The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) (27 page)

“
Grateful?” she cried. “I hate that bastard.”

His expression hardened, the string of drool finally dripping from the corner of his mouth and landing on her face, sliding down her cheek and staining the pillow.
“That is no way to talk about the saviour of your mother’s soul.”

“
What about Brenda?”

“
She had an abortion after having an affair with the soldier. That was in Doctor Booth’s notes too. I injected her with wasp venom. The injection I gave her at the pub to counteract the venom wasn’t epinephrine, it was more venom. I killed her right in front of her husband and he didn’t have a clue.”

“
You evil twisted bastard. You’re going to burn in hell along with Logan.”

“
No I’m not, I’m doing God’s work by eradicating the evil in this village. Now the explanations are over we get to the fun bit.”

Without warning he punched her in the face, knocking her head sideways into the pillow then the funnel was plunged back into her mouth and she coughed and gagged on the hard plastic. Freya beat at him with her good arm, but he didn
’t even notice her feeble attempts as he reached into his medical bag.

“
Ether is the fifth element Freya,” he said, producing a bottle of vodka. “Also known as spirit.”

CHAPTER 19

Freya’s thrashing increased as Martin ripped the top off the bottle and tipped the vodka down the funnel. She gagged when the burning liquid hit the back of her throat, stinging tears of pain and horror filling her up along with the alcohol. She groped for something to use as a weapon, her hand finding his bag.

“
Poor Doctor Pierce told me all about your alcohol problem,” Martin explained as he attempted to pin her down while continuing to pour the alcohol down her neck. “I did feel a bit of a kindred spirit with him; both doctors who had their children taken from them by scheming women. He told me he loves you. Imagine how disappointed he’ll be when he discovers the woman he’s given his all to, who made him a faithful promise, betrayed his trust for the demon drink. Ow.”

Martin howled in pain as the empty syringe was plunged into his hand. Freya found herself released and she slid off the bed and onto the floor and thrust the fingers of her good hand down her throat, bringing the fiery liquid back up. With a horrible retch, she vomited the clear fluid up all over the carpet, tears blinding her, the blood thundering in her head and body shaking uncontrollably.

Martin yanked the needle out of his hand and reached down for her, grabbing a handful of hair and dragging her back onto the bed. He punched her in the stomach and - deciding to dispense with the funnel - shoved the bottle into her mouth instead and started to pour again. Freya managed to get her legs between him and herself and tried to kick him away but in his madness he was intensely strong, focused only on finishing the job and she couldn’t get free, the scorching trail of vodka slipping its way inside her, working its way towards her internal organs, preparing to shut them down once and for all.

The bottle was violently torn from her mouth when Gary came out of nowhere and hurled himself at them, knocking Martin off her. Once again Freya thrust her fingers down her throat, spewing vodka all over the bed.

While the two men violently fought she rolled onto the floor and dragged herself across the carpet to the door, praying her blurred vision was because of the blow to the face and not the alcohol. Her legs refused to cooperate, head spinning as she hauled her heavy body out of the room and to the top of the stairs.

“
Help,” she tried to call, but all she could manage was a weak rasp. There was no way she could tackle the stairs in the state she was in. The sounds from the spare bedroom were becoming alarming.

Then all went quiet.

Freya paused, straining to listen, praying Gary would walk out of that room and tell her Martin was under arrest and everything was okay. But he didn’t. There was nothing but the awful protracted silence. Just like the night her mother had died, she was overcome by a sense of wrongness.

Move, do something
her instinct screamed at her.

As she couldn
’t go downstairs she did the only thing she could do and that was back up towards Craig’s bedroom, pushing herself along, unable to stand. She reached the door just as Martin stepped out onto the landing breathing hard, blood trickling from a cut to his forehead. He took a step towards her then froze at the sound of a car engine. Peering through the window at the top of the stairs he saw Craig’s car pull up.

“
Fuck,” hissed Martin. He looked back at Freya, who watched him apprehensively. She was weak but still strong enough to put up a fight. There was no choice. With one last glare at her he ran down the stairs, just managing to get out the back door before Craig and Steve charged through the front.

