Free Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) by Heather Atkinson

they?”
    Most of the room had ceased their conversations to listen.
    “You’re not wanted here either, you great big stupid stick insect,” continued Nora, jabbing her finger in Toby’s face, slurring her words slightly. “You’re even worse than they are because you’re making money out of it. You disgust me.”
    “You know what Nora, I couldn’t care less,” he sneered, throwing back his large oval head.
    “You’ve had your say Toby. Sit back down and finish your drink,” said Craig, voice heavy with warning.
    “She insulted me.”
    “No less than you deserve. I suggest you shut it and go and sit with your little friends before the rest of the village has its say because, trust me, you won’t like what you hear.”
    Gary chuckled into his pint as he watched Toby retake his seat with the two tourists, doing a good job of maintaining his dignity as the entire room stared at him.
    “Do you think it could be him?” said Gary quietly as the noise in the pub increased again now the drama was over. “What if he wants more murders to talk about on his little tour?”
    “Good theory but no. Toby’s all bluster. Underneath he’s a complete coward.”
    “Maybe you’re right. What about the tourists?”
    “Not possible. They were at Toby’s house when the shooting started, I saw them.”
    “What if they’re in it together?”
    “Interesting, but I think unlikely. What’s their motive?”
    “A cheap thrill. They might want to be part of Blair Dubh’s sick history.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh crap, Steve will be pissed off. I said I wouldn’t be long.” Hastily he downed his pint then hurried to the door. “Catch you later Sarge.”
    “Bye Gary,” Craig replied absently, his mind still ticking over the scene in Adam’s bedroom. Murder/suicide. No way, not Adam. His eyes scanned the pub, studying each person in turn. One of these people had murdered the McNabs and set up Adam to take the fall. What worried him was whether whoever was responsible was finished with Blair Dubh yet.

CHAPTER 8
     
    Graeme stood on the hilltop beside the castle, staring down at the village below. Dark was setting in, slowly encroaching over the small, steadfast cottages. The humidity had risen even more and the air felt thick in his lungs, the pressure weighing him down, making him feel sluggish. The storm was just beginning, rolling in over the sea, the odd flash of light amid the unsettled black clouds accompanied by the occasional rumble of thunder. This was just the calm before the storm.
    He closed his eyes and was once again twelve years old, hiding under the table in his parent’s kitchen, watching that huge pair of black boots pace the floor, his dad’s dead body off to one side, chest and head ruined. He’d held his breath, silent tears rolling down his face. The fear was paralysing, stopping his brain as well as his body. He’d never felt anything like it before, the fear of the dark or the certainty that a monster lived in his wardrobe didn’t even come close. He didn’t know what to do and he wished his dad would wake up and tell him.
    When those boots suddenly stopped pacing warmth seeped through his trousers. He wet himself with terror as the owner of those boots slowly lowered himself to the floor. He found himself staring into a huge, florid face with a big black beard. Drops of blood and something else that made him want to be sick were stuck in the hairs of that beard. Even more disturbing were his black eyes, which were just vacant of anything. It was then he realised monsters didn’t live in wardrobes, they lived in houses and looked like ordinary people. He could see the huge shotgun clutched in one of Malcolm’s enormous, calloused hands. The sight of it, instead of scaring him, just fascinated him. That was what had caused the terrible destruction, that long, thick lump of metal. He wondered what it would feel like to wield such power.
    Malcolm followed his line of sight. “You like