The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1)

by Heather Atkinson

  “She’s here in Blair Dubh”

  “So she finally went home. She told me she was considering it.”

  “Aye she has. She’s told me everything about her life and I’m concerned about her medical condition.”

  “I appreciate that but I can’t tell you anything, it’s confidential.”

  “Of course but she’s under a lot of pressure here and I want to know what would happen if she did weaken and have a drink.”

  “She can’t, there’s no two ways about it. Did you say your name was Donaldson?”

  “Yes, Craig Donaldson.”

  “Her best friend. She told me about you.”

  “She told me about you too.”

  “And you’re a police officer? She must really trust you to open up to you like that after what PC Docherty did to her. She was terrified of police after that bastard.”

  “PC Docherty?”

  There was a hesitation on the other end. “She didn’t tell you about him?”

  “No.”

  “Oh Christ, what have I said?”

  “Could you tell me about it?”

  “Absolutely not. If Freya hasn’t told you then she must have her reasons.”

  Craig didn’t want to press the issue in case he ended the call. “Like I said, I’m more concerned about her medical condition.”

  “I know she acts tough and independent but she does need someone to lean on. She pushed me away but I hope you’ll be there for her.”

  “I will.”

  “She’s fought against the alcohol so hard and she’s winning, but it will be a lifelong battle, she must always be on her guard. Hopefully her homecoming will help her finally get over the past but it might go the other way and break her. I’ll give you my mobile number, you can call me any time. I can be there in under two hours.”

  Craig scribbled down his number as he rhymed it off. “I’ll let you know if there are any problems.”

  “I appreciate that.” He hesitated before adding, “Freya thought I only wanted to help her because I felt guilty about introducing her to drink and even though I do, that’s not it at all. I truly do love her but she’s so buried in self loathing she can’t see any good in herself.”

  “She told me she loves you too.” There was a long pause and Craig could picture the good doctor on the other end pressing a hand to his head, attempting to control his raging emotions. “Do her a favour Doctor Pierce, don’t mess her about. You’re engaged.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

  Craig felt sorry for both James and Freya. He could only imagine what the pair of them had endured at such a young age, forced to destroy something they had created together then torn apart by ambitious parents. It had traumatised them both.

  “Keep her safe, won’t you Craig?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  After he hung up Craig wondered why James had opened up to him so readily about his feelings for Freya. Maybe because there was no one else he could discuss them with and he needed to unburden himself?

  Next Craig rang round a couple of colleagues who worked in the Glasgow force. The first had never heard of PC Docherty or Freya Macalister, but the second had. Sergeant Williams knew them both all too well.

  “So Freya’s back home, is she? I’d heard she’d got clean and I was pleased for her. I know about what happened to her mum when she was a kid and I always felt sorry for her. Give her my best.”

  “I will. What happened with PC Docherty?”

  “That prick? He was one dirty bastard. Although it took time to prove the case against him, we all knew what he was doing.”

  “And what was that?” said Craig, trying to contain his impatience.

  “He was a sadistic arsehole who liked to terrorise women. He thought he had the right to beat the shit out of them. Freya was getting into lots of trouble at the time, namely fighting and stealing. Unfortunately she did it on his patch. The first time he arrested her for drunk and disorderly she spent a night in the cells and was released the next day, no big deal. But the second time he nicked her for fighting she made the mistake of back-chatting him. He cuffed her and beat the crap out of her. Of course he didn’t dare bring her back to the station in that state so he just dumped her under a railway bridge. She made a complaint but it was just her word against his and guess who the powers-that-be believed? So when he did it again she didn’t bother reporting it, but that didn’t stop him doing it.”

  “Jesus.”

