The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) (10 page)

“
Spirit, the ether. Are you sure there weren’t five victims?”

Craig opened his mouth in denial then closed it again. He couldn
’t recall a death after Rose Macalister but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to check.”

“
Surely that would have been attractive to him? I bet you there’s another victim, one everyone thinks died naturally.”

“
I’ll check, I promise. I want you to know, Dad fought hard to prove Logan was guilty but the odds were stacked against him.”

“
He was a good man. You must miss him.”

“
Every day,” he said sadly.

“
He’d be so proud of you arresting a serial killer.”

“
Like I said, it was pure dumb luck. In Inverness we had a killer abducting women from Bellfield Park. He’d rape them, cut their throats then dump them back in the park. I was part of the team going door-to-door. I knocked on Lee McDonald’s door. He looked pretty non-threatening, mid twenties, lanky, sticky-out ears. When I asked him if he’d heard or seen anything a woman screamed for help from inside his house.” Craig repressed a shudder. “He changed right before my eyes. The little boy lost look fell away and underneath he was an animal. He pulled a knife and went for me. We fought, I got the knife off him and punched him in the face until he lost consciousness. We found Denise Brown, eighteen years old, hog-tied in his kitchen. If he’d tied her gag any tighter I wouldn’t have heard her.”

Freya stared at him in horrified fascination.
“Was she okay?”

“
Fine. He’d beaten her up a bit, but overall she was okay. Much better than his five previous victims.”

She noted the flicker in his eyes.
“Were you okay?”

“
Yeah, just a couple of cuts on my arms, defence wounds.”

“
That wasn’t just luck, it was good police work and you were very brave,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. She was surprised by what she’d done and quickly retracted her hand, looking embarrassed. “I just mean you’ve done so well for yourself, achieved everything you wanted to. It’s good.”

Craig was overcome with sadness. She
’d wanted to be a doctor, it was something she was adamant about throughout her childhood, so adamant that her mum bought her one of those toy doctor’s kits and she’d adored it, kept it for years. She’d played doctor on him, examining him, making up mad maladies and prescribing even madder cures, the sort that only children can dream up. He shifted in his seat, watching her from the corner of his eye as he wondered if she still had it. Playing doctors and nurses now would be so much more interesting. He shook away the unwanted dangerous thoughts and cleared his throat.

“
Am I making you nervous?” she said.

“
No, why?”

“
You were looking at me funny.”

“
Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

“
I know the way I look can make some people uneasy.”

“
I think it suits you. Scary but cool.”

“
Thanks,” she smiled.

“
I wish I’d been there when you walked into the pub, I bet their expressions were priceless.”

“
I thought they were going to fetch their pitchforks and torches. They might have done if Catriona hadn’t recognised me.” Her smile dropped. “Get the bastard who killed her Craig, she didn’t deserve that.”

“
I will. Problem is, I’ve no bloody idea where to start. Logan’s dead.”

“
So someone’s continuing his work.”

“
But who? His only living relative is his mum.”

“
That insane old bitch is still going? She sat up there in the Parish House like the Queen of Sheba. She really thought she was something special because her darling son was the village priest. She was always having a go at my mum for being a single parent, even though she was a widow.” Freya scowled at the memory of the small grey haired woman with the indomitable will and the big hairy mole on her chin.

“
There was a bit of a Norman Bates thing going on between her and Logan. I always thought if she died first he’d have her stuffed and put in pride of place in her chair by the fire.”

“
No wonder he turned out to be such a zealot, growing up with her.”

Their eyes locked as they both came to the same conclusion.

“I think I should have a word with Mother Logan,” he said, getting to his feet.

“
Is she still in the Parish House?”

“
Oh yes. Social Services have tried to get her out many times but they’ve always failed.”

“
How old is she? She must have been in her seventies when I was here.”

“
She just looked older than she was. She’s in her early eighties now. Still as strong as an ox and as pleasant to be around as a scorpion.” He gazed out of the window, the view obscured by the rain pouring down the glass and he was reluctant to leave the warm house and congenial company to visit a creepy old woman in an even creepier house in a storm. “I think I’ll drive.”

“
Be careful. It can get really muddy up there.”

“
I’d better check on her anyway. A home help goes up twice a week but they won’t be able to get anywhere near at the moment. You’ll stay inside, won’t you? Stay safe.”

