Graeme didn’t even bother to reply. Betty - Adam’s gran and only living relative - was now completely blind and partially deaf. As a witness she didn’t really count. He had intended to kill her too but now his plan had been ruined he didn’t have time. Instead he exited by the back door. No one would see him leave, he was shielded by the cottage on one side and the sea on the other.
He raced two doors down to his own cottage and entered via the back door. Nippy, his little Jack Russell, greeted him, her tail wagging. Without pausing for breath Graeme removed his long coat and threw it in a cupboard. He was about to chuck the rope and white paper suit into the wood burning stove then hesitated. A fire in this humidity would look suspicious, so he tossed them into the cupboard too so he could dispose of them later.
He pulled on his shorter, lighter jacket, more suited to the warmth, put Nippy on her leash and stepped out the front door onto the main street, as though he was taking a casual stroll with his little dog. Despite his relaxed demeanour his heart thumped against his ribcage with excitement. He found it hard to catch his breath and slow his pulse rate. Christ, he felt powerful.
A voice to his left caused him to smile inwardly with pleasure. His plan was working.
“Graeme, take cover, there’s a sniper.”
Graeme stopped in his tracks to regard Craig with a puzzled frown. He had to give the man his due, he had guts. The front door of Fred’s cottage was slightly ajar and he was standing just behind it, even though he thought there was a strong possibility he could get shot.
“What?” called back Graeme.
Craig’s sigh of exasperation was audible. “There’s a sniper. Take cover. Now.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
“No I’m fucking not. Fred and Joanie are dead.”
Graeme feigned panic and started frantically zigzagging down the street, dragging a confused Nippy along behind him, who started yapping loudly. He rushed down the path of Toby’s cottage and pressed himself back against the wall. The big nosed Englishman, outraged by this intrusion on his property, flung open his front door and strode outside, bristling with indignation.
“You’d better not be letting that filthy little animal crap in my garden. If you dare I’ll ram a cork up its arse.”
Toby’s own dog, a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, bounded out of the house and made straight for Nippy.
“Hamlet, stop that right now,” chided Toby, intent on prising his beloved pedigree dog off the backside of what he considered to be a socially inferior animal.
“Get down you prat, there’s a mad gunman on the loose,” said Graeme.
“Don’t be silly. Hamlet, I said stop it,” exclaimed Toby but the little dog ignored him as it eagerly pumped away at an indifferent Nippy. “Can’t you do something?”
“Sod the dogs, someone’s shot Fred and Joanie.”
“What? How do you know?”
“Craig told me, he’s in their cottage right now, so get down unless you want your head blown off too.” Graeme wished he had one of his guns on him, he’d love to pump a few bullets into this arrogant prick.
Toby threw himself behind the wall, pulling Graeme in front of him as a shield.
“What are you doing? Get off you coward,” exclaimed Graeme as he was pulled about.
“Just stay where you are,” Craig called from across the street. “Armed back-up’s on the way.”
Toby’s front door opened and Graeme recognised the two tourists who’d been on his murder tour. Sometimes he let his spare room out to members of his tour groups. More cash for his ever-increasing pot.
“What’s going on?” said the man.
“Get back inside Todd, there’s a mad gunman on the loose,” Toby cried.
Both of them looked thrilled by this turn of events. However even ghouls had some common sense so they slammed the door shut and ducked out of sight.
Graeme didn’t experience a flicker of fear at the prospect of the village being swamped by black-clad, gun-toting ninjas. The police would think what he wanted them to think - that Adam was responsible. Then they would leave and he could carry out the rest of his plan in peace.
Hamlet shuddered to a halt behind Nippy then the two dogs began frolicking about the garden together, oblivious to the danger.
