The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  17

  The cafeteria was dull without McCall. Heck, the whole station was utterly dull without her. She would’ve been helpful to have around now. Thankfully, the sandwiches barely changed, although the stale bread wasn’t entirely distinguishable from the shade of Flynn’s dead body. That alone was mildly off-putting. I gave up with the action of forcing food down my throat and stuck to drinking their tea instead.

  Tea never failed to make the best of a dire situation. Eating lunch alone at the cafeteria was something I hadn’t done in years. Usually, McCall would sit opposite me and chatter non-stop until I felt like screaming. It’s funny what you miss when someone’s gone or replaced.

  It had reached lunchtime, and all the tables were full from raving constables or the higher ranks who remained clumped together in groups. Rebecca picked at some pasta, debating with Tony about certain case details. By the sad and sullen expression covering his youthful face, I knew McCall was also playing on his mind too.

  The PCs were engaged in a spot of bacon sandwiches and boyish jokes. Ryan Shaw sat in the middle of them all, a spot of favouritism because of the injuries he’d sustained. He was struggling to pick up his morning roll with one hand and five fingers only.

  My metal spoon clattered loudly against the china mug, although I was stuck too deep in my daydream to realise that I’d been over stirring it for the past five minutes or so.

  “Sir?” DC Taylor towered over me, uniform a mess in comparison to his normal neat as a pin appearance. “I saw you were alone? Mind if I sit there?” He had a meal tray balanced between both palms.

  I supposed the distraction could be welcomed.

  “DC Taylor. Please do. The company would be nice.” I pointed to the empty chair. “It’s strange without McCall here, huh?” I stuck to our mutual conversation grounds. She and CID were the only thing we had in common.

  “Very. I miss her, I know it sounds daft.” DC Taylor stabbed a pasta spiral with his fork. “Especially since she’s only been gone for a day.”

  “Not at all.”

  “DCI Reid told us all about Flynn’s body,” he mentioned, voice muffled from the food. “It’s terrible. These people don’t stop. I thought breaking into Kirsty's house would be more than enough to distract us from their trail.”

  I took a sip of the now room temperature liquid. “Well, now the one remaining suspect can’t talk at all. There’s no one left to question anymore. They’re hitting us from all angles, severing our leads. How long have I been sitting here?” Time had run away from me.

  “Nearly an hour, sir. It’s fine, the team knows what we’re doing,” DC Taylor assured me, pasta sauce on his chiselled chin. I was surprised he ate carbs at all, with his lean figure.

  “You don’t have to call me sir on your break, DC Taylor.”

  He scoffed in mirth. “And you don’t have to call me DC Taylor, sir, but you do. By the way, I got the CCTV tapes from the hospital. There’s nothing which jumps out as suspicious, nobody who shouldn’t be there.”

  “Hm, keep combing through them. Search for anyone particularly shifty, no matter whether they’re staff or not. It’s the one thing left for us to analyse. Anyone carrying takeaway coffee near Flynn’s ward, or staff doing the food rounds.” If the substance that killed Flynn was passed through food and drink, that was the important detail to search for.

  “Poison’s a nasty way of killing someone. No way of killing someone is particularly nice, but this seems--”

  “Cowardly,” I finished for him.

  “Yeah.” We exchanged an angry look. “Rebecca’s cross-referencing purchases with the local shops, for anyone who bought an item with the poison in, and we’ll note all the card details that come up. Then we can tell if they’ve used the card nearer to the hospital.”

  “And by tracing their transactions, we’ll have a shorter list of suspects who were visiting today,” I got the idea. “Nice one.”

  DC Taylor aimed his plastic water bottle at the bin and threw it in on the first attempt. “It’s a lot of work, but we’ll get there in the end.” He paused and seemed reluctant to ask the next question. “I presume McCall isn’t coming to the gala anymore? I know it’s the last thing to think about, but she hasn’t mentioned it.”

  “Oh that bloody gala,” I grumbled. “I’d forgotten all about it.” Again. “I don’t think anybody’s particularly in the mood for it anymore, lest of all McCall.”