“
Freya,” bellowed Craig as he took the stairs two at a time.

“
Here,” she said, resting her back against the wall, tempted to slip into the oblivion wanting to overtake her but she wouldn’t let it, terrified in case she didn’t wake up again. She had no idea how much of the vodka her body had absorbed.

Craig knelt by her side and grasped her hand.
“Are you alright? Jesus, is that alcohol?”

She nodded slowly.
“Vodka. Martin tried to force me to drink it, he’s the killer,” she breathed, the urge to sleep becoming overwhelming. “Spirit…fifth element.”

“
Oh hell, how much did you drink?”

“
Don’t know. I was sick. You need to check on Gary,” she said, raising a shaky hand to the door leading into the spare bedroom.

Craig nodded at Steve, who strode inside.

“The ambulance is standing by, it should be through soon, just hold on,” Craig told her.

“
It was because of the abortion,” she murmured, her sight growing increasingly hazy, Craig’s handsome face fading before her eyes.

“
I know all about it. Don’t worry yourself.”

A pale-faced Steve reappeared
“Sarge, he really needs an ambulance, he’s in a bad way. He’s taken a couple of blows to the head.”

“
Shit.”

“
You need to arrest him. He’ll hurt someone else,” ended Freya.

“
Hello? Only me,” called a voice. “Bill and Jimmy are here, they want to apologise to Freya.”

“
Mum, get up here now,” yelled Craig. “Bring them with you.” Craig turned back to Freya. “I’ve got to get Martin but I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“
Be careful.”

“
I will,” he said before kissing her. “Mum, have you seen Martin?”

“
Actually we have, running into his cottage. Freya, what happened to you? What’s that smell?”

“
Vodka. Martin’s the killer. He tried to force Freya to drink alcohol but she threw it back up. Can you look at Gary? He’s got a bad head injury,” Craig said, pointing in the direction of the spare bedroom. “I’ve got an arrest to make. Come on Steve.”

Determinedly Craig got to his feet and sped back down the stairs, Steve following.

“Jimmy, fetch Lizzy,” said Bill. He crouched before Freya and took her hand. “Alright Sweetheart? Just hang on, the ambulance will be here soon enough.”

She managed to give him a weak smile, deciding to forgive him for locking her up in the cellar. He
’d suffered too at the hands of Martin Lynch.

Craig and Steve hauled a grimacing Adam out of the back of the car and laid him down on the couch in Nora’s living room. When Jimmy returned with Lizzy they left him in her hands and ran outside. Craig kicked in the front door of Martin’s cottage and checked every room but he wasn’t there.

“
Bugger, where’s he got to?” said Craig.

“
Probably trying to get out of the village before back-up gets in,” replied Steve.

“
He’ll have to go straight past them to do it, there’s no other way out. He can’t leave by boat, not unless he wants to drown.” A horrible thought occurred to Craig and he dashed upstairs into the bedroom. “He’s a member of the local gun club, he has his own shotgun. Crap,” he said when he saw the lock box hanging open, empty.

Martin watched the convoy of police vehicles, ambulances and - for a reason he couldn’t understand - a fire engine slowly making their way along the road in, taking it carefully because there was still a significant amount of water on the road. In the lead car, a black Mondeo, sat a hatchet-faced woman with incredibly straight black hair and a thick fringe. He guessed this was the detective inspector Craig had moaned so much about. He wondered if she had made it in before the road flooded would he have been caught sooner? Craig had been blinded to the possibility of anyone here being a murderer because he had known them all his entire life. Would an outsider have seen things differently? Those two numpties he had to assist him hadn’t, so maybe not.

He waved his hand in the air directing them through, his other hand behind his back gripping the shotgun. He had no intention of making an escape and being chased across the country like quarry, constantly looking over his shoulder, it was no life. He had been revealed for what he was and there was no escaping it, but he refused to go quietly. At the bottom of the road he could see press vans lined up, journalists armed with microphones and cameras waiting for the moment they were allowed in. It seemed their sleepy little village had attracted the country
’s attention because - judging by the names on the sides of the vans - they had come from far and wide. They were about to get the exclusive of their lives. His finger twitched on the trigger and his smile broadened. Not far now. The police were about fifty yards away but the shotgun was much more effective up close and personal and he intended to get very close.

