The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “What a lovely story,” DCI Reid interrupted, and it was evident he didn’t mean it. “But that still doesn’t explain a thing, apart from distracting us from the real subject at hand.” He cleared his throat.

  Every so often, visitors would pass by and stare through the window, distracted by the presence of a police guard standing on duty. McCall watched carefully, ready to push us into line, should we cross the invisibly marked one.

  “At least my daughter will be able to visit me from prison,” he revealed, then closed his eyes properly, as though resting.

  “Flynn?” We tried in vain to get him to speak.

  “I think that’s all the sense we’re going to get for today,” I mumbled disappointedly. We couldn’t exactly force him into much.

  “What a load of bollocks,” DCI Reid fumed. “We need more than that, he’s the only one that made it out of there alive. People will die on my streets tonight from these bloody drugs.” He spiraled into a rant, and I moved to interrupt before he got too far.

  “Guv,” I hummed, and he snapped to attention.

  “Sorry,” he quietly said. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

  “I know.”

  7

  We walked away from the ward, pondering over the few facts we were given. A dodgy smell rose from the canteen downstairs, making us all feel queasy.

  “He went funny when we mentioned how the offer was made,” I discussed quietly when our mismatched group of three passed along the winding corridors. Each room we looked in had sick people or machines beeping in a twisted rhythm. We hoped nobody was listening in too much.

  “He mentioned his daughter visiting him in prison too,” McCall added. “I don’t know what he meant by that.”

  DCI Reid didn’t say much but blazed along ahead, smart shoes making funny noises on the polished flooring.

  “Maybe that was interlinked somehow?” I wondered, thinking hard.

  “You think he was trying to deflect from the offer itself? A hint,” McCall suggested, furrowing her gingery, plucked brows.

  “Maybe the offer is one he’s ashamed of. He didn’t seem willing to explain how he received it. Apart from that, he was relatively open with the fact he gave us.” Sweat stains covered my armpits as a result of the crowded hospital. Nurses walked on by, shooting us strange looks up and down.

  “Maybe he was threatened? That seeing his daughter in prison is the only way possible,” McCall theorised. “If we went back another day, maybe he’d be willing to tell us more.”

  “No.” DCI Reid glanced over his massive shoulders. “You saw the way he was. He wasn’t tired, but had enough of us.”

  “Okay, what about me?” she began. “He kept looking at me. I felt his hand grip mine, comforted by me just being there. He clearly remembered how we helped him last time.”

  DCI Reid concealed a sarcastic laugh. “Are you kidding? He didn’t start speaking until my voice startled him. You’re too soft with these types of people, they walk all over you because they know that.”

  “I build trust with them,” McCall defended her actions. “If I went back, I’m sure he’d tell me more.”

  “He’d spin more stories about his daughter to make you feel sorry for him.” DCI Reid waved the offer away. “We’ve got as much as he’s willing to let on. We’ve more important work to do.”

  I would’ve gotten involved in their tiny, ego-clashing spat had I not spotted Ryan Shaw inside one of the rooms. Stopping to look through the little window panel, I saw that he was surrounded by get-well cards and balloons from officers.

  “This is the reason why we need to stop wasting time. Find the people who handed them three the guns.” DCI Reid appeared next to me, gazing in too. I saw a hint of worry in his eyes for Ryan. He didn’t look great, pale and asleep.

  McCall stepped up on the other side, staying quiet, but I knew she was upset by the sight of the lad. She wasn’t one to enjoy seeing people hurt. The machines in there beeped ominously, the only consolation being the number of people that seemed to care for the PC’s wellbeing.

  “Yeah,” I whispered respectfully. “In that case, we should go.”

  They abided by the welcomed instruction, reduced to a hushed state at last. The weight of the situation was sitting on our shoulders, and we all looked worse for wear. A clamouring filled our ears when we neared the reception area.

  “The locals are rowdy,” DCI Reid commented stiffly. “It’s probably an old lady who’s fallen over outside. People always crowd around to help.”

