When Red Mist Rises

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Callan blew a raspberry at the state of his desk.

A couple of months ago, he’d taken it upon himself to clean his office and rid it of the mounting papers. And then Aileen had happened.

Now the mountain had piled again thanks to Mrs Douglas’s relentless cat and its mud baths in Lieutenant General Warren’s vegetable patch.

But the furry feline wasn’t the only lawbreaker in Loch Fuar now.

A shiver of apprehension zinged through his back.

‘Ye’ll meet the shredder one day, I promise ye,’ he warned the papers.

If only he could become comfortable with technology.

Aileen teased his poor tech skills often, saying her ninety-year-old gran, Siobhan, had more of a techie thumb than him.

He still hadn’t called her. Callan rolled his eyes, then smirked. He might not know much, but he now knew how to track a device using another connected to it via the cloud.

And he was damn proud of himself for that. Next time his girlfriend decided to go and get herself almost killed, he’d track her and lock her in a cell. If he let her continue on her trouble-strewn path, he’d age faster than Siobhan.

Callan refocused his attention on the computer humming in front of him. He’d put in a search for anyone who’d gone missing thirty to forty years ago.

Of course, no one might have reported this man missing, or his name might’ve got lost when the police digitalised their databases, but perusing the records was a start.

The computer spat out a list of names.

He worked through the list, eliminating all women and then anyone under the age of twenty-five.

His heart ached for the families of these people more so now that he knew how they felt. Would he ever find Blaine’s body in that vast peatland? Would he ever get to say a proper goodbye?

Half an hour later, he’d narrowed down his search to only five people who matched the description.

Then he clicked on the email the pathologist had sent him with the pictures.

His computer screen froze. ‘Damn it! No wonder I cannae use technology.’

He smacked the machine. ‘Bampot!’

A droning of a fan emitted through the thing before it heated up.

‘I dinnae want to cook omelette on ye, ye eejit!’

‘Hasn’t Aileen taught ye something about using machines?’

Rory leaned on the open door, hands in his biscuit-coloured trousers.

Callan hit print without a thought, lest the thing broke down. The only person who could repair this monstrosity lived an hour away.

The printer in the corner screeched to life.

‘Ah, Callan, I need to get Robert to take yer printer away. The next time I come here ye might be under the paper.’

‘I ken!’ Callan stalked to the printer as it spat out the pictures.

Rory dared to step in, gingerly manoeuvring around the mess on the floor.

Callan stacked the warm sheets together, letting the fresh smell of ink wash over him. Using magnets, he pinned them to the murder board.

Rory rested against Callan’s desk. ‘That’s the bog body?’

‘Aye, I’m checking the pictures against the missing person records.’

Rory hummed. ‘Baggy jeans and a loud jumper screams 1980s.’

‘So Dr Brown said.’ Callan held up the papers he’d printed off. ‘I reckon the sooner we find him, the sooner we can inform the family. I dinnae want them to find out from town gossip.’

Rory leafed through the missing-person files, then snapped them closed. ‘It’s hard to remember cases from that long ago. I would be a… let me think… sergeant then. Aye. And we had a fair share of missing people.’ He pointed to the map of Loch Fuar on Callan’s desk. ‘Found the lot, living in a lone cave by the loch, high as kites. Ten eejits.’

‘Ye hauled their arses in?’

‘You bet I did.’ Rory grinned. ‘A day after, my wife gave birth to our eldest. I took it as a good omen.’

Callan picked up the rest of the files and started going through the pictures.

Wrong hair colour, too old, too short, too tall.

Callan flipped them over.

‘What happened to the rest of these people?’ he wondered out loud.

Rory held up his hands. ‘I dinnae ken. My take is this man here’ – he pointed to a stout older man – ‘ran away. I heard his wife wasn’t the most cordial woman. According to gossip, he’s settled down in another town. Found a friendly woman and is happily coupled up.’

