The Drowning Tide (Blair Dubh Trilogy #2) (11 page)

Her attention was drawn by a group of people gathered on a small car park beside the pub. Curious, she strolled up to them to find out what was going on. The group was listening to an ugly man with a huge nose.

“The Elemental tour starrts herre,” he called in a ridiculously overdone Scottish accent, rolling his r’s way too much. Obviously not a native. Mandy’s interest was piqued. Craig had been a large part of The Elemental case.

“Excuse me,” she said in the false English accent she’d been practising as part of her disguise. “Is it too late to join the tour?”

He appeared annoyed by the interruption until he took in her beauty. Toby broke into an ingratiating smile. “Of course not. That will be eight poonds please. Normally it’s twelve but I’ve knocked aff a discount, just fer yoo.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a flirtatious smile, handing over the requested sum.

He retained a gentle grip on her hand. “Why don’t yoo walk oop front with me, so you get a good view af everything?”

“That’s very kind,” she replied, treating him to another flirty smile.

“What’s yoor name?” he said.

“Sandra.”

“What a pretty name. I’m Toby,” he said, dropping back into his English accent. His eyes widened when he realised what he’d done. “I mean…”

“It’s okay, I won’t give you away,” she whispered with a conspiratorial smile. The situation was ridiculous, she with her bad English accent and he with his bad Scottish one and neither of them willing to comment on it.

He returned her smile and gave her a wink. “This way please.”

Mandy accepted the arm he offered her and the two of them led the way as the tour began.

CHAPTER 12

After stopping at the shop to buy two bunches of flowers Freya and Craig walked up the hill together, hand in hand, Freya trying not to look at the castle clinging to the hillside like a giant insect.

When they reached the graveyard she placed the flowers on her parents’ graves and sat cross-legged on the warm grass before them. Craig sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. The graves were well tended, Nora coming up once a week to have a tidy up.

“I’m sorry Freya,” said Craig.

“For what?”

“Mum and for not being able to give you a baby.”

She turned her head to peck him on the lips. “I have you, that’s the most important thing.”

“God I hope you mean that.”

“I do, really.”

He kissed her neck. “Thank you.”

“You’re the person I love most in the world and I’m not giving you up for something I don’t even have.”

“I’m so scared this will split us up.”

“It won’t because we won’t let it. Do you remember the last time we were up here together, just after I came back to Blair Dubh?”

“How could I forget?”

“I was a wreck of a woman struggling with all sorts of demons and an alcohol addiction. Thanks to you I’ve beaten all that,” she said before kissing him. She pressed her forehead to his. “What would I do without you?”

He held onto her tightly, reassured that she wasn’t about to leave him.

Freya turned back round to regard the headstones. After a full minute’s silence she suddenly announced, “I want to see where Martin Lynch is buried.”

“Why?”

“I have absolutely no idea. I just know that I have to.”

“Okay,” he replied, a little baffled but willing to go along with her wishes.

“Bye Mum and Dad,” she said to the graves before getting to her feet.

Together they walked across the graveyard, Freya grasping Craig’s hand tightly as they skirted the area where Logan was buried, his magnificent monument gone, the grave left unmarked. Some of the residents had wanted him moved out of the cemetery altogether, thinking it obscene that he was allowed to rest in the same graveyard as his victims. Many of the superstitious locals had rebelled against the idea of an exhumation, afraid of tampering with the dead so he was left where he was and the villagers had to content themselves with taking away his grand memorial. As he had no living relatives there was no one to object.

Freya made a point of walking over the ground where his body lay, stomping on it hard. Craig shrugged then did the same.

They wended their way through more graves, some standing new and proud, others crumbling into dust. The village had stood here for centuries so it was getting rather full and would have to be extended. The three most recent burials - Martin Lynch’s victims - were ranged in a pleasant spot near the front of the church. Freya paused to pay her respects, thinking how close she’d come to being buried alongside them if it hadn’t been for the remarkable man holding her hand.

She was surprised when he led her out of the graveyard and into a dense patch of foliage beside the spiked metal gate marking the boundary of church property. This time right had been done by the victims and Lynch had been denied a burial with them.

“Here he is,” said Craig. “It’s still consecrated ground, just.”

