“No, Pete decided to keep it from her, she’d suffered enough. When he told Father Logan that Rose was pregnant he dropped to his knees and started to pray. He seemed mad, muttering words about Rose’s wicked soul and blaming her for the child’s death. Pete said in that moment he saw his mask slip and behind it was evil.”
“So he was having an affair with Rose and she told him she was pregnant. That was the catalyst,” said an eager Steve.
“Were the other three women having affairs too?” said Craig, the tiredness dissipating.
“With Logan?” frowned Steve.
“Not with Father Logan, no. I think that was just Rose,” said Nora. “But poor Lorna, the first victim, had an affair while she was married, but I suppose that was understandable. She was probably just desperate for some love after being stuck in that horrible relationship. Mary and Rhona were both happily married women but there were rumours about them both; Mary with a man in West Kilbride and Rhona with her own cousin who used to visit each Christmas.”
“And like good Catholics they would have confessed their sins to Father Logan,” said Craig.
“That was Pete’s theory,” said Nora. “It was just a shame he couldn’t prove it. He was obsessed with the case. When he was dying he said his one regret was not bringing Father Logan to justice, he was that certain of his guilt.”
“Do you think he was the killer?” Craig asked his mum.
“If it hadn’t been for Pete it wouldn’t even have occurred to me.” She turned to Steve. “You have to understand how in thrall the villagers were of Father Logan. He was extremely devout to the point of fanaticism, a tall powerful figure with a booming voice, he could be quite intimidating when he preached. Listening to him you truly believed all those eternal torments were going to be yours for the most minor of transgressions. We all used to file out after his sermons trembling and determined to lead blameless lives from that moment on. Then once the power of that speech had faded we soon relapsed into our old heathen ways,” she said with a sardonic smile.
“I remember him well,” said Craig. “He scared the crap out of me.”
“Language Craig, please.”
“You can’t send me up to the Parish House anymore,” he said, eyes twinkling.
Nora smiled at Steve. “I used to send him up to Father Logan when he’d been naughty. Pete might have been an authority figure but he was a soft father. When Craig had been bad he’d just tell him not to do it again, ruffle his hair and send him to the shop for some sweets, but Father Logan put the fear of God into him. He’d come home shaking and trying not to cry.”
Steve gave his Sergeant an amused smile.
“Tell that to anyone and you’ll be the one guarding the crime scene,” Craig told him, causing his smile to drop.
“The only thing against Father Logan was Freya’s statement and she was hastily whisked away,” continued Nora. “The Procurator Fiscal at the time - an old friend of Father Logan’s - refused to believe he had anything to do with it, he insisted Freya was mistaken. Pete was furious but he was powerless. This is a religious community and it was inconceivable that such a pious man could be a murderer. Freya was labelled a traumatised child and taken away, so the good citizens of Blair Dubh could put it all behind them and get on with the rest of their lives in peace.”
Craig detected the bitterness in her tone.
“And Father Logan?” said Steve.
“He lived out the rest of his days in relative harmony. But in the last year of his life he seemed to disintegrate, became even more zealous, pulling everyone up for the slightest thing. He had a heart attack two years ago and now he’s buried in his own churchyard. With his death the Diocese decided that we could use St Bride’s at West Kilbride instead and closed the church. His mother Claire still lives in the Parish House, there’s not a force on earth that could shift her.”
“So no one else was considered a suspect?” said Steve.
“No. The popular theory was that it was a passing lunatic, which was ridiculous because if there had been a stranger wandering about the village killing women someone would have noticed.”
“And Freya’s life went down the toilet. She was sacrificed so everyone could live in ignorance,” said Craig, suddenly very angry. Nora nodded in agreement.
“But if Father Logan was guilty and he’s dead, who killed Catriona?” said Steve.
The three of them fell into apprehensive silence, the wind increasing in intensity until it positively screamed around the house. The lights briefly flickered before coming back on again and Steve stifled a shudder, glad he wasn’t Gary Reid alone in a house where a woman had just died. But then again, Gary probably didn’t have enough imagination to be scared.
Craig rubbed his grainy eyes, he was shattered but his mind was too active for sleep. He kept running over what his mum had said about sin. Had Catriona sinned? Was that why she was murdered?
“Did you ever hear if Catriona was having an affair?” he said, following it up with a yawn.
“She’s never been married so she’s no husband to cheat on but she always attracted lots of male attention, she was beautiful from being wee. She had quite a set of admirers.”
“Maybe one of those admirers got jealous? Or maybe she had an affair with a married man?” offered Steve.
“Clearly you didn’t know Catriona,” said Nora. “She did enjoy her little fan club but it was all harmless. She liked her freedom way too much to be involved in a relationship but I could be wrong. You need to talk to Lizzy, she was her best friend, she might know.”
“I already have. She was definite that Catriona was single, no enemies, she wasn’t worried about anything. Just her usual self.” The notion of sin kept bothering Craig. He thought of Freya and everything she’d endured, the bad things she’d done. He got to his feet and wandered over to the window where he could see her cottage. He spied movement, the swirl of something in the wind perhaps? It seemed to hesitate outside Freya’s front door, its great cape billowing up around it. “Oh Christ. Steve,” he yelled, running for the door.