  “No, especially if she isn’t there.” DC Taylor’s gelled hair slicked onto his forehead. “She’s the life and soul of the party. I was thinking about visiting her whilst you guys are away at the gala if that’s alright? Thought I’d better ask, as it is your home after all.”

  I remembered what McCall told us that morning.

  “I think she’d rather be alone,” I shared and pitied the downcast young man. “She told us earlier that she doesn’t feel herself. That she’d rather you see her when she’s feeling better and not quite so... miserable.”

  DC Taylor’s brows furrowed. “I don’t care about that. Surely that’s my job, to comfort her?”

  “I know, but McCall’s stubborn,” I reminded him. “She cares what people think about her, you know that. Let her wallow for a while, it’s nothing against you. She said she’ll phone and keep in touch either way.”

  Talk about shooting the messenger. I hated being stuck in the middle of relationships, handling my own was bad enough. It reminded me of the way my parents would make me share information between the two of them when I was a wee lad.

  “I just don’t want to get pushed away, that’s all,” DC Taylor explained.

  “You’re not. Trust me, McCall’s sort of crazy about you. Just don’t ever tell her I said that or I’m afraid she’ll hit me… hard.” I could already imagine the pain. McCall hit hard and without mercy when angry.

  We shared an honest grin.

  “Either way, I’ll give the gala a miss.” Taylor shrugged, bright eyes fixated on the food. “I’ve been doing some research of my own into the electrical robberies. Seeing what the correlation was between them. The only things I could find were that the houses our planted phones were stolen from, were mainly located on their own. They targeted places easy to break into.”

  “They were sensible then. Kept out of plain sight.”

  “Exactly. It’s as though they nicked stuff for the sake of it. It’s not exactly the heist of the year. It’s lazy robberies,” he expressed vividly.

  “It’s too dry. Too meticulous… too perfect. These people knew what they were doing. They’ve planned this for a while now, it’s obvious. Every inch of their plans is covered or pasted on top of. There’s got to be one link between all of them, something to expose their seedy plans. I hate cowards.” I seethed and hit the table to emphasise how I felt.

  “Well, this doesn’t sound like a cheery, lunchtime conversation,” a snappy voice interrupted us. The superintendent. “That’s a good thing, I’m not a fan of frivolous topics like the weather. It’s all small talk. Can I join?”

  He barely ever emerged from his office and certainly didn’t sit with officers for lunch.

  “Uh, of course.”

  We budged over accordingly, not quite brave enough to revolt against his wishes. His tall and slim figure collapsed onto a low seat. With matching white hair and brows, it wasn’t hard to see he’d done this job for too long. The superintendent kept his clothes dry cleaned and starched to perfection. His head was bald, otherwise not a singular hair would be out of place either.

  “You’re wondering what I’m doing here?” He read our minds. That was a perk of doing our job. Reading body language became second nature, a talent. “I thought I should interact with people a bit more. I’m tired of eating on my own, it’s not much fun. And the truth is, the station is a much more welcoming place to be since it's had a fresh lick of paint. Before it was all grotty and… dirty.” He shuddered, and I assumed he was something of a germaphobe.

  We were one and the
same. “I can agree with that.” I nodded curtly.

  “Also, I heard you discussing DS McCall. She’s a good lady. Efficient. Smart. As her partner, I’m sure you're feeling the loss. Your team works hard, it doesn’t go unnoticed.” The superintendent gave us a rare compliment as he grabbed the salt shaker.

  “Yes, Sir,” DC Taylor and I said at the same time, earning ourselves a strange look. He must’ve been referring to me only as McCall’s work partner as opposed to her personal relationship with DC Taylor.

  “Very much so,” I continued, and DC Taylor blushed at the mix-up.

  “DCI Reid has expressed his concern over the welfare of your team. I came to make sure that you’re all being as careful as possible,” the superintendent bit into a chip. Although meticulous in appearance, he wasn’t the greatest eater. Messy, to be precise. He had a napkin to hand at all times, for the salt from the fried delicacy dropped onto his lap.

  “Aye, sir. We’re trying.” I’d finished my tea a while ago. Now I was simply sitting there without means of escape. “We don’t want to give the criminals the satisfaction of knowing they’ve won.”

