“Are you kidding me? I’ve seen them eat bacon sarnies after touching piles of human remains,” I couldn’t hide my disgust, shivering uncomfortably at the very thought.
Roughly twenty minutes later, a dozen scene of crime officers rushed onto the scene. Apologising for being delayed by traffic. Apparently, half the town was standing behind that police line. Whilst it was a reasonable excuse, it didn’t help the fact that my nipples were practically frozen into ice blocks.
They set about doing their thing, and only one word crossed our lips. Homicide. I observed a clicking camera, men dusting for prints, and a general hubbub among our force.
Man, this is gonna be a lot of paperwork.
“Sammy Davis.” McCall’s voice interrupted my negative workload thoughts.
I turned to look at her. Bright blue eyes. Lines of concentration etched into her otherwise youthful face.
“What?”
“Sammy Davis. Owns the Sailing Club,” McCall reiterated, as though I should know what she’s on about.
My blank face said it all.
“While you were doing your weird zone-y out thing, I was doing the important work. Sammy Davis is not only the owner of the sailing club but is also our only lead so far. I’ve taken down his initial statement.” McCall pointed to her notes, and I quickly glanced over them.
“It says here that he found the body on his way into work.” I wasn't really talking to anyone, in particular, just familiarising myself with the facts. Well, information at least.
Glancing up, I saw Sammy Davis in conversation with two constables. Not a fun conversation by the looks of things, but heavy and serious. I tried to size him up from afar before making any sort of move, deciding how I should play things. Good cop or bad cop?
He looked a fit young man. Exactly how you’d need to be for sailing, I suppose. The kind that most women would choose. The kind most men would choose to look like. Long-ish brown hair which doesn’t need gelling to within an inch of its life. Nothing like mine.
He seemed compliant enough and noticed me walking towards him straightaway, perhaps a little intimidated by the power I possessed.
“Sammy Davis?” I questioned and waited for a reply. He hummed agreeably, pulling his red waterproof jacket snug around his torso. After all, we had been standing outside for ages. I flashed my DI badge his way. “DI Cooper. I’m leading this investigation into Gavin Ellis’s death.”
Sammy nodded again, listening intently.
“I understand my colleague, DS McCall,” I pointed towards her, “has taken down your initial statement. Is that correct?”
“Yes, she did,” he clarified. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?” he added, looking increasingly worried.
“That depends. Did you kill Gavin Ellis?”
Sammy panicked at my last utterance and wasn’t sure how to deal with the ice-cold glare I gave him. It was my favourite technique. Intimidation. Swallowing thickly, I held the rather intense eye contact, eyes watering from the bouts of strong winds.
“I didn’t kill him, I swear. I found him this morning. I was in my way into work a-and-”
“Then, no.” I blinked at last, both eyes stinging slightly. “We’ll want another formal statement, as a precaution. We’re looking at a potential homicide here, and so far, you’re the only lead we have,” I explained abruptly.
Sammy breathed a sigh of natural relief. Misty air formed ribbons of vapour around his nostrils. Bad for business is a homicide. Take it from the team who knows.
“On that note,” I continued, “you’ll need to come into the station whenever it’s convenient for you to do so, preferably as soon as you can. We need as much information as possible, so we can crack on with finding whoever did this.”
Sammy agreed in appreciation, chiselled jaw tensing as he pondered. “I’d be able to come by today, after work. I close at five, though can’t imagine there will be anyone in today, not after this. It’s a terrible thing, nobody around here has ever seen anything of the sort. All the locals will be terrified.”
“Which is why we need to crack on. You identified the body as Gavin Ellis, when you phoned us this morning.”
My stomach rumbled quietly. A bowl of porridge would be heaven right about now. Running a hand through my gelled hair, I concentrated as much as possible on Sammy’s information.
“Yeah. Most of us down here would recognise him. Kind of the bad egg in town, you know. He and some other friends of his would always blast their speakers way too loud. Told them off a couple of times, they would drive my customers away,” he finished explaining, licking his chapped lips.