  I choked on a scoff and did up my jacket to face the weather. DCI Reid left as head of the group, leaving us two to follow in his footsteps. The sight we were confronted with was overwhelming, but we knew it would happen at some point.

  Reporters shoved their cameras up to our faces and thrust microphones to our mouths. I ducked, just missing one that swung in the air. The noise was unbearable, and I cursed that I’d be on the local news with damp, unkempt hair.

  “Who alerted the cavalry that we were here?” McCall yelled, covering her face from the flashes.

  DCI Reid’s booming voice cut through the crowd. “Someone who wants my fist to knock out their teeth!” There wasn’t a chance of an easy escape, for the reporters blocked up the car park. Standing front and centre was probably the least likeable woman I’d ever had the displeasure of meeting.

  Georgina Ryder. A sickly overpowering journalist who spilt lies for a living. She’d do anything to get a headline, including acting like someone she wasn’t. I knew that for a fact.

  “What do the police have to say for themselves?” she yelled hoarsely, bright pink to match the tacky ensemble draped over that stick-thin body. She reminded me of a praying mantis in that respect.

  DCI Reid was the first to answer their morbidly obsessed wishes, leaning into a microphone. “Absolutely nothing, for we weren’t in the wrong.”

  “How can you say that?” a middle-aged man yelled. “Two people were killed on our streets, and you put another one in hospital.”

  A level-headed McCall took it upon herself to reply. “We had no choice. They were criminals with guns, shooting towards us. If they weren’t stopped then and there, they could've done a lot worse, like shooting the locals.” The comment regarding locals quelled their angry fire momentarily.

  “DI Cooper,” Georgina’s sickly voice cut into my skin like glass. She had riled me up already. “The statements we received yesterday claimed all of this was over the transportation of a drug shipment. Do you think death was a worthy price for desperate people trying to earn some extra money?”

  “No, I don’t, but I could ask you the same question. Do you believe addicts deserve people who are ‘only earning some extra cash’ by exploiting their addictions? Thousands more could’ve died from this shipment alone. We did the best we could, given the circumstances we were given.” I remained indifferent. I didn’t take the bait as the old Finlay would’ve.

  “Well done,” McCall murmured. I’d silenced Georgina in the very least.

  “Thanks.”

  “My team only has the best interest of the locals and the Bay in mind. Our actions yesterday were entirely based on the people of Dalgety and their wellbeing. It doesn’t get fairer than that,” DCI Reid informed the reporters sternly, and they seemed unimpressed that we weren’t giving them anything more exciting. They longed for drama, whereas we stuck to facts.

  “Our side didn’t exactly go unscathed either,” McCall mentioned building up our public image profile. We were laying it on a bit thick, but they’d have a tough time picking out faults in our approach to this crime, although they’d probably find a loophole somewhere. “A PC, Ryan Shaw, was hit too. He’s in there right now, and all of us from the station sincerely hope that he gets better soon.”

  “Do we have to be worried about any more shootings happening around here? Should we warn the locals to stay inside until it all blows over?” a young kid joined in, fairly recognisable too.

  “N
o,” DCI Reid promptly replied. “There’s always going to be criminals out there. We can’t stop them all, that would be nearly impossible, but we carry on. We will not give them the satisfaction of winning and frightening us.” The way in which DCI Reid spoke was like Churchill making a wartime declaration. Full of promise and determination, it was one that gave you hope and reassurance.

  One by one, the reporters got bored with us being on our best behaviour and filtered off. The car park seemed sparse and empty without them there, although Georgina was the penultimate one remaining.

  “Will you ever stop trying to dig up dirt on me?” I asked irritably, to which the other two watched in curiosity.

  Georgina’s fluffy pen played with her blonde curls, a strange grin toying with her puckered lips. “You’re the weekly entertainment, DI Cooper. I don’t think I'll ever stop having a fascination with you. You’re a wild card, and I refuse to believe this… clean image of yours will last. You’re the best headline, the one that people want to hear about.”

