Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (5 page)

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.”

“It’s safe?”

“Yes it’s safe. The sniper’s dead.

“Who was it?” called out Howard.

“Adam. He killed himself.”

“Jesus Christ,” exclaimed Toby.

Absolute silence reigned as Bill related what had happened. Shock washed over the room, some vocalising their pain, others taking it silently, stoically. Despite the different reactions, all were devastated.

“Not again,” groaned Gordon from behind the bar, looking more withered than ever. This was bringing the pain of his beloved wife’s death screaming back. “What’s wrong with Blair Dubh?” he called out helplessly, addressing the entire room. “Something is seriously fucked up here.”

Many of the residents would have protested against the use of such offensive language, but they all recognised the violent emotion he was experiencing so they kept their peace.

Nora nodded sadly. Despite how much it had hurt her she was relieved Freya hadn’t wanted to bring Petie here. The sense that she’d been betrayed by her daughter-in-law ebbed away, leaving her feeling very foolish. Craig could have been shot too, he could have died today and the last words they’d ever exchanged would have been cross ones. “Because this place is evil,” she called out.

Everyone went silent and turned to regard her, including Graeme.

“We all know it but no one ever wants to say it,” she continued. “We’re all so proud of our wee village but it’s rotten. On the surface everything is so pretty and clean but underneath it’s putrid. It started with Father Logan and it got worse because we ignored what he was. We let them take Freya away, drag her kicking and screaming from here and this is our punishment. This is going to keep happening until someone does something about it.”

“And what do you suggest Nora?” said Gordon. “Dig up Logan and throw his bones into the sea?”

Nora drained her whisky and banged the glass down on a table. “Why not? Let’s dig Lynch up too while we’re at it.”

“You can’t do that, it’s a desecration,” said Mary, one of the older village residents, scandalised.

“The only desecration is those two bastards still lying up there, in our churchyard. It’s wrong.”

“No, your plan is what’s wrong Nora,” retorted Mary.

“Did those monsters try to kill your daughter-in-law and the mother of your grandchild? No,” she cried, glad she was feeling protective of Freya again. It had pained her to have bad thoughts about her.

More people joined in the debate and a furious row erupted, fuelled by the large amounts of alcohol the villagers had thrown down their necks in an attempt to soothe their nerves after this latest atrocity.

Graeme leaned back against the bar, lapping it up, enjoying listening to them argue back and forth about digging up bodies in the hope it would improve their shitty little village. No one had a clue he was at the centre of the carnage, they’d just accepted it was Adam. Their stupidity and gullibility sickened him. They were all completely useless, taking up valuable resources that could be utilised by more useful members of society. Worst of all they were infected with evil, which made it vital they were eradicated as soon as possible. When the police had gone they would be.

A flash of lightening and a rumble of thunder made his guts clench, cold sweat breaking out on his spine despite the humidity. Suddenly he was twelve again, hiding under the kitchen table, watching that big pair of boots slowly circle the room. He could hear the heavy tread as they banged off the wooden floor, louder than the thunder. He could see his father lying on that very floor, his front stained with blood, hands clutching his chest. His eyes widened. “No, please no.” Another loud rumble of thunder, a flash of lightning and his dad’s chest exploded, blood and bits of bone and flesh spraying across the wall. His cries were silenced. Permanently. Another flash of lightning, clap of thunder and his dad’s body jumped again, his head splitting apart with the force of the shot ripping its way through his skull. Graeme had clamped his hands over his nose and mouth so tightly that he couldn’t breathe.

“Graeme, you okay?”

He shook his head and found himself back in the pub in Blair Dubh, a concerned Mary frowning up at him. Nearly everyone in this village was old, anyone with youth or ambition had left the second they’d got the chance. “Yes, fine thank you.”

“You looked like you were going to pass out for a second there.”

“No, I think it’s just the shock.” His voice sounded weak and soft, as though he’d just woken up.

“Sit down and I’ll get you another,” she said, indicating his whisky glass.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, slightly confused, slumping onto a bar stool. Outside there was another crack of thunder and he jumped. It had always been this way. He could control the memories unless there was a thunderstorm, it was his Achilles heel. There had been a thunderstorm back then when he was twelve in his village in Sutherland in the far north of Scotland.

The gunman had used the thunderclaps to disguise the sound of the shots, which was why it had taken everyone so long to realise what was going on. Nine people had been murdered before the killer - a man Graeme had known since he was little - had been put down by his fellow villagers. Bill reminded him of Malcolm, he’d been big and strong with a beard too. But, unlike Bill, he’d been a loner, a recluse for years who had one day snapped for no apparent reason and gone on the rampage with his double-barrelled shotgun, a devastating weapon, which was why his father’s head and chest had exploded like fruit dropped from a great height.

“There you go,” said Mary, handing him another glass of whisky.

“Thank you.” He might want to kill the woman but there was no reason not to be civil.