Teenage delinquency at its finest.
“His family, they live up in town. Just next to Asda, actually. The locals always see her in there, kicking up a fuss about something or the other. Makes you think, doesn’t it, whether he would’ve turned out differently if his family cared a bit more.” Sammy glanced towards our forensics team, glancing away respectfully when he spotted Gavin’s washed-up body again. He wiped away some strangely masculine tears.
“Not really, no.” I shrugged, delved deeper into my pockets, and found a stray mint. Bonus. “They’ll be expecting you down the station for five.” I wrapped up my inquisition, having sorted out all pressing issues which needed addressing down here. McCall jogged over in this direction, seemingly ready to leave too.
A man stood far apart from the rest of the locals, observing the scene in stoic silence.
“Gavin’s mum lives next to Asda.” I communicated with McCall.
“Classy.”
“I say we head there next. Break the news, before every channel in the Dalgety vicinity releases it first.”
As I hauled out a pair of old aviators I’ve owned for around fifteen years, McCall voiced her mundane agreement. “Sure. Nothing better to do. Beats sitting down for hours.”
“Quite fancy a Mars Bar too. Quick detour to the shops?” I spoke out loud, comedy keeping our day fresh and invigorating.
Two
McCall tapped absentmindedly on the steering wheel, like she always does in situations such as these. The waiting games. Gooey caramel stuck my jaw together tightly, praising the marvellous ingeniousness of chocolatiers across our country. Being stuck in a car with a wannabe junk drummer didn’t fulfil the silent moment to honour my food.
“Ahem.” I cleared my throat purposely.
“Alright! Hurry up and finish,” she snapped, getting irritable. Crabbit 2.0 should be her nickname. McCall breathed in and turned to watch me. Harder than it sounds when confined between a small space. “I mean, who could have motives to kill Gavin?” she began. “He was only a teenager. Not long ago he would’ve been a toddler on a tricycle.” She bit a piece of loose skin in thought.
“A teenager with a criminal record,” I corrected. “That’s like walking around with a giant neon sign that says, ‘I’m here, come and murder me’.” I acted out the scenario, earning an exasperated eye roll from McCall.
“I suppose,” she agreed, retying her auburn ponytail. “His family are bound to know what Gavin was involved with.”
“A small puddle of water gets deeper when you jump in,” I said from experience, unclipping my seatbelt. My suit jacket caught on the door handle when we clambered out, snagging the material. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Stop moaning Finlay, or it’ll be your body uncovered next. Courtesy of me.”
“But my jacket.” I insisted.
A Family Liaison Officer tapped her foot impatiently, waiting outside the victim’s house for us. One I recognised briefly from other cases we’ve worked. She’s alright, though her face resembled a sour lemon. A lingering smell of particularly strong-flavoured crisps emulated from that general direction.
“Mars Bar?” A spare chocolate bar resided in my trouser pocket, and our allocated FLO raised her eyebrows in disbelief. Not angry disbelief, but pleasant. Exchanging small token gifts saved any explanation to our lateness.
�
�Thank ye!” she pocketed the treat for afterwards. Meanwhile, McCall rapped upon the imposing front door, adorned itself in scuff marks of sorts.
“Who’s knocking on my door this time of morning? If it’s you, Gavin, I swear I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.” A female voice muffled at first, but soon their lock and chain rattled. All three of us took a precautionary step back.
Thankfully.
One frightening woman revealed, appearing in front of our eyes. A smoker, no doubt, due to her gaunt cheeks and lack of teeth. I used to smoke, but not in similar chugging fashion. Smog poured out from behind the brash figure, enough to make any sensible smoker gag. She was butch, well built for a woman of her size and stature. To put it into perspective, I lifted weights, and she lifted cars.
“What’s he done now?” she snapped accusingly to neither of us in particular, tightening her contrasting pink fluffy gown.
“Mrs Ellis?” Our FLO asked gravely.
“Miss Ellis. I’m not that wretched man’s wife anymore.” She cursed, leaning against the doorframe. Attempting to intimidate us officers.
