The Elemental (Blair Dubh Trilogy #1)

by Heather Atkinson

  “The pressure’s getting to us all Constable so I’ll choose to ignore that remark, but I appreciate you looking out for her.”

  “I think she’s been through enough trauma.”

  “I didn’t think you were the sensitive type. Come on, let’s break this lot up before they get any more riled up.”

  Craig waded into the centre of the room, drawing everyone’s attention from Bill.

  “What are you doing back?” said Bill. “I thought you’d be tucked up nice and cosy with your murdering little whore.”

  “You already used that insult,” he replied in a bored tone. “Howard, a word.”

  “Me?” he squeaked.

  “Yes you.”

  “What do you want to talk to him about?” said Toby.

  “That’s fuck all to do with you,” replied Craig. “After Howard I want to talk to you so don’t disappear.”

  “You don’t have to talk to him Howard,” said Bill.

  “Yes I do,” he replied quietly before following him through to the back.

  “Come with us, make sure no one follows us in,” Craig quietly told Gary, who didn’t dare take his eyes off the surly crowd.

  “Alright Sarge,” he said, backing up further into the pub with Craig and Howard.

  The room remained silent until the three men had disappeared into the back room and Gary had closed the door.

  “Donaldson’s trying to pin these murders on one of us to draw attention from his girlfriend,” proclaimed Bill. “We can’t let him get away with it.”

  “How can you be so certain it’s Freya anyway?” said Lizzy. “She’s just a young girl.”

  “What’s wrong with you Woman? This started when she came back to the village.”

  “Maybe that’s what set the killer off, did you ever think of that?” said Gordon.

  “You saw her hit me, she’s violent,” said Toby, “perfectly capable of beating up Catriona.”

  “What if seeing her mother die messed her up so bad it made her want to do the same thing?” said Adam, standing by Bill’s side. “She said herself she blames us for letting her be taken away when she was a little girl. What if this is her revenge?” There were increased murmurs of agreement. “I looked her up on the internet,” he went on. “She spent four months inside for assault and she’s done other bad stuff. She’s a criminal.”

  Shocked gasps filled the air.

  “That woman needs locking up before she has the chance to kill anyone else. Who’s with me?” boomed Bill.

  “I am,” said Adam, eyes glittering with excitement.

  “Me too,” said Toby.

  “And me,” said Jimmy, joining the others by Bill’s side. He looked to Gordon. “Come with us.”

  “No. I think you’re wrong.”

  “Then you’re an idiot. Come on lads, let’s get her while Donaldson’s busy,” said Bill.

  The men stormed out of the pub, Bill banging the door open with one big fist. When Gordon tried to go through to the back room where Craig and Gary were ensconced with Howard he found his way blocked by the other villagers.

  “Leave them to it, they know what they’re doing,” said Fred.

  “No they don’t. Bill’s grieving, he’s all over the place and Adam and Toby are nasty sods, they’ll enjoy it. What if they hurt Freya? Do you want that on your conscience?”

  “So what if she does get hurt? Serves her right after what she’s done.”

  “How can you be so sure she has done anything?” he exclaimed, feeling like he was trapped in a madhouse.

  “It makes sense. I don’t know why you can’t see it.”

  “This is insane. You’re all going crazy with the storm and fear.”

  When he tried to push through them again the circle formed tighter around him.

  “Don’t do anything stupid Gordon, it would be a shame for anything to happen to this pub, it’s such a nice place. If it was ruined you’d lose your last link to Isla.”

  Gordon’s mouth fell open. “You’re threatening me? We’ve known each other for over fifty years.”

  “I’m just trying to make you see sense. This ends now.”

  Gordon sighed and leaned on the bar top, resting his head in his hands, praying Bill didn’t go too far. He looked up at the window, saw the sky was slightly brighter and prayed the storm let up before another woman died, but next time it might not be at the hands of The Elemental.

  CHAPTER 15

  “What the bloody hell is that?” demanded Nora when there was a loud bang on the front door.