  “She wasn’t his only victim, he liked to attack good looking women and Freya was so pretty with her blond hair and green eyes. He got his rocks off beating them, liked to hear them beg him to stop. Really twisted shit. For a period of about six months Freya had permanent black eyes and bruises. She even lost her job because she kept turning up looking like hell and ringing in sick. She started dying her hair black to try and disguise herself to try and get away from him. I caught her nicking a bottle of hair dye from a shop and I felt so bad for the poor little cow I let her go and keep the bottle, told everyone she’d got away. Whenever I asked who was hurting her she just looked terrified and refused to speak. When I realised it was the uniform she was scared of I knew it was one of us.”

  Craig recalled her extreme reaction to his jacket and thought that explained a lot.

  “Freya was one of Docherty’s favourite victims and after a few months of this she really started to disintegrate, constantly drunk, fighting. It was probably an effort for her just to keep breathing. Anyway, Docherty was caught dealing. Apparently he was taking drugs from suspects and selling them on himself. They tried doing him for the assaults too. The DCI here finally managed to persuade Freya and two other women to testify against him. It was brave of them because they were terrified. The defence tore the other two girls to pieces on the stand, they had records, troubled pasts. But Freya was determined to see him go down for it. The defence counsel tried every trick in the book to trip her up but she stuck to her story and he couldn’t break her. Docherty was found guilty of attacking her and the other two women as well as the drugs charges. He was chucked off the force and into Barlinnie. Good fucking riddance.”

  Craig thanked his friend then hung up, feeling sick.

  “Sarge, are you okay? You don’t look too good,” said a young PC.

  Without bothering to reply Craig got to his feet and rushed into the bathroom. After checking it was empty he locked himself in one of the stalls and buried his face in his hands. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to tell him about PC Docherty, being a police officer himself. It was because of that bastard that she’d started wearing all the black clothes and make-up, building up her defences against the world just to make herself feel a little safer. Then some small-minded moron had taunted her because of it and she’d ended up inside. Craig suddenly felt furious at the whole crappy world. He thought of that little blond girl who was always full of smiles and laughter, who’d been so clever and helped him with his schoolwork. That beautiful wee bairn had been annihilated by violent, disgusting people and he determined to do all in his power to help her put that horrible past behind her.

  Lizzy waddled up the road like a penguin, her heavy body encased in a white coat, the hood pulled up, only her eyes and nose visible.

  “Why are you all standing out here like lemons instead of getting into the warm?” she asked the crowd assembled outside Catriona’s cottage.

  “She’s not opening up,” replied Howard, a short rotund man with shaggy dark hair. He was one of Catriona’s most ardent admirers. “I’m getting a bit worried. The Blair Book Club meets here every Friday evening, regular as clockwork. She’s never missed a meeting yet in two years.”

  They all groaned in unison.

  “We know Howard, we’ve all been coming since it started, remember?” said Martin Lynch, the local GP, a handsome man with light brown hair, hazel eyes and a smile that drew his female patients back again and again with the most minor of complaints.

  “She�
�s probably hiding from you,” the fourth member of the group said, addressing Howard. Toby was the opposite to Howard; tall with sparse grey hair and a hooked nose. He was also Howard’s main rival for Catriona’s affections, although in years of trying neither of them had got anywhere with her. She treated them more like favoured pets than potential partners.

  “Let’s just get in there,” urged Brenda Miller, a large middle-aged woman shrouded in a bright pink coat. She had a constant wheeze due to her chronic asthma. “She knows we’re coming, she probably lost track of time.”

  “I don’t think you should, Catriona is very specific about her space,” replied Howard firmly, placing himself before the front door like a sentry.

  “She won’t mind, she knows we’re coming. Get out of the way,” said Lizzy, shoving the little man aside with one big arm and opening the door.

  “Catriona really won’t like this,” huffed Howard, managing to remain upright and straightening his tie in an attempt to salvage some dignity.

  “She’ll be fine, stop fretting,” said Lizzy, stepping inside. “Hello Catriona, just us,” she called.

  Silence greeted her.

  Lizzy remained on the threshold, for some reason not wanting to venture in any further. The house was too quiet and it made her uneasy. The lamps were on, casting a welcoming honey glow, the fire was lit warming the house, but the place felt empty.