“Miss Ellis, may we come inside?” Our FLO spoke with ease, in a tone that could convince even the toughest of guys.
Miss Ellis stepped back reluctantly. “If I have to.”
Damp and mould festered upon their ceiling, thick air sticking halfway down my throat. Bits of lint and mud clumped their carpet together. Glad I wore shoes. Doubly glad they were not my best shoes.
“Mind the cat. He bites cops.”
“We’re detectives,” McCall protested.
Her ginger cat sat upon the staircase, observing these strangers entering his domain. It licked one paw delicately, but suspicion riddled those miniature features. McCall trod carefully in front of me, tiptoeing around the most extreme stains trodden into their carpet.
“Looks like you’ve been here after a night out,” I teased McCall, remembering stories of her last birthday drinks. It didn’t end well.
“You’re heading the right way for a slap,” she scowled.
“Oof, don’t tempt me.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Thank you,” I accepted her undercover flattery.
One thing, amongst others, that struck me as unusual was the severe lack of photographs displayed. We often visited families across a plethora of extremely diverse cases, and one thing they all had in common was photographs. Happy days down at the bay, or staged black and white pictures taken professionally. Yet, this house featured none.
“Sit down. Or don’t. It’s up to you,” Miss Ellis led us into her living room. My eyes burned in distaste at a mere glimpse of their decor. Grandma style sofas were the only decoration, alongside a cabinet full to bursting point with scotch. That was the only enviable part.
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t,” I noticed cat hair melded into her sofa cushions and stood next to a window instead.
“We have reason to believe that you have a son. Is this correct?” McCall stated grimly, directly to Gavin’s dishevelled mother. Already, she lit up a comforting cigarette. I had a certain feeling all those ciggies would have disappeared from stress before we left.
Flicking a lighter until a yellow flame sizzled, Miss Ellis balanced the tobacco stick between two fingers. Inhaling severely. “That’s right. Gavin. An annoying twat he is too. I’ve always got one of you knocking on my door.”
Must. Not. Smoke. I pinched a piece of skin, constantly chanting that phrase over again. Silently and willfully focusing on their interactions instead.
“Lovely.” McCall didn’t overreact to that statement. She couldn’t. It’s not our duty to fix people’s personal relationships.
Miss Ellis demonstrated closed off behavioural signs, such as crossed arms and legs. Perhaps she had something to hide, or just really hated dreich. Probably the latter option.
It’s always the latter.
Lines creased McCall’s tense forehead accordingly. “Do you have a photograph we could see of your son, Miss Ellis?”
“Probably. I’ll have a look upstairs.” the unmaternal mother replied, seemingly unbothered or clueless as to why she so desperately asked. Leaving behind a trail of vapour and stench, she stomped upstairs. Banging and crashing followed not long after.
“Delightful,” I commented, mocking tone easy to spot, then glanced outside. Front gardens overlooked other front gardens, but no one hung around to cause mischief. Checking my slowly breaking wristwatch, I realised it was only half nine. Tugging a flimsy, grubby net curtain back over the window pane, my colleagues started up a low discussion on the sofa. One I had no particular interest in joining.
“I don’t know whether she’ll cry or celebrate,” McCall pondered. The wretched cat slinked through a gap to rub itself softly against McCall’s legs, put out by people sitting on his sofa.
“If she celebrated, my work would be done here,” the liaison officer raised her eyebrows, sinking further into the couch.
Our attention diverted to Miss Ellis coming back. Acting like a tornado, destroying everything in its path. No mercy. She flicked the smallest photograph possible onto an armchair arm closest to McCall. “He wouldn’t sit still for longer than two minutes, the hyperactive bugger. They say everyone has at least one good angle. Not Gavin.”
“That makes two of you,” I insulted, earning a glare from Miss Ellis. Granted, I hadn’t meant to speak out loud. I coughed distractedly.
McCall picked it up to inspect, grimacing briskly, small enough to hide from Miss Ellis but obvious enough for our trained eyes to confirm.
“I think you should sit down, Miss Ellis,” I advised delicately.