Snatching up his fluorescent jacket Craig stepped outside, the wind so strong he was almost knocked off his feet. Icy rain pelted him in the face. Head bowed, he made his way across the road, dodging the detritus swirling through the air. He was startled by a scraping sound to his right and an empty lobster pot went sliding across the ground before him. He tried to discern the big black shape he’d seen from the window but it was impossible to make out anything in the storm, the hard rain running down his face and into his eyes. Before he was halfway across the road he was saturated.
Finally he made it down the road and hammered on Freya’s front door.
“Freya open up, it’s Craig.”
The light burning in the sitting room told him she was still awake. When she failed to answer he tried the handle but it was locked.
“Freya,” he bellowed, hammering harder, hardly able to hear himself over the storm.
To his relief the door opened and Freya staggered back in fright when she saw two police officers in fluorescent jackets.
“It’s me, Craig. Look,” he said, yanking off the jacket, instantly regretting his hastiness when cold water soaked his back. She looked past him to Steve standing behind him, her eyes wide with fear.
“Take off your jacket,” Craig told him.
“What?”
“Take it off, I’m bloody ordering you.”
Craig was glad the wind carried away whatever Steve mumbled as he removed his coat because he knew it couldn’t have been very complimentary to himself.
“Can we come in? It’s vital that I speak to you,” he told Freya.
She nodded before retreating inside and they quickly followed, Steve gratefully closing the door behind them.
Freya hovered in the kitchen doorway hugging herself, anxious eyes continuously flitting between Craig and Steve, who were standing in her sitting room shivering and dripping water all over the carpet.
“I think you could be in danger,” replied Craig, “from whoever killed Catriona. I want you to stay at Mum’s until they’re caught.”
“I’m fine here, I’ll keep the doors locked.”
“You’re too isolated, you can’t be alone. If Steve makes you uncomfortable he can stay here,” he said, causing Steve’s eyes to widen.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“Listen, if nothing else happens after a couple of days then we’ll know it’s an isolated incident and you can come back, but if another woman dies then…”
“It’s happening again?”
He nodded. “And I don’t want you to be the next victim.”
Freya was torn between fear of living at close quarters with a police officer and fear of suffering the same fate as her mother. She had to go with the lesser of two evils. “Alright,” she eventually agreed.
“Good. Throw some stuff in a bag and I’ll wait to escort you down the road.”
“Okay,” she said before heading upstairs.
“What’s up with your face?” Craig asked Steve, who looked distinctly edgy.
“Nothing,” he mumbled, moving to stand by the fire, his clothes starting to steam as the water evaporated.
Freya came back downstairs clutching a rucksack then pulled on her coat and boots.
“Help yourself to whatever you want,” Freya told Steve, still careful to maintain a distance between them. “There’s plenty to eat in the cupboards and fridge. You can sleep in the room at the back, no offence but I don’t want you in my bed.” Craig couldn’t help but snigger inwardly at Steve’s indignant look. “There are candles in the kitchen cupboards in case of a power cut.”
Steve swallowed hard. “Power cut?”
Divining what was bothering his colleague Craig smiled maliciously. “Power cuts are common here when the storms get bad. They can last for days. It’s absolutely pitch black at night, you can’t see a thing. Sometimes it feels like it’s the end of the world.”
“Right, I’m ready,” said Freya as she zipped up her coat.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come back with you?” said Steve. “It would be better with two of us if there’s any trouble.”
“Sorry, no room. Get some rest and meet me at Mum’s at six.”
With that Craig and Freya left, leaving a forlorn Steve behind.
“I’m going to have to put on my jacket to go down the road,” Craig told Freya in the porch.
She took a deep breath and nodded. “In that case, you’d better let me go first.”
Just as he was pulling on his coat she yanked open the door and disappeared into the darkness.
“Freya, wait, it’s not safe. Bloody jacket,” he muttered when it got stuck halfway over his shoulders, almost pinning his arms to his sides. The wind stole the breath from his body as he stepped outside, making him gasp, the rain soaking him through again. He could just make out Freya’s figure ahead of him, racing for his mum’s front door. She looked back over her shoulder and when she saw him running after her she physically jumped and ran to the cottage door, frantically hammering on it when it refused to open. Under the light cast from the sitting room window he could see her clearly, eyes wide with fear. His mum opened the door and she stumbled inside, Craig following a moment later and he slammed the door shut and locked it before shrugging off the coat as quickly as he could.
“What’s happened Freya? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said Nora.
She opened her mouth to reply but no words came out, her chest rising and falling as her breathing accelerated.
“I’ve taken it off, see?” said Craig, dumping the coat in a ball on the floor.
“Don’t do that, it’ll go mouldy,” said Nora, picking it up and straightening it out before hanging it up.
“I…I just need a minute,” said Freya, dumping her bag and racing upstairs.
“What was that about?” demanded Nora.
