The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (10 page)

“That’s good,” smiled Freya. “Lynch must have poisoned his mind.”

“Probably. He’s a good lad, it’s not his fault he was ill.” Nora was in her element. Although Blair Dubh was barely ninety minutes from Glasgow and she saw her son and daughter-in-law regularly, she still missed them like crazy. They were the only family she had left and they both meant the world to her. When Craig had first got together with Freya she hadn’t approved. Freya was severely traumatised after suffering years of misery and was fighting her alcohol addiction. But she had tremendous inner strength and managed to claw her way out of the gutter. Now she was a happy well-adjusted woman who had dedicated her life to helping others who were going through what she had and by all accounts she was very good at it. Craig had been a large part of that transformation, as well as Father Logan finally being recognised as the murdering pig he really was. Freya was good for Craig too, Nora had never seen her son so happy and when he looked at his wife he got a soppy look in his eyes that made Nora smile. Now all they needed to complete their happiness was a bairn but so far nothing. Nora herself craved a grandchild but kept her disappointment that one had not yet arrived to herself. Piling more pressure on them would not help.

Freya tried to fight the urge but after two cups of tea she was bursting to use the toilet. But that would mean going upstairs where a serial killer had tried to murder her. The apprehension made her feel sick but she couldn’t sit there and wet herself. She toyed with the idea of nipping down the road to use the pub’s toilet but thought that would be silly. She’d conquered so much, she could conquer this.

Freya got to her feet. “Excuse me, I need to use the bathroom,” she announced.

“Want me to come with you?” offered Craig.

“Thank you but I can go to the toilet on my own.”

“I know but after what happened up there…”

“I’ll be fine.”

They watched her go with anxious eyes and she tried to walk confidently, so they wouldn’t realise how much her stomach was churning.

She stared up the steep narrow steps. From here it was impossible to see the doors of the rooms leading off the upper corridor and this made her nervous, as though she was walking into the unknown.

“Are you okay?” called Craig.

She almost jumped out of her skin. “Fine,” she snapped back.

Freya’s heart fluttered as she mounted the stairs, hesitating at the top when she came across the spot on the landing where she’d dragged herself after being attacked by Martin Lynch, beaten and half-choked. She jumped at the creak of a floorboard, her eyes flying to the open doorway leading into the spare bedroom where the attack had begun, expecting to see Lynch there, bloodied and wild-eyed, but there was nothing because he was dead, drowned in the sea. However no one was ever truly gone in Blair Dubh. The last time she’d been here she’d often felt Logan’s spectre and she guessed Lynch was still here too, the diabolical pair haunting the village, unwilling to let go, staking eternal claim to their victims. The thought caused her spine to ripple with unease.

She hurried into the bathroom and locked the door, refusing to succumb to the dread wanting to smother her. She would not fear the dead anymore. In her experience it was the living you should be worried about.

“Freya, you okay?” Craig called up the stairs.

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. She was a very lucky woman. “Yes,” she called back.

After washing her hands she returned downstairs to find Craig and Nora in the sitting room, anxiously awaiting her return.

“Are you two alright?” she smiled. “You look like you’re waiting to see the head teacher.”

“Aye we’re fine, but are you?” said Nora.

“Yes. Honestly,” she added when they appeared doubtful.

“I should have sold the house but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I feel closer to your dad here,” said Nora. Pete Donaldson had died of cancer a few months before the Martin Lynch episode and Nora had never got over his loss.

“Don’t be daft,” said Freya. “This is your home, Craig grew up here. There’s no need to sell it, I can cope.”

“Good. In that case how about dinner?” said Nora, looking more cheerful. “I’ve got some pork chops that need eating up, they’re getting close to their sell by date.”

“Old meat. I can’t wait,” said Craig.

“You can always go hungry if you like,” retorted Nora. “Just for that you can nip to the shop for some milk and see if they’ve got anything nice for pudding.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “Send out the poor hardworking sailor.”

