The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (20 page)

“Coward,” she spat before sprinting off after Steve and Gary.

“Freya, wait,” he called.

Just as she reached the trees Craig emerged talking with Steve and Gary and shaking his head. “I saw someone, I almost had him then I fell and got caught on some stupid brambles.”

“Craig,” she breathed with relief, throwing her arms around his neck. “I was so worried. Don’t do that to me again, please.”

“I’ll try not to,” he replied with a grin in his voice.

When she pulled back she was horrified to see blood staining the front of his t-shirt. “What happened?”

“I got caught up in some brambles, that’s all. There was someone in there, I nearly got them too then this happened,” he sighed, indicating his torn, bloodied top.

“Did you see who it was?” said Hughes, eventually catching up with them, holding his side as though he had a stitch.

“No but it was definitely a man. Was Graeme Doggett in the pub when you left?”

“No, he left a couple of minutes after you did,” replied Steve.

“Let’s see if he’s at home,” said Craig. “If it was him he could make it there without being seen by sticking to the woods. If we hurry we might be able to catch him out.”

Hughes stood before him like a stocky little guard. “You’re not going anywhere, this isn’t your patch anymore. I’m sergeant here.”

“And my wife is the one being threatened. Now get out of my way,” said Craig through gritted teeth, squaring up to the man.

“Let them deal with it,” interjected Freya. “You’re bleeding.” She was concerned with the wounds, they were bleeding more than they should for bramble scratches.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. Look.”

He glanced down and was surprised to see his front stained with even more blood.

“She’s right Sarge,” said Gary. “That looks bad. Sure it was just brambles?”

“It must have been but I’m still going to catch Doggett out.”

“No you’re not,” said Freya, pushing her hands against his shoulders to stop him running off. “Steve and Gary are more than capable.” She turned to them. “Go on quick lads. I’ll see to Craig.”

They both nodded and ran back down the hill.

“Hey, wait,” called Hughes, looking like a toddler chasing after the older children with his ridiculous run, throwing his legs forward like a kid learning to walk.

“I’m amazed he passed the fitness test,” said Craig, amused as he watched him stagger down the hill. Freya started pulling up his shirt and he grinned. “Feeling frisky again?”

“No I’m not, I’m feeling worried.” When she saw the wound her eyes widened. “Holy shit Craig, that’s not brambles.”

He looked down to see a long thin cut about four inches long running across his abdomen. He’d seen enough in his police career to know what it was. “It’s a knife wound.”

“Oh my God. We need to get you to hospital.”

“It’s fine, just a flesh wound. It hasn’t penetrated.”

“You got stabbed and you didn’t notice?”

“I just assumed it was brambles. It was dark in there and I tripped over something and felt the pain in my stomach. My t-shirt got hooked on some brambles and scratched my arms and I thought they’d got my stomach too.”

“That means there was someone else in there other than the person you were chasing.” Her eyes snapped to the trees, searching for any sign of life, but all was still. She took his hand and pulled him away. “Let’s get you to Lizzy, she can take a look.”

“It’s fine Freya.”

“Are you a doctor? No, and it’s still bleeding. Hurry, please.”

CHAPTER 21

Mandy watched them rush down the hill, Freya dragging Craig along looking like she had the fury of hell on her heels, which she did.

She looked down at Martin Lynch’s unmarked grave, caressing the knife, the blade red with Craig’s blood, running it through her fingertips, enjoying the feel of his warm sticky life fluid. He’d been so intent on pursuing his quarry that he’d failed to notice her crouched behind a tree, waiting for him. He’d gone flying over her outstretched leg and landed face down, getting tangled with some brambles. It had been a simple thing to slash him then disappear into the shadows before he’d even got back on his feet.

Mandy didn’t know why she’d done it. All she knew was that the urge to hurt had been strong. It would have been so easy for her to kill him, she could have aimed for his heart instead of a harmless slice to the stomach but then he would have died as Freya’s man, leaving her no chance to get him back and win.

Gritting her teeth she dragged the blade across her palm then rubbed Craig’s blood into the wound, mingling part of him with her so she would have him with her always. Blood from the wound trickled down her arm and she held it over Lynch’s grave, watching the droplets spatter onto it. She wondered if it would seep through the earth to the coffin then through the wood onto his body. She imagined the eyes of the corpse snapping open, the lust for blood and murder animating the putrefying cadaver.

