Freya was embarrassed when he didn’t give her this assurance and turned to the window, arms folded across her chest.
“Well,” said Gary, breaking the awkward silence. “What now?”
“We’ve no forensics, no witnesses, no CCTV. We’ve got sod all,” sighed Craig. He recalled the book titles he’d jotted down and retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket. “Steve, I need you to take a look at these,” he said, holding the notebook out to him. “They’re books I found in Logan’s study. Can you translate them?”
He flipped open the book and nodded. “I can but they’re weird things for a man of the church to own.”
“Why?”
“They’re about witchcraft. Malleus Maleficarum, Hammer of the Witches. It was written in the fifteenth century to instruct magistrates on how to detect witches. Cautio Criminalis, Precautions for Prosecutors, written by Frederich Spee, speaking out against the witch trials in the seventeenth century. De Nigromancia, Latin manuscript written in the sixteenth century by Roger Bacon. Ceremonial magic concerned with the summoning of demons and spirits.”
“What?” gasped Nora. “That belonged to Father Logan?”
“Either that or his mum, but it looked like they hadn’t been disturbed for a while, they were covered in dust,” said Craig.
“The Grimoire of Armadel. That’s another book on ceremonial magic, but this is a sort of do-it-yourself book. It has spells on how to evoke and gain control over demon-spirits.”
“What did a father of the Church want these books for?” said Nora, horrified. “Are they collectables because I know he did have an interest in old books.”
“They didn’t look very old,” said Craig.
“You can still buy these today off the internet, they’re always bringing out new editions,” said Steve.
“Well it’s wrong. Who knows what trouble you can stir up,” she sniffed.
“Would any of these books contain information about the elements or purification rituals?” said Craig.
Steve thought hard. “I don’t know them that well, I haven’t studied them in detail but I know De Nigromancia includes a purification ritual for the magician to complete before he casts spells, but I’m quite sure it doesn’t involve murdering women.”
Craig looked to Freya for permission before speaking. She understood him perfectly and nodded her assent.
“Freya thinks Logan had a fifth victim.”
He didn’t think his mother’s jaw could drop any further but it did. “He didn’t.”
“Think carefully Mum. Were there any more deaths after Rose’s, a death everyone thought was natural?”
Her forehead creased. “Not that I can remember. Of course there’s been deaths in the fifteen years since the murders but they were elderly people, nothing suspicious about it. There was poor Simon Faulks, but he was knocked down by a bus in Ardrossan and Father Logan himself, but he’d been ill for a while, he had a bad heart.”
“I’ll ask Martin, he might be able to find out. I found a bunch of files in a cupboard in Logan’s study. Claire’s left it like a shrine to him. The files had parishioners names on them, including Rose Macalister’s. Unfortunately Claire caught me before I had a chance to examine them. Priests aren’t in the habit of keeping files on their parishioners, are they?”
“Absolutely not. I can’t think what would be in them,” said Nora.
“Details of what he was told in the confessional?” said Steve.
“I bloody hope not,” said Nora.
“Why? Did you have any deep dark secrets?” Craig smiled.
“Apart from telling your dad the meat in my homemade pies was Scottish, when in fact it came from England.”
Craig gave a mock gasp.
“But plenty of other people had secrets they wouldn’t want anyone finding out about,” she said solemnly.
The lights flickered off again, the washing machine halting mid-cycle and they all waited to see if the power would come back on, the silence punctuated by the rain slanting against the window. The house creaked and groaned beneath the force of the storm and Steve shifted anxiously on his donut, hating the darkness. He couldn’t wait to get out of this cursed village.
There was a collective sigh of relief when the lights came back on and the washing machine continued with its work, the mundane functional noise comforting.
Craig was dismayed. Now they had more questions than answers and he had no idea how to stop what was inevitably to come.
“Let’s go through your interview notes so we can see exactly where everyone was at the time of the murder,” Craig told his PC’s.
“Oooh, exciting,” said Nora.
“Sorry Mum, it’s confidential.”
“Aw. Your dad always included me.”
“We’ve already gone through this and I’m sorry, but this is between me, Steve and Gary.”
“But…”
“Craig’s right,” said Freya. “This needs to be done properly if they’re to catch the killer.”
Craig flashed her a grateful smile.
“Fine. We didn’t finish cleaning upstairs. Let’s leave the men to the real work while we silly useless women get on with the housework,” said Nora indignantly.
“Don’t be like that Mum,” said Craig.
“Why not? Seems scrubbing toilets is the only thing my feeble mind can cope with,” she said before sweeping from the room, causing her son to roll his eyes.
Freya gave Craig an amused grin before following her out.
“Right,” said Craig after they’d both left. “Apparently the Pathologist said the murder was committed by a strong, healthy man.”
“Or woman,” added Steve.
“Or woman,” said Craig. “So that rules out half the village, we have a lot of elderly residents. Let’s concentrate on those under sixty five and over sixteen.”
The two PC’s flipped through their notes.
“Brenda and Bill Miller,” said Gary. “Brenda was one of the group who found Catriona. She was at home at the time of the murder cooking Bill something for tea because she was going to be out at the Book Club. Bill was working in his shed.”