  “Rightfully so.” He grinned at my bold statement. “That’s what we’re here for, after all. DCI Reid cares about you all. That much is obvious. He’s efficient and I must say the station looks spectacular.”

  “Sir?” DC Taylor quizzically asked. I wasn’t sure what the superintendent was referring to either.

  “Of course. He didn’t tell you, did he? Reid’s too modest for that.” The superintendent wiped his fingers and found some hand gel in his jacket. “He recommended those decorators who tidied the place up a bit. Paid for it too, all out of his own pocket.”

  “He did?” I gasped. “That must’ve cost quite a bit. Why?”

  “Said he wanted you guys to have a reward for the hard work recently,” the superintendent shared honestly. “He’s right, and the station is a pleasant place to be now. It’s bright enough to get me out of the office and down here after too many years. Even after all that, he’s still running the gala towards police funding. Is there anything your DCI wouldn’t do?”

  DC Taylor was equally shocked. “Seemingly not, Sir. He’s a very forgiving and charitable guy.”

  “That he is. The most efficient DCI your team has had.” Specks of crumbs littered the tabletop as he talked.

  “Whilst we’re on that topic,” I noticed the clock ticking, “I’d better get to work before the Guv lectures me about slacking,” I joked, much to the amusement of the superintendent. He let off a hearty, rich chuckle. It was surprising, for I hadn’t really heard him laugh before. Wait until McCall found out I’d made him laugh. “See you in a bit, DC Taylor. And you, Sir.”

  “I’ll see you at the gala,” he curtly informed, finally allowing me to leave.

  No sooner had I escaped the company at the cafeteria, another bumbling person stopped me in my tracks. Destiny was making sure I had no time for myself today. This time around it was Dora, her smart shoes scuffed around the edges. She had half chased me down the thin passageway.

  “Oi, Cooper!” Her ragged breathing didn’t sound very healthy.

  Stopping in wait for the plump lady, I sighed. “DI Cooper, Skip. You’ve got to start calling me that.”

  “Whatever.” She couldn't care less. “Help me out, would you? I found these loads of newspapers shoved in the bathrooms.” The heavy ton of papers were unexpectedly thrust into my arms. “Even though those bloody decorators have gone, their mess is everywhere.”

  “I know.” I stopped myself from complaining and followed her to the reception. “We keep finding hammers and paintbrushes left behind in our offices.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Skipper fumed, many wispy hairs standing on edge. It looked as though she’d grown devil horns overnight. “The people in this station have gone crazy.”

  “What do you mean?” She appeared angry at the world itself. Stressed, if I didn’t know any better.

  “First the mess, then the shooting. And now we’ve even got our own officers acting dodgy. I caught the bugger rifling through our front desk after I came back from my break yesterday. He should be taking it easy after that kind of injury,” Skipper ranted and raved whilst shredding the newspapers one by one.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  A local kid started shouting profanities at an officer. No doubt they were fighting against a petty charge they’d received. Some people treated us disrespectfully when caught committing a crime.

  Scratch that, the majority of people did.

  “That PC who got shot,” Skipper tutted like I’d missed something, checking to ensure their heated interaction didn’t go much further. Skip would always step in if need be, for she was a feisty woman. “Ryan Shaw, you twit, keep up. You’re supposed to be smart, ain’t ya?”

  “Hey, watch it. I am smart.” But I was certainly missing something. “Why was he shifty? I don't understand.”

  “Caught him rifling in the CCTV tapes.” She pointed towards a bunch of burned CDs of specific incidents captured on tape. “He walked away with something in his hands, but I didn’t see what it was. Although my best scarf did go missing the other day. I asked Ryan what he was doing here, but he wouldn’t talk.”

  “I’ll find out for you, Skip,” I promised, curious to find out for myself too.

  Either Ryan liked wearing silken scarves, or he was hiding something.

  18

  I knocked on the door to the PC’s main hub. Much like our own, It had a few scattered desks and a pokey staff kitchen attached. Seemingly, the officers were still sitting down in the canteen and eating their rolls or attending calls. Nobody was there to invite me in, so I decided to go ahead, anyway. There simply weren't enough hours in a day to waste.