  “Stay there, I’ll go,” said Steve, not looking too confident as he drew his baton.

  Before he had the chance to call out who’s there the door was kicked open and a red-eyed Bill entered, unshaven, hair stuck up all over the place, clutching a baseball bat. He was followed by Jimmy, Toby and Adam, all similarly armed.

  “What’s going on?” said Steve in his most authoritative tone, the impression ruined when his voice rose a couple of octaves.

  “We’ve come for Freya,” replied Bill in a voice hoarse with grief and whisky. “Stand aside and you won’t get hurt.”

  Nora appeared behind Steve, followed by a wary Freya.

  “Bill, what are you talking about?” said Nora.

  “This is all down to her,” replied Bill, pointing the bat in Freya’s direction. “The killings started when she used to live here, they started up again when she came back and now my Bren is dead. It’s all her fault.”

  Nora noted how he looked like a man defeated, a man on the edge and recognised how dangerous he was. “Listen to me Bill. You’re grieving, you don’t know what you’re doing. Hurting Freya isn’t going to help anyone, she’s as innocent in this as your wife was.”

  He fixed her with his watery red gaze. “There’s nothing innocent about that one, you just need to look at her to know that.”

  “Excuse me?” frowned Freya.

  “Now Bill, you’re being ridiculous. Hasn’t that poor girl been through enough? Go home and deal with your grief and leave her be.”

  “Sorry Nora, we’re all agreed on this. We’re going to do what Craig should have done days ago. Maybe if he had then Bren would still be alive.”

  “What are you going to do?” said Nora fearfully.

  “We’re going to lock her up in Gordon’s cellar then no one else will die.”

  “This isn’t Freya’s doing Bill.”

  “Oh yeah? Where was she when my Bren was dying? You said yourself you didn’t see her.”

  “But I know she was in the house.”

  “Crap. She’s fooled you as much as she’s fooled the great Sergeant. We’re taking her Nora. Don’t try to stop us, we’ve known each other a long time. It would be a shame if I had to hurt you.”

  Nora stared up at this bear of a man in astonishment because she knew he meant every word.

  “I think you’ve forgotten there’s a police officer here. You can’t just abduct people and lock them up,” she said pointing to Steve, who looked back at the group of men uncertainly when they all glared at him.

  “Err yes, Mrs Donaldson is quite right, you can’t...”

  He never got to finish the sentence because Bill’s fist slammed into his jaw. Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slid to the floor, knees crumpling beneath him.

  “Freya, run,” cried Nora.

  Not needing to be told twice she raced into the kitchen, slammed the door shut and pushed the table up against it. The men slammed into it, pushing it open a crack, the table legs scraping across the tiled floor. Freya pulled at the back door but it wouldn’t open and the key wasn’t in the lock. Glancing over her shoulder she saw Bill’s angry face pressed up to the crack in the door.

  Freya darted about the kitchen blowing out the candles and switched off her torch. She ran into the pantry, shut the door and locked it. As she thought about what to do she could hear Nora furiously admonishing the men, the thud as they broke down the kitchen door growing i
n intensity. There was just a small window in the pantry that she wasn’t even sure was big enough for her to fit through. She pushed it open, hauled herself up the shelves and slid her upper half out. There was a loud crash as the kitchen door finally gave way, the table toppling over, followed by grumbling as one of the men fell over in the darkness. Desperately she pulled herself out of the window, scraping her lower back painfully on the frame and found herself stuck. She exhaled, pushing all the air out of herself and she slid out, landing in the grass in the back garden. It was freezing, she’d come out without her jacket or boots and the rain saturated her clothes in seconds. The only way to keep warm was to stay on the move so she scrambled to her feet and launched herself at the garden wall, using a bin as a springboard, hauling herself over it into the little lane that ran down the back of the cottages.

  Her first thought was to run to the pub and Craig, but what if the rest of the villagers were in on this? They would all attack her and Craig would be helpless, he might even get hurt. It would be best for her to hide out until the storm passed, which hopefully wouldn’t be long. The question was, where? Wherever it was it had to be close, her whole body was turning numb with cold.