  “Was that a compliment?” I retorted, making her snort in mirth.

  “You wish. I’ll be watching you.” She flashed those pearly whites in our direction, before sauntering away. She struggled to walk normally in that tight skirt and jotted something in her notebook.

  “What a creep,” McCall bristled in distaste. “I can’t stand that woman. It’s almost as though she’s got some weird obsession with ruining your image.”

  “I know. And there are many things that could spoil my image. Like if the locals found out I only shower three times a week, or I barely floss my teeth,” I cracked a joke.

  “Women like her won’t stand down. I know the type. Just watch out, Cooper,” DCI Reid said, flattening his grey locks down by licking his palm and smoothing it through. “We should head back whilst we can before anyone else comes out in full force to snap pictures of us. I’ve got things to tell us all when we’re together.”

  8

  Upon our return to the station, Skipper was back in her rightful place and bustling around with paperwork. It was a relief to see her there, things felt a bit more… normal.

  McCall and DCI Reid were partway through a conversation, so I left them to it and separated to greet Skipper.

  “DI Cooper!” she greeted me accordingly. Her toothy smile held a warning for anyone else to back away. Considering Dora’s main role was to have face-to-face interaction with people, her attitude could be frightening.

  “Hullo, Skip.” I gave a small wave. “We missed you yesterday. The place wasn’t as lively.”

  She listened intently to my flattery and smiled.

  “You got that right. It was my granddaughter's wedding. Trust me to miss one of the most exciting days. I’ve been doing a load of rubbish recently, waiting for something like that.”

  “Ah, that is unfortunate, but still, a wedding is always exciting, no?” I leant on the desktop, avoiding her worksheets.

  “You’re joking, aye? Seeing lovey-dovey youngsters holding hands all day long and gushing all over each other? Wait until they see what marriage is really like. They’ll be begging for my help then,” the elderly woman said without mercy, lumps of fat poking out from the waistband of her trousers. Her wiry brunette hair was missing in some places, her hairline slowly receding. “Although it was more peaceful than here. I’ve had men shoving paint pots all over the place and leaving cups on my desk. Look at all the tea rings.”

  “I know,” I dryly agreed. “They’re everywhere.”

  She spun around in disapproval, wiping the desk down pointedly. “I’ve just cleaned all of this, Cooper, from those messy buggers,” she shouted over a whirring drill. “I told them my desk is available to three types of people: new arrivals, officers and Colin Firth whenever he’s available. Not for sodding men with their cracks hanging out every time they bend over!” She raised an eyebrow towards one of the prime examples.

  “Oi,” she shouted towards the poor, unexpected painter. “Not in my station. Pull it up.”

  I grinned with gusto at her sparkiness and inability to filter her words. Dora could outwit and replace anyone of the guys on our CID team, but the trouble is, she didn’t want to.

  “What are you doing here anyway, Cooper?” She threw me a knowing glance. I didn’t know her age exactly, but she could get away with anything between twenty-five and fifty-five.

  “Where are your manners, Skip? It’s DI Cooper. I didn’t pass my exams for nothing, and I’ve got a twenty-pound note, so spit it out,” I urged from low-key excitement. Dora was blessed with regard to horse racing. Whoever she predicted or heard would be rumoured to win usually did. If, and when, we won, I’d buy her lunch with some of my latest winnings. It was a small price to pay.

  Dora glanced around to check that nobody could hear. There were only a few locals waiting for appointments, so she leaned in closer.

  “There’s only one thing on everyone’s lips. Purple Haze,” she revealed with a pout.

  “Purple Haze? Never heard of ‘em,” I said truthfully.

  “I had my doubts too,” Dora replied, acting all hush, hush. “Insiders knowledge,” she tapped her large nose twice.

  “Put twenty down for me,” I whipped out a note, sliding it over for her to receive.

  “Of course.” Dora sneakily folded up the money, not that anybody was paying much attention to our interaction. “Oh, whilst you’re here. I thought you’d want to see this.”

