The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (8 page)

“Do either of them work in the seg unit where Docherty was being held?”

“Yes, Will does but…but…” All the blood drained from Jacob’s face as he gaped at the unconscious man on the bed. “No, it can’t be Will.”

“Does he have any distinguishing marks?”

“A scar on his left shoulder. He had to have surgery after it was dislocated during a rammy on the wing.”

“There’s a scar here,” said the nurse, pulling back the patient’s gown to check, noting how toned the shoulder muscle was too. She surmised he worked out.

“No, it’s got to be Docherty. I saw Will come out of the prison myself, he spoke to me.”

“What state was he in?”

“His face was covered with blood.” His mouth fell open as realisation finally struck. “Fucking hell, I don’t believe it.” He grabbed the unconscious patient by both shoulders and shook him. “Will mate, can you hear me? We know you’re not Docherty. I’m so sorry,” he said hysterically.

“I want fingerprints to confirm the ID,” Gray told Jacobs. “Pull yourself together and get to work. You’ve got an escaped prisoner.”

“Where are you going?” he called when Gray strode towards the door.

“I’ve got a psychopath to catch. Your fuck-up has already cost two women their lives. I’m not letting him kill anyone else.”

CHAPTER 9

Docherty was standing across the street from the block of flats where Freya lived, fuming. The building was smart and trendy in the west end of the city. Her comfort annoyed him, he would have much preferred to see her still struggling with life, sick, wasted. Instead she’d got herself a decent job, a husband and a nice place to live and it made him furious.

It hadn’t been hard to track her down, a quick check on a computer in an internet café. He’d also researched her work, she had her own professional webpage complete with consulting times. The internet was a wonderful thing, it could tell you anything you wanted, the IT course he’d taken inside had taught him that. Fat lot of use researching her work had done him. As he’d walked away from her office he’d got angrier and angrier about being thwarted by that big fat hairy bastard. He’d definitely been suspicious and now he had to get to Freya before the git had chance to warn her.

Right now her husband would be at work and she’d be all alone and vulnerable. CID detectives were always at work this time of day, in fact they were rarely home. He had his plan all worked out. He’d hit her hard and fast, bind and gag her before she could make a sound then he could go to work on her. As long as she didn’t make a noise he could do what he liked to her in her own flat. The building was full of young professional couples who would all be out during the day and he wanted to spend more time with Freya than he had with the other two because she’d hurt him the most. The memory of the stubborn bitch in court refusing to crumble beneath his defence’s attack provoked a fury inside him so potent he gnashed his teeth. She’d even had the front to look at him with disgust, as though
he
was the piece of shit. The other two hadn’t dared, sitting there shaking with their heads bowed and he’d revelled in it. Freya had gone up against him and it enraged him that for five years she’d thought she’d won. Now he was going to educate her as to how wrong she was using a variety of imaginative techniques he’d spent the years inside perfecting, recreating them over and over in his head to ensure they took her beyond the limits of her pain and endurance.

His forehead throbbed and it felt hot. He rubbed at it, grimacing. He was now positive it was infected but hadn’t got round to nicking any antiseptic cream yet. Hopefully Freya would have a first aid kit.

Docherty jogged across the road, dodging the busy traffic, managing to sneak into the flats just as another resident exited. Sweat ran into his eyes as he climbed two flights of stairs, muttering under his breath about the wonders of lifts and air conditioning.

It was a relief when he reached Freya’s door. The adrenaline pumping through his veins caused him to knock a bit harder than he’d intended. He didn’t want to put her on her guard before he’d even got near her, she’d be tougher to handle than Sally and Anita. When no one answered he banged again harder, practically hopping from one foot to the other in frustration. It would just be like the silly bitch not to be in.

“Are you alright there pal?”

The voice startled Docherty and he whipped round to be confronted by a gangly man with long straggly hair and crooked teeth.

“What’s it to you?” snarled Docherty.

“Alright, take it easy. I was only asking,” replied the man, holding up his hands.

Docherty wrestled with himself, attempting to keep his cool. He needed to find Freya and this prick might be able to help.

“Sorry for snapping at you, you made me jump,” said Docherty with a self-deprecating smile.

“No worries. I know I do walk quietly. The missus says I don’t work in this building, I haunt it.”