  There was only one option.

  It wasn’t difficult to break into Catriona’s cottage, a simple matter of a brick through the back door panel. There was no alarm, no one alarmed their houses in Blair Dubh, although when this was all over they just might.

  It was a relief to be out of the rain but it was cold in the house. She stood shivering on the threshold, afraid to go in any further, feeling as though Catriona still inhabited it and she was intruding. Eventually the need to get warm overtook her fear and she walked through the house, desperately trying not to look into the bathroom as she passed. She went into the bedroom and opened the wardrobe.

  “I’m sorry Catriona, I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered to the air before rummaging through the clothes, trying to find something that would fit. Catriona had been taller and heavier than herself so it was difficult. In the end she selected a warm fleece top with a hood and a pair of jogging bottoms that she secured with a belt. Fortunately Catriona’s feet had only been half a size bigger than her own so the trainers she found fit quite well, padded out with a pair of thick socks. After drying her hair off with a towel she felt a little better, but she didn’t dare light the stove for fear of alerting anyone to the fact she was in the house.

  She pondered what to do next. She had left her mobile phone behind and the landlines still weren’t working. There was no choice but to remain where she was until the storm passed and the police came in.

  Voices outside drew her attention and she peered through the window to see four large shapes prowling around outside the front door. Two of the shapes darted out of sight and she leapt back. How did they know she was in here? She groaned inwardly. She’d knocked through the window in the back door and hadn’t hidden the evidence. Looking outside she saw a dark shape approaching through the garden and she raced through the house to the front. The door burst open beneath the combined weight of Bill and Jimmy and she turned and ran back down the corridor leading to the bedroom. She tried to close the door but Bill threw himself against it, knocking the door into her, and she fell back onto the floor. She screamed and pulled her legs out of his reach, scrambling backwards when he made another grab for her, memories of Docherty threatening to overwhelm her. The other three rushed into the room and surrounded her. She got to her feet, picked up a vase off the windowsill and threw it at them, but they all dodged and it smashed against the wall behind them. They all went for her at once, grabbing her and pinning her down.

  “Quick Jimmy, the blanket,” grunted Bill, struggling to hold her as she fought him.

  Toby and Adam held her still while the blanket was thrown over her head, rope tied around it, pinning her arms to her sides.

  Nora rushed in wrapped in her anorak. “Put her down,” she yelled. “This isn’t the way.”

  “It’s the only way. No more women are going to die,” replied Bill, throwing Freya over his shoulder.

  “You can’t take her, you’re putting her in danger. Don’t you see she’s next on the hit list?”

  “Bollocks, she’s the one doing this. With her locked up we’ll all be safe, including you.”

  “Jimmy, surely you see this is insanity?”

  He fixed her with haunted eyes. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen Bren die. Now get out of our way.”

  Nora was forced to stand aside helplessly as they left with their prize still kicking and screaming over Bill’s shoulder. When they stepped outside Freya wriggled and rolled off his shoulder, landing in the mud with a squelch. However the others grabbed her before she could get to her feet and hauled her towards the pub.

  “Oh my God, you actually did it, you mad bastards,” said Gordon when the door banged open and four men carrying a sodden bundle entered, dripping water everywhere.

  “Open up your cellar Gordon,” said Bill, dumping the sack on the floor.

  Gordon jumped when a squeal issued from the wriggling sack. “I was hoping you’d seen sense.”

  “She killed Bren and the others.”

  “What proof do you have?”

  “My gut’s telling me it’s her. Now are you going to open that door?”

  “You’re not locking anyone up on my property. Craig will throw the bloody book at me, he’s in the back room still grilling Howard.”

  “Craig’s not thinking with his head, thanks to her,” he said, jabbing the sack with the toe of his boot, eliciting another squeal.

  “You can’t do this. I’ve known Freya since she was a wee baby and so have you. You’ve lost your bloody mind.”

