Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) Read online

  With a heavy sigh he set off down the street, eyes flicking to the rear-view mirror to keep Freya and Petie in his line of sight until they’d disappeared from view.

  The journey to Blair Dubh was only an hour and a half but it felt like a world away. As he drove through the bustling town of Largs, Craig started to feel grim. After Largs he would pass through Fairlie then he’d be at Blair Dubh, the place that had tried to kill his wife more than once. He fucking hated it.

  Eventually he came to the turn-off for the village, an uneven single track road, dreading the moment Blair Dubh would be laid out before him.

  A combination of loathing and acidic bile churned in his stomach. Superficially the village was very pretty - the immaculate whitewashed cottages looked out over the Clyde estuary, the mountains of the island of Arran standing out against the fierce orange sky. Ever since Martin Lynch and Father Logan’s crimes had come to light the village had prospered as a site of pilgrimage for true crime fanatics. John Docherty murdering a police officer and attempting to kill Freya had only added fuel to the fire and this little village was famous, or rather infamous.

  The village had been given a facelift and the shop had practically disappeared beneath colourful hanging baskets that were starting to turn brown as summer began to fade into autumn. The cottages all sparkled in the sunlight, standing proud in their new coats of white paint. The attractive front was misleading because beneath the façade the entire village was rotten, eaten away from the inside by the evil that dwelt here.

  The pub was the only thing that let the village down. Its old white paint was blistered and peeling, all its flower baskets were dead and slates were missing from the roof. Craig frowned. Usually the landlord made a point of keeping his establishment pristine. He wondered what had changed?

  He left his car on the car park beside the pub, the warm breeze whipping his face. It was late August but still hot and humid. The air around him felt electric, as though it was building up to something big and his heart sank. This time of year the village, always prone to extremes of weather, was usually plagued by thunderstorms. At least there was no threat of the road being cut off by the rising tide so he could make a quick getaway if it became necessary.

  After pulling his overnight bag out of the boot he strolled down the road towards his mother’s cottage.

  The tourist season was drawing to a close but the small shop was still stocked with murder paraphernalia. Glowering mug shots of Docherty and Mad Mandy had joined the ranks of Logan and Lynch, printed on t-shirts, mugs, key-rings and bookmarks. It boggled the mind to think that all four of them had tried to kill his wife. Three out of four of them were dead, only Mandy still living, if it could be called that, in a mental hospital, mad as a box of frogs. Sometimes the hospital called to ask if he could visit her, they thought his presence might help her progress but he always refused. She’d helped Docherty try to kill Freya therefore he wanted nothing to do with her.

  Craig paused to stare down to the dock that ran out from behind the pub and plunged into the water, towards the shingle where Docherty had almost strangled Freya with Mandy cheering him on. He squinted at the figures gathered at the end of the dock, staring down at that very spot.

  “Bloody Toby,” he muttered. He was still running his stupid murder tours. It was tempting to go down there and give him a gobful but he was here for his mum so he bottled up his anger and crossed the one and only street in the village to the cottage where he’d grown up.

  He knocked on the door, which was opened by Lizzy Clark, lifelong Blair Dubh resident. Craig wasn’t surprised to see her here. Although she had retired from nursing she still tended to the village residents. Her role was an important one in such an isolated community and she took pride in her position.

  Her chunky body filled the doorway. She blinked up at him from beneath a frizzy ginger fringe.

  “Craig. Oh you’re a good boy, I knew you’d come,” she smiled.

  “How’s the patient?” he said, stepping inside.

  “Prickly.”

  “I heard that,” called an imperious voice from within the house.

  “You were supposed to,” Lizzy called back. “Honestly Craig, she’s so crabbit being stuck with only one good leg.”

  “Can’t say I blame her. Hi Mum,” he said, walking into the small, cosy living room.

  “Craig,” beamed a delighted Nora. She was sat in her armchair in the corner of the room beneath the lamp, left foot resting on a footstool, her ankle bandaged. A pair of crutches were propped up against the wall behind her.

