The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (16 page)

“I…I have to get back to Craig,” she said before rushing out the door, letting it slam shut behind her.

A scream from outside caused Graeme to jump up and run after her.

Docherty smiled. She’d found his surprise.

CHAPTER 17

Tears poured down Freya’s face as she yanked the mobile phone Craig had given her out of the pocket of her skirt. She called his work number, struggling to take her eyes off the horror before her long enough to dial. When she put the phone to her ear her hand violently shook.

“Fuck,” she yelled when she couldn’t get a signal. “Fucking village. I hate it.”

“Freya, what’s wrong? Oh no,” said a breathless Graeme, coming to a sudden halt when he saw the horrible vandalism that had been done to her parents’ graves. “They’ve been dug up,” he whispered, horrified. Another foot and the coffins would have been exposed.

“Did you do this?” she screamed at him, face wet with tears.

“No,” he told her firmly. “This is an outrage, a blasphemy. Only evil would do this.”

The pain was raw, clawing at her soul. She hadn’t experienced anything like it since her mother died. Just looking at what had been done to their final resting places made her want to scream until her lungs burst, it made her want to track down the person responsible and kill them, not just hurt them but actually kill them for this sacrilege and she suspected this man was responsible.

“This wasn’t me,” he reiterated.

“You’re the only one here and you were talking about my mum,” she yelled, shoving him in the chest.

He caught her wrists and held her in a firm grip. “I promise you this is not me. The dead are to be revered, not disgraced in this way.”

“Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“Show me your hands. Now.”

He held them out and she grabbed them and turned them over, studying them carefully. Then she looked at his clothes. His white short sleeved shirt and khaki trousers were pristine.

“Alright, I believe you. Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, you’ve had a nasty shock. This is…it’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, too busy struggling with his own bad memories.

Freya looked into his stricken face and recognised his own suffering. She softened to him a little, realising he’d been telling the truth. Both their lives had been touched by evil.

“Who are you?” she said softly.

Fervour filled his eyes and he gripped her hands. “Evil is here, right now and it seeks you again.”

“Evil, where?”

“Close. Beware.”

When Bill and Jimmy tore up the hill Graeme released her and took a step back, attempting to get himself back under control.

“Freya,” exclaimed Bill, hurrying to her side, closely followed by his best friend. “We heard screaming.” His eyes landed on Graeme and he grabbed him by the shirtfront. “What did you do to her?”

“He didn’t do anything,” said Freya. For some reason she couldn’t fathom she’d believed Graeme’s denial. “I screamed when I found this. Look what they’ve done,” she said, gesturing to the graves.

“Oh my God. Who would do this?” said Bill, releasing Graeme.

“I’ll get Craig,” said Jimmy, running back down the hill.

“He’s on the boat,” she called after him. She frowned at Bill. “You were with him.”

“I finished patching up the boat. I was on my way home when I heard you scream. I don’t know what to say. This is sick. What were you doing up here anyway?” he asked Graeme.

“I like to sit in the church,” he casually replied.

“Why?”

“Because I do.”

“At the same time Freya comes up here. Bit of a coincidence.”

“Bill, it wasn’t him,” she said wearily. “This was someone who hates me and Graeme has no reason to hate me, he doesn’t even know me.”

“It might not have been someone you know. No one from Blair Dubh would do this, you know how we look after our dead. No, this is one of Toby’s tour groups.”

“You’re right,” said Freya. “Why didn’t I think of it? Of course it’s one of them.” What a relief. She threw Graeme an apologetic look and he nodded.

Bill could feel Freya shaking through his arm slung protectively across her shoulders and wished he could get his hands on the bastard who did this. Perhaps this was his chance to redeem himself?

“Freya,” yelled a voice.

“Craig,” she called back, running into his arms.

He held her tight as she sobbed into his shoulder. “Look what they’ve done.”

“We think it was one of the tour group,” said Bill. “It’s the only explanation.”

“You’re probably right.” Craig took Freya’s face in his hands. “I’ll find who did this and make them pay, I promise you babe.” He looked to Bill. “Did you see anyone up here?”

“I wasn’t here when it happened. I was on my way home after sorting out your boat and I’d stopped to chat to Jimmy. We heard screams and came running up here.”

At that moment Jimmy himself half-jogged into the graveyard, red-faced and out of breath.

“Sit down before you fall down,” Bill told his friend.

Jimmy nodded and dropped onto his backside.

“What are you doing here?” Craig asked Graeme.

“I went to sit in the church. I didn’t see anything or anyone.”

“Why were you in the church?” said Craig, suspicion shining in his eyes.

“I like to sit in there. I find it soothes the soul.”

Craig glanced at Bill, who raised his eyebrows. He turned his attention back to Freya. “I’m afraid I need to take photos of the damage then we can get the graves filled back in.”

“I understand,” she quietly replied.

“Why don’t you wait at Mum’s until I’ve finished? I want to talk to Toby’s tour group too,” he added darkly.

“Can’t we go home?”

“Not till tomorrow afternoon at the earliest,” replied Bill. “The resin needs to harden overnight before I can finish the repair.”

Freya sighed and kicked the ground with the toe of her sandal. “Fine.”

Abruptly she turned on her heel and stormed back down the hill.

“Jimmy, go with her will you?” called Craig.

Jimmy sighed, dragged himself to his feet and hurried after her as quickly as his tired legs would allow.

“Do you think she’s in danger?” Bill asked Craig.

“Probably not but I’m not taking any chances.” Craig studied the desecrated graves. The flowers Freya had laid so reverently were scattered across the grass, their petals torn. Somehow this made the sight even sadder. “Someone found Fred’s shovel,” he said, nudging the object with his foot, lumps of earth falling from it.