The convoy splashed through the water, streaking the sides of the vehicles with muck and filth. Twenty five yards now. They were in effective range but he wanted to allow them to get a little nearer. He waved his hand up and down, encouraging them to slow and the car holding DI Armstrong did indeed start brake, the vehicles behind altering their speed in response. Martin
’s welcoming smile broadened, his grip on the cold metal tightening. He walked towards the window of the Mondeo, DI Armstrong’s eyes fixed on him, her thin lips pressed into a grim line. She wound down the window.

“
Who are you?” she called.

“
Martin Lynch, the local GP.” He was so excited it was almost painful and he was salivating again. He hoped it didn’t trickle down his chin like it had earlier with Freya.

“Where’s Sergeant Donaldson? He’s supposed to be here to meet us.”

“
He’s holding the killer at the pub. You need to go there.”

“
He said he’d be here to meet us,” she insisted.

Martin tried not to look annoyed. Stupid hard faced cow.
“Something cropped up in the meantime, quite a lot actually. Follow me and I’ll take you.” DI Armstrong seemed very put-out. Martin thought she wasn’t a woman used to being disobeyed.

“
Right, fine,” she sighed.

“
Before you enter the village there’s something I have to give you.”

“
And what’s that?” Her upper lip curled with disgust when a trail of saliva dribbled from his lips. “Are you alright?”

Before he had a chance to raise the shotgun there was a shout to his left and he saw PC Steve whatever-his-name-was barrelling towards him. Martin cursed himself for selecting a big cumbersome weapon, the butt of the gun getting caught up in the back of his jacket. But it wasn
’t from the front that the attack came, but the back. Something big and heavy slammed into him and he pitched forward. Through sheer determination he kept hold of the gun. As he fell he rolled and sprang back to his feet, surprising Craig with his agility. Once again he tried to raise the gun in a wide arc but the movement was slow and Steve kicked it from his hand.

“
No,” wailed Martin when he saw his big moment being snatched from him. Police officers were climbing out of the stopped vehicles, moving in on him, so he drew the kitchen knife tucked into his belt and lashed out at Steve, slashing his left upper thigh. Steve looked down at the wound with surprise before falling to the ground, blood bubbling through his fingers as he tried to staunch the flow.

Using the element of surprise to his advantage, Martin snatched up the shotgun and raised it, aiming it straight at Craig
’s head. He fired but Craig ducked behind the back of the Mondeo, shielding himself from the spray of shot, which slammed into the metal instead. This caused the rest of the advancing officers to run for cover.

“
Shit,” said Martin, going into a crouch and cracking the weapon to eject the cartridges. Before he could reload Craig ran at him again and the weapon fell from his hands as the pair of them tumbled about in the mud and icy water. Martin managed to get on top of Craig but when he tried to punch him Craig kicked him in the side of the head, knocking him off and he jumped to his feet.

“
Martin stop…,” began Craig, but his friend was gone, replaced by a madman who released a bellow and charged at him, knocking him against the seawall, jarring his back. The drop was only short but the water was freezing cold and volatile. If he went in he’d quickly drown. As they wrestled Craig could see police leaping out from behind vehicles and rushing over to assist. He punched Martin in the face, sending him stumbling backwards.

When Martin looked back and saw what appeared to be every police officer in the Strathclyde area advancing on him he grinned, more drool seeping from his mouth then leapt over the wall and into the churning water.

“No,” cried Craig, grabbing his sleeve as he went over. “Hold on Martin,” he called, straining to hold his weight, trying to find some vestige of his friend in the insane eyes staring up at him. The water lapped at Martin’s legs, wanting to claim him.

“
Do you love her Craig? Would you sacrifice yourself for her?” he called before his hand clamped down on Craig’s shoulder and pulled.

The last thing Craig saw as he went over the edge was DI Armstrong
’s astonished face.

The assembled group of police, fire-fighters and paramedics stared at the spot where the two men had been a second ago before recovering themselves and racing to the edge.