“Hard working?” said Nora. “You’ve only been on the water a couple of hours. I bet Shackleton’s turning in his grave.”

“Who?”

“He was an explorer. Never mind. Now go on so me and Freya can get dinner ready.”

CHAPTER 11

Craig exited the house and strolled up the road with his hands stuffed into his jean’s pockets. He wished he’d changed into shorts, he was baking. Out on the water the jeans had protected him from the breeze but it was stifling here, the air struggling to make it through from the water to the main street, the line of houses on the shore front blocking it. Everyone in Blair Dubh loved the water, except Freya, which explained why the street was so quiet. They were all out on their boats or fishing.

The Elemental incident had generated international interest and radically altered the village. A lot of ghouls had been attracted to Blair Dubh when the story had broke, eager to see the village that had spawned two serial killers, both supposedly respectable pillars of the community, consequently the village had prospered. The shop’s sad lack lustre exterior had been livened up with so much whitewash it was difficult to look at it in the sunshine without squinting. Flower baskets and window boxes bursting with colours adorned its frontage. The castle too was looking in much better shape. Finally all its repairs had been completed, the scaffolding taken down.

Inside the shop was a veritable cave of wonders. The last time he’d been in here the shelves had been half-empty, what items were on display looking limp and unappetising but now tourist paraphernalia was stuffed into every available space.

He frowned at a display of postcards on which were printed the words,
I survived Blair Dubh
, on top of a fiery orange background. Craig thought it in very bad taste. Martin Lynch and Father Logan had set two of their victims on fire, he was amazed this was allowed.

The guidebooks printed in French, Italian and German just went to show how wide-reaching The Elemental case had been. The residents, trapped in the village with a murderer on the loose, had been completely unaware their story was being broadcast around Europe, the public making bets on who the killer was from the small amount of information passed to them through the media. It had astonished all the villagers when the siege finally came to an end. Most of the bets had been placed on Freya herself being the killer, closely followed by Bill Miller, the husband of one of the victims and Gordon James, the pub landlord. Very few had considered that Martin Lynch, the handsome young GP, was the culprit. Some even had the cheek to moan about the money they’d lost betting against him, as if that was more important than the lives that had been stolen. It was completely insane.

There were bookmarks, key rings and fridge magnets too with the same fiery orange background, the slogans varying. Also on display were books that had been written about Logan and Lynch, their glowering images on the covers, killers over a decade apart united in death. Craig glared at the picture of Martin Lynch, who he’d grown up with and considered to be a friend. He was tempted to knock over the stand and destroy the repulsive items but he pushed his annoyance aside. This holiday was about him and Freya relaxing and with a bit of luck making a baby, so he turned his back on the gruesome trinkets and concentrated on his shopping list instead.

He found the milk quickly enough but it took him longer to select a dessert from the delicious range of homemade fayre. Because it was so hot he had thought he’d just get some ice cream, but he was sorely tempted by a golden apple pie as well as a mouth-watering chocolate cake.

A giant of a man with a big black bushy beard entered the shop wearing a t-shirt, long baggy shorts revealing huge calves and a captain’s hat set at a jaunty angle atop his large head, the face rugged and craggy from years of salt spray.

“Craig, good to see you,” he beamed, vigorously shaking his hand. “I didn’t know you were back.”

“Hi Bill, good to see you too. We’ve just arrived. I’ve got a few days off work so we hired a wee boat, only Freya didn’t really take to it. We’d only sailed from Inverkip when she wanted to stop.”

“A Blair Dubh girl who can’t find her sea legs. I’ve never heard of that before,” he said jovially. His smile fell and his eyes filled with concern. “How is she?”

“She’s doing really well. She’s got a great job, we have a lovely flat and she’s beaten all her demons.”

“She’ll still have the bad memories though.”

“Unfortunately there’s nothing we can do about those but she can deal with them, that’s the important thing.”