“
I’m hardly going out for a stroll, am I?” she said, but it was good-natured. “I’ll help Nora with the housework as a thanks for letting me stay.”

“
I’d say enjoy but I’m not sure you will. She’s a domestic tyrant.”

At that moment Steve returned to the house and pulled off his jacket.
“I’m bursting for a pee. You won’t believe how much tea I’ve drunk this morning.”

“
Make it quick then you’re coming with me,” said Craig.

“
Where to?”

“
I’ll explain on the way.”

After Steve had relieved himself, he and Craig exited the house and hurried through the rain to Craig
’s car. Freya watched from the window, shivering slightly. When she’d been alone with Craig she’d felt completely safe but in the rain, his features obscured, he could so easily be PC Docherty.

An arm around her shoulders made her jump.

“You alright Hen?” said Nora.

“
Fine.”

“
This business is making us all edgy. I only hope it’s not like the last time, with all the paranoia.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I suppose you were too young to understand. Think about it, a small village, people who’ve known each other their entire lives trapped together with a murderer on the loose. Although there wasn’t a storm back then the police said no one was allowed to leave because we were all suspects. Old secrets and rivalries surfaced. A few quarrels broke out, there were even a couple of fights, neighbour turning on neighbour, accusations flying about. It was terrible and it looks like it could be starting again.”

“
You don’t think Catriona’s death is a one off?”

“
No I don’t.” She smiled and patted Freya’s cheek. “You know, now I’ve got used to your new look I quite like it. I always wished I’d done something daring when I was younger but I played it safe and now it’s too late.”

“
Safe is good,” she said quietly.

Nora saw the sadness in her eyes and wanted to snap her out of it.
“Let’s tackle the bedrooms first, eh?”

Freya smiled.
“Okay.”

“
It’s nice having another woman about the house. I’ve always lived with men. It’s refreshing living with someone who smells nice and tidies up after herself.”

Despite everything, Freya smiled. Nora was still the warm maternal woman she remembered and she was grateful for her.

CHAPTER 7

“Who lives here, the Munsters?” said Steve as they sat in Craig’s car, staring up at the Parish House. It was a big granite edifice with its very own tower, looming over them and blotting out the turbulent sky. Crows hunkered down in the eaves, sheltering from the wind that ruffled their feathers. The garden that Logan had kept immaculate was overgrown, weeds asphyxiating the roses that had once been his pride and joy.

Carefully they picked their way up the path, trying to avoid the brambles that snagged at their trouser legs. They managed to get to the front door without incident and Craig rang the old pull-cord bell, one sombre note echoing throughout the house. The wind was even wilder up here and they had to hold onto their hats to prevent them from blowing away, huddling up to the front door for shelter. When it did eventually open they almost fell inside.

They were greeted by a wizened old woman dressed entirely in black. Since the day her husband died fifty years ago Claire Logan had kept to her mourning clothes. Her hair was silver and fell to her waist and her eyes - that had once been the same piercing blue as her sons - were rheumy with cataracts and glared at the two officers with sheer malevolence.

“
What’s the meaning of this? Are you spying on me?” she demanded in a voice croaky with age.

“
No Mrs Logan. It’s me, Craig Donaldson. I work for the police now,” he said in that voice everyone reserves for the very old and deaf.

“
Well I didn’t think you were lollipop men, ya clatty wee bastard. Always covered in muck and filth you were, always up to something.”

Craig was shocked. She used to be so straight-laced she wouldn
’t have dreamed of swearing but he’d heard she was going senile, which was why Social Services wanted her in a home and not rattling around up here, alone.

“
We need to talk to you about Alexander.”

“
Why? He hasn’t done anything wrong, you just enjoy harassing him. He’s the best man in this village, far better than any of you, including your swine of a father.”

Craig decided it would be best to ignore the comment about his dad. He also noted how Claire referred to her son in the present tense even though he
’d been dead for two years. She was losing it more than he’d realised. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Steve had been hypnotised by the hairy mole on Claire’s chin.

“
Are you referring to the killings fifteen years ago?” said Craig, the cold permeating his bones. Over Claire’s shoulder he could see a cheerful fire in the sitting room grate and he hoped she’d invite them in to sit down but it seemed no such invitation was going to be forthcoming. Rainwater dripped from their clothes, forming pools on the hallway tiles but if Claire noticed she didn’t care.