“Don’t tell me what to do in my own home. I hate the police.”
“Yeah, well, they probably hate you too.” I retaliated, giving as good as she gave. In some peculiar way, she respected me for talking back.
Stubbing out her cigarette, Miss Ellis glimmered at those two on the sofa. “What’s all this about? I don’t have all day. I’m supposed to be meeting a friend in a while.”
“You must understand that this is hard for us too.” McCall admitted in sorrow, taking a breath. “We were called out this morning to find a body washed up on the bay, discovered by a man on his way into work--”
“It’s got nothing to do with me. Or Gavin. He’s many things but not a murderer.” Miss Ellis interrupted, brushing off McCall’s explanation.
“It was Gavin’s body found washed up on the bay,” McCall explained fully, watching the shocked mother’s cigarette fall lifelessly to the floor.
Three
Kris Ellis didn’t react as expected. Instead of crying or sobbing, she elapsed into a state of shock and picked up a second cigarette. Pouring herself a scotch, Kris Ellis swirled the brown alcohol around before downing it in one. Grimacing at the strength. Wiping excess liquid away, she introduced herself properly. After that, we plunged into immediate silence. I decided to begin our job properly.
There remained, after all, a killer on the loose.
“I’m DI Cooper.” Another flash of my DI badge presented itself. “Me and DS McCall here will be working directly on your son’s case.” McCall listened carefully to our interaction, directly facing Kris Ellis. “I know it seems very soon after his death, but we need your compliance. We have reasonable grounds to treat this death as a homicide case. If you can share any information about Gavin with us, the last time you saw him, where he was going? Who were his friends or enemies?”
“But…” McCall added pointedly, aiming this speech towards me too. “Don’t feel pressured to remember anything. This is a hard time you’re going through, and your thoughts may not be as clear as they should.” McCall raised her ginger tinted brows soothingly, and Kris sighed in agreement. The cat favourably swapped places, settling itself upon Kris Ellis’s lap in sinister sweetness.
“This is your family liaison officer.” McCall ran through formalities with Kris. “She’ll be your main point of contact throug
hout our investigation. If at any point you remember anything, want reassurance or guidance, then contact her. She’ll be communicating information between the three of us and always spare time to visit you.”
Sometimes, kindness and protocol allowed those involved in larger cases to be overly protected from law and consequences. Too many legalities ended up covering guilty suspects’ backs and allowed them to wriggle off the hook before. Gut instinct and pressure determined better results. Bring back old methods of policing, I say.
Bored with protocol run downs, I discovered some crisps in my pocket. Heaven knows how long they’d been residing there for. McCall eyeballed me, the rustling of my crisp packet distracting. Without care for decorum, I took a large bite into my salted food. Severely outnumbered by women. They were still mid-discussion, but we lacked information. We required results before Kris Ellis’s memory failed to serve her.
“When did you last see Gavin?” I grilled Kris firmly, cutting their exchange short. Kris scrutinized me shiftily, probably believing I thought her guilty.
“Four days ago,” she replied.
McCall slammed her hand down in frustration at my dismissive nature. Our FLO listened intently, jotting notes down.
“And what happened?” I continued. “Where was he going?”
“I’m not sure. Gavin could have been with friends or taking a walk by himself. He is old enough to go out alone.” Kris shrugged, staring at her fluffy slippers. The cat yawned in agreement, silently backing up his owner.
“Which friends?” Both arms folded flat across my chest.
“I don’t know. Gavin kept us separate. No teenage boy introduces friends to their mothers. All I know is they got him in trouble too often.” She sniffed and picked up another blasted cigarette.
I cannae be tempted. Cigarettes are a bad habit, nothing more. McCall inhaled, about to chastise those chosen interrogation methods, but I didn’t give her the chance.
“Were you not worried when he didn’t come home that night?” I queried, prodding the untamed beast further. Kris’s grey eyes flickered. She withheld information, I could feel it deep within my bones.
The Devil's Due: A Cooper & McCall Scottish Crime Thriller Page 2