  “What’s going on? Come on, it’s freezing out here,” complained Brenda, wrapping her arms about herself and stamping her feet.

  Lizzy stepped aside, allowing the others to enter.

  “Catriona, I’m sorry about this, I told them you wouldn’t want anyone to come in but they wouldn’t listen,” called Howard, striding through the house as though he owned it. He entered the kitchen and frowned, convinced he’d find her in there organising the buffet she always put on for their meetings and nonplussed when she was nowhere to be seen. The food however was; a couple of flans and some vol-au-vents still in boxes waiting to go into the oven.

  Brenda walked in and frowned. “I knew she didn’t make the food herself.”

  “Why isn’t it in the oven? Catriona is always ready. This isn’t like her,” said Toby.

  The others entered the kitchen too, followed by Lizzy, who had finally plucked up the courage to delve deeper into the house. “I don’t like this. Something’s wrong,” she said.

  The five of them stared at each other in silence.

  “Catriona,” yelled Howard, panicking and causing everyone to jump.

  “Stop it you arse,” scolded Toby, putting a hand to his heart. “You scared the shite out of me.”

  “Lizzy’s right, something’s wrong,” replied the little man, bobbing out of the room. “Catriona.”

  He rushed down the hall towards the bedrooms, the cottage all on one level, the others following. When he came to an abrupt halt the rest of the group almost fell over each other as they were forced to abruptly stop.

  “What if she’s in her bedroom?” whispered Howard. “It wouldn’t be seemly for me to…”

  “Jeezo, I’ve had enough of this. Move it,” said Brenda determinedly, pushing past him and opening the first door they came to. It opened into a sumptuous room, the big dark wood sleigh bed swathed in deep red satin covers, scarves draped everywhere. It smelt of her perfume, an unusual but very pleasant scent distinctive to Catriona. Howard and Toby gazed into the room with awe, as though it was the promised land, the place they’d always aspired to be.

  “Bathroom next,” said Brenda quietly. Now they all knew she hadn’t just fallen asleep and forgotten the time they realised something was very wrong. “What if she’s slipped in the shower and banged her head?”

  They all turned to look at Martin, who swallowed hard and nodded. “I suppose that would fall in my remit. I’d best go first.”

  The others were relieved, glad someone was willing to take control of the situation.

  Tentatively Martin crossed the hallway, heart hammering in his chest as he reached out for the bathroom door. He looked back over his shoulder at the others who all nodded, encouraging him on. He swallowed again, sweat breaking out on his forehead, the sense of wrongness so strong he could almost touch it.

  Gathering his courage he pushed the door and it slowly swung open. The first thing he saw was water all over the white tiled floor. His immediate view was of the sink and toilet. From his previous visits here he knew the bath and overhead shower were round the corner to the right, out of sight of the door.

  “Be careful, it’s slippy,” said Martin, voice a weak croak. He stepped inside and, gritting his teeth, looked to the right. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

  “What is it?” demanded Howard, shoving his way into the room, alarmed by Martin’s tone. “Oh my God,” he cried before running back out into the hall. The sound of vomiting followed a moment later.

  Catriona lay draped forwards over the side of the bath, her entire upper body submerged in the water, dark hair streaming out around her. The water was tinged red. Most disturbingly, her hands were bound behind her back.

  “Catriona,” yelled Lizzy, running to her friend’s side.

  Martin joined her and pressed his fingers to her neck. “She’s gone,” he said, voice hollow with shock, sliding to the floor beside Lizzy.

  “She’s not. Help me get her out, you can revive her. I know you can.”

  “That’s beyond any doctor, she’s been gone too long.”

  “No she’s not, you can save her.”

  “Look at the colour of her skin, feel how cold she is. It’s futile,” he said, pulling out his handkerchief and dabbing at his lips, hand shaking.

