The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “This is Abbey,” I clarified. “Abbey, this is DCI Reid.”

  He bent over and planted a polite kiss on her knuckles. My spine tingled unpleasantly at the sickly gesture. To think, I’d believed he was a respectable man. I wanted nothing more than to drag him away from my woman. She was one of the purest people going, she didn’t need to be corrupted by his touch.

  “Thank you for coming.” He grinned as wide as a wolf. “I hope it lives up to expectations.”

  “Oh, it’s wonderful. Truly,” Abbey said, playing it shyer than I’d imagined she would. Then again, DCI Reid’s presence could make anyone seem quiet in comparison.

  “She’s a doll,” Iona gushed to nobody in particular. “Nice to meet you, lovely. What a gorgeous dress.” She pulled Abbey into a similar greeting as mine. They spoke fashion for a moment, leaving us men to grimace at their frivolous choice of topics.

  “You didn’t mention Abbey was such a looker. You’re a lucky man, Cooper,” DCI Reid flattered, and Iona didn’t even get offended. I wasn’t sure if she was just immune to these sorts of brash comments after so many years of being married to him.

  “As are you, Sir. The gala looks fantastic.” I raised a glass in spite towards the group who mirrored my actions. “To the Guv and Iona for tonight.”

  “Guv and Iona,” the four of us chanted. There wasn’t a moment to pause and reflect on our conversation, for the Reids barely paused for oxygen.

  “He’s been stressed out about it all coming together for weeks. He won’t admit it, but it’s true,” the lardy woman was in many ways similar to DCI Reid, but also opposite too. Whilst she was open and sparkly, DCI Reid remained closed off and stern.

  “They’re too stubborn to admit their emotions,” Abbey concurred, pretending she knew exactly what Iona meant. Actually, I wasn’t even sure if she was acting. I frowned at her suggestion, but Iona couldn’t get enough of it.

  “Is Cooper the same? Alec barely talks about anything else but work.” They looked like two schoolgirls on the playground at school.

  “Totally. It’s all DCI Reid this, investigation that. They’re obsessed,” Abbey shared.

  “With each other,” the women screeched, finding the so-called similarities between me and DCI Reid hilarious. We were nothing alike, I vowed silently.

  “Looks like they’re fast friends,” DCI Reid said dryly, tutting at his wife. “Women, eh? We can’t live without them, but sometimes I wish we could,” he tried to speak quietly, but Iona’s sharp hearing caught the offhand remark.

  “Behind every great man is a great woman,” she reminded us cheerily.

  “Well, I personally think it’s wonderful to have a Guv that spends time giving back to our station.” I turned on the charm. “McCall would’ve loved to see all of this.”

  “I’m sure she would,” he agreed and had the audacity to bow his head in sorrow. “It’s not the same without her.”

  “Yes, it’s a right old mess,” Iona gave her two cents worth and flashed her glitzy rings. “I hear a lot of stories about your team, and the station in general. McCall sounds lovely, the poor thing. The sooner she gets back where she belongs, the better.”

  Surely, Iona was oblivious as to what really happened here. DCI Reid was probably spinning her a thread, as he had done to the rest of us. In a state of distraction, he’d noticed the donation officer waggling the box at everyone for a second time round.

  “Stupid boy,” he didn’t seem impressed. “The donations were supposed to be an optional gesture. He’s trying to bleed the stones dry.”

  Now he was telling us that? I’d jolly well like my money back in that case.

  “I’m sure nobody minds too much,” I said the complete opposite. “It’s all going towards our funding, after all.”

  “That’s the spirit, Cooper,” he nodded enthusiastically.

  The band conductor paused and interrupted our group setting to talk arrangements and timings with the Reids. They’d organised every minute of the evening and planned meticulously. The poor guy seemed afraid of messing up their schedule. Iona and DCI Reid were well and truly engrossed elsewhere, exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I wanted to be there when they would inevitably let something slip.

  “Anything we can help with?” Abbey offered politely, catching onto my gist.

  “Oh, no, no!” Iona assured us. “You two lovebirds enjoy your night. Just because we’ve lumbered ourselves with a dozen tasks, doesn’t mean you have to.”