“
Course I am, are ya deaf as well as gleekit? Those women were wrong, all wrong and Sergeant Donaldson blamed my beautiful boy for their deaths. As if he’d touch them, the dirty whores. He’s pure and they were tainted, filled with evil.”

“
Why were they evil?”

“
My boy knew what they were, he knew they were all wrong, that they’d infected his congregation with their wickedness,” she said, eyes wide with the same religious fervour that had possessed her son.

“
Why were they evil Claire?”

But she wasn
’t listening and continued to ramble on. “Spoiling our lovely village with their offensive ways…”

“
Did they confess their sins to Father Logan? Did he tell you what they did, is that why you think they were bad?”

She ignored him, crossed herself and recited something in Latin. They were both astonished when Steve smoothly responded in the same language. Claire
’s eyes snapped onto him, chin wobbling with emotion, causing the mole to quiver. She responded in more Latin and he said something that caused her eyes to fill with tears.

“
My son speaks Latin so well in his beautiful deep voice. You’re the only other person I’ve met in years who can speak it as well as he can, other than myself. What a joy it is to hear it. Come and sit by the fire PC…”

“
You can call me Steve, Mrs Logan.”

“
It’s Claire to you. Come away in.”

The invitation wasn
’t extended to Craig but he followed anyway and was allowed to take one of the chairs by the fireplace. Claire furnished them with tea and scones that were so overcooked it was like biting into rock. He had to give Claire her due, she was still sprightly and seemed to enjoy fussing over them. She and Steve continued to banter back and forth in Latin so Craig took the opportunity to study the room. It was just as he remembered; big and dark with thick oak panelling, antique hand carved furniture and animal heads mounted on the walls. Very gothic. Freya would probably love it. Religious icons were everywhere, pictures adorning every inch of free wall. He was surrounded by the Holy Trinity, Doves, the Archangels, Madonna and Child and Christ the Teacher. However the centrepiece was an enormous gold cross hanging over the fireplace, dominating the room. It was a beautiful piece but it made Craig feel like a little boy again, waiting here beneath Claire’s watchful eye before being summoned to Logan’s study for the inevitable telling off.

Craig sat bolt-upright in his seat. The study. He recalled it was just a couple of doors down the hall. If Claire had left it as intact as this room then he might find something useful in there.

“Excuse me Mrs Logan, may I use your bathroom?” he said.

She appeared irritated by the interruption to her rather impressive flow of Latin.

“You can use the one down the hall. The one upstairs hasn’t been used in years,” she replied distractedly before returning to her conversation with Steve.

Craig left the room and crept down the hall feeling like a thief, bypassing the bathroom. Judging by the smell emanating from it he wouldn
’t want to use it anyway.

He opened the study door and was taken straight back to his childhood. Logan
’s massive oak desk still stood beneath the bay window. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d trembled before it while the tall figure in black glared down at him. If it was a sunny day the light shone straight in through the window behind him, lighting him up, making him look like an avenging angel. After being told his evil young soul would burn for eternity because he’d back-chatted his mother he was usually on his best behaviour for weeks after. Once he and Freya had stood here side by side after they’d gone to play in the woods, got lost and had the entire village combing the area for them. He was embarrassed to recall that when they’d been dismissed he was the one who’d burst into tears and Freya had comforted him. She’d had tears in her eyes too but managed to keep them in. That strength had seen her through the turbulent years ahead.

Craig remained on the threshold, not wanting to enter without a summons from the master of the house. Logan
’s presence here was still strong, his personality so dominant it lived on without his physical presence. It was absolutely silent, the only sound the heavy fall of rain and the wail of the wind down the chimney. Any moment he expected to hear the boom of a deep voice commanding him to enter.

“
Stop being stupid,” he said, forcing himself to step inside.

The window of Logan
’s office looked out over the churchyard and Craig skirted the desk to gaze out at it. If Logan had indeed been The Elemental then he would have had a perfect view of the graves of his victims. He even presided over their funerals. Did he enjoy looking out at them to relive his crimes? Was he proud of what he’d done, like the Bellfield Monster? The prospect made him shiver.