Mandy shook her head, pushing the image away. Her thoughts were becoming more disordered. Once she’d been all about beauty, not just her own but everyone else’s. Lately all she could think about was destruction and murder, dark horrible things that once would have frightened her but now she wanted to indulge in. It was all Freya’s fault, things were never this bad before she’d barged her way into her life. She had always been quick to anger, lashed out with her fists when she didn’t get her own way but someone of her splendour ought to be indulged. It made her furious when the stupid ugly people around her thwarted her but her thoughts used to be manageable, she had the ability to push away the ones that scared her. Now the desire to ignore those bad thoughts as well as the understanding that they were wrong had dissipated. This village had a lot to do with it. It was almost magical. When you set foot on its soil it was easy to forget the rest of the world existed. The normal laws and rules didn’t apply here. No wonder two men had gone on the rampage, they probably thought they could get away with it. One of them almost did.

The breeze engulfed her body. Angrily she tore off the wig and tossed it into the undergrowth, letting her long red hair stream out behind her. She would hide away no longer. She would confront Freya and when she did her blood would spill on this land. Maybe that would finally lay all the ghosts to rest.

“Can’t sleep?” said that soft sing-song voice.

Will looked up into his nurse’s gentle face and shook his head.

Her heart went out to him, his eyes were so full of sadness.

“Would you like a drink?”

He nodded.

She held the straw to his lips and this time it was easier for him to form the seal. After drinking his fill he reclined back in the pillows with a satisfied sigh.

“I can sit with you for a while, if you like?”

Another nod. She smiled when his eyes lit up. His lips started to move and she had to tilt her head close to his face to catch what he was saying.

“Name? Do you mean my name?” she said, pointing at herself.

He nodded.

“Nurse McDiarmid.”

“Real name,” he rasped. His lips were still sore but the swelling had gone down enough to make it just about possible for him to form words again.

“Moira.”

“Pretty.”

“Thank you Will.”

“You’re pretty.”

She blushed as those blue eyes gazed up at her.

When he spoke again she had to lean even closer to hear.

“Talk to you?” she frowned.

Will nodded.

“About what?”

“You.”

“Oh,” she said, embarrassed. She had never been one to put herself forward. “Well, I live with Oliver.”

Will’s heart sank.

“Oliver is a cat,” she smiled, pleased when relief stole into his eyes. “I’ve been a nurse for seven years and I love it. I’ve lived in Glasgow for ten years, although I’m originally from Paisley. My parents both still live there. I’ve got a younger brother but he’s away in Afghanistan. He’s in the army.”

He saw the worry in her eyes for her brother and took her hand. She jumped at the contact so he hastily retracted it.

“It’s okay, just unexpected,” she smiled.

His eyes smiled back and he took her hand again. Without thinking she began to stroke his hair. She didn’t know why, she didn’t do this with the other patients but she felt it soothed him. She hesitated, unsure if the attention was wanted but he nodded encouragingly. His lovely eyes became hazy with pleasure as she ran her fingers through his thick blond hair. He’d had a bed bath - Will had been disappointed when a burly male nurse had done it. As he was now able to sit up for short periods he’d been wheeled to the bathroom sink and his hair had been washed, revealing its true warm honey colour, the dried blood gone.

“What about you? Do you live alone?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.

Another nod.

Moira smiled. Something really drew her to this man although he’d hardly spoken and she hadn’t even seen his face. At first it had been his sheer helplessness and fear that had made her heart go out to him. It had seemed so callous to handcuff the poor man to the bed, despite the horror stories she’d been told about him. For some reason she hadn’t believed them and she’d been right not to because that wasn’t him. Will McMillan was a good man, a kind and fair one according to his colleagues. Even that horrible Harry Jacobs had sung his praises. Will hadn’t deserved what had been done to him.

“Do you have a cat?” she said.

She heard a chuckle deep within the bandages and he shook his head. His eyes were growing heavy, soothed by her hand in his hair and her soft voice.

“No, but I’d like one, called Oliver,” he mumbled before drifting off to sleep.

Moira remained by his side watching him sleep, only leaving him when another patient demanded her attention.

“Just a shallow cut, nothing to worry about,” assured Lizzy, applying a dressing to Craig’s wound. “But it would be best to go to hospital and get a couple of stitches.”

“No need for that, I’ll be fine,” he replied.

“Lizzy was a nurse. If she thinks it’s best then it’s best,” said Freya.

“I’ve had worse. Thanks Lizzy.”

She patted his rippling stomach and winked. “No, thank you. You’ve made me a very happy woman.”

He blushed and hastily covered himself up with one of Jimmy’s t-shirts Lizzy had given him.

“But that’s definitely not brambles. That was caused by something sharp,” said Lizzy, packing away her first aid kit.

“Like a knife?” said Freya.

“Most likely. Seems this village isn’t done with you.”

“What do you mean?” frowned Craig.

“You know this place has a special sort of enchantment about it,” replied Lizzy. “Perhaps enchantment is the wrong word, that makes it sound benign. Think back over the village’s history to Black Blair who built the castle five hundred years ago. It’s well known he dabbled in witchcraft. What if he brought something through from the other side?”