“Did she see him in there?” said Craig.
“No. That gives him a window of two hours, plenty of time. Both of them spoke to the victim in the pub the night before her death, they said she was in good spirits and didn’t seem worried about anything.”
“Brenda’s big but she’s not strong, she’s suffered from chronic asthma for years, I don’t think she could have killed Catriona, but Bill’s a good suspect,” said Craig, jotting his name down in his notebook. “Who else?”
“I spoke to the local GP, Martin Lynch. Lives alone,” continued Gary. “He was at home when it happened. He didn’t go into work because he was frightened of the road flooding while he was away and being stranded. He works at the practice in West Kilbride,” he added for Steve’s benefit. “Last saw the victim the evening before in the pub. They didn’t talk and he didn’t really notice her. If you ask me he seemed a bit light on his feet. Fancy not noticing a looker like the victim,” he grinned. Craig’s hostile expression caused his smile to drop. “He’s a bit of a wet lettuce too, I can’t imagine him hurting a fly.”
“You can’t judge by appearances, as you should already know,” Craig told him. “Lots of killers look harmless, it’s why they’re hard to catch. If they had psycho written across their foreheads it would be so much easier.”
“Yeah, sorry,” Gary said to the tabletop.
“So he doesn’t have an alibi?”
“No. But neither does Toby Moore, that stuck up English git. He really got my back up, made me take off my shoes and put on slippers before I could go in his house.”
“Toby is a bit of an arse,” said Craig. He’d never liked the man, thought he was a creep and knew Gary probably had a difficult time interviewing him. He should have sent Steve to speak to him instead.
“Lives alone - can’t say I’m surprised
- said he was reading all afternoon, Shakespeare apparently, thought I should be impressed but I wasn’t. He’s got a bit of a nasty side too, he went ballistic when I spilt a drop of tea on his carpet.”
“Stick with the facts please Gary.”
“Sorry, I can wander a bit.” Another inane grin that got Craig’s back up. “He was a bit nutty about the victim, kept saying how beautiful and amazing she was. He’s just the type to flip out if he was rejected. He said he didn’t lay a finger on her. Like everyone else, the last time he saw her was at the pub the night before she died. Apparently they had a deep and meaningful talk about great literature and she was hanging on every word he said. Out of everyone I spoke to he was the likeliest suspect, although he wasn’t here when the original murders happened, he was quick to point that out. Everyone else I spoke to were just little old couples too knackered to kill anyone and who wouldn’t have noticed a nuclear explosion never mind a murder.”
“Well thank you for that insightful look into the minds of the villagers,” said Craig sarcastically. “Steve?” he said, hoping the personable, intelligent man would come up with more.
“I spoke to Howard Grant, the wee man who found Catriona. He kept bursting into tears every time I asked him a question so it was slow-going but eventually I got it out of him that he saw her the morning she died. Apparently he went to her cottage to talk to her about the Book Club meeting that afternoon. She said she had everything ready and didn’t need him to go into town for anything because he knows she doesn’t like driving in the rain. From what he could gather she was alone, although she did keep him at the door, can’t say I blame her, spooky wee bastard. He seemed obsessed with her too, said he’d lost the best friend he ever had. Didn’t see or hear anything suspicious around the time of the murder. He might be small but have you seen the size of his hands? They’re like shovels. He’s well built too. Even though he’s short I bet he’s strong enough to have overpowered her. He’s the type I can see losing it and doing something mad like killing someone.”
“Perhaps,” replied Craig thoughtfully. “Who else did you speak to?”
“Jimmy and Lizzy Clark. Jimmy was down at his boat alone making sure it was secure before the storm came in and Lizzy was at home doing the laundry, no witnesses again. Didn’t hear anything. The whole village must go to the pub because that was where they last saw the victim, who was her usual self.”
“It’s the only thing to do around here at night,” said Craig.
“Last possibility was Adam Michie, aged twenty two. Lives with his gran, who’s an amazing woman. She’s almost completely blind but you should have seen the embroidery she was making, it was exquisite.” When his colleagues both raised an eyebrow he cleared his throat and hurried on. “Anyway, he said he was in his room listening to music and working on a college project, apparently he’s studying Psychology and she backed him up on that but it would have been easy for him to sneak out the back without her knowing.”
Craig added another name to his list then it was his turn. “I spoke to the pub landlord, Gordon James. He’s run it single-handed ever since his wife did a runner nearly twenty years ago. He took it badly and won’t let anyone help him with the business, he said he doesn’t need time off because he doesn’t want to be anywhere else, he can still feel Isla in the pub. That’s what he told me one night when he was drunk anyway. Again he didn’t see or hear anything, Catriona was fine in the pub, didn’t argue with anyone. He was very fond of her, she was a shoulder for him to cry on when his wife left.”
“Oh yeah?” said Gary knowingly.
“He swears it was platonic, but you never know. The pub closes between two and four to give him a break, so he did have a window of opportunity.” He looked down at his notebook. “So we’ve got Bill, Jimmy, Martin, Toby, Howard, Adam and Gordon. Seven likely suspects.”