Docherty forced himself to laugh along while fantasising about putting his fist through the man’s hideous yellow teeth. “Who are you, a neighbour?”

“No, I’m the handy man in this building. I carry out the repairs,” he said proudly.

Docherty’s eyebrows went up. Was he supposed to be impressed? “I’m an old pal of Craig’s,” he replied as amiably as was possible for him. “I moved to England a few years ago but I’m back for a visit. I was hoping to surprise him.”

“Sorry, you’re a wee bit late. They’ve gone away for a few days.”

Docherty resisted the urge to swear. “Do you know where?”

“Aye, not far. They’ve gone for a cruise along the coast, they’ve hired a boat, a smart wee cabin cruiser.”

“Bloody hell that’s a shame. I’m only here for a couple of days and I don’t know when I’ll be back.” He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping with disappointment. “That’ll teach me to call first but I thought it would be a nice surprise.” Another disappointed sigh.

“They’ve not long gone. I bet if you hurry you could catch up with them.”

“They could be anywhere.”

“They’re heading up to Arran and then onto Turnberry but first they’re going to stop at the village of Blair Dubh. They’d planned to go there on the way home but Craig thought it best to stop there first in case Freya didn’t take to the water. When he took her to look at the boat yesterday she didn’t seem too keen. His mum lives there.”

“Nora, I remember her well.”
From all the research I did on the internet
. Although Nora Donaldson’s name had been all over the media when The Elemental case broke, this bamstick took it as proof that he was an old friend of the family.

“That’s her name. You could probably catch up with them. It’s a famous village. Two serial killers. Craig himself brought down one of them, he’s a hero.”

“I know,” said Docherty, forcing a smile, the conversation seriously getting on his tits. He had to leave before he knocked this berk out. “Thanks. I’d better get moving if I’m going to meet them there.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get off then. Good luck.”

Docherty raced down the stairs and out the front door. He needed to find a car fast. Public transport was risky with all the CCTV in case his escape was discovered. Blair Dubh was just over an hour away but he didn’t want to arse about waiting on buses.

He turned the corner off the main road and after walking for five minutes found himself in a quiet residential area. His eyes constantly scanned the road, searching for a likely-looking vehicle. The problem was these days cars were much harder to steal. He needed something older, something that would blend into the background and that wouldn’t have GPS tracking.

There should have been plenty of likely targets around here but he could find nothing suitable. He was all too aware of Freya speeding further away from him and as he passed by each car parked at the kerb, dismissing them all as unsuitable, his anxiety grew. It was so hot his bald head was sweating so he pulled off the cap and ran a hand over the dome. Deciding to forgo the disguise for comfort he carried the cap, the wound to his forehead throbbing. It must be bad if it had its own pulse. His breathing grew ragged and he picked up the pace until he was half-running, suspicious behaviour undoubtedly but he couldn’t help it, panic was starting to get the better of him. Everything was going pear-shaped. Freya had gone away and he was stuck in the city with no transport. This wasn’t how his big moment was supposed to be.

The sun continued to relentlessly beat down, burning the virginal skin on top of his head. He cursed and pulled the hat back on. Christ he was thirsty but he had no cash left. Desperation clawed at him. Fuck it, he would do anything necessary to achieve his ends and it wasn’t as if he had to worry about adding extra time onto his sentence.

It took him barely a minute to break into a smart wee bungalow. He raided the fridge, stuffing two carrier bags he found full of crisps, biscuits, bread and anything else that might have a chance of surviving in the heat, plus a bottle of water, a couple of beers and some cans of fizzy pop. He found twenty quid plus some change in a bowl on the sideboard. It never ceased to amaze him how careless people were with their cash.

Upstairs in a medicine cabinet was a first aid kit. After removing the strips the paramedic had applied he slathered the wound in antiseptic cream then taped a dressing over it, which would be hidden by the cap.

He ensured he touched everything through the carrier bag, careful not to leave any prints behind because if they ran them through their system the authorities would get the shock of their lives when he popped up. It was tempting to jump into the shower and douse himself with cold water until his scalp stopped burning but for the same reason he didn’t dare.

Two minutes after he’d exited the house he came upon a knackered old turd brown Volvo that was non-descript, instantly forgettable and easy to break into. Perfect. The owner would probably thank him because with the insurance money they could buy something better, like a pushbike.

