The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  3

  The station car park was inundated with more cars than we were used to. We’d had the decorators in, to give the station a spruce up here and a lick of paint there. At last, we’d been allowed to switch up the shoddy white for a brilliant white.

  Exciting times.

  Although it sounded sarcastic, we were genuinely pleased. I guess being stuck inside most days had us in a frenzy.

  “They better not have scratched my car,” McCall warned, keeping a beady eye out as we drove around searching for parking spaces. They were in short supply, due to there being decorating vans, police vehicles and our evidence here at once. Forensics must’ve arrived just before us, for they were all clambering out and over to DCI Reid.

  “There’s a space there,” she perked up, pointing to a very narrow gap. Just in front of the gap, was a flowerbed some primary school children had planted as a community project. There were vivid daffodils in yellow, perfect for spring and spruced up the drab station perfectly. The community had loved them, and they were a focal point to the people now.

  My wheels were a challenge to keep straight but slowly did the trick. Eventually, we were parked straight. That was until McCall burst out cackling loudly at one of the decorators tripping up the station steps and spilling a paint pot clumsily. I nudged the accelerator ever so slightly and overstepped into the flowerbed by mere inches. The tyres clipped a few daffodils and left them standing at ninety-degree angles, with muddy trough marks from the wheels making a visible dent in the otherwise perfect display.

  “The Guv’s going to kill us if he sees this,” I hissed, mortified. The kids would be upset too. McCall couldn’t keep a straight face, finding the entire thing a little bit funny.

  “Sorry,” she apologised in mirth. “We’ll pretend we know nothing about this. If we deny it, nobody will know any different.”

  “Except pretty much everyone saw,” I pointed to the windows, where a few of the forensic team were frowning in displeasure. DCI Reid chose to turn away from the sight.

  “Accidents happen,” McCall tried to help as we unclipped our seatbelts. “Worse things have happened today. They’ll forget about it in a heartbeat.”

  I hoped she was right.

  DC Taylor had arrived in one piece, as had the van. Pretty much... minus one wing mirror. The forensic scientists were taking swabs to provide evidence in court that the police were justified in taking action against these guys. McCall watched forensics getting on with their jobs, fascinated by all the technical parts we didn’t take much part in.

  “What did the flowerbeds ever do to you, Cooper?” DCI Reid mentioned when I passed. I knew it would be brought to my attention at every opportunity.

  “An honest mistake, Sir.” I huffed, hearing the McCall laugh quietly.

  “Well, if you’ve quite finished ruining the station. I’d like you and DS McCall to debrief the others who stayed behind. I want us to trace where these supplies are coming from. If we know where, maybe it’ll help us to stop this… callous chain of events,” he explained, aged lines and crow's feet decorating his eyes.

  “On it right away,” we agreed, more than ready to knuckle down. We were invested in this case.

  “Hang on,” he held us back. “The new recruit can stick to the smaller files. Five of us, plus me working on this is more than enough. We need people working on other things too so that every base is covered. We don’t want the locals getting restless because their break-ins aren’t being looked into further.”

  It would be sucky for Rebecca to hear, seen as the bigger cases were always perceived as the exciting ones. However, DCI Reid was right. We’d all been in the same boat when we were new. It’s just the way things went.

  “Sir,” I nodded.

  “Thanks, Cooper. I can always rely on you to get the job done,” he complimented, and I tried hard to stop myself from going red. Someone called his name, distracting us from the interaction. “Excuse me. See you in a bit.”

  “No worries.” I sprinted to join McCall, who had already disappeared into the front reception area. Locals waited around for appointments, or to raise complaints and the phones rang off the hook. Officers organised cell numbers, and decorators milled around, paint fumes filling our noses. The front desk sergeants would get high off the fumes if they stood here for hours on end.

  Mentioning the front desk sergeants, our usual wasn’t here. Skipper wasn’t the sort of lady to take days off. She prided herself on working hard. Perhaps she’d finally come to her senses and taken the time off to relax.