  Nora looked past him, disappointed when Petie and Freya didn’t follow him in.

  “Sorry,” he said awkwardly.

  “Oh,” she sighed, the smile faltering. She forced it back on her face. “That’s okay, at least you’re here.”

  He bent to kiss her cheek then sat on the couch and regarded her bandaged ankle. “What happened?”

  “I took a tumble down the stairs. I know, I’m a silly old bat.”

  “Jeezo Mum, how did you manage that?”

  “No idea, I just sort of went. It was probably my slippers, all the grips have gone on the soles. I’ll get myself a new pair just as soon as I can get to the shops.”

  “I offered to pick a pair up for her but apparently I don’t have enough taste to buy slippers,” sniffed Lizzy.

  Craig took in her dowdy flowery pink and yellow dress and decided not to comment. “Are you sure it was the slippers Mum? Have you been unsteady on your feet lately?”

  “No I bloody well haven’t. Trying to get me in an old folk’s home already?”

  “I wouldn’t dare. I just worry about you here alone.”

  “I’m not alone, I’ve got the whole village. You might have forgotten about real community values living in the big city but here in Blair Dubh we look after each other.”

  There was an embarrassed silence, the three of them looking everywhere but at each other.

  “I just meant you’re alone in the house, that’s all,” mumbled Craig. The feeling of guilt was getting stronger, he felt rotten for leaving his mum all alone out here. Blair Dubh wasn’t far from Glasgow but it was such an odd place that it could feel like the other side of the world. Already Freya and Petie felt so far from him.

  “Well, errr, I need to get home and get Jimmy’s dinner on,” said Lizzy before rushing out, the front door slamming shut behind her.

  “I think we made her uncomfortable,” said Craig.

  Nora shrugged. “She’ll live.”

  Craig knew something had changed between him and his mum. He hated the place he’d been born and raised in, the place she’d devoted her life to, and that had put a barrier between them. It pained them both that their once close relationship was slowly being eroded away. Nora did her best to understand why they wouldn’t bring her grandson to see her but it still hurt.

  “I’d offer to make you a brew but, you know,” shrugged Nora, gesturing to her foot.

  Craig was becoming increasingly concerned. His mum had always been full of life and vitality and now she looked like she couldn’t be bothered with anything. Apathy oozed out of her. “I’ll do it,” he said. “Do you want one?”

  “No, I’ve just had one. There’s nothing much to do when you’re laid up except read, watch the telly and drink gallons of bloody tea.” She folded her arms across her chest and looked away from him, trying to disguise her anger but unable to.

  Craig broke the awkward moment by producing some photos of Petie from his jacket pocket. “I brought you these.”

  Her eyes lit up and she snatched them off him. “Are these mine to keep?”

  “They are.”

  “Look at the wee man.” Her smile fell. “He’s walking already?”

  “He is,” Craig said proudly.

  “I’m missing so much,” she rasped.

  The uncomfortable silence returned, filling the room as she stared sadly at the pictures.

  “I’ll go and make the
tea,” he said, hurrying into the kitchen. It pained him when he realised he was relieved to be out of his mum’s sour presence.

  Craig sat on the edge of the bed in his old bedroom, pissed off and wishing he was back in Glasgow. Days off work were precious enough and now he had to spend one of them squirming through awkward silences and scolding looks. It also felt to be getting even warmer, his skin hot and prickly with sweat. He took out his phone, needing to hear his wife’s voice.

  “Craig, are you okay?” said Freya the moment she answered the phone.

  “Fine. No one’s dead yet. How’s Petie?” He smiled at the sound of his son’s excited babble in the background. “I miss you both already. I can’t wait to get home.”

  “We miss you too. How’s Nora?”

  “Oh, okay. You know her, she’s a trooper.”

  “Aye she is.”

  “I think I’ll nip across to the pub later, show everyone the photos of Petie.”