“Freya’s staying here until this blows over, she’s not safe alone. Steve is staying at her cottage.”
“I’ll make you both some tea, you look freezing.”
Craig pulled the packet of hot chocolate out of Freya’s rucksack and handed it to her. “Make her some of this instead, it’ll make her feel better.”
Upstairs Freya clung onto the sink, attempting to catch her breath. Seeing Craig running after her had so reminded her of Docherty it had been eerie. Once again the thought of a stiff drink was tempting, it would calm her down, she’d feel so much better.
“No,” she said firmly. She sadly gazed at her reflection. Just one more drink might be enough to put an end to all the fear and pain permanently. She could lie down with a couple of bottles of spirit and drift into blessed unconsciousness then just slip away. She probably wouldn’t even know anything about it. But she simply couldn’t do it to James, the one person who would miss her.
After splashing cold water on her face she headed back downstairs. The cottage had hardly changed in fifteen years. Some of the décor had been modernised but otherwise it was much the same as she remembered it; cosy, warm and best of all, safe. It was the first time she’d felt safe since she was eleven.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, walking into the kitchen to find Craig in the middle of changing, his lower half encased in blue denim, his top half bare, revealing that tattoo.
“Sorry, I was dripping wet,” he said, pulling on a grey jumper.
She continued to stare at him, unable to help herself. His eyes met hers and danced with mischief. When he saw her cheeks bloom with colour, excitement shot through him.
Craig shook himself out of it, there was no way he was going there. He’d just got out of one complicated relationship and he was determined he wasn’t going to get into another with someone who was so damaged. Neither could he allow himself to be distracted, he had an important job to do.
“Hot chocolate’s ready,” said Nora and Freya blushed deeper. She hadn’t even realised Nora was there while she’d been staring at her son’s body.
They took their drinks into the sitting room. Freya curled up in the armchair by the fire, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. She was glad Craig had suggested she come here, she was tired of being alone. They sat in amiable silence drinking hot chocolate, listening to the storm continue to rage outside. Freya’s eyes soon grew heavy and Nora caught the mug just before it slipped from her hand.
“Let her sleep there, she’s exhausted,” said Nora quietly. “I’ll bring a duvet down for her.”
“I’ll do it Mum, you get to bed. You look dead on your feet.”
“Thanks for letting me help today Craig. It took my mind off your dad for a little while.” She kissed him on the cheek before climbing the stairs.
Craig brought down the duvet from the spare bed and tucked it around Freya. She was so out of it she didn’t even stir.
“It’s good to have you home,” he said softly before going up to bed himself.
CHAPTER 6
The following morning Freya was woken by a mug of coffee being placed on the table beside her and Nora’s gentle smiling face.
“Thanks,” she said, pushing herself upright.
“You’re welcome Hen,” replied Nora, patting her hair.
“Is it okay if I have a shower?”
“Yes, I heard Craig come out of the bathroom a few minutes ago.”
Freya felt surprisingly refreshed after just four hours sleep. After what happened last night to Catriona she didn’t think she’d feel relaxed enough to drop off. The hot water pounding over her was revitalizing and after drying off she padded across the hallway to the spare bedroom wrapped only in a towel, almost colliding with Craig, who emerged from his bedroom in his uniform black shirt and combat trousers and they both stopped in their tracks.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning. Excuse me,” she replied, stepping
past him.
He turned to watch her and saw a tattoo peeking out from the top of the towel, what appeared to be flames licking up her spine. He was curious to see the rest, wondered if it ran right down her back to the soft swell of her….
“Stop it,” he quietly told himself.
He went downstairs to find a drained-looking Steve in full uniform being served coffee, bacon and eggs at the kitchen table by his mum.
“Why have you got your stab vest on?” Craig asked him. “Are you worried Mum’s going to go on the rampage with the kitchen knives?”
“I just thought it was a sensible precaution with a murderer on the loose.”
“And what good protection it is against someone who drowns people,” he retorted sarcastically. He didn’t want Freya coming downstairs to the sight of a police officer in full uniform.
“Alright, I’ll take it off.”
“Where’s your coat?”
“Hung up in the hallway. What’s with Freya and coats anyway?”
“Never you mind, just keep it out of her sight, okay?”
“Fine,” he sighed.
Nora gave Craig a questioning look, but he just shook his head.
“I’ll call Gary, he’s been alone over there long enough.”
Craig pulled out his mobile to phone PC Reid. The line was poor and after a couple of minutes of talking very loudly and repeating himself, Gary finally got the message that Craig wanted him to come over. He entered the cottage in a flurry of wind and rain, appearing well rested unlike Steve, who looked like he’d spent the night jumping at every noise.
“Jesus, I’ve never known weather like this,” grumbled Gary, pulling off his coat and shaking it out. “Why does anyone live in this miserable little village? Sorry,” he added when Craig gave him an incredulous look.
“Mum’s made you some breakfast,” he said. “Although you probably don’t deserve it.”
Gary looked more cheerful already. “Great, I’m starving.”
“Leave your stab vest in here. When you’re in this house you only wear your shirt and trousers, got it?”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 7