The Devil's Due: A Cooper & McCall Scottish Crime Thriller

by Oliver Davies

  “Texts by Anna Smith, yesterday. Nathan Smith would’ve been here by then,” DC Taylor reminded everyone and read out Anna’s message. “Where are you? Nathan? Stop ignoring me. I swear if you've gotten into trouble again, dad will personally kill you. Nathan’s sister, presumably.”

  “Look, there’s a missed call from Adam Crystal,” McCall pointed out. “He was friends with Gavin too. No recent texts between the two. Some from the summer but nothing particularly interesting,” she read slowly from the screen.

  “What did they say?” DCI Campbell requested, pulling a thread loose on his trousers.

  “Not an awful lot. Gossip about their families and failing grades. Neither of which I’m surprised about.” DC Taylor’s ironic aside entertained me immensely.

  “Like two chicks out on a lunch date,” I said dryly. “What about their deleted messages? Guilty people delete anything suspicious.”

  “Nobody calls them ‘chicks’ anymore,” McCall light-heartedly teased, hair hanging loose. “As for deleted messages, there are three to Adam Crystal.”

  DC Taylor completed all the manual work, double-clicking on Nathan’s deleted messages.

  “Have you heard from GE? Gavin Ellis?” McCall presumed, reading from the screen. She gestured at DC Taylor to read aloud Adam Crystal’s replies.

  “Nothing, bruv.”

  I sniggered in amusement at DC Taylor’s distinguished accent reading out a street-savvy teenager's messages. DCI Campbell’s eyebrows raised humorously.

  “He still hasn’t paid me for our last supply.” So Nathan’s a dealer then,” McCall banged her fist on the desk in victory.

  “To which Adam Crystal replied, How much?” DC Taylor was already fed up with acting and regained his every day, monotone voice.

  “It’s private. But he’d better be on his best behaviour because if I see him, I’ll kill him. GE has had his last warning.” McCall stepped back, breathing heavily.

  DC Taylor leaned back in his rickety chair with wide eyes and a subdued expression slapped to his face. The final message lingered in the air for a while longer until DCI Campbell spoke up first, breaking our stunned silence.

  “Get those messages printed off. The lawyers can’t argue against substantial evidence.”

  “They’ll try,” I retaliated.

  “Perhaps, but we’re going to be on form,” he continued. “Me and you, DI Cooper, will be interviewing Nathan Smith right away. This evidence isn’t doing us justice by sitting here, is it?” It made sense that Campbell and I would be the ones to interview Nathan Smith, as we were the two highest authorities working on Gavin’s murder case. “What are we waiting for?”

  DCI Campbell moved faster than we were used to, marching us with more bossiness than an army trainer. A small sheet of paper hung on the reverse end of DCI Campbell’s door, hard to see without squinting.

  “What’s that?” DC Taylor noticed first, drawing our attention over. Had he left it alone, my embarrassment could've been avoided entirely. My eyes locked upon the schoolkid joke, the newspaper article pinned proud and erect, which portrayed their drunken DI with a graffitied moustache.

  Sod them all. I ripped it down before DCI Campbell could inspect it too closely. One of DC Cillian Murphy’s practical jokes, certainly.

  “It’s nothing,” I grouched.

  “Looks like you had a fun night out. Georgina Ryder, eh? She’s a lucky find,” DC Taylor mentioned in passing, not realising it was such a sensitive subject.

  “Georgina Ryder? She’s one foxy woman. If I were a couple of years younger…” DCI Campbell was still reading as much as possible from the screwed-up article in my hand. “Oh, to be young and free again.”

  “Seriously?” McCall grabbed the paper, slightly jealous from DC Taylor’s comment. She shoved it into her pocket, much to their disappointment. “Not you two as well. DC Taylor, I expected more.” McCall thought about their previous comments, squinting at DCI Campbell. “Foxy?”

  “She’s right,” I agreed, wanting to brush everything under the carpet sheepishly. “Can we talk about this some other time? Let’s focus on Nathan, not my drunken antics.”

  When we readied ourselves for questioning, Nathan Smith was already on standby. Cheerful, for a bloke just charged on account of weapons possession.

