trees, careful not to tread on anything that could cause a noise, experiencing the buzz that accompanied bouts of violence. His body curled in on itself as his muscles tensed, lips drawing back over his teeth, preparing to pounce.

A shadow racing across the graveyard convinced him to remain where he was. Freya released a shocked cry and staggered backwards.

He watched the shadow flit behind a large gravestone. What the fuck was that?

The blood thundered in Freya’s head as she stumbled around in a clumsy circle. Something had moved then, she’d definitely seen it. Fuck this.

“Craig,” she cried between ragged breaths.

She looked expectantly towards the trees but he didn’t come.

“Craig,” she yelled louder.

A low laugh behind her turned her blood to ice. It was sly, malicious and chilled her to the bone. She rounded on the source, dragging her long hair from her eyes as the wind blew stronger. Freya knew Blair Dubh well. The elements only began to seethe when danger was near. This was what the weather had been like the night her mother died. It had been a warm night, everything still and calm until she’d followed Logan up here then the wind had started to howl, whipping her nightgown and hair around her, just like it was now. When Martin Lynch had struck a full on storm swallowed the village. It was influenced by the evil that inhabited it and suddenly Graeme’s words made sense. He could feel it, just like she could.

“I’m not your victim anymore Logan,” she said quietly, her anger rising. “I’m not your victim anymore,” she screamed into the wind, which stole the words from her mouth. “You want me? Bring it on.”

Jeezo, the woman’s a loony,
thought Docherty as he watched Freya spinning round and shouting into the air.

After seeing that fleeting shadow he’d started to believe the place was really haunted, until he saw the woman crouched behind a large gravestone halfway across the graveyard between him and the church, chuckling to herself. He’d no idea who the woman with the bobbed dark hair was but she had a fantastic pair of legs. She also clutched a very large knife. If she thought she was going to steal his fun she had another thing coming, he’d waited years for this moment. He had to warn Freya off before that mad harpie leapt out and stabbed her to death because, judging by the malevolence in her eyes, that was exactly what she had in mind. It wouldn’t be hard to frighten Freya, she was already close to the edge as it was, the creepy graveyard playing tricks on her mind. But what to do? Whatever it was he had to do it fast. The woman with the knife was peeking round the side of the gravestone, what would have been a very pretty mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl, hatred and a little insanity warping her good looks. She was getting ready to pounce and Freya had no idea she was even there.

Just as he was pondering the dilemma there was a tremendous crash to his right, as though something huge was tearing through the undergrowth towards him. Deciding not to hang about to find out what it was Docherty took off in the opposite direction back towards the church, running for his life, images of a giant black bear spurring him on. Glancing over his shoulder he could make out a vague shape. He faced forward just in time to avoid running head first into a tree and dodged round it. To his left he saw a pale streak as the woman with the knife ran for cover, likewise startled by the horrific noise. He hoped he didn’t run into her, he had enough to worry about.

Fortunately he didn’t encounter her. Docherty burst out of the line of trees and pelted towards the back of the church, running inside and slamming the door shut behind him, pressing his bodyweight against it in case the thing tried to break in. He held his breath, straining to hear over the pounding of his own heart but nothing slammed into the opposite side of the door, there were no ominous growls or scratches to indicate a wild beast.

He bent double, gasping for breath, ashamed to realise he was shaking.

The cracking of twigs and pounding of feet sent Freya’s pulse skyrocketing but when she spotted Craig racing along the edge of the tree line she relaxed. It looked like he was in pursuit of something and she ran parallel with him through the graveyard.

“Craig’s chasing someone,” she yelled to Steve and Gary as they entered the cemetery.

The two men nodded and raced off in the direction she indicated, disappearing into the trees.

“Who are they chasing?” said Hughes, puffing into the graveyard a few seconds later, face bright red and dripping with sweat.

“I don’t know,” she snapped, still annoyed with him. “Are you just going to stand there or are you going to help them?”

“There’s three of them. Someone needs to stay with you and make sure you’re okay,” he replied, eyeing the darkening woods with reluctance.