“What about the women?” said Steve.
Craig gave an impatient sigh. “Why do you keep talking about the women?”
“I just don’t think we can assume the killer’s a man.”
“True and the PM showed no sign of sexual assault. Alright, the women. Lizzy’s a possible suspect, no alibi and she was a close friend of Catriona’s. Maybe they had a fall out? Brenda’s out, she just isn’t physically fit enough and Claire’s far too old and creaky, as are the rest of the women in the village.”
“You’ve missed one off.”
“Don’t tell me you’re accusing my mum?”
“No. I mean Freya.”
Craig was silent for a moment before he said, “yes, she goes without saying.”
“Sorry Sarge, I know you’re close.”
“Used to be,” he corrected.
“Yes, used to be, but I’m just trying to keep you objective. It must be really hard for you because you’ve known all these people your whole life.”
“Thank you PC McKay for keeping me neutral. What would I do without you?”
Both constables were quick to pick up the sarcasm in his voice.
“But this does feel like a man’s crime,” said Gary.
Craig thought it was the first sensible thing he’d said. “Aye it does. Hands on and brutal. Women tend to poison, not drown people.”
“Unless they’re replicating past crimes,” interjected Steve.
Craig fixed him with a hard stare. “What’s your take on Freya?”
Steve glanced to Gary for help but he leaned back in his chair and smiled, entertained by his discomfort. “She seems very nice,” he eventually replied.
“Is that it, just nice?”
“Well, she’s obviously traumatised by the past but that’s perfectly understandable, I mean, who wouldn’t be?” he twittered, becoming flustered by the increasing animosity flowing off his superior officer.
“And traumatised people can do insane things, is that what you’re saying PC McKay?”
“No, not all of them. If they did we’d be inundated with murders,” he said, adding a nervous little laugh when Craig continued to stare at him.
“Well I think she’s lovely,” interjected Gary,
“I agree,” said Steve.
“Really?” said Craig, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes. Sir,” he added, nervously. He could actually feel sweat trickling down his spine. Now he knew why Sergeant Donaldson was rumoured to be such a bad ass in the interview room.
When Steve had squirmed for long enough Craig decided to let it go and move on.
“Let’s interview everyone on our list again. I’ll take Martin Lynch, there’s something else I want to discuss with him. Get to it. When you’re done we’ll meet back here.”
CHAPTER 8
“Thanks Martin,” said Craig, accepting a cup of tea and a biscuit off him.
Martin sank back into the opposing armchair with his own mug of tea. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything I didn’t tell your colleague earlier.”
“I know. Actually there’s something else I wanted to ask you.”
“Go on.”
“Do you know if there were any other deaths around the time of The Elemental murders fifteen years ago?”
He seemed surprised by the question and reclined back in his seat thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure, I was only a teenager back then.”
“Did you hear anything when you took over the Practice?”
“No, not that I recall,” he replied, dabbing at his lips with a neatly folded handkerchief he kept in his trouser pocket, a lifelong habit of his.
“Oh,” said Craig, disappointed.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that.”
“I see.”
“Did you know Father Logan well? I remember you were an altar boy.”
“I was but only because my mum made me. To be honest he scared the life out of me. I just kept my head down and got on with my chores, hoping I didn’t do anything to upset him.”
“Was he quick to anger?”
> “Oh yes. I remember once he didn’t consider my nails clean enough to assist with Mass and he went rather over the top in my opinion. Between the two of us, he made me cry more than once.”
“You and me both Pal,” said Craig. He’d always liked Martin, he didn’t take himself too seriously, despite his high standing in the community. He was only a few years older than himself, although sometimes he could seem a bit fuddy-duddy. They used to be quite close but when he’d moved to Inverness they’d grown apart.
“Why are you asking about Father Logan? Do you think this is the start of another series of murders?” said Martin.
“I’m trusting you not to tell anyone this, but it’s possible.”
“Just as Freya returns to the village. I always thought she was treated badly. I remember for years after she’d gone everyone was afraid to speak her name, like they were feeling guilty. I think her return has started something bad.”
“We’ve not ruled out the possibility that Catriona’s death is a one-off.”
“Maybe but I think it’s not very likely.”
Craig nodded. “Who do you think killed her?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea. If I did I’d tell you.”
“You were her GP?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything physical that might account for why she was murdered?”
“No, unless you count eczema.”
“So no unwanted pregnancies for instance?”
“Good Lord no. I don’t think she even had a boyfriend.”
Craig sighed. He’d hoped Martin could open some magic door for him that would reveal the killer. “How well did you know her?”
“Not very, she was ten years older than myself. She was my patient and we passed the time of day but we weren’t close.”
“Who was she close to?”
“Surely you know this yourself?”
“I want to hear it from you. I’ve been away from the village for a few years, relationships change.”
“Lizzy was her closest friend. Then there’s Howard and Toby who followed her around like lapdogs. They made fools of themselves more than once fighting over her. A couple of times it got physical and I was called upon to treat them both for minor injuries.”
The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1) Page 10