  A sob escaped Lizzy’s lips before she crumpled into a heap and started to cry.

  “We’d best call the Police. This is a crime scene and they don’t need us contaminating it,” said Martin, attempting to pull himself together. “Come on Lizzy Sweetheart.”

  “We can’t leave her on her own,” she wailed, her big moon face an ugly blotchy red, tears and snot running down it.

  “We must if the police are to do their jobs and catch who did this.”

  “Martin’s right,” added Brenda. “We don’t want to destroy any evidence the killer left behind.”

  Quietly they filed out of the room, Martin having to take Toby by the shoulders and steer him back to the sitting room. He walked like a zombie, eyes wide with shock and if Martin hadn’t been helping him he might have fallen over. They all skirted by the pool of vomit left by Howard, who was shivering on the floor. Brenda helped him up and he clung onto her.

  “I’ll call the Police,” said Martin, pulling out his mobile phone.

  Craig’s shift started with a fight in the small town of Fairlie, nothing serious, just a couple of teenagers who almost burst into tears when he said he had to tell their parents. When that was done he was ordered to go to Blair Dubh, there’d been a suspicious death.

  He drove far too fast all the way there in the torrential rain, terrified something had happened to Freya or that she’d lost her temper and hurt someone. He was first on the scene, although back-up was on its way.

  “Craig, thank God you’re here,” said Martin the moment he opened the door of Catriona’s cottage.

  “What’s happened?” he said, scanning the room, relieved to see Freya wasn’t there.

  “It’s Catriona. She’s upstairs, drowned in the bath. She was murdered.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Her hands are tied behind her back.”

  “Jesus.”

  He regarded the five pale shaky people looking back at him, their eyes wide and scared.

  “Book Club?” he asked Martin, who nodded. “I’ll take a look. I must ask you all to wait here. I’ll need to take your statements.”

  They all appeared so miserable he felt sorry for them, they probably just wanted to get out of there.

  Martin led the way and Craig found himself s
taring down at the body of a woman he’d known his entire life.

  “I’ve already ascertained that she’s dead,” explained Martin.

  Craig just nodded. It wasn’t the first dead body he’d seen, nor was it the first time he’d seen someone he knew dead. But viewing his dad in the funeral home laid out respectfully after he died of natural causes was very different to this show of violence and her death had clearly been terrifying. Objects were scattered about the room, lying in the puddles of water on the floor, a tall cabinet overturned. Her wrists were bruised from the ropes binding them, biting into the bloated skin.

  “How long would you say she’s been dead?”

  “I’m no pathologist but I’m guessing no longer than a couple of hours.”

  “I’ll call it in.”

  While they waited he went downstairs to take their statements, but they all told him the same thing and he learnt nothing that could help him find who did this.

  “Can we go now? I need to get out of here,” said Howard, still a little hysterical.

  “I’m sorry but you have to stay. A detective’s on their way, they’ll want to talk to you.”

  “Please, I have to get out,” he cried, racing for the door.

  Craig put himself before it and Howard found himself staring up at six foot one of solid policeman.

  “Sorry Howard, you’re staying.”

  When Howard buried his face in his hands and started to cry Brenda wrapped an arm around him, led him to the couch and thrust a whisky into his hands. The little man took a sip of the liquid and coughed. Brenda sat down beside him and puffed on the blue inhaler clutched in her hand.

  “Are you okay?” Craig asked her.

  She nodded, releasing a wheezy breath. “The asthma gets worse when I’m under stress. I’ll be fine, much better than Catriona,” she replied, a tear rolling down her cheek.

  Craig was relieved when he saw the lights of the emergency vehicles cutting through the gathering darkness, watching the convoy approach from the door of Catriona’s cottage. The storm was really starting to kick up, belching in cold air through the open doorway but that was preferable to waiting in the house with the body and five overwrought witnesses, all of whom wanted to leave. He saw Freya standing at the door of her cottage anxiously looking out so he jogged over to her.