Hearing all the shouting, more people came out of their homes or the pub but hastily retreated when Craig bellowed at them to get back inside. Graeme’s admiration for the man grew when Craig remained at the door to warn anyone approaching. If he’d still been in Adam’s bedroom he would have had a good chance of hitting him. He’d underestimated him and decided he fully deserved his impressive reputation, but it wouldn’t be enough to save him from the wrath of God. The fact that he’d been born and bred in Blair Dubh had already condemned him.
CHAPTER 5
The emergency services responded quicker than Graeme had anticipated, especially as the Tactical Firearms Unit had been deployed from Glasgow. Still, it was good research for him. At least he knew how long he had when he continued with his plan. A massive black van blocked the only road in and out of the village and the armed police jumped out, all clutching their Heckler and Koch submachine guns and fanning out around the village, accompanied by two armed response vehicles and more police cars. He saw one team rush round the back of Fred’s cottage and Craig disappeared inside to greet them.
It was a huge relief to Craig when the armed police burst in through the back door.
“Thank God you’re here. I’m DS Donaldson from Glasgow West End.”
“So what are you doing here?” replied one of the officers, a young, dynamic man who exuded eagerness and excitement.
“I’m visiting my mum, I was born and raised in this village.”
“I see.”
“We’ve got two dead upstairs, Fred and Joanie McNab, the residents of this cottage,” said Craig. “Myself and two other men entered after we became concerned they hadn’t been seen for a while. Someone shot at us from across the road. All the shooting took place upstairs, in the front bedroom.”
They all went silent when the officer’s radio crackled into life. He listened and nodded. “Looks like the shooter topped himself. You can go across Sergeant, we could use a detective on the scene.”
Craig appreciated this courtesy. He was made to wear a Kevlar vest and helmet before he was allowed out the door. When Bill and Jimmy tried to follow they were told to remain downstairs in the McNab’s cottage while two officers went upstairs to preserve the crime scene. Paramedics were allowed in to attend to Jimmy’s injured arm.
Craig crossed the road and saw everyone in the pub gathered at the windows, the curtains of the cottages around them twitching. His skin prickled with sweat and nerves, the body armour weighing him down. Above the sky was alive with energy, agitating the thick grey clouds, but at the moment it was managing to contain the storm that was building up.
The armed officers methodically moved from cottage to cottage making sure there were no other threats. They were heading into Adam’s cottage. Sadness overtook him. How had it come to this?
Inside the cottage the officers were trying to calm down a distraught Betty, who screamed at them with tears falling from her sightless eyes. She knew something bad had happened but her confusion and fear refused to allow her to listen to the words of strangers.
A large armed officer with a thick moustache and brown hair greying at the temples stepped forward to meet him. “You’re Sergeant Donaldson?”
“I am.”
The big man extended his hand for him to shake. “Sergeant Thorne, TFU. Glad to have you here. Think you can help us out with her?” he said, gesturing to the stricken Betty.
“I think so.” He walked over to her and placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Betty, it’s me, Craig.”
The small, frail woman stumbled towards him, hands outstretched. “Craig, what’s going on? Who are these people? I want them out of my house,” she cried, rheumy eyes looking up at him full
of pleading but not quite finding his face.
“It’s okay Betty. Sit down and I’ll explain.”
His calm, familiar voice broke through her terror and she allowed him to seat her in her armchair. He crouched before her, gripping her hands in his own.
“There’s been a shooting Betty. Fred and Joanie are dead.”
She shook her head, shaking her silver hair free from its neat little bun. “No, not more death. Why would anybody shoot Fred and Joanie? And why are these people in my house?”
“They’re checking all the cottages to make sure the danger’s gone.”
“I want Adam, can you fetch him for me please?”
Craig looked up at one of the armed officers, who shook his head.
“Betty, I need you to listen to me very carefully. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this but Adam’s dead.”
“Don’t be silly Craig. He’s fine.”
He sighed, wondering why this had landed on his shoulders. Why had he come here this weekend? “He shot himself Betty. He was the one who killed Joanie and Fred.”
