The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  Scowling at the halt to my plans, I patiently waited for the efficient woman to elaborate. Forensics were rarely wrong. It happened, but not too often.

  “The prints were found on the screen of just one of the phones,” she elucidated, “which is odd, considering the person who planted them at sarge’s house would’ve had to touch them all.”

  Scratching my neck, I shrugged. “They could’ve been wearing gloves but touched the screen after they’d planted them by accident. It happens. They’re criminals, not Oxford students.”

  “No, sir.” Rebecca denied the theory. “You don’t understand. We’ve severely underestimated them. These people, I hate to say it. They’re somewhat genius.”

  “Okay? So, whose fingerprint was on the tech?” The lack of detail was becoming frustrating. To call these bastards genius was a big stretch. There were plenty of other words I could describe them by.

  Rebecca hesitated. “It’s DS McCall’s. It’s sarge’s print they found.”

  “That’s impossible,” I scoffed, imagining this was some kind of elaborate wind-up, an office joke of the worst sort. “You’re being serious?”

  “Deadly,” Rebbeca stated grimly.

  McCall hadn’t seen those phones before in her life, let alone planted them. I trusted her with my life. There’s no chance that McCall was involved with the technology or the robberies. I froze to the spot.

  “She didn’t even get a chance to touch the phones, they were all in the evidence bag when we arrived. Tony had the phones.”

  “Someone’s planted her fingerprints. That’s the only way this could’ve been done. It wasn’t Sarge behind this, we already know that,” Rebecca said, leaping to McCall’s defence, but that wasn’t what worried me. A subconscious notion hit me square in the chest, rendering me short of breath and unable to breathe with ease.

  “They must've taken prints from her house before they even planted the phones,” Rebecca carried on wracking her brains, attempting to figure out where the criminals acquired the prints.

  “It’s too risky,” I disagreed. “The prints would’ve been all over the furniture. It’s too hard to get an accurate, clean print that way. Also, there wouldn’t have been enough time.”

  Rebecca bit her clean nails, contemplating the scenario as a whole. “Then how do you reckon they got her fingerprint ready in time?”

  There was one plausible theory, but it wasn’t one I wanted to believe or even entertain. Staring around our office hub, I saw Tony fiddle with the printer in frustration. A gentle giant. Cillian lost the tennis ball underneath his desk and scrambled to pick it up. The bumbling idiot. DC Taylor sighed at the computer screen, the smartest of them here. Then there was Rebecca. Shrewd, complex. Hard to read at times. The ultimate feminist.

  The station was covered in McCall’s prints. We all had the subject knowledge and an idea of how the process worked. Any one of them would have been able to find a clean fingerprint if given the time.

  19

  For the first time in a while, I was left to my own devices and to an empty office. Even so, it didn’t help the distrustful, intrusive suspicions running through my head. To frame me would be one thing, but to frame a decent, hardworking woman like McCall was a whole new playing field.

  I remembered what Michael had told me beneath the underpass. The criminals who set us up had threatened the underground networks and forced frontmen to be involved in their drug transportations. Each of those frontmen was now dead.

  But what happened when these slippery criminals could also threaten our own officers to double-cross us?

  Ryan’s hidden bag had contained multiple pieces of screwed up paper, and I’d only managed to get a hold of one. But the one currently bundled up in my pocket contained a threat, a threat that ordered PC Ryan Shaw to destroy the CCTV tape which I’d also transferred into my care. Could these same letters have forced Ryan into planting McCall’s print onto the phones?

  Speaking of the devil, Ryan Shaw knocked on the door and scared the hell out of me. I’d been otherwise distracted since Rebecca revealed the forensic prints.

  “DI Cooper? You asked to see me?” His blonde hair stood out from a mile away, contrasting but also creating a synchronicity with his icy blue eyes. He reminded me of a cartoon character, the sort of man that animators would love to draw.