  “Say hello from me.”

  “I will.”

  “Craig,” yelled a voice from below.

  He sighed. “I’ve got to go babe, Her Majesty’s calling.”

  “Go easy on her, anyone would be grouchy in her position.”

  “I’m trying. Bye. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  “Craig,” yelled Nora.

  “Coming,” he yelled back, shoving his phone into the pocket of his jeans and jogging downstairs. “What is it Mum?” he said as he entered the living room.

  “I can’t reach the remote control.”

  It was perched on the arm of the couch and he was sure if she’d tried she could have reached it. “There you go,” he said, handing it to her.

  “Thanks love. Who were you talking to?”

  “Freya. Just letting her know I arrived safely.”

  “And that you’re still alive,” she said scornfully. She sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s okay. How about some lunch?”

  “I’ll just have a tuna sandwich with a few tomatoes on the side.”

  “That’s not like you. Every meal’s normally two courses.”

  “What are you trying to say?” she frowned.

  “Nothing. I just don’t want you going off your food.”

  “I’m not, I just want a sandwich,” she snapped.

  Craig held up his hands. “Alright, take it easy.”

  “I’m not burning many calories sitting here on my backside you know.”

  “There’s no need to be like that. I’ve come here to see you.”

  “Well maybe you should come more often.”

  Guilty silence filled the room, punctuated by Nora’s angry breathing. Craig stared awkwardly at his hands.

  “I’m sorry, it is a while since I last visited,” he eventually said. “But I’ve not had any time off work for ages with everyone getting ill.”

  “Couldn’t Freya bring Petie to see me? It’s not far.”

  “She’s not had her driving licence long, she hasn’t the confidence to drive from Glasgow.”

  “She could get on the train.”

  “Mum, that would be such hard work with a young child. She’d have to get a taxi to the station, get on the train then get off at Largs and get another taxi here dragging Petie’s pushchair and all his stuff. We told you you’re always welcome to come to us but you keep turning us down.”

  “I’m not as young as I used to be Craig, it’s hard work for me too.”

  He took in a slow, deep breath. “I’m sorry about that but we’re skirting the issue. You know she won’t bring him here and who can blame her? I don’t know how you can stay here after she was nearly murdered twice.”

  “That wasn’t the village. You can’t blame Blair Dubh for that.”

  “Freya does and I can understand why and I’d expect you to have more compassion for her.”

  She gave him a sad, weary look. “Maybe I’ve run out of compassion?”

  Craig’s anger spiked. “I don’t believe this. You know what she’s been through. Her life is finally as she wants it and she’s not going to let anything spoil it. She’s trying to protect her child. You’re a mum, you must be able to understand that.”

  Nora cast her eyes to the floor knowing she was at fault but unable to concede she was wrong. Craig shook his head, got up and went into the kitchen to make her sandwich, closing the door behind him so she wouldn’t see how angry he was. She was cranky and frustrated being laid up with her bad ankle, he’d be lashing out too if he was in her position, but not at Freya. She’d suffered enough and he wasn’t going to let his mum give her a hard time.

  He buttered the bread angrily, accidentally tearing a hole in it. He grunted in irritation, threw it into the bin and started again. His mum had disappointed him, he’d expected more from her.

  “There’s your sandwich,” he said, returning to the sitting room with it on a plate and dumping it on the table next to her chair.

  “Thanks,” she quietly replied.

  Ill feeling filled the air and they both wanted to clear it but both were equally stubborn.

  “If you’ll be okay for an hour or two I thought I’d nip across the road to the pub and say hello.”

  For a moment it looked like Nora was going to object and Craig felt even worse for being desperate to escape the house. Instead she released a martyred sigh and nodded. “Feel free. Don’t let me stop you.”

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “Thanks Mum. I’ll take the pictures of Petie to show. Don’t worry, I’ll bring them back.”

  Nora opened her mouth to object when he snatched up her photos, grabbed his jacket and left, but he was out the door before she could say another word.