  DCI Reid agreed wordlessly, his masculine hands fumbling with a few electrical wires. It must take a lot of patience and attention to organise an event of this capacity.

  “Go on. Have a dance. I want to watch two young lovers together, to see the magic happening there. Heaven knows I’m never getting that chance again,” she announced, much to DCI Reid’s shock. His cheeks wobbled in indignant retaliation. “Go on!” Iona flapped at us in the direction of the dancefloor where a dozen couples were either smooching or lost in each other's gazes.

  That wasn’t going to get us a confession, so I tried to talk my way out of it.

  “No, we don't dance.” Not only would this tear us away from DCI Reid, the whole reason this event was so important to us, but I also couldn’t dance. Or I hadn’t ever tried to, at least.

  “Oh, don’t be so modest, Cooper. I’m sure you’ll be fine. There’s nothing better than being close to the one you love.”

  Iona wouldn’t let us wriggle out of it, but Abbey noticed my internal panic and picked up the slack, quicker on the ball than I was.

  “We can catch up afterwards though when you're not busy? I need some advice on how to deal with detectives in a relationship if you get my gist,” Abbey lied, wincing subtly as an apology. So long as we were on track with the plan, nothing else mattered.

  I was convinced she’d done this sort of thing before. Either that or her college acting classes really did pay off.

  “Of course, dearie,” Iona assured, visibly excited by Abbey's prospect of a girly natter. “I’m in dire need of a woman to talk to. I don’t know many here. It’s exciting to find someone who understands me.”

  Painting a fake smile to our faces, I let Abbey drag me towards the floor.

  “This is bloody torture,” I muttered when we were out of earshot.

  Abbey hummed agreeably. “Wait, did you mean having to speak to DCI Reid normally or the thought of having to dance?”

  Underneath our formal shoes, the tiles changed into slippery ones. She instantly merged in with the other dancers and pulled me flush to her with no chance of escape.

  “Now that you mention it, it’s both. Abbey, you know I don’t dance.” My muscles tensed up and my throat went dry as a bone. Dancing gave me pure, inexplicable stage fright.

  “Shh. We’ve got to impress them. What did we say earlier, hm? Schmooze and network with Iona. She’s watching us, so we can’t exactly bottle it now.” Thate convinced me, her body warm and inviting. Perhaps it wasn’t the worst task that we could’ve been given by the Reids. “Have you ever even tried to dance before?”

  I glanced over and saw DCI Reid coaxing me forward using hand motions.

  “No, but I've a feeling you’re using this situation to your advantage,” I muttered, trying to find the rhythm to the song. “You have always said you’ve wanted to dance with me.”

  “Can you blame a girl for trying?” She cosied up to me in victory. “Don’t think about the music. Think about us together.”

  “Are you trying to kill me?” I panicked. Abbey rested her cheek on my shoulder.

  “We’re in love, remember?” she teased. “Put this one, here.” She led by example, moving my left hand to touch her hip.

  “There? Are you lying?” I tried to sneak a peek at the other couples.

  “No,” she snorted over the soulful melody, where the saxophone played on the off beats but filled the bar passionately.

  The warm sensation caught me by surprise, and I realised it was her rag
ged breath on my neck. A rush of goosebumps covered my entire body from head to toe when we swayed on beat with the brass band and this time it wasn’t because of the weather. Dancing had never appeared so intimate from the outside view.

  “You’re doing well. Really well,” Abbey admitted soppily. “I like dancing with you.”

  “It’s not so bad.” I chuckled, liking to think that I was getting the hang of it. Relaxing and loosening up, it was the best I’d felt all evening; in spite of the huge weight lying on our shoulders.

  A jazzy solo accompanied the sways of us couples on the floor, everyone intoxicated but to a perfect amount. Tipsy, really. At the stage where everything smelled of roses and hazed over.

  “We’ll make a CID officer out of you yet. You did good back there,” I whispered, uncertain my voice was heard.

  “I did? They were friendlier than I expected, considering people hiding things are usually cagey.” We weaved past two constables slobbering over each other, which in my opinion was a bit too far for a work gala.