  Ryan’s desk wasn’t hard to spot, choc a block with balloons which were beginning to deflate and empty chocolate wrappers discarded in the bin. Among the tabletop, was plenty of forms and files alike. I guessed light duties weren’t as simple as they sounded. A phone rang loudly, scaring me half out of my wits.

  I patiently waited for Ryan to return here so that I could ask a few questions and find out exactly what he was hiding from Skip. Meanwhile, I had a look at the strewn papers littering the desktop. There were only various statements and reports, nothing suspicious.

  Hopefully, Skipper wasn’t mistaken, and her eyesight wasn’t in decline. Otherwise, this would be a complete waste of time. But if Ryan wasn’t hiding something, surely he would’ve been honest about what he was doing in the CCTV storage?

  When I stretched out and shuffled on my feet, the corner of a stuffed bag caught my eye. Peeking out from behind the desk, the canvas style bag seemed about to burst at the seams. Whoever had tried to hide it hadn’t done a very good job.

  Despite the feeling of guilt at sneaking around, my personality was a nosey one. I couldn’t change the habit of a lifetime and I’d been working for CID long enough to know when an object wasn’t supposed to be found. Taking the opportune instant, I dragged the bag out to rest by my feet. What else could I do? Nobody was here, and I was a DI. My job entailed discovering the things that were meant to stay concealed,

  “What are you hiding?” I whispered, flinching at every far off noise. Knowing that time was of the essence, I knuckled straight down to it before anyone could catch me. Unzipping the metallic fastening revealed a bunch of screwed up papers.

  Uncrumpling one, I read the typed font with haste. What I scanned through filled my core with dread. All too soon, I heard hurried footsteps advancing across the corridor, so I crumpled the typed message into my pocket for later. Calculating that there were roughly twenty seconds until the person reached this office, I had enough precious seconds to thrust my hand back in and grab a rectangular object that brushed against my fingertips.

  “Oh!” a PC exclaimed, getting a shock at seeing me in their office. “DI Cooper. Can I help you?” Their expression changed to one of confusion.

 
“No, thanks.” I played it cool, although my heavy breathing and red face was a giveaway. “I was looking for a pen.” That was officially the worst lie of my life. “I gave it to Ryan this morning. It’s special, you see. Anniversary present from the girlfriend…”

  I faltered off, uncertain that the PC was convinced by any of this. Using my boot, I kicked the bag farther below Ryan’s desk to hide any evidence of my presence there.

  “Typical Ryan.” The PC rolled his eyes. “He does that a lot. Ran my pen out of ink the last time I gave it away. The moral of the story, don’t give them to him when he asks.” The uniformed PC grinned.

  “Duly noted.” I gave a tight-lipped smile in return.

  The PC came a bit closer. “Did you find it?”

  “Find what?”

  “The pen, Sir,” the PC reminded me.

  “Oh, that! Yeah.” We descended into an uncomfortable silence. “Well, erm, I’d best head off, there’s plenty of stuff I should be doing. Tell Ryan to come and find me when he’s finished eating.”

  Ryan and I needed an urgent chat regarding the typed letters and tape that were currently stuffed inside my pockets.

  The CID department was preoccupied with their tasks upon my return, apart from Rebecca, of course. The unfolding chaos barely fazed her. Cillian was throwing a tennis ball at the wall, and our rickety printer beeped boisterously to alert everyone within a mile radius that we had an ongoing paper jam. Holding hordes of files flush to her slim hips, Rebecca chased after me. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss the files, for the CCTV tape was intriguing me a great deal.

  “DI Cooper, something’s come up,” Rebecca informed sternly. The sheer urgency in the small sentence made me stop in my tracks. “I’ve got forensics on the stolen phones. They came in over lunch.”

  “That was quick.” I reluctantly stopped to hear her out.

  “Yeah. Quick and wrong. There’s got to be some kind of mistake, a mix up with the system,” she seethed and flicked over the reports. Rebecca rarely sounded so… misinformed.