  “What is it?” I began but was soon confronted with a giant newspaper, printed in black and white. On the front page was a picture of the police vehicles that were on the scene, and I groaned. “Keep it. I’d rather not know and live in ignorance.”

  “Fine. Have it your way.” She shrugged and shamelessly read it herself.

  “I’ll leave you to it, things to do.” I paced towards CID, waving goodbye to the firecracker of a woman. She was too invested in the paper to hear or care. I took it upon myself to grab a quick snack whilst en route, saving myself from the inevitable starvation the day was likely to bring.

  When I got to CID at last, everyone stared at the arrival.

  “Finally you made it, Cooper.” DCI Reid sat idly in the main hub on Tony’s empty desk. “We were beginning to think you got lost.” They appeared to be having a debriefing of sorts.

  “Sorry.” My voice was muffled from the snack. “Where’s Tony and--” I searched the room. Someone else was gone, for it seemed awfully quiet. “Cillian?”

  “We traced the van back to its origin, or where the criminals found it at least,” DC Taylor got involved, typing away at his computer keyboard frantically. “It was found at a local scrapyard which would explain why nobody was looking for it. Cillian and Tony are out there, taking a peek around to see if there’s anything that stands out.” He didn’t even take his concentration away from the screen.

  “Nothing, I can imagine,” DCI Reid shared.

  “Me either,” DC Taylor pressed enter, “but no stones unturned.”

  “That’s what we like to hear,” McCall noted as she peered over his shoulder, reading the screen interestedly.

  The office atmosphere was dull without the others, for both DC Taylor and Rebecca were workaholics. She was too busy writing at speed, hoping just to get the robbery files out of the way.

  “Well, it’s not much of a debriefing now, but…” DCI Reid paused, straightening his hunched posture. I was worried that Tony’s desk may snap if he shuffled around a second time. “This morning, before the hospital visit, I got the forensic files back. We’ve got all the evidence we need on paper, so I ordered for uniform officers to take the drugs away to be destroyed. A load like that would call all the criminals if left there.”

  “Ok, so now what?” McCall asked a viable question. “A scrapyard car, forensics are back, two dead, and we’ve talked to Flynn. Where do we go from here?”

  DCI Reid didn't seem to have much idea either.

  Luckily, DC Taylor was on the ball. We were all a
bit slow around lunchtime, it often happened when we were hungry. Hangry is probably a better term to use.

  “We could talk to Michael. He’ll be out tonight.” He tapped rhythmically, making music with his thumbs.

  “Who’s Michael?” DCI Reid wondered.

  9

  Michael was a homeless man who often resided under the bypass. Despite our offers to get him help, he always refused politely. He was an ex-gambler but always had time for us. It was the company he enjoyed, I supposed. In return, we would get information about the word on the street.

  During his long, restless nights, addicts often passed by, and he’d give us names of the most notorious dealers around. If there was anyone who’d know about these new suppliers and the loads that came with them, it was him.

  I’d offered to go at it alone, whilst the rest of the team stayed to continue following up any leads we could get.

  “Michael?” I called out, spotting him huddled up underneath a blanket we’d brought him.

  He squinted, trying to spot who was there in the darkness. “Is that you, DI Cooper?”

  It was bloody freezing underneath the shelter, how he didn’t freeze his knackers off, I’d never know.

  “Yeah, It’s me.” I handed him over a takeaway cup of tea from our canteen, still piping hot and a sandwich for good measure.

  He didn’t hesitate to scoff at the lot, and I let him have some fun with it. The indents on his cheeks were only pronounced by the lack of light under here, and all kinds of hairs stuck out from every surface available, lips, arms, forehead. The stench wasn’t exactly pleasant either, but I had to cut Michael some slack. He was doing the best he could without too many handouts.

  “You’re not here just to feed me,” Michael stated wisely, pausing from his eager mouthful.

  “You would be right.” I cracked a grin at his shrewdness, spotting the dirt littering his entire being. It was awful, having someone refuse help when they needed it, but I respected him for taking the harder road.