  I wouldn’t want my team to see me in that sort of situation, but then again, I could already see Tony and Cillian watching their DI dancing. They’d ridicule me when we returned to the station next week. I’d have to avoid them as much as possible.

  “Maybe we can nick a champagne flute for McCall at the end of the night,” Abbey suggested.

  Hearing those words leave her lips sent a jolt of electricity in my veins.

  “That was hot.”

  “What was?” she giggled.

  “You, being a daredevil. Saying you’re going to nick things in the middle of a police gala. I never really liked bad girls, but I think that’s all started to change.”

  Abbey could persuade a man away from his morals in an instant.

  “Aaand that champagnes gone to your head.”

  22

  “You should dance more often,” Abbey murmured, voice lost in my skin. “With me, of course. Nobody else.”

  I had to accept that she was right, as always. That’s what she liked to think, anyway. My stubble must’ve irritated her neck, just below the ear, for the skin had gone red raw. Either that, or she was flushed from the intimate hold.

  We’d stayed on the floor for a few dances, seen as we were enjoying each other’s company, and it pleased Iona very much. Other partners had come and gone, ebbed and flowed in waves across the hall.

  In the end, the swinging band was cut off mid-song by an impatient DCI Reid covered in spotlights. They washed his complexion out to a pale and nearly transparent white. Almost god-like in stature, the sight of him starting to make a speech made a sour taste flood my mouth and completely spoiled the dance we were genuinely enjoying.

  “Sorry everyone for cutting the dancing short. Cooper,” he acknowledged that they were the only reason we’d begun dancing in the first place. When I plastered a false beam on my face, he continued to address the impatient officers who wanted to get back to whatever they were doing. “I have a short speech to make in aid of tonight’s gala.”

  Most of the people booed, messing around with DCI Reid.

  “I know, I know. We all hate speeches.” DCI Reid held a hand up to lull the noise. Abbey snaked one arm around my shoulders so she could face the fallen superior. I wasn’t ready to let go just yet, so I continued to hold Abbey’s slim waist tightly. We stopped mid-dance and endured the microphone feedback.

  “First off, in tonight's proceedings, I have to thank the band. For obvious reasons, as well as taking our late booking because my wife insisted that a band was the only sensible way to host a party,” DCI Reid announced to rowdy cheers from the scattered constables.

  A few women whooped agreeably, to which Iona blushed and lapped up the applause specifically intended for her.

  “Then there’s the force itself and all hardworking people within. I may be relatively new to Dalgety, but there’s no denying you guys make the station tick.” DCI Reid did the sensible thing for his image as the officers stamped on the floor cheerfully and almost caused an uproar. Abbey held on tight as the floor shook. I saw the superintendent holding onto the glasses on his table jubilantly. Locals would be reporting an earthquake tomorrow.

  Abbey curled her lip at his facade.

  “Now, for the soppy part, and boys, hold your stomachs for two seconds and stop being jealous,” DCI Reid forewarned, clutching his own hefty stomach in amusement. “Tonight wouldn’t be half as grand if it wasn’t for my wife, Iona Reid.”

  More thunderous applause accompanied some sick noises in jest.

  “She makes my life as well as ruins it. Please, raise a glass for all of us here tonight, and those who couldn’t be here.” He lifted his drink for what I believed was specifically intended to be for McCall’s sake. Everyone reciprocated the glass lifting, repeating the final speech words and getting caught up in an enjoyable chant.

  “Oh, shut up and put the music on,” an officer heckled, catching us all off guard. His baritone voice cut through the chants and he then proceeded to swear obnoxiously. I presumed he was part of the uniformed team, but I barely recognised the drunken idiot.

  DCI Reid’s once jaunty exterior faded, and he failed to think of anything to stay on the spot. Nobody really wanted to get involved with the stumbling male. Taking care of a heavily intoxicated guy wasn’t top of my list for the night.

  That was until the inebriated officer tried to push through the dance floor and knocked into Abbey. By the way she gasped, I could tell the knock winded her. Even if the officer wasn’t able to fully control his action due to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, I still wasn’t happy.