  “Ryan.” I sat up straight. “Take a seat. Right on time, you’re just the guy I wanted to see.” After I gestured towards the empty chair, he abided by the offer and slowly stalked over. “How’s the shoulder doing?”

  I had started our exchange off lightly. Grunting in relief at the chance to rest his weary feet, Ryan had no clue why he’d been summoned into our department. Folding both greasy hands together, he waited expectantly for some indicator of what our private audience would entail.

  “It’s getting there. They said it’s healing as well as can be expected.”

  “Yes, well. Getting shot isn’t something that happens every day.” I paused and mulled over the possibilities of how to begin my informal interrogation. Beating around the bush wasn’t my particular style, so I dived in at the deep end. “Skipper saw you rifling around the CCTV tapes.”

  Ryan froze on the spot at my utterance.

  “I went to your office and found a bag shoved behind your desk,” I continued gravely. “These were inside.” Digging the crumpled paper and CCTV tape from my pocket, I laid them out on the desk before us. “When did you start receiving these threats, Ryan?”

  He said nothing.

  “This specific note told you to steal the CCTV tape.” I waved the tape as an example. “Forced you, even.”

  Ryan struggled to maintain his composure and shook violently.

  “I’m not angry, Ryan. I understand that being threatened isn’t to be taken lightly. Who’s sending these letters to you?” I urged impatiently but gained no recognisable or distinguishable reply. Sitting forward on my chair, I tried to make as much eye contact with him as possible to portray my sincerity. “There’s something on the tape recording that they’re desperate to get rid of. Why didn’t you tell someone about the threats when they began?”

  Ryan mumbled at my interrogation, with some greasy residue from a bacon sandwich left behind on his chin. A few stray hairs littered there, as well as shaving cuts which added to his working-class state.

  “You wouldn’t understand. It’s not that easy to tell.”

  I sighed. “What isn’t that easy? Ryan, I can help, but you’ve just got to trust me.” Ryan refused to budge, as did I. “Did they force you to get DS McCall’s fingerprint?”

  “What?” Ryan perked up, denying the accusation. “No. That wasn’t me, I swear.” There was a candid streak about Ryan. He was frightened, that much was clear, exactly as Flynn Jones had been. Having to deal with this and the bullet wound all at once couldn’t have been a nice experience.

  “Are there other officers involved in this? Officers like you being forced to do their bidding?”

  Ryan’s cheeks trembled, a fragility about the constable. “I don’t know. The letters said that my bullet wound held me accountable. That if I wanted to live, I’d follow instruction.”

  That seemed to be their ultimatum for everything. Abide by their rules, or get killed. An unfair, unbalanced way of manipulating scared people into getting their hands dirty.

  “I have to know where these notes came from.” I couldn’t rest until I did.

  “Trust doesn’t work anymore, sir.” Ryan popped and unpopped a button without thinking. “Not when it comes to our station and the people inside it.” Ryan stared unwaveringly at his feet. “Don’t get involved, Sir. It’s not a smart move.”

  “I already am involved, Ryan,” I admitted and caringly poured him a chilled glass of water. “Flynn Jones was murdered, and the people behind this are setting up my closest friend to take a fall. I won’t stand by and watch her be falsely accused, nor walk around wondering who I can really believe. If these threats have come str
aight from the criminals themselves, it could be the key to justice.”

  Ryan gulped the water down, seeming as though he wanted to speak and unload his burdens. But there was hesitation in his face too, a look of distrust.

  “You’re not one of them?” he asked doubtfully, jiggling his leg nervously.

  I furrowed my brow. “One of whom, Ryan?”

  “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

  I seemed to convince him of my honesty. “I don’t, but I want to find out.” This was my vendetta against the murderer of Flynn Jones.

  Ryan shuffled in the seat, whimpering at the movement his shoulder made. “You’re clean?”

  “I’m clean, Ryan,” I leaned forward gravely. “I swear.”

  We stayed in the ominous glare for a while until Ryan finally nodded.

  “Okay,” he whispered and gave in. “Turn the fan on. Please.”