‘And his case is still open?’

‘If ye were hiding from an overbearing spouse, do ye want the police to find ye?’

‘Well, our bog body doesn’t match anyone from these…’ He trailed off when his eyes landed on the last file. ‘Rory, I think we found him. Lucas Fraser, aged thirty-one, was reported missing on 20th May 1981 by his parents. The police deduced no one had seen him for a week by that point. He had a brother who studied in the states, a Logan Fraser.’

Rory peered at the file. ‘Is there an address for the parents? They might be deceased now, but perhaps the neighbours know where the brother is?’

Callan stubbed a finger. ‘Aye, there is an address.’

The road wound around trees and the river. Callan sped down the curves, his car’s tyres gripping the tar perfectly. Within a couple of minutes, he parked his SUV by the kerb next to a modest house. Someone lived here for sure.

The earthy fragrance in the air and the height of the lawn meant someone had recently mowed it. The plants in the small garden swayed in the breeze, diamond-like water droplets resting on the leaves.

A car sat in the driveway and the door held a wreath with a nameplate in the centre: ‘Fraser’.

Callan frowned as he knocked on the door.

The door opened to reveal a stout woman with salt-and-pepper hair. She had an apron tied around her wide hips and a scent of sweet cinnamon emanated from her.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ She wiped the flour off her face. ‘Ye caught me in the middle of baking a batch.’

Callan held up his badge. ‘I’m DI Callan Cameron. I’m looking for Logan Fraser.’

Her eyes rounded to match her gaping lips. ‘What has he done? He just wanted those leaves to experiment, I swear. It was harmless. I keep telling him he can’t pluck flowers and leaves from our neighbour’s garden, but his passion for botany gets the better of him. He’s absent-minded sometimes.’

Callan waited for her to stop rambling. ‘I’m not here about the leaves, Mrs…?’

‘Oh!’ She dusted her hands on the apron. ‘I’m Lottie. Charlotte Fraser. Logan’s my man.’

‘I’m here about his brother, Lucas Fraser.’

Charlotte pressed her fingers to her lips. ‘You better come in,’ came the muffled invite.

The Frasers’ home reflected Logan’s love of botany, the walls painted in light green, the upholstery a darker shade. In the living room, one wall was papered with a recurring leaf design, its verdant colours drawing the eye, and numerous plants sat on the windowsill or next to the furniture.

The different shades of green in the living room, along with a subtle hint of slate grey, gave the area an earthy, calm feel, and wafts of cinnamon enticed Callan’s taste buds.

‘Log! Come out here.’ The holler assaulted Callan’s ears, but the green pillows propped up on the sofas – a lady’s touch – soaked up the vibrations.

A door somewhere in the house creaked and shut. ‘What is it, Lottie? I told ye, high decibels upset the babies.’

Babies?

‘Yer plants will do with a bit of noise,’ Charlotte harrumphed, planting her hands on her hips as a balding man with a rotund belly waddled into the room.

‘Who are ye?’ he asked without greetings.

Callan flashed his badge. ‘DI Callan Cameron. I’m here about yer brother.’

And with that, Callan watched the colour drain from the Frasers’ faces. He hated this.

He waited while Charlotte placed warm cinnamon buns and home-made cookies next to three steaming cups of tea. She seemed to want to keep busy, but he didn’t complain, knowing her fussing gave her husband time to settle.

A couple of minutes in, he had to push on.

‘We’ve found yer brother, Mr Fraser.’

Logan Fraser closed his eyes, intertwining his fingers with his wife’s. ‘During yer recent excavation at the peatland?’ His voice cracked at the end.

‘Aye and because of the peat we could identify him, but we’d appreciate it if ye’d head to the hospital and identify him formally.’ A heaviness had settled in his throat. He’d moved boulders to say those words.

How would he react when they found Blaine?

Logan’s knuckles turned white as they gripped the sofa cushion. ‘I-I…’

Callan sighed. ‘Believe it or not, Mr Fraser, I can sympathise with ye.’