  “Would you like tea or coffee, sir? Would you like a back massage whilst I’m at it, sir? Or how about a foot rub?” McCall mimicked me, earning a light nudge in the ribs. “You’re clearly the favourite.”

  “I’m not!” My voice went high pitched, so I coughed. “He’s good at his job, and I respect him, that’s all. It’s mutual.”

  “I respect him too,” McCall reminded me, expressively waving her arms around. She could become erratic when she spoke without entirely meaning to. “But I do think his ways are a bit old fashioned.”

  “Campbell was worse. I think DCI Reid wishes the old ways of policing were here, that’s all. He’s nostalgic, I suppose. Aren’t we all in our own way?”

  “You’re right. In this circumstance, I didn't mean it all the time before you get big-headed,” McCall clarified, shoes squeaking with each step we took. A horrible drilling sound filled the station as the decorators hung brand new photographs and various achievements of ours on the walls.

  “He’s done so much for our image here. Boasted us up, so to speak. I like to think the team has bonded, that we’re pretty tight-knit these days,” I admitted, glad that I didn’t feel so out of place as a DI anymore. Before, things were disjointed, and nobody could agree on which direction to take when it came to a case. Nowadays, we had differences but learned to compromise.

  “I agree,” she said heartily. “Although sometimes, he’s a bit--”

  “A bit what?” I cut her off. “Loud? Bossy? Because that’s all the signs of a leader. He’s everything I’d like to be, one day.”

  “He is a good leader, as are you, so be yourself,” McCall said softly. “You’re already a good leader most of the time. Sure, you have some off days, but on the whole, we get the job done. Just look at how many crimes we’ve wrapped up,” she pointed out, reminding me that we'd gone through a lot as partners. “There’s something about DCI Reid, though. Like he hasn’t told us everything about him.”

  “That’s because we’re at work. We’re a team, not friends,” I reeled off without thinking.

  “Gee, cheers,” McCall took offence to the statement.

  “You know what I meant,” I tutted. “You’re different. We’ve known each other for years, and you and DC Taylor are a couple. Of course, you’re going to know pretty much everything about us. Give DCI Reid a couple of years, and we won’t be able to stop him from talking. I wasn’t the chattiest man at first.”

  “And now I can barely get a rest from you wagging my ear off,” she teased. “And as to what I was saying a minute ago…” Her tone turned sincere then. “Being confident in your own abilities is better than trying to be someone else.”

  We walked step-in-step. “Perhaps you’re right too.” I gave her the satisfaction of hearing me admit that. “But either way, he’s someone to look up to. He gives us advice whenever it’s needed or a cigarette when we’re tired.”

  “He gives you that stuff,” McCall exaggerated for effect. “You’ve been singled out.”

  “Are you jealous?”

  “No,” she replied immediately. “I’m glad you two get along. It sure helps us in the office; we actually get peace and quiet instead of arguing.”

  The topic came to a natural standstill, so I switched it accordingly.

  “Where’s Skip?” I wondered.

  “Day off?” McCall guessed. “Maybe she’s on holiday?”

  “She didn’t mention it,” I sh
rugged. The station wasn’t the same when she was away. “I’m sure she’ll tell us all about it when she gets back.” The cheeky woman was a notorious gossip and enjoyed talking too much, even if we were busier than normal.

  McCall hushed, her shoes tapping against the floor.

  “I know that face. What are you thinking about?” I pressed.

  “Just everything.” She licked her dry lips, worry lines creasing her forehead. “It’s been a long day. The papers. The fact that two people died today. I don’t know, it was unexpected.”

  “Well, It’s not over yet.” I tried to bear the bad news well. “I’ve a feeling things are about to get even longer,” I joked upon reaching the CID office, where decorators sheets covered the carpets, and ladders were erected all across the corridor. I’d need a dozen cigarettes just to deal with the racket of hammers, drills and crude jokes that came from the tradesmen. “After you. Ladies first.” I held the office door open for McCall politely.

  She seemed suspicious at the small act of kindness but accepted the gesture, anyway.