“Out in the cold with the animals where he belongs.” Freya frowned at a rose left on top of the grave. “What the fuck is that doing here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s from relatives? His parents are both still living.”

Freya picked it up and hurled it into the surrounding woods. “He deserves nothing like that, nothing.”

“I quite agree.” When his mobile phone started to ring he pulled it out of his pocket, praying it wasn’t work. It was a relief when he saw it was his mum.

“I didn’t realise the time Craig. You and Freya must come back to the house right now.”

The line was crackly, the signal poor in the village, and he struggled to catch what she was saying. “Did you say we have to come back?”

“Yes, right now. There’s something I should have told you…”

The line went dead. When he tried calling back it refused to connect. “Bloody signal. That was Mum, she said we have to get back to the house right now, there’s something she needs to tell us.”

“I hope she’s not wanting to apologise again. I don’t know how many more
I’m sorry’s
I can take.”

“I don’t think it’s that. She sounded worried. Are you done here?”

She hawked deep on the back of her throat and spat on Martin’s grave. “Now I am.”

Craig spat on the grave too for good measure, after all, here lay the body of the man who had tried to kill the woman he loved. Martin’s double life had deeply upset Craig. They’d been of similar age and had grown up together, been good friends. He’d raked over his childhood many times, trying to come up with one clue to show what Martin really was but he could think of nothing. He’d always seemed so kind and friendly and was a big hit with his patients.

Craig blamed Logan for turning him into a monster. Martin had been altar boy when Logan was parish priest and had actually witnessed him burying Freya’s mother alive. That was when he’d skewed, it was the only explanation. Craig wondered how easily
he
could have been turned by Logan’s spell, he’d almost become an altar boy himself until his backchat and general love of mischief had convinced the sainted Father Logan that he was a good-for-nothing boy. Or maybe Logan saw something in Martin that he thought could be shaped? Craig could be incredibly stubborn when the urge took him, he wasn’t as malleable as Martin had been. Or maybe that wasn’t it at all and Martin had been a psychopath, or just plain evil.

He was so consumed by these thoughts that he failed to notice the large group of people entering the graveyard until Freya said, “what are they doing here?”

Craig watched, puzzled, as Toby - the Englishman with the large hooked nose and snooty demeanour - led the way, talking excitedly in the worst Scottish accent he’d ever heard.

“And herre we approoch the grrave of Father Logan, also knoon as The Elemental,” he said to what Craig deduced was a tour group. “His stoone once stood herre but one night no’ long after he was revealed as the heeinous murrderer he was a bolt of lightening struck his monument, causing it to exploode into a thousand tiny wee pieces, as thoogh God himself were declaring his disgust at one of the worrst crreatures ever to walk his grreen earrth.”

Craig cringed and looked at Freya, who was watching the scene with her mouth hanging open. He could practically feel her fury building. In response the breeze picked up, whipping her long black hair across her face. Craig could fully understand her anger, in fact he shared her feelings wholeheartedly about Toby making money from murder.

“Bastard, I’ll kill him,” she exclaimed.

She stormed back into the graveyard, Craig following.

“That’s funny Toby,” Craig called, “because it was North Ayrshire Council who took away his stone. A long way from the wrath of God.”

Instead of the shame he’d hoped to see, Toby puffed himself up with defiance. “That’s wit they told yoo.”

Freya stormed up to him and shoved him roughly in the chest, causing him to stumble over a gravestone. “You nasty little bastard, you’ve turned the murders into a business, haven’t you?”

Toby straightened himself up and turned to his tour group. “Ladees and Gentlemen, this is Freya Donaldson nee Macalister, who almost became the last victim of both Father Logan and Marrtin Lynch.”

The group released a collective gasp and began snapping photos. Enraged, she snatched a mobile phone off a woman and hurled it against a tree where it smashed.

“Hey, you can’t do that,” objected the woman in an American accent, rounding on Freya.

“Back off,” said Craig, putting himself between them.

“And this is Craig Donaldson, who was perrsonally responsible fer bringing doon Martin Lynch,” said Toby with a sweep of the hand.

There were more eager mutters and snapping of photos while the dismayed American woman retrieved her phone and attempted to force the cracked case back on.

“Stop it,” screamed Freya, turning her back on them. She marched up to Toby who held his ground, although he did look very nervous. “You fucking scumbag.”