Bill nodded, looking troubled. The horrible guilt that had settled in his gut since his actions led to her being kidnapped by a serial killer had taken root and he knew he was stuck with it for life, as was only right, it was his punishment, despite his contribution to her rescue.

“She’s okay Bill. Really,” Craig added when he saw the shame in his eyes.

Bill nodded, forcing a smile. “So Nora sent you out for provisions, did she?”

“Yep. I can’t decide between the apple pie and the chocolate cake.”

“Get the pie, it’s bloody gorgeous.”

“Alright, I will. Thanks. What’s with the beard?”

Thoughtfully he ran a hand over it. “I stopped shaving when Bren died and it was easier to let it grow, I didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. I became quite attached to it so I decided to keep it, new start and all that.” Bill’s wife Brenda had been Martin Lynch’s third victim and he’d never recovered from her loss. Mad with grief he’d been convinced Freya was responsible and, with the help of some of the other village men, he’d locked her in the pub cellar. Martin Lynch abducted her from the cellar and almost buried her alive in the castle oubliette.

Bill left the shop without buying anything, shoulders slumped. Craig watched him go, thinking how Freya’s return was going to bring back a lot of bad memories the residents of Blair Dubh would much rather forget, just like her last visit had and look what happened there. He began to wonder at the wisdom of their stay here but this was where they’d both been raised, his mum lived here. They had every right to visit. Jeanette, the small bird-like woman who owned the shop greeted him cordially enough when he took his apple pie to the till, asking him about his life in Glasgow as she rang through his purchases. If all the villagers were as friendly as her and Bill then they shouldn’t have a problem.

“Still no sign of my grandchild?” said Nora as she put the seasoned pork in the oven.

“Not yet I’m afraid,” replied Freya, trying to sound cheerier than she felt. She knew Nora was itching to be a grandma and the guilt plagued her that she hadn’t been able to make that wish come true for her. Paradoxically, she felt even more guilty knowing Craig was the one with the problem.

“At least you’re having fun trying,” said Nora saucily, making Freya blush, “and you’ve still got your freedom. All that goes out the window when you’ve got a bairn. No more nights out or spontaneous trips away.” She smiled at Freya’s back, who was busily preparing the carrots, tactfully remaining silence. “I don’t want you feeling bad Freya. Back in your drinking days you didn’t know that you’d want babies in the future. I suppose things were so bleak you never thought you’d ever feel happy again.”

Freya just nodded. They hadn’t told Nora about their visit to the doctor yet and Freya wasn’t sure she could face discussing it, she couldn’t bear the pain in Craig’s eyes whenever it was mentioned. She wanted it to remain their little secret. It was fine with her if the rest of the world continued to think it was her fault.

Nora for her part was despairing of ever becoming a grandmother, the longing was almost as strong as when she’d wanted to be a mother. When she’d got married she’d dreamed of a house full of babies, but Craig’s difficult birth had put paid to that. She hadn’t been able to get pregnant again and she’d been heartbroken. She was aware Freya yearned to be a mother as much as she had and knew it must be agony for her being unable to perform the most basic function of a female. At least Nora had a child of her own whom she’d doted on since the day he was born and who had grown into a man to be proud of. She’d passed the hope of filling her home with children onto him, envisioned her son and daughter-in-law visiting every weekend and bringing their brood with them who would tear into the house and throw themselves at her for cuddles, bringing this lovely family home back to life. The shame knowing that she resented Freya just a little bit for spoiling her new dream was a constant niggle. But Freya had destroyed such a precious gift with drink and drugs, a gift many women would have given their right arm for.

Freya was relieved when Craig returned with dessert, forcing Nora to drop the subject.

“I got apple pie,” he said cheerfully, holding out his offering to his mum.

Nora nodded appreciatively. “It looks beautiful. Well done.”

Freya found it amusing that Nora congratulated her son on buying a pudding when he’d taken down two serial killers. The first he’d captured had been in Inverness where he’d lived before moving back to Blair Dubh, which had led to him meeting up with Freya again, his childhood friend.