  The general CID hub was stacked high with paint pots, and two men in either corner painted away. Tony had foam earplugs in, barely realising we’d arrived and Rebecca had her head in her hands, pouring over a file. Oh, to have missed out on all the action. Cillian and DC Taylor were engaged in conversation, breathless from the walk in.

  “Tony,” McCall gently tapped his shoulder, making the constable jump. He sheepishly took out the earplugs.

  “Hi, sarge. Sir. I was miles away. Been banging my head in the rhythm to the hammers most of the day. They’re driving me crazy.” His sparse beard had remnants of crumbs stuck in there without realising.

  I liked Tony, he was polite and respected the ranking system. He made easy chat and was a harmless man. He was on the lanky side, and often struggled to fit both legs under the desk or go through a doorway without ducking first, the very model of a friendly giant.

  Rebecca Wilson, our new recruit, had caved and collected a dozen mugs up ready to make us all some tea or coffee. That wasn’t officially a part of her job description, though the new people always got pressured into tea duty. Her shiny, brunette hair and slimmer frame made her an attractive lady, one that Cillian could barely take his eyes away from. His smitten self disguised his crush with badly timed jokes and teasing.

  If he wasn’t so unawarely clumsy and socially awkward, in an entirely separate manner to me, Cillian would be attractive to the opposite sex. The big shoulders and square jaw gave him a rugby player physique. Stocky and bold. Bold he may be, but Cillian’s personality didn’t match the outer shell.

  “Good to have you all back,” Rebecca greeted us. “Can I get you tea or anything?”

  “One tea, black and no sugar. Thank you,” I replied, grateful that she asked. Most recruits would moan about it, but she dealt with the task. I could see she was a professional and had a passion for the field. She did every task perfectly, and fit in well with the general atmosphere of the place. Though attractive and soft looking, Rebecca didn’t let people push her around; especially not men like Cillian.

  Sometimes, his brash comments tended to get on her nerves, and she’d snap without meaning too. Cillian would listen to whatever she said, like a submissive puppy dog to their owners. Cillian did put his foot in it sometimes, with no clue on how to treat the opposite sex without seeming obnoxious.

  “I’ll help carry them. They’re hot and--” He began to follow her into our adjoined staff kitchen.

  “I can do it. I’ve got my own hands,” she assured, waving Cillain away.

  “Right, yeah. Course,” he deflated into a bit of a sulk.

  “I’ll have a coffee, love,” one of the decorators got involved, even though it wasn’t our duty to look after them.

  “Firstly,” Rebecca turned to face the burly men, paintbrush in their hands and splatters upon their dirty overalls, “it’s ma’am, not ‘love’. I’m a constable. Secondly, as I told you earlier, the kettle’s in there, as is the instant and tea bags should you wish. You’re painting, it’s not exactly rocket science. If anything, you should make us drinks for our hard work.”

  McCall sniggered as the decorators recoiled, moaning under their breath about the injustice.

  “Hmph,” Rebecca walked into the kitchen, chest puffed out in pride that she’d knocked them into place. It was impressive, to say the least.

  “What happened out there?” Tony leaned onto his elbows, which were propped cautiously against the desk, waiting to hear the account. “Did we get them?”

  “Oh, we certainly got them, alright,” I mumbled sarcastically under my breath, much to his visible confusion. “Armed response had already shot two dead when we got there.”

  We officers who were there retold the story, Rebecca poking her head through the kitchen door to listen in. Once the tea had brewed, she shared them out and earned smacks of our lips in appreciation at the warm liquid. We’d been standing outside all morning, deprived of heat. It was nice to feel my toes again.

  “Jeez, now I’m annoyed that I missed it all,” Tony pouted. “Meanwhile, we’ve been struggling to do all of this.” He gestured towards the files. “All the computers are down, as are the phone lines.”

  “Why?” McCall wondered, sitting close to DC Taylor.

  “Ask them,” he pointed towards the whistling decorators. “They wanted to go around the plug sockets without dripping paint onto the wires.” At least they were being conscientious, as annoying as it would be to start connecting the dots without the aid of technology. We’d have to do it old school for now and focus on written reports.

