The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2)

by Heather Atkinson

  “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.

  “What do you reckon?” Gary asked Steve.

  “Not sure. The obsessed tourist theory makes sense but the crazy ex-girlfriend stalker does too. Do you remember Mandy when she turned up here after Martin Lynch took a leap into the sea?”

  “Yeah, a bit tasty but bloody high maintenance and not a patch on Freya.”

  “Still got your little crush?” smiled Steve.

  Gary blushed and looked at the ground, broadening Steve’s grin.

  “Don’t let on to Craig, he’ll kill you,” added Steve. “Come on then, let’s go and talk to that big-nosed prick, and you’d better be polite.”

  “I hate Toby, he’s a wank,” said Gary as they started to walk away.

  “Oy you two, where do you think you’re going?” called a voice. “Stop right there.”

  They both sighed and halted in their tracks.

  “Not as big a wank as him,” muttered Steve, making Gary laugh.

  CHAPTER 18

  “Have you found who did it?” said Nora the minute Craig stepped through the door.

  “Not yet but I will.”

  Freya was sat on the couch looking scared and small, knees pulled into her chest. His heart sank when he realised she was curled up so tightly to stop herself from shaking. She was experiencing the cravings for a drink again after being free from them for so long. Why did he bring her to this cursed fucking village?

  He sat beside her and she buried her face in his chest.

  “We can get a taxi to Wemyss Bay then get the train back to Glasgow,” he said.

  “At first I wanted to leave but now I’m not going until I know who did it.” Every time the memory of the partially dug graves returned the horror was overwhelming. Had the vandal intended to dig right down to the coffins before he was disturbed?

  “I don’t understand. Why do it in broad daylight when anyone could have come along?” said Nora.

  The realisation struck Craig like a slap in the face. “Because they wanted Freya to see it. If they’d waited till night we could have been gone in the morning. They might have known you were in the church right then. They might have followed you.”

  “Then it’s someone who knows me, not a random stranger obsessed with the killings,” said Freya.

  “Perhaps. I’ve asked Steve and Gary to talk to Toby and get the names of his tour group. Sergeant Hughes turned up too.”

  “What did you think?” said Nora, eyes twinkling.

  “That you were right. He is a wank.”

  “He is that. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was any good at his job but he’s bloody useless. Hopefully one day he’ll slip up and they’ll have no choice but to kick him out.”

  “I’m just worried about who will pay for his mistake,” said Craig.

  Silence hung in the room, punctuated by the whirr of the many fans, smothering the cheer of the sun pouring in through the window.

  “Can I use your phone Mum? I can’t get a signal on my mobile,” said Craig.

  “Help yourself,” she replied, waving in the general direction of the phone.

  Reluctantly Freya moved to let him stand, just wanting his arms around her.

  As Craig dialled he watched Freya slumped on the couch, looking just as dejected as she had during the Martin Lynch incident.

  “Hello? Hello?”

  Muir’s voice roused him from his thoughts. “Hi Eric, it’s Craig.”

  “What have you done to the boat?”

  Craig thought of the hole in the side and swallowed hard. “Nothing. I’m not calling about that. I need to discuss Mandy Allan.”

  Freya’s head snapped round, eyes blazing and Craig was heartened. She looked her old self again. “It was her, wasn’t it? I’ll kill the ginger bitch.”

  “Calm down Freya, we don’t know yet. That’s why I’m calling Eric.” He returned to his call. “I need you to check where she is.”

  “Staying with her wealthy aunt up in Inverness.”

  “Is she definitely there?”

  “That’s where she went when she was released.”

  “I need you to check that she’s still there.”


  “Why? What’s going on Craig?”

  “We’ve had an incident here in Blair Dubh.”

  “Oh Christ, not again. No one’s deid, are they?”

  “No. The graves of Freya’s mum and dad were desecrated. I have to make sure it’s not her before I start questioning anyone else.”

  “I see what you mean. Alright, I’ll do it right now and call you back.”

  “Thanks Eric, I appreciate it.”

  He hung up and watched Freya furiously pacing, the shakes gone. Mandy was an enemy she was familiar with and knew she could handle.

  “Of course it’s her, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it earlier. Will this mean she’ll finally be sent to the big hoose?” Freya asked Craig.

  “If it is her and we can prove it, then yes. This sort of crime is taken very seriously.”

  “Good,” she stated firmly before throwing herself back on the couch, foot tapping angrily.

  “Anyone want a brew?” said Nora with false cheer.

  “Tea, in this heat?” said Craig.

  “It’s the best thing, brings your inside body temperature in line with the outside.”

  “That’s an old wive’s tale.”

  “Are you calling me an old wife?” she frowned.

  “I wouldn’t dare but I’d love a cold drink.”

  “Fine. Freya?”

  “Nothing for me thanks.”

  While Nora disappeared into the kitchen Craig sat beside Freya. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fucking furious.”

  “I don’t blame you. Sorry, this wasn’t the relaxing few days I had in mind.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she replied distractedly.

  Nora’s heart went out to her son as she watched him staring at Freya, chewing his lip anxiously, afraid he was going to lose her. She prayed that this on top of all the baby business wasn’t enough to finish them.

  He was diverted by the phone ringing and snatched it up. “What?”

  “Charming greeting. It’s me, Eric.”

  “And?”

  “As far as I can ascertain Mandy’s in Inverness. I spoke to her aunt.”

  “Did you speak to Mandy personally?”

  “No. Apparently she’s out shopping.”