When Red Mist Rises

Two murders, forty years apart. Are they connected?

Andrew Mackay is found sitting beside a corpse with a bloody stick in hand. Across town, the dig to unearth a body from the bog leads to the discovery of another missing person.

Amateur sleuth Aileen Mackinnon believes in Andrew’s innocence. She’s determined to catch the real killer, even as her own life self-destructs.

Searching for his best friend’s body is turning out to be a mammoth task Detective Inspector Callan Cameron didn’t expect, professionally or emotionally. Now investigating another murder and worrying about his girlfriend’s safety, Callan is swamped.

When every move is like a step away from the truth, the only way forward is to collaborate. Who can they trust? Who is lying? And who kills when the red mist descends?

Since he’d driven in from the main square, Callan took the road that led away from it.
Usually it lay deserted at this time of night, but now Callan’s lights caught something metallic in the distance.
A car.
It drove languorously, too slowly and without any lights on. Every hair on his body stood to alert and his eyes sharpened.
Callan cut his own lights, blinking to see in the dark. He couldn’t make out a number plate, but he could see the car was a dark colour.
Something was afoot.
He waited for the car to turn its headlights on. What was the driver playing at? Could they be intoxicated? And Aileen? Where the hell was she? Eejit woman! He’d lock her up for sure.
He heard it before he saw her through the darkness, someone screaming like a drunkard. When his eyes adjusted, he made out a petite silhouette, dancing and wiggling her torso.
She was sloshed.
Suddenly, the perp in the car hit the lights – two sharp headlights – aimed directly at his pissed bana-ghaisgeach.
A moment was all it took for Callan’s heart to leap into his mouth. Aileen!
Before he could react, the car made for her, and she didn’t move.
He fumbled with the gears, but his legs lost all their strength when Aileen gaped, frozen to the spot. ‘Move, ye bampot!’ he roared in his car, but no one heard a word.
Aileen, mouth open, stared at the car and then leaped. Her body crashed to the ground just as the car reached the spot where she’d stood. The eejit behind the wheel jumped into action, swivelling the car and making for her again.
And Aileen sprawled kerbside, a sitting duck, too drunk to move.
Callan found the gear and floored the accelerator.
His car almost unbalanced as he raced down the road, headlights glaring at the other car.
It had no number plate. Damn it!
His hand pressed against the horn, blasting it like his life depended on it. Aye, his life did depend on it!
He shocked the other car into a screeching halt. The driver didn’t waste time, turning around like a race-car driver on adrenaline and dashing down the road, headlights disappearing at once.
Callan hit the brakes right when his rat-arsed bana-ghaisgeach turned and… ‘Bluck!’ She retched all over the ground.
Was there a point in asking why she’d walked down a pitch-black road alone?
Later, he thought before hitting the brakes with the same intensity as he’d floored the accelerator, all but smashing himself against the windshield.
He tumbled out of the car, letting it rumble in the middle of the road, and hurried towards the vomiting form of Ms Aileen Mackinnon.
‘There’s no point in telling ye to keep out of danger, is there?’ he shouted at her as he held her lush brown locks off her face. She bent to empty the remnants of her stomach.
Her hair was soft, although matted with sweat and sludge. Her clothes were a mess and she reeked of alcohol. Not to mention she shivered from the cold.
When she dry-heaved, Callan hissed, ‘Done boking all over someone’s farm?’
She swiped at her face and tried to swing a fist at him, but it missed its destination, landing on his knee.
Callan didn’t waste much time. She would all but fall asleep in the mud at this rate.
Wrapping his muscled arms around her, he cradled her into his chest.
‘That car—’ Hiccup. ‘Callan, the car—’ Hiccup. ‘What was it doing?’
He stalked over to his SUV and opened the front passenger door. Careful not to hit her head, he sat her down and buckled her in. She grumbled incoherent words but had no strength to shove at him.
He reached into his glovebox and pulled out a packet of tissues.
Gently, minding any scratches, he wiped her face. Her glassy eyes locked on his turned to chocolate lava. ‘What’re y-you doing here?’
He shot her a glare. ‘I could ask ye the same.’
After cleaning three tissues’ worth of grime from her face, he turned to her hand. Jerking his head to the bottle of water between the two seats, he ordered, ‘Drink up.’
Aileen giggled. ‘Already did.’
Satisfied that her hands were as clean as he could get them without water, he narrowed his eyes. ‘I can see that. When did ye start drinking yerself silly?’
But she’d moved on from their conversation. ‘I like it when you’re gentle like this, cleaning my face.’
Aye, she was a goner. He tried to withdraw his hand from hers, wanting to wrap her in a coat, but she clutched it tight, interlocking their fingers. ‘I missed you.’