Graeme forced his hand not to shake as he reached out for the glass and he was gratified when it was as steady as a rock. His mind had always had iron control over his body. It was all part of the discipline he’d carefully cultivated over the years.

“Feeling better?” said Mary.

“Much, thank you.”

“It’s getting to us all is this. My nerves are shot,” she said kindly.

Mary quickly forgot him when an exhausted-looking Craig came through the door. She joined the rest of the residents in surrounding him, demanding to know more. Nora shoved them all out of the way, barging a path through them with her crutches to embrace her son. Graeme smiled. He had to give Nora her due, she was one tough little lady. Must be where Craig got it from.

“I’m sorry,” Nora told her son, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her.

He smiled down at her. “It’s okay.”

Graeme listened to Craig address the room, who did his best to soothe the worried residents, assuring him his colleagues had everything under control. His calm, professional tone helped soothe their fears and the atmosphere in the pub was ramped down a notch. Graeme thought it a pity he had to die, he really was very good at what he did. Blackness draped itself over Graeme. If it hadn’t been for that man he’d have been close to fully executing his grand plan by now. The village wouldn’t have had a clue what he was up to and he could have continued quietly picking them off one by one. The interfering bastard had to go. It made Graeme feel powerful to think that he was the proverbial wolf among the sheep, that they had no idea the real killer sat among them and drank with them. They were all so stupid it was almost laughable. Except for Donaldson. He’d have to go first then the rest of them would be sitting ducks. Easy.

He watched with interest as Craig retreated to the back room, taking his mobile phone out of his pocket. No doubt he was going to call Freya. His loathing for the man only deepened.

Freya frantically paced her office as she listened to Craig on the other end of her mobile phone.

“Come home, now. Please,” she said.

“I can’t, I’ve got to give a statement. I’m tangled up in this investigation and I think there’s more to it. How would Adam know how to operate a sniper rifle?”

“It’s not up to you to find out, you work for Glasgow Police. Leave it to the local police to find out.”

“No one’s looking, they’re all convinced Adam’s guilty.”

“Then leave it at that and come home.”

“What if I’m right? That means there’s still a murderer here.”

“All the more reason for you to leave.”

“Freya, my mum lives here.”

She huffed out a breath and pressed a hand to her forehead. What could she say to that? “What’s the weather like?”

“Eh?” he replied, thrown by the sudden change in topic.

“What’s the weather like?”

Finally he cottoned on to what she was referring to. “It’s calm.”

“What about the heat? Is it building up? I haven’t forgotten Blair Dubh is prone to electrical storms this time of year.”

“It’s warm but there’s no storm. Babe, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s that sodding village. Come home, I’m begging you.”

“I can’t, not yet. Just give me one more day.”

Freya was close to tears. Danger was back in Blair Dubh and her husband was right in the thick of it.

“For my mum if no one else,” he pressed. “I want to make sure she’s safe.”

Freya knew she had no choice but to agree. They both felt guilty for not taking Petie to visit his gran. “Fine. You’ve got one day. If you don’t turn anything up then please come home.”

“I will. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“How can I not worry? You’re in the gateway to hell.”

“It’ll probably turn out that Adam was guilty and he killed himself because he couldn’t live with what he’d done. I just need to be sure Mum’s safe.”

“Course you do. Just for God’s sake be careful. Me and Petie need you back in one piece.”

“I will, promise. I miss you.”

“Miss you too,” she replied, smiling despite how afraid she was.

“How’s the wee man?”

“He’s great. He’s watching a puppet show at nursery today. Punch and Judy.”

“Christ, let’s hope they don’t all burst into tears. Punch and Judy’s really freaky.”

“Petie’s tough. He’s his father’s son.”

“More like his mother’s. He’ll probably end up sticking the heid on Punch if he annoys him.”

She released a giggle that quickly faded to nothing when fear gripped her heart. “Come home Craig,” she said, voice cracking.

“Are you crying?”

“No.”

“Aye ya are. Adam’s dead, the danger’s gone.”

“Yeah,” she said, convincing neither of them.

“I’ve got to go, the wee fud’s calling me.”

“Not Hughes?” she groaned.

“The very same.”

“I can’t believe he held onto his job after what he did.”

“Me neither but that’s what you get when you’re best pals with the chief constable.”

“Are Steve and Gary there?”

“They are.”

This was a bit of comfort for Freya. “How are they?”

“Good. Steve’s engaged.”

“Lovely. Give him my congratulations.”

“I will. Sorry babe, I’ve really got to go. I’ll give you a bell tonight.”

“Okay. Take care. Love you.”

“Love you too loads. Bye.”

After he’d hung up she slumped into her office chair and buried her face in her hands, fighting the urge to cry. The door opened and a big bearded man with a huge paunch and arms covered in tattoos walked in. Davey had counselled her when she was trying to wean herself off her alcohol dependency and now he was her mentor. He’d helped her train to become a drug and alcohol counsellor and he ran the centre they both worked out of.