  “Say no more,” McCall hummed. “Expect scathing reviews and writers slamming our efforts in tomorrow's news.”

  “Nothing new there,” Rebecca swung from side to side on the chairs. “Three criminals, all previously convicted or caught had what? Joined forces to earn the cash?” She hadn’t met any of them before.

  “Seemingly so. It’s an odd threesome, but they’re all local men,” I sipped the tea, which was a bit watery for my taste. “Could’ve run into each other, hatched a plan to distribute to dealers around the bay. Found themselves a supply and bingo.”

  “Flynn Jones is definitely an odd choice.” Tony sat up straight, no longer bored. “We’ve still got holes and marks all over the place from his visit.”

  “See,” Cillian cackled. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “‘Fraid so,” McCall exhaled forcefully, watching the boys exchange anecdotes of Flynn, laughing at his clumsy self. They laughed at each story.

  “Respect, please. This isn’t a laughing matter,” I frowned, my forehead creasing with lines.

  “Quite funny to me, sir,” Cillian wheezed. “He could barely walk without falling over his own feet.”

  Tony got the hint and contained himself. “So we’ve got a hold of their supply and now what?” he theorized.

  “Well, they must have an agreement with people on the other side of the borders.” I blew the steam from the liquid away. “We’ll see if we can trace them back and get them taken care of, by their retrospective forces. They’d likely be willing if it stopped the threat of these drugs killing more addicts, on not only Dalgety streets but all over the country and more. By going a step above the likes of Flynn, Sam, or Robin, then we’ve got our chance to stop the chain. The Guv’ll handle that.”

  “And halt the strain,” DC Taylor added, finishing off the saying. It was ingrained into us all, it felt strange to leave the saying halfway along. We plunged into a quiet hush, each of us thinking about the situation from our own perspectives.

  “I promised the Guv we’d start looking into the missing vehicle reports. But most of the computers are switched off too,” DC Taylor carried on, showing us the blank screens on account of the redecoration and finishing off the decaff Rebecca had made him. He was a lean lad who cared for wellbeing and fitness. No wonder McCall fell for him above anyone else in the office. The rest of us
had let go a bit.

  “Right, well. Looks like we’ll have to make do with using our paper files until then,” I improvised, as DCI Reid would’ve done. “It’ll be tricky and longer to find the things we need, but we’ll have to manage for now. Robin, Sam and Flynn were all local boys, so they probably stole or used a vehicle from somewhere nearby.”

  McCall perched on her desk, joining in. “Before these guys unplugged our equipment,” she pointedly mentioned the decorators, who gave us a half apologetic shrug, “we had the anonymous tip-off this morning. Did you two find out who it was or trace the call at all?”

  “Nothing, sarge,” Tony admitted, scratching his growing beard. “We were busy with forms and paperwork. We didn’t think it overly mattered if you caught them in the act.”

  McCall twisted the ring she wore on her finger. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. I was just interested, that’s all.”

  “The person who made the call probably wanted to avoid any consequences from the dealers and keep their names out of the papers. It’s an entire operation, and I’m sure the ones who are still out there wouldn’t thank our source for leading us one step closer to them.” I put the empty mug onto the desk, leaving a ring of brown there.

  “What would be ideal is to talk to Flynn. He’s the last one living, which gives us a slim chance of wrangling any names from him about who else is involved. Judging by the last time we met, he’ll give us the information pretty quickly,” McCall guessed.

  “Jones is probably going to stay in hospital for a short while,” I noted. “Somebody, get in touch with the hospital when everything’s online again and ask them when we can visit. ASAP. He’s our only chance of finding out exactly where the drugs were transported from--”

  “And where would they have been travelling to next?” Rebecca finally spoke up after listening respectfully throughout our recap.

  “Exactly.”

  Cillian perked up, having finished staring at her in a daze. “So, you’re not asleep, after all?” he interjected his views and attempted to joke when it wasn’t entirely needed.