  Although it was an unusual request, I didn’t argue but did as asked. That was a new concept for me.

  “Hot?”

  “You could say that.” Ryan checked behind him and out into the CID department hub. Meanwhile, the electrical fan whirred noisily, and I could barely hear much over the distracting sound. Offering a cigarette in a mutual truce, Ryan shook his head in refusal.

  “I did what you asked, and I haven’t formally questioned you for stealing because I know these people have frightened you. In the same way they frightened Flynn and DS McCall,” I lit up, needing a smoke just to get through this confession of sorts. “Are they watching you as well?”

  My heart pounded, and I wasn’t sure whether it was from adrenaline, or if it was a heart attack from the sheer volume of caffeine I’d had to get me by. The colour drained from Ryan’s masculine face, and he gripped onto the armrest for support. Ryan’s demeanour swung round in circles. I didn’t know if he was about to cry or faint.

  “They know... things,” he said slowly. “Private discussions that I’ve spoken to people about. It started in the hospital when I talked with my girlfriend.”

  “I didn’t know you had a partner. She wasn’t there when we saw you sleeping in the hospital.” Ryan was alone when we’d visited the hospital for Flynn’s questioning.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “I don’t really tell people about my private life. But a couple of days later, I was sent false get-well cards that threatened her life and mine too. My job, even. They listened to our conversation, I’m sure of it.”

  “You think you’ve been bugged?”

  Ryan nodded again. “I know it. Hence the fan. I’m hoping it’ll cover up our speech, should anyone be listening to this through a device. You could be bugged too.”

  An unpleasant tingle ran up my spine. McCall’s home had been compromised, and our workplace didn’t feel secure either. Paranoia was going to cripple us.

  “Me?” I asked with uncertainty. Surely, I would've noticed by now.

  “You’re working on the case, aren’t you?” Ryan stated the obvious, cheeks puffing out in indignation. “You know too much already. That’s why the notes asked me to dispose of the tape. Your team has them spooked.”

  Hence McCall’s rushed break-in job and Flynn’s open murder.

  “What’s on the tape?” I flicked some ash into the heavy tray next to us.

  Ryan looked to the left. “They told me not to watch it. That my task was to steal it only.”

  “But you did?” I presumed by the way he shuffled.

  “Uh-huh,” he said ashamedly, voice even quieter than before. “It was risky, but I had to know why I was risking everything for this footage. My job, my income, my livelihood. But if they ever find out I saw it and know who they are, they’ll ruin me.”

  These people were beginning to irk me. The cowardice, their nerve to corrupt our station with their criminal tendencies.

  “But who, Ryan?” My knuckles turned white from the amount of force I used to grip the desktop. “There must be some indication? Any strange looks coming your way, or phrasing in the letters that a certain person uses?”

  “They’re on the tape.” Ryan shuffled nearer to the fan, afeared. “Some of them are, anyway. But the person who killed Flynn Jones isn’t. I saw the murderer when I was in hospital.”

  “Who did you see?” I said again.

  “The police guard is the one who slipped him the poison, I'm certain of it. He stopped by my ward a few times, just staring at me. Thing is, Sir, the station didn’t employ him.”

  Whatever did Ryan mean?

  That’s when he delivered the bombshell. “I did some digging of my own. The police guard that was supposed to be protecting Flynn doesn’t exist on the employee records here.”

  If we did not employ him, then we’d had the murderer staring us in the face all along. Taunting us. We’d even spoken to the man who killed Flynn, one of the bastards involved.

  “Shit.” The cigarette fell from my fingertips and charred the wooden desk. I didn’t care. The guard was gone, and we had no clue what his real name even was. I noticed Ryan significantly weakened, and his body struggled to stay upright in the seat.

  “Ryan?”

  He waved away my concern. “I’m fine. I just haven’t told anyone before now. It’s… frightening,” he admitted truthfully.