He had no tools with which to break in so - after checking no one was about - he simply smashed the window with a loose brick he found discarded on the ground, knocking out the remaining sharp shards with a stick. In this weather it would look like he had the window down.

He jumped in, swearing under his breath when the engine coughed then died away altogether when he tried to hotwire it.

“Come on you bastard, come on,” he muttered.

Finally the engine spluttered into life. Docherty put it into gear and he was off, surprised when he saw the fuel gauge hovering over the three quarter mark. More than enough to get to Blair Dubh.

“Freya, I’m coming,” he smiled.

Mandy pressed her ear to the door, listening to the men’s conversation. Three hours she’d waited here for Freya to come home and judging by what she’d just heard she wouldn’t be back any time soon. Mandy sighed and dumped the knife on the hallway table. She’d planned it all so perfectly too. She’d watched this flat for months, learnt Freya and Craig’s routines by heart and knew that Freya came home early on Friday afternoons.

Her plan had been to break in - the only part that had worked perfectly thanks to the tuition of an old friend with a dubious past who had a huge crush on her. Then the moment Freya walked through the door she would stab her to death. With her finally out of the way Craig would realise he still loved her and they would be together again.

She’d wiled away the time waiting for Freya wandering around the flat going through their stuff, thinking how she’d change the décor when she moved in. She’d already stuffed some of the more hideous items into a bin bag; ugly thick black candlesticks, a couple of weird fantasy prints involving vampires and a revolting black plastic skull. What an object to have in a bedroom, she couldn’t understand how Craig tolerated it. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with crap like that for much longer.

Mandy had gone through Freya’s clothes too, hacking at them with the knife, the sight of all the black enraging her. There had only been one item of any colour in her wardrobe - an ivory wedding dress - and even Mandy had to own that it was beautiful. Although she loved beautiful things she’d destroyed that too simply because it was Freya’s. Then she’d poured pepper into her underwear drawer, which was again all black. At least it would make it harder to see the pepper.

Having free rein of someone else’s home, rummaging through their things, was tremendously exciting and Mandy had laid down on Craig’s side of the bed, able to tell which was his because of his scent on the pillow, and touched herself, recalling what it had felt like when he’d made love to her. After the moan had left her lips she’d slowly opened her eyes to find herself all alone and had gone into a frenzy, stabbing Freya’s pillow, imagining she was lying on it. Craig was a good lover, one of the best she’d ever had, and she was determined to feel him inside her again. He’d come back to her once the witch was dead.

It had all been perfect until she’d overheard that conversation just outside the door, which explained why Freya hadn’t returned home and everything had gone wrong. Enraged, Mandy picked up the knife and hacked at the settee, which of course was black too, opening up a large gash in the leather, the innards popping out, making it look like a gutted animal.

As she raised the knife again she hesitated. Thanks to the men’s conversation and the ridiculously thin door she knew where they’d gone; back to Blair Dubh, that shitty little village. She’d been there before, she knew her way around. If she set off now she could be there by mid-afternoon.

A plan began to form in her mind and she smiled. She could disguise herself, they wouldn’t expect her to turn up there. She could follow them about and they wouldn’t even know until she found the perfect time to strike. The plan thrilled her. Maybe if she killed Freya in Blair Dubh she might not be suspected? There were plenty of men who would give her an alibi. She could count at least five off the top of her head who would be willing to brag to the police about how they spent the day in bed having sweaty athletic sex. Her aunt in Inverness, where Mandy was supposed to be, would lie for her too. Since she was a little girl her Aunt Regina had gone out of her way to protect her. Craig would be distraught by Freya’s death, he’d want comfort and she’d make sure she was there to provide him with all the comfort he needed then they’d pick up right where they’d left off. She wondered who the man at the door was, she hadn’t recognised him through the peephole and she couldn’t recall Craig ever mentioning a friend in England. Something in the man’s tone had told her he’d been lying to the maintenance man. If she saw him in Blair Dubh she would watch him closely. He might be a useful ally.

She slid the knife into her handbag and strode for the door, carefully locking it behind her, leaving the devastation in her wake. As she exited the main door she had to press herself against the wall to avoid being knocked down by a cross-looking man with a funny monkey walk. Mandy sneered as he passed her, despising him for his ugliness. She felt sorry for whoever he was going to visit.