Eyes glassy with tears, Logan said, ‘He was the elder one, prettier too. He looked like our maw – tall and handsome. Girls swooned when he walked by.’

Charlotte squeezed his thigh. ‘Ye’re dashing too, my love.’

He shook his head. ‘Ye never met him. He wore the charm like a bespoke jacket.’ Looking Callan in the eyes, Logan added, ‘He never brought any of them home – well, none lasted long enough. We were four years apart and never really hung out.’

Callan reached for a cookie, placing the tea aside. ‘Ye didn’t see eye to eye?’

Logan chuckled at his question. ‘Oh no, I adored my big brother. I looked like a slug next to him and it cramped his style. I liked my books, just like our paw.’

Their conversation entered a lull as Logan disappeared down memory lane, a small smile on his face. Bittersweet memories.

Callan scribbled all he’d learned about Lucas Fraser, his heart going out to the family. If or when he found Blaine, it would be like losing him all over again.

Charlotte slurped her tea, perhaps trying to swallow the tears pooling in her eyes. Tears for a man she’d never met but who was her brother-in-law.

Shoving another cookie in his mouth, Callan asked, ‘When did ye last see yer brother?’

Logan massaged his forehead with his fingers. ‘Oh, I’ve thought about it several times. I saw him a month before he went missing. He waved me off as I left this driveway.’ He pointed to the one outside the house. ‘We’d had dinner with our parents like we did every Friday. I made my way to uni to start my PhD in the US that weekend. It was the last time I saw him.’

When he reached for another cookie, Callan knew he was addicted. Charlotte could bake. ‘Did ye keep in touch?’

‘Sure, but technology back then wasn’t like it is now, so it wasn’t frequent. I remember his big smile and his bubbly personality – friendly but a little mysterious. He kept his cards hidden.’

Callan munched on a cinnamon bun, letting the spice flower on his tongue. ‘Ye didnae share secrets, then?’

‘No, he wasn’t the sort to have a heart-to-heart with anyone. He just got on with things.’

Going through his notes again, Callan nodded. ‘And yer parents reported him missing when he didn’t turn up for one of those Friday night dinners?’

‘Aye, he’d never missed those. Our mum was the best cook. As good as my Lottie.’

Charlotte sent an adoring glance at her husband and shuffled closer to him. ‘He told me all about Lucas when we met. We met a couple of his friends too.’

Friends?

Callan shuffled ahead, placing his elbows on his knees. ‘And who were his friends?’

The GPS guided Aileen into a narrow lane.

Stone cottages lined either side of it, their chimneys dormant. The sky faded into dark pink as the light in the sky extinguished.

Autumn meant shorter days. And after autumn…

But she didn’t want to think about winter now.

It had taken her half an hour to get here. She’d left the main town of Loch Fuar a while ago, wondering if she’d taken a wrong turn.

But she’d followed the route her GPS had taken her, and for a while hers had been the only car on the road as woods with tall trees passed her by.

Finally, hints of civilisation had peeked from between trees – a chimney here and a fleeting glance at a stone cottage there.

Aileen found a parking space right in front of the house she’d been searching for. It sat silent, its driveway empty, unlike the neighbouring cottage, where the steady beat of music made the door shudder.

Bracing herself against the cold, Aileen jogged over to the front door and rapped it with her knuckles.

No one answered.

She hopped on her feet to keep the chill at bay and tried again.

When she’d made up her mind to retreat to her car, footsteps sounded from within. Locks clicked, the door cracked open, and a face peeked out.

Aileen frowned.

Magenta streaks framed a delicate face. A nose ring glistened in the dim light and dark brows rose up until alarmed eyes met hers.

‘Aye?’ The voice sounded stuck between childhood and womanhood.