  “Sit yourself down, DI Cooper,” DCI Campbell announced intentionally, placing our newly printed evidence down on the tabletop in front. Nathan seemed slightly amused, having seen the inside of a cell enough times to know how the system worked. His lawyer’s grave face spoke volumes.

  “Interview commenced at three.” DCI Campbell conducted our interview accordingly. “DCI Graham Campbell and Detective Inspector Finlay Cooper. Interviewing Nathan Smith concerning Gavin Ellis’s case. Lawyer present.”

  “So, Nathan, do you know why we brought you for questioning today?” DCI Campbell treaded lightly at first, opening calmly.

  “Yeah. Got caught with a weapon, didn’t I,” Nathan answered smugly and cocked his head challengingly.

  “I don’t know, did you?” DCI Campbell shot right back, not rising to Nathan’s game. The lawyer tutted in disagreement already, and we’d barely said two words. I crossed my arms, contemplating how to address Nathan without him building defences.

  Nathan sighed. “Obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now, would I?”

  “It’s not wise to respond defensively here, Nathan. We’re all that lies between you and prison,” I advised, much to the dislike of his lawyer.

  “Are you threatening my client, DI Cooper?”

  “No, it’s a suggestion,” I said flatly. “If Nathan wants to be treated with respect, he should’ve joined the army instead of dealing drugs again. Prison didn’t teach you much of a lesson last time, did it, Nathan?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nathan didn’t show surprise. I slid our printouts across the table and arranged them so that all his ‘deleted’ messages were in order. “I don’t know what these are. You’re setting me up.”

  The lawyer read them with a frown.

  “Text messages to Adam Crystal,” I informed her. “Deleted, may I add. Throughout these messages, you mention Gavin Ellis and the exchange of drugs between the two of you.”

  “Both you and Adam Crystal were jailed for the same offences previously, and both swore, and I quote, ‘I will never sell drugs again. They have ruined my life,’” DCI Campbell read from a report he secured for backup.

  “That’s not relevant to this case at all, DCI Campbell. My client wishes to stay silent,” the lawyer cut in, taking over. She knew we’d got him. Sweat stains covered Nathan’s through Nathan’s hoodie, starting to run down his forehead.

  DCI Campbell and I shared a knowing glance, adrenaline pulsing through our veins.

  “You typed your own grave, so to speak.” DCI Campbell did well not to rise to their arrogance, but my own easy temper started to boil. I squeezed my hands together to contain myself. “Your final text message to Adam Crystal, three days before Gavin Ellis was found dead, read, ‘But he’d better be on his best behaviour because if I see him, I’ll kill him. GE has had his last warning.’ What did you do to Gavin?”

  “It’s illegal to search through my stuff,” Nathan barked, scratching his wispy lick of moustache in contempt.

  “It is not illegal for law enforcement and CID to search through your phone without permission, if it offers substantial evidence to help our case. You’re already under arrest,” DCI Campbell explained, specifically for our tape. Even the lawyer couldn’t disagree with that part.

  “You were caught carrying an offensive weapon, near Gavin’s time of death. You have text messages threatening to kill him. It’s all very peculiar, Nathan and doesn’t bode well for you in the slightest.” I leaned forward, staring directly at the teenager, praying he’d crack soon.

  “Other officers asked you for an alibi of where you were on two separate occasions. You had no alibi,” DCI Campbell repor
ted from a paper file.

  “Actually, I said no comment,” Nathan burst out, his acne-ridden face etched in a fury.

  “Innocent people don’t hide.” Nathan’s face dropped at my plain truth. “Are you a murderer or a stupid teenager caught red-handed selling a few drugs to make yourself look cool? If you tell us, we can make these questions fade with a click of our fingers.”

  “I’m not stupid,” he snorted.

  “DI Cooper, I don’t think that language is necessary when speaking to my client.” The lawyer shook her skinny head in my direction.

  Dramatic. I only said ‘stupid’. It’s not like I cursed the ignorant shit out of the room.

  “Your association with Gavin Ellis is clear to all of us,” I pressed. “A guppy could work that out. Did he owe you money for drugs?”

  “He owed me a lot of money. I’m not saying what for,” Nathan refused, trying to make Gavin seem like the one in the wrong. And in some ways, he was. Nathan’s entire facade slowly crumbled down, and it was my job to break down his wall completely.