  “I’m the only sane one in this village and don’t think about that little blond girl, she’s long gone. This painted freak is a murderer and she will pay for what she did to my wife,” he said, eyes brimming with tears. “Now open up the fucking cellar. If you make me take the keys from you I promise it will hurt.”

  Gordon recognised the same desperation in his eyes that Nora had and knew he would carry out his threat, despite their years of friendship. The grim expressions on the three burly men accompanying Bill told Gordon if he challenged this he’d lose. His only hope was to try and contain the situation and pray there wasn’t another death on his premises. “Bren’s down there.”

  “I know. I want this one to see what she’s done,” he said, jabbing at Freya again.

  “It wasn’t me,” screamed a muffled voice from the sack.

  “Bill, please,” said Gordon.

  Bill took an aggressive step towards him. “Give me the fucking key.”

  Gordon sighed, fished the key out of his pocket and dumped it in Bill’s hand. “Alright, but if you hurt her I’ll see you pay for it. Don’t forget the storm will break and the police will arrive.”

  “I don’t intend to hurt her, no matter how much I want to. I just don’t want anyone else to die.”

  Gordon nodded and let them pass, more screaming emanating from the sack, a pair of kicking legs sticking out the bottom. Freya was dragged downstairs and when they dumped her on the floor Bill ripped the sack off her head and she blinked up at him, black make-up smeared around her eyes. Her frantic breath streamed out before her in a white cloud, it was so cold.

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  Bill looked down at her coldly. “You killed my wife.”

  “No I didn’t,” she said, getting to her feet, legs shaky.

  “Don’t even try and deny it. This is your fault. Spend a little time with the result of your work. Maybe that will get through to you just what you’ve done.”

  She looked to where he pointed one large sausage-like finger and stumbled backwards, eyes riveted to the body beneath the sheet. “You’re not keeping me down here with her,” she cried, running for the stairs, but she was pushed back by the other three. While they held her, Bill glared down at her and she went still benea
th the full force of the hatred in his eyes, frightened he was going to hurt her. The walls felt like they were closing in and she couldn’t breathe, all-too aware that the cellar was below ground.

  “Please don’t leave me here,” she said, clutching at Bill’s arm, her phobia overriding her fear of him. “I can’t be underground. Please.”

  Sympathy briefly flickered through his eyes but it was crushed when he looked at the shape lying beneath the sheet. “That’s the only future my Bren has got and I’ll make damn sure you get the same if it’s the last thing I do. Let’s go lads.”

  “No, please,” she screamed, making one last try for the stairs but Bill slapped her across the face, knocking her to the floor. While she dragged herself back to her feet, head singing and knees like jelly, they hurried out. Freya staggered to the door and tugged at it furiously, but it refused to budge. She shouted and banged on it, giving way to panic, the knowledge of the body under the sheet and that she was underground pushing her over the edge.

  The second door.

  She recalled seeing a back door when she’d been pulled inside and - desperately keeping her eyes averted from the shape under the sheet - she sped across the room and pulled at it but it was equally stubborn. Of course it was locked, Gordon had a fortune stored down here. Finally she gave way to tears, a loud sob tearing from her throat. She’d thought life had thrown all the shittiness it had at her, that the bad times were finally over and from now on it could only be good, but these past few days had proved the lie of that assumption. She was just one of those people doomed to live a life filled with nothing but pain and misery.

  When an appalling thought struck her she went instantly silent, resting her forehead against the thick wood of the door, taking in long deep breaths. She was locked in the cellar of a pub piled high with barrels and bottles. Hundreds of pounds worth of alcohol surrounded her, just begging to be drunk.

  Chancing a glance to the right she saw boxes of whisky stacked neatly in the corner. All her favourites were there, including the twelve year old Glenfiddich she’d tasted on Craig’s lips. The memory of the taste, made all the more potent by Craig himself, returned. She could just sit down and start drinking, it would blot out the horror of her current situation. It would probably kill her but that was preferable to this. Once again she’d been betrayed by the village but whereas before she was an inconvenience, now she was a very convenient scapegoat.