Betty released his hands and recoiled from him. “No, he wouldn’t. My Adam’s a gentle boy, he wouldn’t shoot anyone. He doesn’t even know how to use a gun.”
“These officers found him upstairs with the murder weapon Betty. He shot himself,” he said as gently as he could, but nothing could take the agony out of those words.
“No,” she screamed, her spittle landing on his face. “You’re lying. He wouldn’t.”
“It wasn’t his fault, he’s not been well.”
“He was fine, he was taking his medication. He was back at college.”
“I know this is a shock Betty but…”
She threw back her head and released a horrible, heart-wrenching wail that disturbed even the most hardened of officers.
“Fetch Jeanette Oswald from the pub. She’s a good friend of Betty’s,” he told a young female PC who nodded, her gun clutched tightly in her hands as she rushed out to obey. Craig hoped she didn’t scare the shit out of the villagers. He waited with Betty, feeling completely useless as she continued to scream and cry, demanding her grandson. It was a relief when Jeanette arrived and she took over trying to comfort her.
“Do you want to see upstairs?” Thorne asked him quietly.
“No but I suppose I should.”
They walked up the narrow staircase in single file and stopped just outside Adam’s bedroom. The door was wide open so they had a plain view inside.
Adam was crumpled in a heap on the bed, one side of his head blown away, blood and brains up the walls, just like Fred’s cottage.
“Shit,” Craig sighed.
“Did you know him well?” said Thorne, indicating Adam’s body.
“Most of my life. He was a paranoid schizophrenic but he was doing well on his medication. I didn’t think he had this in him.”
“Long range sniper rifle,” said one of the officers, indicating the murder weapon lying on the floor. “High accuracy bolt-action sniper system. There’s a perfect view of the McNab’s cottage from this window.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” said Craig, trying not to inhale the stench of blood. “How would Adam get hold of a weapon like that?”
“Weapon of choice of the British Army,” replied Thorne. “It’s amazing what you can find if you’re determined enough.”
“He was a college student with no military training.”
“It was an easy shot, less than a hundred yards, calm weather and there’s plenty of woods around here he could have practiced in.”
“I suppose,” mumbled Craig, not at all happy. “I want the scene gone over with a fine toothcomb and Adam checked for gunshot residue.”
“I do believe it should be me issuing those orders,” said a voice.
Craig sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sergeant Hughes, or the fud as he was known locally. He’d taken over as sergeant when Craig left for Glasgow and he thought he was the dog’s gonads, even though he was completely useless. His stupidity had allowed Mad Mandy to escape custody, putting Freya in danger, but by some miracle he’d managed to cling onto his job.
Craig spun round, bristling with hostility just at the sound of his voice. He’d never forgive him for what he’d allowed to happen to his wife. “Are you a detective? No. You’re uniform so do your job and start preserving the scene.”
“I will not be spoken to like that,” huffed the wee man.
“Then I suggest you fuck off,” growled Craig, infuriated by the man’s idiocy. Three people he’d known his whole life were dead, someone had shot at him and this pompous little prick wanted his ego stroking.
“What a wee bawbag,” said Thorne as Hughes strode out of the room, cheeks burning with fury and humiliation.
“He is and he’s a sneaky little backstabbing bastard too so watch yourself.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’m sorry, this is one fucked-up situation.”
Craig nodded. “You’re right there but then again, this village has a long history of fucked-up situations.”
As this wasn’t his jurisdiction Craig exited the house when the local detectives arrived, stunned by what they were confronted with.
“Sarge,” called a voice.
Craig was very glad to see PC’s Steve McKay and Gary Reid approaching. Whereas Steve was tall and willowy with dark hair, Gary was squatter and sturdier with no hair. They’d both worked with him when he’d been sergeant here and he liked and respected them as colleagues as well as friends. He’d never been more pleased to see them.
“Bloody hell. I might have known you’d be here,” said Gary not very diplomatically.
“Shut it you daftie,” chided Steve.
“He’s right,” said Craig as he shook their hands.