  CHAPTER 3

  Craig was greeted by a hearty cheer when he entered the pub. As usual the men were crowded around the L-shaped bar while the women sat in small groups at the tables.

  Gordon as ever was standing sentinel behind the bar. “Craig, good to see you again,” he smiled. “Brought the family this time?”

  “No,” he replied, colouring slightly. “You know how it is.”

  They all looked vaguely disappointed, although Lizzy must have told them by now that Freya and Petie weren’t with him.

  “Pint?” said Gordon.

  Craig was shocked by the landlord’s appearance. After he’d discovered his beloved wife Isla - who he thought had run off years ago - had in fact been buried alive in the village graveyard by Father Logan, he’d gone into a decline. The last time Craig had seen him he’d lost weight and his hair had thinned but he was practically bald and his clothes hung off his thin body. He’d always been a big, hearty man but now he was half the man he used to be, literally. Neither did it appear that he’d bought new clothes to accommodate his skinny frame. In fact they were so old they were frayed at the elbows and knees. His skin was pale and pasty, as though he didn’t get out much and his eyes were sunken and hollow. Even his voice had lost its deep timbre.

  “Please Gordon,” Craig replied, settling onto a stool.

  “How’s the bairn?” said Bill Miller, a huge bear of a man with an even bigger beard.

  Craig had thought he’d feel awkward being around Bill but he didn’t. Bill had taken John Docherty into the woods, killed him then made it look like an accident. Craig knew this but he’d never said a word. As far as the world was concerned Docherty had tried to escape, fallen down a ravine in the woods and broken his neck. In the village only himself, Bill and Jimmy - who was there with Bill at the time - knew what had really happened. Craig would always be grateful to him because Docherty had sworn he wouldn’t stop coming after Freya until she was dead.

  “Petie’s great. He’s walking now,” said Craig proudly.

  “And Freya?” said Bill as everyone gathered round to listen. That was the way in this pub - one person held court while the others listened, taking it in turns to talk.

  “She’s good. Back at work now Petie’s in nursery. How’s everyone bee
n?” he said, attempting to deflect the conversation away from himself.

  “Fine, apart from your mum taking a tumble down the stairs,” said Jimmy Clark, Bill’s best friend and Lizzy’s husband.

  “No mad killers on the loose,” said Bill with a grim smile. “You can tell Freya it’s safe.”

  “Even if I did it wouldn’t make a difference.”

  “So she’s really never coming back?” said Howard, a short, portly man and another lifelong Blair Dubh resident.

  “Never say never,” replied Craig enigmatically.

  “Who can blame her after the horrible things she’s gone through here,” said Lizzy. “This village ruined her life.” She patted Craig’s hand. “Things got better for her when you two met up again.”

  Craig and Freya had been best friends as children until Freya had been torn from the village when she was eleven by Social Services after the murder of her mother. She’d been dumped on relatives in Glasgow, who’d resented a damaged child intruding on their lives and her own life had gone into a decline. It had taken her years to drag herself out of the gutter.

  “Is Toby still not welcome in here?” said Craig in another attempt to change the subject.

  Gordon shook his head angrily. “The prick’s still running his murder tours. After John Docherty he’s busier than ever, cashing in on other people’s pain. None of us have anything to do with him anymore but he doesn’t care, he’s too busy making money.”

  “He’s a leech living off grief and darkness,” said Jeanette, the small, elderly, bird-like woman who ran the shop.

  “I noticed the souvenirs in your shop window,” frowned Craig, her hypocrisy astounding him.

  She coloured and looked away.

  “Who are they?” Craig asked when he noticed a man and woman sitting together at the back of the room, whispering to each other and blatantly staring at him.

  “Tourists,” said Gordon, voice strengthened with disgust. “They were on Toby’s murder tour. They’re probably wetting themselves to see you here. Oh no you don’t,” called Gordon, voice ringing out loud and clear across the pub.