  We, as upholders of the law, should know better than to get blackout drunk in the middle of what was supposed to be a sophisticated event. Then again, we as officers should know better than to get involved in drugs too.

  “I think you’ve had more than enough to drink,” I stated firmly, not wanting to make much of a scene. Originally, nobody thought the hammered officer had paid much mind to the off-hand comment.

  “Anyway, as I was saying--” DCI Reid started again, but before he could get any further, a rough movement jerked my shoulder.

  “Watch it,” DCI Reid cautioned into the microphone and the crowd duly parted, expecting something exciting to transpire.

  “I suggest you take your hands off me if you want to keep this civil,” I warned with a brittle edge to my voice, for this man wasn’t thinking straight. With steely eyes and thick-rimmed glasses to hide behind, the drunken officer was the epitome of someone who’d had too much fun.

  Abbey tried to tug me away from the challenger by the cuff of my jacket but to no avail. I wasn’t going to let a jerk like him get away with being irresponsible. People who broke the rules needed straightening out, exactly as DCI Reid needed to be. I think part of my pent-up frustrations were being misdirected towards the drunken man, in a haze of my own slight tipsiness.

  “Say that to my face,” the constable slurred, swaying and rocking on his unsteady feet. The stench of his liquored breath filled my nostrils.

  “I said you’ve had too much to drink.” I rose towards him in a non-combative manner. “Go and sit down somewhere, eh?” Without being overly aggressive in the slightest, I pointed towards the lavishly decorated tables that were now full of handbags, bottles and people’s coats over the chairs.

  The officer stumbled, swearing twice over. “Don’t tell me what to do, mate.” His accent wasn’t from here, it suggested hints of an English twang. Cockney, to be specific.

  “I’m not your mate,” I chuckled at the audacity he had. He’d regret all of this by the time he had sobered up and realised who he was trying to square up to. “It’s DI Cooper to you.”

  Before anyone really understood what was happening or had time to react, the idiot had swung for me. For a disorientated man, he had an excellent sense of aim. There was a deafening crack, and my entire jaw went numb.

  “Jesus Christ,” I stepped back, feeling a layer
of blood trickle down my bare neck. A decorative ring was on the officer’s middle finger, and it had inflicted a nasty nick.

  “Finlay!” Abbey sounded audibly shocked as I stumbled blindly up to my feet. The crowd were stunned into silence at the sight of the hostile interaction. It wasn’t the sort of resolution I’d expected from this gala, that was for sure.

  “I’m fine,” I promised, clutching my jaw. By opening and closing my mouth tenderly, it slowly began to loosen back up. “See?” I turned around to convince Abbey that everything was alright.

  A heavy thwack sent me reeling and left me winded from the second hit. The officer had attacked when my back was turned. It was embarrassing, to say the least, to have dozens of spectators witness the pummeling. The pain wasn’t even that bad, but my ego was bruised.

  “That’s enough,” I heard a gruff tone order, whilst a delicate touch rushed to my aid. Tony had grabbed a hold of the drunken officer to escort him out of the venue and the superintendent followed them grimly. I wouldn’t like to be in the constable’s shoes, even if I was the one with a cut on my face.

  The rest of our CID team were the first ones to offer assistance. Rebecca located a tissue to dab the blood with, and Cillian continually asked if I was alright. No matter how much I assured them I was alright, they had a hard time believing it. The questions came at once, a torrent of voices.

  Rebecca indignantly stuck up for me. “What an idiot. Tony’s making sure he doesn’t try to get back in here. He’d better get some sort of punishment for that, or I’d do it myself.”

  “The super didn’t exactly look thrilled.” I shrugged, embarrassed at all the unnecessary attention.

  “What he needed was a strong uppercut back,” Cillian began to demonstrate, nearly accidentally hitting Rebecca. She scoffed and purposely stepped sideways and out of harm's way. I steadily tried to move away from the middle of the dancefloor and over to the sidelines.

  “Retaliation doesn’t work like that, Cillian. That would’ve made it worse. Especially since he was nearly blackout drunk, one hit could've done a lot more damage than he inflicted upon me.”