  “So you murdered Gavin Ellis? For revenge? Did someone make you kill him?” I bluntly worded my questions. Blunt words frightened people, pressured them.

  He inhaled deeply. Both DCI Campbell and I were on tenterhooks. This could be the confession we’d been searching for. There was no way he could wriggle out of this one. We’d provided them with concrete evidence, and his previous convictions worked in our favour.

  Nathan leaned closer, closer to us and the tape machine. Recording our every line. Two chapped lips opened, starting to talk.

  “No comment.”

  Twenty-One

  Lucy

  “Lucy?” someone grabbed my attention. I’d been in a daydream of sorts, too busy staring into my coffee mug. Black, one sugar. The way I liked it.

  “Hiya Jen. Fancy a coffee? Kettle’s still hot.” I offered politely.

  Jen was a lovely lady, a natural maths teacher and amazing with the kids. A metallic noise bounced from my teaspoon as I watched the instant granules dissolve in properly.

  “Oh, you know what? Aye, I will,” Jen rubbed her cold hands together, desiring to warm up.

  The two of us completely contrasted each other in every. Jen dressed smart, whereas my chosen attire flowed, especially in the summer. I taught English, where our pupils were allowed to discover escapism and enrich their creativity, while Jen taught mathematics, rigid structures with only one possible outcome.

  “There.” I finished her second cup and handed it over accordingly. We found our usual seats by the window.

  “Urgh, god. I had Daniel for the first period and let me tell you something. I deserve a medal,” she joked, sipping quickly, ignoring the scorching hot water. She’d become immune to it, always sipping hot drinks.

  “Aw bless. It’s not his fault. Usually, when children misbehave, it’s a direct result of their upbringing. He can’t help it,” I reminded her quietly.

  “I know, I’m enrolled in the same yoga group as his mother. She’s worse, believe it or not.” Jen had mothered three kids, so she knew the struggles of parenting. I was a lot younger than Jen, so I couldn’t relate to the whole mother’s meeting situations.

  “That wasn’t… nevermind.”

  “Mark won’t stop on at me to invite his parents over for Christmas. I said no because his mother only comes so she can complain about my food. It’s two extra mouths to feed, without the pleasure of enjoyable company in return. Vicious cow.” Jen tended to overshare details of her married life.

  “Sounds too stressful for me. I’ll probably just visit family as usual,” I answered. Truthfully, Christmas was the last thing on my mind.

  “You’re welcome to come over to ours?” Jen offered sweetly, but the last thing I wanted was to be a burden.

  “No,” I replied, to which Jen recoiled in shock. My gasp made up for the mistake which had flown from my lips. “No, as in, you shouldn’t have.” Luckily, Jen laughed in understanding. “Enjoy the day with your family and don’t worry about me.”

  My glasses slipped down the bridge of my nose habitually. Using only my forefinger, I pushed them back up to rest in their original position. Years of reading classic novels ruined my eyesight for all it was worth.

  “Crazy, you are,” Jen waved her hand in front of my face to loosen my daydream. I jumped with full force, nearly spilling hot water over my calf-length skirt. That brought that to Jen’s attention. “It’s pretty.”

  “Thank you, it’s vintage.” I shrugged. “Picked it up from a charity shop with my ex. He was a gentleman with all the manners of a pig.”

  Jen snorted unexpectedly. “Aren’t they all? You need waking up, you do. The real world isn’t full of George Clooney’s and Brad Pitt’s,” she warned, typically negative. Brad’s pitts weren’t precisely romantic sounding either.

  “Yeah, well, you should see inside my head. Then you’d understand why I prefer it there.” I shrugged. It’s true. My own world consisted of Colin Firth from Pride and Prejudice.

  “I wish my mind consisted of the rosy dreams as yours,” Jen wistfully responded. “Instead, mine is all dinner schedules and wondering how many times I’ll have to clean the bathroom instead of Mark.”

  We shared a bout of laughter.

  “You’ll see, Lucy. The world is dreadful,” Jen announced for dramatic effect.