‘Hi. I’m Aileen Mackinnon. I’m looking for Andrew – Andrew Mackay.’ Her teeth would start chattering at any moment. She didn’t like chatting to strangers, and the chill breeze froze her words in her throat.

The girl shook her head. ‘He went off to the library an hour ago. Don’t expect him back for another two.’

Relief washed over Aileen. ‘He’s okay then?’

Andrew’s housemate studied Aileen’s trembling shoulders and bouncy feet. Showing mercy, she opened the door.

Aileen took it as an invitation to enter.

She is not a suspect. It’s okay.

Aileen had to repeat her new mantra a few times for it to register in her mind.

The living area was chaos. The cushions on the sofa didn’t match, and each wall was painted a different colour: yellow, green and blue.

Bags, pens and notebooks lay all over the place and – Aileen shuddered – so did the dust. They needed a cleaning lady, for sure. If Andrew’s housemates were half as busy as he was, they’d need someone to look after their place.

Most teens couldn’t afford cleaners, though.

Aileen sat down on the cleanest side of the sofa, closest to the heater, and shivered at the blast of warmth.

Shoot!

The slender girl chewed on her lip. Her T-shirt had a skull in the centre with a knife stuck in its head. She wore leopard-print shorts in fluorescent yellow. ‘How do you know him?’

‘Andrew?’

The housemate nodded.

Aileen explained, ‘He’s Isla McIntyre’s nephew. Isla’s a friend. He works at her bakery. Andrew didn’t turn up for work today and he isn’t answering her calls. She’s worried.’

Flicking her magenta hair, the girl said, ‘He went out last night. Had a banging headache.’

Aileen intertwined her fingers. She hadn’t met this girl before, but if she lived with Andrew, she had to care for him. Aileen had promised Isla she’d find Andrew, hadn’t she?

Should she take the girl’s word for it?

‘What’s your name?’

‘Zay. Call me Zay.’

Aileen bobbed her head. She could talk to strangers. The old Aileen hadn’t been able to. Now she’d learned.

‘Did you see Andrew leave with your own eyes?’

‘Maybe.’

Aileen didn’t appreciate her non-committal response.

She wrenched open her mouth to ask more questions when Zay dusted her palms over her thighs. ‘If you’re done, I’ve got to get back to studying. Got a maths test tomorrow.’ She stuck out her tongue in annoyance.

Aileen stood. ‘Sure. Thank you.’

Outside, Aileen turned to Zay. ‘Where’s the library?’

Zay mumbled the directions and shut the door in Aileen’s face.

Brat!

Aileen followed Zay’s instructions and took a right turn. This road looked the same as the one she’d left behind.

These houses were a part of the college’s student accommodations. The local college was forty-five minutes from the main town. Only students and professors lived here, right on the border between the towns of Loch Fuar and Loch Heaven.

The library should be easy to find. Zay had said she’d reach it in ten minutes.

When the road tapered off to the left, Aileen followed, her pants puffing out like smoke, her nose numb from the cold. She prayed it wouldn’t start raining again.

Soon, the cottages fell away and trees lined the path.

Must be the park between the houses and campus.

She took a step and something rustled. Aileen froze.

What was that?

The sun had sunk further into the horizon, and darkness propelled by the foliage descended over the park.

Fumbling in her pockets, she switched on the phone’s torch. She’d left her proper torch behind in the car.

Another wrong move.

Aileen bit her lower lip hard and pushed on. Five more minutes and the foliage thickened, as did the inkiness.

She couldn’t see a soul now.

Shining her torch behind her, she realised she’d left the houses behind.

How far had she come? Wouldn’t the campus have its own lighting? Was she lost?

She took another step and her torch caught something: a pole.

No, a signpost!

Relieved she was still within civilisation, she hurried to the post. Here the path forked, one route to the right and another straight ahead.

The straight road led to the college classrooms and the other to the library.

The path to the right narrowed and darkened until it misted in the distance. She couldn’t linger in the cold, could she?