“Is Freya here?” said Gary a little too eagerly.
Craig was well aware he’d had a crush on her for ages, but he wasn’t jealous, he saw it only as a well-deserved compliment to Freya. “No, thank God. She and Petie are back in Glasgow.”
“That’s lucky. At least she’ll know bad things don’t happen because of her now,” said Gary.
“Yeah, there is that.”
“So what’s happened?” said Steve. “All we’ve been told is that there was a shooting.”
“There was. Apparently Adam shot Fred and Joanie through the window of their cottage with a sniper rifle then shot at me, Jimmy and Bill when we went in to check on them. Then he shot himself in the head.”
“No fucking way,” they both said in unison.
“That’s just what I was thinking,” replied Craig, looking up at Adam’s bedroom window.
“Is the fud here?” said Gary.
“Afraid so, probably pissing off a lot of armed officers.”
“Hopefully one of them will shoot him,” said Gary. “Sorry,” he added when they both looked at him aghast, astonished by his tactlessness.
The man himself emerged from the house. “What are you two doing standing about chatting when there’s work to be done?” Hughes demanded of Gary and Steve.
“The Sarge was just giving us some background,” replied Steve.
“You don’t need any background. All you need to do is guard the crime scenes. You two stay here, I’ll take the McNab house. Okay?”
Gary clicked his heels together and saluted him. “Yes Mein Commandant.”
“Don’t be a smart arse, you haven’t got the brain capacity,” muttered Hughes as he strode past them towards the McNab’s cottage.
“How has he still got a job?” said Craig, glowering at Hughes’s retreating back.
“Friends in high places. One day he’ll do something that not even the Chief Constable can protect him from,” replied Steve.
“Talking of happier things, you’ll never guess Sarge. Steve’s getting married,” said Gary.
“That’s great news. Congratulations,” Craig smiled, shaking his hand. “Who to?”
“A real woman,” Gary re
plied, as though he couldn’t believe it.
Steve gave his colleague a snooty look before turning his attention back to Craig. “Her name’s Monica and she’s gorgeous.”
“It’s true, she is. I don’t know what she sees in this string bean,” said Gary.
“Maybe it’s because I have an IQ higher than a can of lager.”
Before the bickering could continue Hughes bellowed at them from across the road, “get to work.”
Muttering oaths to themselves they wandered off to carry out their orders, leaving Craig to stare up at the window of Adam’s bedroom. Something wasn’t right.
CHAPTER 6
Graeme was virtually ignored by the armed officers. After being frisked he was ushered into the pub with the rest of the villagers who’d been rounded up while every building was checked in case there was more than one gunman. Toby grumbled the entire time, complaining that being searched by a burly armed officer was an infringement of his human rights then vocalising loudly that they had no right to hold them prisoner, even if the prison was a fully stocked pub.
“Give it a rest will you?” sighed Graeme, squeezing through the crowd gathered at the windows to watch the circus. “They’re just doing their jobs.” He made himself a promise that as soon as he recommenced his great work this arsehole would be the first on the list, he felt he would be doing the entire country a service.
Graeme listened to the wild rumours put forth by the villagers as he nursed his whisky, most of which seemed to centre around Adam. They were all unable to figure out whether he was a victim or the perpetrator. Everyone had noticed the peculiar concentration of officers around his cottage, had seen a distraught Betty being escorted out and taken away in an ambulance. Some of the villagers were sat quietly in a corner, teary-eyed. They’d heard Joanie and Fred were dead and they mourned them.
When an exhausted Bill walked in they all congregated around him, demanding to know what was going on.
“Where’s my Craig?” said Nora, clutching onto the front of Bill’s shirt, balancing on her crutches.
“He’s fine, he’s a hero actually, he saved mine and Jimmy’s lives. He’s out there helping the police. Jimmy’s been taken to hospital, he got shot in the arm. It was just a nick though, he’ll be fine.”
Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Page 4