  The bell sounded to warn both staff and students of the time. Lunch was done and dusted, leaving only two more lesson periods before home time. Home sounded enjoyable. I was ready to read the next chapter of Little Women in peace. Yes, I had read it a thousand times before and I sought to read it a thousand times over.

  “See you at home time. Meet me,” Jen instructed and bid farewell.

  “Yeah, see ya later.” I nonchalantly replied.

  A line of scruffy, rosy-cheeked children waited outside my classroom, disgruntled from playtime. My line up for today consisted of Lily, as sweet as her name suggested, and Jimmy Smith. The two were inseparable during school hours, avid readers and smart kids who always worked hard.

  “Good afternoon, everyone,” I engaged them together chirpily.

  “Hello, Miss Lucy,” they cried over each other excitedly. I loved being called ‘Miss Lucy’ instead of just my last name.

  “In you go and choose a seat,” I announced, allowing them to decide who they sat with. “Handwriting. Today’s lesson we are focusing on handwriting.”

  A few of the children tittered, but apart from that, they all viewed my smartboard attentively. I handed out a load of paper.

  “It’s a fun task for today. I want you all to write a letter explaining what you want for Christmas,” I clarified in keeping with the festivities of the season. A lot of them cheered, putting a huge smile on my face.

  “But Santa doesn’t exist,” Lily pouted, cocoa smeared all over her lips. A few children stared at her quizzically, not yet understanding that Father Christmas was a made-up figure. I, for one, did not want Lily to ruin their fun, so I played along and gasped in shock.

  “Oh! Is that so?” I asked. “Then who leaves all the presents under the tree? Nobody else could deliver to everyone’s house in one night, could they?”

  “I don’t know,” Lilly shrugged, deep in thought.

  I pressed on, for the sake of my other students. “And what about all the mince pies, who eats them all?”

  “My sister said daddy eats them all,” Lilly replied seriously.

  “Nope. Everyone leaves mince pies out for Santa. Your dad can’t visit everybody’s house in one night. That would be silly,” I pretended with a bright smile. “If nobody believes in Father Christmas, his sleigh won’t fly anymore. Do we know what that means?”

  “No presents!” Cameron called out.

  “Exactly, so get writing before all the Christmas magic runs out,” I urged them. They all snapped to it, including Lilly, scribbling down lists I would thoroughly enjoy marking later.

  The scratching of p
encil lead filled my classroom, and time ticked by efficiently. Before long, the bell signalled once more to end our day perfectly. Straggles of wandering children asked for help to put on pairs of gloves before their parents arrived.

  When I arrived outside, also wrapped up tightly, Jen already waited. Our breath curled up in ribbons in a festive fashion. Ruckus unfolded around us, parents telling their kids off for messing about or for newfound holes in their tights.

  “Good day?” Jen sniffed, chilled down to the bone. A multicoloured scarf decorated her neck, presumably handmade from her youngest.

  “Very,” I answered with a small grin and explained the Father Christmas story to my friend. She found it all entertaining.

  “Hey, Daniel!” Jen cut me off, shouting to the disobedient young boy. He heard her, half the locals could, but chose to ignore her. Jen growled under her breath. “Little shit.”

  “Jen!” I warned. “You can’t say that.”

  “Stop climbing the gates!” Jen warned loudly. Daniel carried on climbing, oblivious to Jen’s mounting anger.

  “It’s alright now. His mum’s here.” I nodded towards the stern woman marching through the gates. Sure enough, she practically pulled him down with force, paying no heed to his reluctant, attention-seeking cries.

  “Finally, some peace.” Jen rolled her eyes comically, my trench coat blowing drastically with a gust of wind. Like a movie scene.

  Parents came and went within thirty minutes, leaving our playground fairly scarce. Only the last remaining children were left over and the ones included in after-school club had already disappeared inside. Lily and Jimmy ran rings around each other, playing a classic game of tag.

  Jen eyed them bizarrely, then nudged me. “I bet you ten pounds that those two get married one day.”

  “Don’t waste their lives away. They’ve got ages until they even need to think about marriage.” I groaned at Jen’s matchmaking skills. She had an eye for couples, or so she thought. She was always setting people up on dates. I happened to be at the brunt of her powers and encountered one too many dodgy men as a result.