Craig felt this was all his fault and his stupid boat trip idea. Why hadn’t he taken her to the log cabin in the Aberdeenshire countryside where they liked to go when they wanted to get away from it all? She loved it there, they both did. They would have had total privacy, peace and quiet. Instead he’d taken her out on the water in something she was terrified of to a place she hated and now her dead parents had almost been dug up. With this trip he’d hoped to show her just how good they were together so she wouldn’t leave him for being infertile.

Idiot,
he chastised himself. He was probably going to end up driving her away.

Mandy watched Craig from the trees on the periphery of the cemetery taking photos of the desecrated graves. Finally he was separated from the goth bitch. She should make her move now, show him what he’d been missing. No, the big man with the beard and the skinny man were hanging round and three police officers were coming up the hill. She craned her neck to look at the church, attempting to spot the bald headed man who’d attacked the graves with a hate that had told her he was here for Freya. When he’d snuck into the back of the church Mandy had got incredibly excited, assuming this was it, Freya was going to get what she deserved, but that spindly man had followed her in. Why was everyone in this village so ugly? How a stunner like Craig had been born and bred here was beyond her. The bald man might have murdered her if she’d been alone. Mandy now saw a solution to her problem. Let the bald man kill Freya. She didn’t even have to get her hands dirty and risk going to prison. It was perfect. She couldn’t see him anywhere, he was probably keeping out of sight with the heavy police presence.

Her eyes returned to Craig. “Soon baby,” she whispered.

“Wow, we get three police officers,” smiled Craig as Gary, Steve and who he took to be Sergeant Hughes entered the cemetery.

“Jimmy called it in. We were nearby so we said we’d respond,” replied Steve.

“Sergeant Hughes was with us when the call came through,” said Gary apologetically.

The grumpy-looking man with brown hair and piggy little eyes pushed his way between the two constables. “What is this? What’s going on?”

“This is DS Donaldson. He was sergeant before you took over Sir,” explained Steve.

Craig held out his hand and Hughes shook it distractedly.

“What is this?” said Hughes.

“I thought that would have been bloody obvious,” replied Craig. “Someone desecrated the graves of my wife’s parents.”

“Where is your wife?”

“I sent her to my mum’s. I didn’t think it wise to keep her here, the sight was distressing her.”

“Oh yeah, good thinking,” mumbled Hughes. “So, err…”

Clearly the idiot didn’t have a clue what he was doing. “I’ve already taken photos and arranged for the gravedigger to fill them back in,” said Craig.

“Yes, very good. Just what I was going to suggest,” said Hughes superciliously.

Craig looked to Gary and Steve, who appeared embarrassed.

“Did anyone see who did it?” said Steve.

Hughes frowned. “I’m sergeant here, I ask the questions.” He looked back at Craig. “Did anyone…”

Irritated by the stupid wee numpty, Craig spoke over him to talk to Steve. “No mate. Graeme and Freya were in the church. No other witnesses.”

“Why were they in the church together? Some sort of tryst?” said Hughes.

Gary and Steve looked mortified while Craig flushed with anger. “Freya is my wife. It was not a tryst.”

“Just a coincidence,” interjected Graeme.

“Who are you?” scowled Hughes.

“I’m Graeme Doggett.”

“Oh.” He looked to Bill. “You?”

“Bill Miller. I heard Freya scream and ran up here.”

“Why did she scream?” said Hughes, frowning at Graeme.

“Because she saw this mess,” exclaimed Craig, pointing at the graves.

When Craig continued to glare at him Hughes looked away.

“Here’s Fred,” said Steve, glad of the interruption.

“Who’s Fred?” said Hughes.

“The gravedigger.”

“That’s the gravedigger? Look at the age of him. If he starts filling in those graves we’ll be digging him his own.”

“If I were you I’d watch my mouth,” said Craig. “He might be getting on a bit but he could give you a good gubbin.”

With that Craig walked away, nodding at Steve and Gary to join him in a corner of the cemetery, leaving Hughes to annoy Fred as he started to fill in the holes.

“Sorry about him Sarge,” said Gary, nodding towards Hughes.

“Not exactly overloaded with tact, is he?”

“He’s an embarrassment,” said Steve. “There’s been loads of complaints about him but he’s the Area Commander’s pet so nothing gets done.”

“You don’t want to move back here do you Sarge?” said Gary hopefully. “You’re the only one they’d kick him into touch for.”

“Sorry lads, I’m very happy where I am.”

They both sighed, looking miserable.

“I think someone from one of Toby’s sick tour groups did this,” continued Craig. “I want you to talk to him and get their names.”

“So you’re certain it’s no one in Blair Dubh?” said Steve.

“No I’m not but I think it’s the likeliest scenario. I’ve been told since tourism got big here petty crime has increased.”

“Yes Sarge, but nothing on this scale.”

“Gary’s right. Chocolate bars nicked from the shop, a couple of boats set adrift by kids and someone wrote a dirty limerick on the pub wall but not gravedigging. This isn’t high jinks, it’s twisted.”

“Twisted,” murmured Craig, the word striking a chord. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Shit, I think I know who did it.”

“Who?”

“My ex-girlfriend. She won’t leave us alone.” When he attempted to call DS Muir he failed to get a signal. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, frustrated. “I’ll use the phone at Mum’s. Keep an eye out for a tall mad redhead who thinks she’s God’s gift to men. Her behaviour’s been escalating lately and I was afraid she’d do something unhinged to hurt Freya. Now she just might have.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“No but she has a way of finding things out, she uses her looks to wheedle information out of people, so if you do find her don’t let her charm you. She’s off her fucking heid. Do me a favour and tell PC Prat for me. If I have to speak him again I might put him on his arse.”

They watched Craig stride down the hill angrily muttering to himself then looked at each other.