He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and began to search the room, starting with the desk. To his dismay all the drawers were locked and there wasn
’t a key in sight. He was tempted to jemmy them open with the letter opener on top of the desk but he didn’t have a warrant so he discarded the idea. He had to do this by the book. One mistake could mean a murderer walked free, so he turned his attention to the bookcases instead. Not surprisingly they were filled with volumes on religion and history. He couldn’t read most of the titles because they were in Latin, so he jotted some down in his notebook for Steve to take a look at later.

The only other thing in the room was a beautiful polished oak cabinet with double doors that thankfully weren
’t locked. Inside were reams of files and papers. To his disappointment they appeared to be Diocese records, just mundane administrative stuff and he wondered why it was all still here and not in the care of the Diocese, unless it was so meaningless it didn’t matter. A lot of it appeared to be minutes of Parish meetings. However, on taking a closer look he saw beneath this stack of paperwork was a pile of folders, each one marked with the name of a village resident in Logan’s dramatic italicised hand. His heart leapt when he saw Rose Macalister’s name.

“
I would really love some more of your delicious scones Claire,” Steve said loudly.

“
Never mind that. What’s that sneaky friend of yours up to?” she screeched back.

“
Shit,” said Craig, replacing the papers and hastily closing up the cabinet. He rushed out of the study, closing the door behind him and almost collided with Claire.

“
What were you doing in there?” she demanded.

Craig grimaced as her spittle landed on his face.
“I was looking for the bathroom.”

“
Liar. You’ve been snooping while your friend distracts me.” She then launched into a shocking tirade of cursing and foul language before ordering them both out.

“
Alright Claire, we’re leaving,” said Craig, holding up his hands.

“
It’s Mrs Logan to you, you little bastard. Get out or I’ll get Alexander to discipline you. You don’t like that, do you? I remember you crying like a baby.”

“
Mrs Logan, your son’s dead. He had a heart attack. Don’t you remember?”

“
Of course he’s not dead you stupid wee wanker, he can never die. I saw him just yesterday.”

The lights flickered off, plunging them into moody gloom. Steve flinched when he saw a large dark shape through the stained glass of the front door, then relaxed when he realised it was just the shadow of a bush outside. Claire
’s dry angry breathing filled the air, furious blue eyes fixed on Craig but he didn’t even notice, his gaze involuntarily drawn back to the open study door. He could feel Logan’s presence snaking out of it, creeping down the hall towards them. His heart banged in his chest and he retreated a couple of paces, certain he could hear the slow beat of footsteps hidden beneath the drumming of the rain.

The lights came back on and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw there were only the three of them there.

The flood of light seemed to push Claire over the edge and she screamed at them to leave, shoving them towards the front door while wishing all sorts of plagues down on their heads. Once they were outside she slammed the door shut in their faces.

“
Well that wasn’t weird at all,” said Steve wryly.

“
My fault, I took too long. That was impressive Latin by the way.”

“
I studied it at university,” he replied, torn between pride and embarrassment. Steve’s parents had dreamed of a glorious future for him as a great scholar, until he’d realised he’d go insane spending his life sat at a desk surrounded by dusty books and, to their horror, decided he wanted to be a police officer instead.

“
Let’s go back to Mum’s. There’s something I want you to take a look at.”

As they hurried down the path Steve
’s feet got tangled in some creeping weeds and he fell flat on his backside, unfortunately landing on a large bramble that managed to tear through the seat of his combat trousers. When Craig attempted to help him up he went down too and they both ended up covered in mud and prickles, the wind and rain beating down on them. Over the howling wind Craig made out another sound and saw Claire at the door cackling dementedly at their plight. She looked quite eerie standing there, silver hair blowing about in the wind, coiling round her like snakes. She gave him the finger before slamming the door shut.

By the time they made it back to the car they looked like they
’d been in a war zone, covered in mud, blood and soaked to the skin.

They drove back to Nora
’s cottage in silence, Steve sulking the entire journey while Craig concentrated hard on steering the car back down the hill, flinching whenever the scratches on his hands pressed against the wheel. Despite the fact the windscreen wipers were working overtime the water poured down the glass, obscuring his vision, the tyres sliding on the slippery surface. When he finally pulled up outside his mum’s cottage he breathed a sigh of relief and released his stranglehold on the steering wheel, hands stinging. They both limped to the door and slowly removed their sodden jackets and boots.

Freya and Nora appeared in the porch.

“My God, what did she do?” said Nora. “She’s in her eighties for heaven’s sake.”