“Lizzy, I don’t think…,” began Craig.

“He unleashed an evil on us, one that has existed for centuries, seeping into the land,” she continued. “Haven’t you noticed when trouble’s brewing the weather goes wild, the wind starts up and the storms rage? Look outside right now,” she said, gesturing to the window.

It was almost dark, difficult to see anything, but they could all hear the wind howling around Lizzy’s steadfast little cottage.

“It’s here,” whispered Lizzy, crossing herself.

Craig and Freya glanced at each other uncertainly. “Right, we’ll be off,” said Craig, putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders and leading her to the door. “Thanks Lizzy.”

“You’re welcome and take care out there,” she called after them.

“Well that was…bizarre,” said Freya as they exited the house.

“Sort of the last thing you want to hear when you have to walk home in the dark,” he replied, having to shout over the wind.

“What is it?” she said when he hesitated.

“I wonder which cottage is Doggett’s?”

“Oh no Craig, leave it to Steve and Gary. Let’s just go back to our boat, lock the door and curl up in bed.”

“I can’t relax until I know they’ve nicked that bastard.”

“You don’t know it was him.”

“Who else could it be?”

“Mad Mandy.”

“The person I was chasing definitely wasn’t a woman.”

“But the person who stabbed you could have been.”

“Are you saying Mandy was lurking in the woods waiting to attack me?”

“Why not? We already think she’s here.”

They both looked about them into the gathering darkness, the roar of the wind as it rushed through the main street only increasing the shiver factor. Craig took her hand. “Let’s go back to the pub.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. It would be good to be somewhere with lots of lights and people.

Together they hurried down the deserted main street, Freya gripping onto Craig’s hand for dear life. Bill’s wife Brenda had been attacked here by Martin Lynch, just metres from her oblivious best friend, the monstrous act hidden by the ferocity of the storm. She’d managed to stagger to the pub where she’d died a few minutes later. The crying of the wind could be mistaken for Brenda’s own desperate cries.

Stop it,
Freya told herself.

A shaft of light cut across their path, stopping them in their tracks. A figure emerged from the open cottage door, stepping into the pool of light.

“Mr Doggett, come back here,” called Hughes, bustling out of the house after him.

“Freya,” said Graeme, rushing towards her. He stopped when Craig put himself between them. “It wasn’t me up there. I went to the pub then came straight home.”

“There’s no one who can corroborate your story,” interjected Hughes, staggering slightly as the wind knocked into him. “Just come to the station where we can talk about it properly.”

Graeme turned on him, eyes blazing. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Although he carried less weight than Hughes he stood immobile in the strong breeze while Hughes had his feet firmly planted and head down against it.

Hughes appeared nervous and stepped back out of reach, should the man decide to lash out. “I’m a police officer. If you don’t come quietly I will arrest you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Hughes swallowed hard and looked over his shoulder at Steve and Gary standing in the open doorway, smiling. “Why aren’t you giving me a hand?”

“We were waiting for the command Sir,” called Gary cheerfully. “We know you don’t like us taking the initiative.”

“Don’t be so bloody stupid. Get over here. Now.”

They both shrugged and ambled towards the two men, taking their sweet time.

Hughes turned his attention back to Graeme. “Now don’t be silly Mr Doggett, there’s no need for this.”

“You would say that you cowardly wee shite, hiding behind your warrant card. I know your type - inadequate, bullied as a child, needing a job that makes you feel big and powerful and now you’ve got it you find you’re not up to it.”

Hughes’s face fell, Graeme’s words hitting a nerve while Steve and Gary sniggered in the background.

Hughes shook himself out of it and tilted his head back proudly. “Well done, you’ve just earned yourself a night in the cells. You two, nick him,” he ordered his constables.

“It wasn’t him,” said Craig.

“What are you talking about? Course it was him,” retorted Hughes.

“The man I chased was shorter and stockier. There’s no way it was this man.” It pained Craig to say it, he’d been certain it was Graeme but now he was in front of him he could see his build was completely wrong, unfortunately.

“You’re wrong DS Donaldson, the shock has upset the balance of your mind.”

Craig stood nose to nose with Hughes, the latter’s Adam’s apple nervously bobbing up and down.

“Are you questioning my judgement?”

“No, I’m just saying…”

“You’ll say nothing. This man wasn’t the one I chased. If that doesn’t suit your purposes I don’t give a shit. Now leave him alone and help me find who I did chase, or do you want to make him pay because your pride’s been hurt? Are you that unprofessional?”

“Do not level unfounded charges at me. I…”

Craig turned his back on the man, which had more impact than a slap. “You may return to your home Mr Doggett. Please accept my apologies for the disturbance.”

“Thank you,” he replied, eyes flicking to Freya.