“Calm down Freya, it’s good for the community. It’s bringing the money in,” whispered Toby, dropping back into his smooth English accent.

“You leech, you disgusting fat bloated leech, you’re actually using the deaths of three of your friends to line your own pockets. Catriona would be ashamed of you. And you said you loved her.”

Toby looked like he’d been slapped. Obviously he’d never thought of it that way before.

“You ought to be buried in the ground with your idols,” she said, gesturing at Logan’s grave.

That snapped him out of it. “Is that a threat?”

“Yes,” she said, drawing back her fist.

“Woah,” said Craig, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. “Calm down Freya.”

“She was gooing tae hit me, you all saw it,” said Toby. “I demand you arrest her.”

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” said Craig. “I suggest you take your little tour group and get tae fuck.”

“We’ve every right tae be here,” said Toby. “I’ve got official approval fer this toor. We starrt in the main street and go past Marrtin’s old hoose, past Catriona’s hoose then the Parish hoose, the castle, here, then the church. After that we go tae the pub where Brenda died then ontae where Marrtin fell into the watter.”

“It’s fucking sick,” yelled Freya, struggling in Craig’s arms. “You’re all sick.”

“I’m surprised Bill hasn’t put you in the ground, you dirty bastard,” Craig growled at Toby.

“He objected at firrst but when I got official sanction he realised therre was noothing he could dae.”

“You do all realise this freak attacked me then helped lock me up in the cellar, which almost led to me getting murdered,” Freya shouted at the tour group. “Your beloved leader is almost as sick as Martin Lynch was. In fact he’s worse because Lynch never tried to profit from anyone’s death.”

“No, he just liked tae cause them,” retorted Toby.

“Can’t you do anything?” Freya demanded of her husband.

Craig looked into her stricken face and he felt so sad knowing there was nothing. But he could put the wind up Toby. Resolution filled him. He wasn’t going to let her down again and when he nodded she smiled up at him gratefully.

“Alright Toby, if this is official let me see your documentation.”

“I don’t carry it aboot with me.”

“You should.”

“It’s at the hoose, I’ll get it later.”

“You’ll get it now.”

“If you hadnae noticed I’m in the middle of something.”

“Tough. You will show it to me. Now.”

“Hey, get off,” protested Toby when Craig took him by the elbow and steered him towards the gates, Freya following.

“He’s going to be a while I’m afraid,” Craig cheerfully called to the tour group. “I suggest you all go home and take a long hard look at your lives then ask for a refund.”

“And by the way, that’s a fake accent he’s putting on,” Freya told them, pointing at Toby. “He’s as Scottish as Big Ben.”

Mandy watched Craig and Freya usher Toby back down the hill. Both had failed to recognise her. It always hurt her to see them together and that had been especially difficult, they’d been so united in their purpose. The look in Craig’s eyes when he gazed at Freya was the hardest thing of all to take, it was so tender. He’d taken Toby away for her, because he’d upset her, and he wanted to make the man pay. If Mandy hadn’t been so certain that deep down he really loved
her
she would have thought he might hold some genuine feelings for Freya. But out of sight out of mind. Any affection he did hold for the goth slag would vanish when she was gone.

Mandy had hoped to see the bald-headed man here, she was very curious about him but so far there was no sign. For all she knew he could just be a friend of Craig’s, like he’d said, but something told her there was more to it than that.

While the rest of the tour group stood around chatting, trying to decide whether they should wait for their leader or just go, she wandered around the graveyard, staring down at the space where there used to be a stone marking the grave of Father Logan.

“I wish you’d killed her when she was a wean,” she whispered to the ground.

The warm summer breeze kicked up, scattering fallen rose petals across her path from the many bouquets lying in memory of loved ones. The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. Maybe Logan did too.

Her attention was drawn by a young couple chatting over a pair of graves.

“Excuse me, what significance do these graves have?” she asked them.

“They’re Freya’s parents,” replied the woman in a Welsh accent. Mandy thought she was extremely unattractive with her buck teeth and thick glasses. “Her dad drowned in a boating accident when she was two and her mum was the last of Father Logan’s victims. He buried her alive over there, under that big oak tree. Apparently they’d been having an affair,” she said, relishing the gory details.