  “I know it is.” Even I was spooked. “I’m glad you’re trusting me, especially given the circumstance.” My shoulders drooped heavily. “Just know that I’ll do everything in my power to stop this from going further. To keep you safe. We’ve failed Flynn and I won’t fail you too.”

  Perhaps it was cruel to make a promise that I couldn’t necessarily keep. But to me, it wasn’t a promise. It was an oath.

  Ryan’s blonde hair appeared even more dishevelled since he entered, from running his oily hands through it too often. “I heard you're one of the good ones. I just hope that’s true.”

  “I’d like to think it is.” Though with the direction this case was heading, who knew anymore?

  “Everything’s orchestrated,” he added, saying the same thing that our team had all along. “They've covered every inch of the station, and they’re cunning. Calculated. They managed to get in here unnoticed, a place that shouldn’t be susceptible to that form of manipulation. After watching the tape, you’ll see.”

  If these people had crawled around our station and blended in with us all, then they had access to everything regarding the drugs case. Especially McCall’s prints.

  “And it won’t stop there if they find out I’ve told you everything, to the best of my knowledge. That is why I’m glad you didn’t make me have a formal interview,” Ryan admitted. “But please, watch the tape anywhere but here. For safety. Then, you have to destroy it. If they know I failed the task and you’ve got the footage--”

  “I know. Your life is at stake.”

  “That’s how it starts. You’ll be next on their list too. The threats will start from then onwards, small at first but gradually getting worse. Lose a file here. Mention something else there.” He was beginning to well up, clearly overwhelmed and in deeper than he had cared to admit. “Once you’ve watched the tape, leave the case alone. Make your peace with it. The bad guys are always one step ahead. We’ll never be able to outwit them.”

  That’s what the other stations thought too. They’d sidelined their cases before it went too far.

  But I was different. I couldn’t live knowing that these people were still out there, threatening people I cared for.

  “I’m not sure I can do that,” I said gravely, a bead of sweat dripping down my forehead, despite the fan. “We’ve already sat by and watched Robin and Sam die because we thought they were shooting first.” The guilt started to make me feel sick. “But they were innocent in this too and deserve justice as much as anyone else.” My legs felt ready to collapse. If we couldn’t trust our teams, who could we trust? Who could the public trust? “I’d rather die, then work for a corrupted workplace.”

  “Promise me you won’t tell anyone here what I
’ve told you today.” Ryan gritted his slightly wonky teeth. “Word gets around here. Nobody in the station can know, in case they let slip.”

  This was a twisted repeat of Flynn’s discussion with McCall.

  “I promise.”

  I couldn’t tell anyone in the station, but how about outside of the station?

  20

  McCall and Abbey sat in shocked silence at the information I’d overloaded them with. They were the only two people on this earth I’d trust with my life. Essentially, our lives were in each other's hands now. We had to trust that our secret-keeping skills were a hell of a lot better than Cillian’s.

  The only indicator that time was passing anymore, was the flurry of cars driving past the house and getting stuck in the small queues of rush hour traffic. Since Ryan had shared his concerns with me, I’d become a walking zombie. Neither time nor food had much effect on me right now.

  “I can’t believe it,” McCall whispered faintly. “Any of it. Even if they are being threatened, it’s still a hard pill to swallow.”

  Abbey had spilt hot water on the countertop by accident, after hearing the news. Shakily clearing it up with a soggy cloth, she waited for us to continue. I perched upon the arm of our sofa, staring at my work partner who was reduced to a nervous wreck.

  “I can’t trust anyone there, not anymore. Apart from John and you.” We mentally shared the impact this had on the team, and us as their superiors. Leaders who had distrust for their team had failed them automatically.

  “I looked a murderer in the face,” McCall couldn’t get past that initial hurdle. “We failed Flynn. No, I failed Flynn. He wouldn’t have shared everything with me if I didn’t force it out of him.”

  Abbey chose the opportune moment to get involved. She was a compassionate woman and knew exactly what to say. Unlike me. We were complete opposites but as the famous saying quotes: Opposites attract.