They caught up while they ate, gentle chit chat that didn’t touch upon the subject of children, to Freya’s relief. As usual Nora probed Craig for details about the cases he was working on, especially, the murdered fifteen year old boy, which had been all over the news. Gently and expertly he rebuffed all her attempts, making her scowl.

After lunch Craig was sent into the sitting room where he slumped in front of the television surrounded by half a dozen fans while Freya helped Nora clear up. To her chagrin Nora got back onto the subject of babies.

“So, is there any chance at all?” she said, plunging her hands into the washing up bowl.

Freya sighed inwardly. “The doctor said there is although it is a slim one.”

“There’s still hope then. That’s something I suppose.”

“Yes,” replied Freya, furiously scrubbing the kitchen table, hoping Craig couldn’t hear.

“It’ll happen. It’s important not to blame yourself.”

Freya wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

“It’s not Freya’s fault we can’t have a baby,” said a voice.

They both turned to see Craig framed in the doorway, looking grim.

“What do you mean?” said Nora.

Craig walked up to Freya and put his arm around her shoulders. “She’s trying to protect me and I appreciate that,” he said, smiling down at his wife. “But there’s nothing wrong with her, she’s perfectly healthy. It’s my fault.”

“It can’t be you,” retorted Nora. “You’ve always taken such good care of yourself.”

“I’ve got a low count Mum.”

“A low count? But you were always so good at maths.”

Craig rolled his eyes. “A low sperm count.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“So don’t go on at Freya about it. I’m the one with the problem.”

Nora was suitably ashamed. “I’m so sorry Freya, I just assumed.”

“It’s okay. So did we.”

“There’s always adoption.”

“Yeah,” said Craig quietly.

“No, there isn’t,” interjected Freya. “There’s no point lying to her Craig.”

“Lying about what?” said Nora.

“We can’t adopt because of my criminal record and history of anger issues,” said Freya, her words coming out strong despite the pain inside. “So there’s a good chance we’ll never have a baby. I’m sorry Nora but you’re going to have to face up to the fact just like we’re trying to do.”

“They can do things with test tubes these days, there’s always that.”

“We’ve opted for IVF but there’s a two year waiting list for treatment and it’s not guaranteed to work,” said Craig, wishing she’d shut up about it.

Nora’s heart went out to them both standing there together looking completely wretched. “I’m sorry, here’s me bleating on while you two must be heartbroken,” she said, embracing them both with soapy hands.

Freya hugged her back, on the verge of tears. She’d thought she could handle the situation but the disappointment in Nora’s eyes cut her deep. “I need some fresh air,” she said. “I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“I hope I haven’t upset you?” said Nora.

“No. I want to see Mum and Dad’s graves anyway.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Craig.

“Craig, I’m sorry,” Nora called as he followed Freya out the door.

“It’s alright,” he replied tightly. “We’re fine.”

Before she could say another word they’d gone.

Mandy tried not to grin with excitement. She’d done it, she was in Blair Dubh and no one had any idea why she was really here. So far so good, she hadn’t been recognised. Although it was a few years since she was last here she was certain the villagers would recall her beauty, she recalled their disbelieving looks whenever she’d spoken to them. Oh yes, they’d remember her alright if it wasn’t for her disguise but they were so stupid and inbred they hadn’t a clue.

She strolled down the main street glaring at Nora’s house from behind her sunglasses. That overweight frumpy old bat had never liked her. When Nora caught her looking at her reflection in a window or checking her make-up in her compact mirror she would snigger. How dare that hideous old crone laugh at her? She bet Nora liked Freya but then again, she clearly didn’t care about her appearance. Mandy pictured the two shrews bitching about her, laughing at how she’d been arrested. It was hard to believe a man as intelligent as Craig hadn’t seen through them both yet. She thought of the knife in her handbag and smiled. She’d fucking show them.