Aileen shrugged. With no other choice, she made her way down the path.

Another five minutes and Aileen swore she’d lost her way. She’d been walking far longer than Zay had said she’d need to – or so it felt, anyway.

She’d stuck to the path just as the signpost indicated, though weeds and grass had swallowed the cobbles.

And the darkness was winning over her torch’s meek light.

Crack!

‘Oh!’ Aileen swivelled her torch but couldn’t find where the sound had come from.

She gasped, heart thundering as images floated through her mind – horror-inducing pictures.

In the middle of nowhere, with only silent barren trees for company, dried leaves and branches under her feet, and the full moon looming over her, Aileen remembered Marley. Lost, cold and terrified.

A thick mist settled around her, smudging the moon like a dot scribbled with white chalk.

Another trembling step and Aileen’s foot caught on a branch, and she stumbled.

‘Oomph!’ she cried, her phone flying out of her hand, head ready to bang against the ground. Most wouldn’t call her fall graceful.

Her knee collided with the mud, then her right cheek, making her see stars.

Leaves, twigs and living organisms under her body crunched and died.

The forest settled then, shrouded in a silent veil.

Aileen didn’t move, as if plastered to the ground.

A stray thought entered her mind: maybe the mud had moulded to her form. She’d fallen in a spread-eagled position, lying there like a murdered corpse.

After a long minute, her fingers twitched.

‘s**t!’ The puff of breath leaving her mouth disturbed the mud on the leaves. Something tickled her nose, and she sneezed, startling a poor bird.

Even those self-defence sessions with Callan hadn’t been this bad!

Like a banshee woken up from its slumber by a gong, Aileen stretched her right hand and patted the leaves.

Where had her phone fallen?

If she’d broken a bone, she needed help.

At that point, her mind had gone into shock, not registering any pain yet.

Her hands wrapped around a lukewarm metallic object. Ah, her beacon of hope.

She lifted the thing and groaned.

Her Humpty-Dumpty fall had cracked the screen of her phone, which, in true Highland fashion, had no reception.

‘Bloody hell!’

So far gone she was, she didn’t even reprimand herself for the curse.

Pressing her stinging palms to the ground, Aileen pushed up.

‘Ouch!’

She’d scraped her palms raw. Even her elbows stung.

Spitting mud from her mouth, Aileen tugged at her hair.

A few twigs and leaves came loose, the rest stuck into her dark brown locks.

When she tried to stand, both her knees protested. Hell, Siobhan had less creaky knees!

Holding on to a branch, biting her lips when her palm smarted, she righted herself.

One foot in front of the other.

‘One, two, three, four, fi—Ouch!’

She made her way through the mist, stumbling like a drunkard.

Eerie moonbeams penetrated the mist, guiding her forward. She didn’t dare use her phone. It had already been low on power, and she might need it later.

‘Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight—’

She looked towards the sky and blinked.

The trees abruptly broke off here, opening up to a huge field.

Not a field. Aileen eyed the goalposts at either end of the grass. A shinty pitch.

Tall trees loomed on three other sides. The foliage thinned to the right. Aileen swore she could see a light over the trees.

Was she at the damn library?

She could’ve been in Australia, she didn’t care. As long as she saw people again.

Aileen stumbled to the right, still taking the support of the trees.

A few trees in and she heard a sniffle.

Eyes wide in alarm, she peered behind the trunk and had to squint.

Was that a person?

Hope bloomed in her heart. She shone her torch into the darkness and her heart sang.

‘Thank you for answering my prayers.’

She hopped towards the head her torch illuminated.

‘Hey! I…’

Aileen faltered then, the scene registering in her addled brain.

A boy lay in the foliage, face tilted to the side. Her torch caught something glossy matting his hair. And the boy’s eyes? They stared at the trees, unblinking.

Glassy dead eyes.

And next to him, the red-haired lad…

Aileen’s eyes widened. ‘Andrew!’