The Devil Among Us

by Ramsay Sinclair

  Cillian pondered and reconsidered his boyish approach. Although they were doing their best to help, their company felt more like a hindrance. Abbey noticed and politely told them so.

  “Thank you,” Abbey thanked the two of them. “I’ve got it from here, you know he doesn’t like to make a fuss.” She was right about that. Having the team not only see their DI dancing but also getting a hefty hit from a constable would only give them more ammunition for their fond jokes.

  “I can’t believe it,” Abbey fumed at the sight of me. It was adorable actually, seeing her trying to tend to the cut. She led us over to the bar where people gave up their seats so we could sit and the pop-up bartender handed us a cloth and some ice. “Finlay, it doesn’t look great. You’ve got blood on your shirt.”

  “Luckily, the shirt is expendable then,” I grunted and averted the stares we were getting from various people.

  “Sorry, folks,” DCI Reid apologized over the microphone to simmer the people down again. “I apologise for the interruption. Now that’s over with, please continue to enjoy the night. Let’s not act like we’re in a brewery. This is a respectable occasion.” he sternly advised and left the microphone there. The speech was definitely finished after that blow-up.

  It didn’t take long for DCI Reid and Iona to come rushing down from the stage to check on us all.

  “Oh, are you alright?” Iona flushed, flapping like a hectic mother would. She’d found some more ice and handed them to Abbey, in hopes of mopping up the few open cuts.

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I assured and shivered from the ice. Abbey tutted at my denial and dabbed at the cuts. “Nothing more than a drunk guy. He won’t remember by tomorrow.”

  “That was quite a left hook he’s got there, Cooper.” DCI Reid sounded weirdly impressed, the last person I would have chosen to speak to when injured. Abbey stayed silent but smiled politely at the couple. Even though I was injured, my original approach to gaining a confession from him hadn’t changed or wavered. The betrayal stung more than the cuts.

  “That’s a nasty cut there,” Iona checked out my chin gingerly. “My husband’s grateful you defended his honour, even if hasn’t said so himself.”

  If only they knew I couldn’t give two craps about his honour. He’d ruined that of his own accord.

  “Hey, give me a chance,” DCI Reid defended. “Thank you, Cooper.” He held out a handshake for me to take. Fate was punishing me for something, it had to be. What did I do in a past life to shake hands with the man I despised most? “Drunken people like them always know how to ruin a party.”

  “I wouldn’t say it’s ruined, Guv.” My tone sounded thick, and I struggled to affectionately use the term ‘guv’ without sounding as frosty as the ice on my neck. “Everyone else is still having fun.”

  It was true. Since the band had struck up again to cover the hectic aftermath of the brawl, people were dancing. Minus the CID team, who were still staring at us in genuine concern.

  “We’ll want to put some antiseptic on that cut before it gets worse,” Abbey derived, seeing the stains we’d left all over the pristine cloth. Concern was etched all over her delicate features.

  “Thanks,” I hissed when she dabbed twice without warning. “But we don’t have any.”

  “We do,” Iona suggested, as though it made perfect sense. “We have some at our home. It’s not too far away, only a short walk down the road. No car, I'm afraid because we knew we’d been drinking.”

  The injuries sustained weren’t even that bad, but getting an invitation into their home was an offer that couldn’t be refused. All of DCI Reid’s personal belongings were there, and if I were to hide anything dodgy, it would be at home. If we could distract them, I’d get a chance to do some rummaging.

  “But this is your event,” Abbey hesitantly acted as though we couldn’t possibly infringe ourselves on them. She was smart, and it went without saying that we couldn’t lose this opportunity.

  Luckily, Iona was one giving lady.

  “Nonsense, we’re older than you and our social life isn’t as hectic as it used to be. I can’t keep up with these youngsters, no matter how hard I try.” She waved the worries away. “The donations have been collected, and that’s what tonight was all for, anyway. Wasn’t it love?” She nudged DCI Reid, and he awoke from a daze I presumed he slipped into whenever Iona slipped into a lengthy bout of waffling.

  DCI Reid didn’t have a clue what we were discussing, standing upright in a lofty position. “Uh, sure?” he agreed, anyway.

  “The event was for everyone. It’s as much ours as it was yours.” Iona’s huge lips smiled kindly. “We can’t have you sitting here and bleeding on clothes and tea towels all night long, could we? It would be wrong to treat my husbands favourite unjustly,” she whispered secretively. It came out patronizing without meaning too, for Iona was heartfelt.

  “She’s right. You’re too integral to the team to show up with cuts all over your face. It isn’t good for our image,” DCI Reid said with the ghost of a glimmer on his aged skin. “We’ll get you fixed up and carry on the party at our home. Iona loves to host.”

  “It’s true. I have a mean buffet setup,” she offered joyfully, perking up at the very idea.

  Abbey’s updo was now dishevelled from the tussle, and it didn’t seem like she was keen to stay for much longer anyway, even if we weren’t given the choice to leave now. “Then how could we say no?”

  “Atta girl! Plus, we’ve still got that conversation from earlier to finish,” Iona beamed and took DCI Reid’s arm. “We can all walk together and that's a deal. Our services for the company.”

  I handed the ruined cloth to the bartender who sneered at the bloodied material and proceeded to chuck it straight into the overflowing bin.

  “Thank you for the help,” I insincerely pledged my gratitude.

  “That’s what we do,” DCI Reid said. “As Iona told you, we owe you for taking care of that drunk constable. He could’ve ruined the evening if you weren’t there to take the punches.”

  Usually, that joke wouldn’t have been lost on me. Now, it only riled me up to make him pay for the deceit. They waited patiently as I stood up properly, slightly winded and a little bruised.

  “Are you okay?” Abbey murmured, and I somehow knew she wasn’t talking about the injuries.

  “I will be when justice is served properly.”

  “Thank you, by the way,” she added normally. “I know you only got involved with that officer because he pushed me. But the cuts do make you look handsome somehow.”

  “Glad to hear it. Does that mean I’m your hero?” I asked as we headed for the exit, being stopped every now and again by officers bidding us farewell. Even Cillian was polite enough to wish us a good evening.

  “Hero may be a bit strong.”

  I grinned wryly. “Stop fussing. I can do it,” I insisted and took the new tissue she’d found away from her grasp.

  “You’re lucky it isn’t broken.” She willingly let me take over.

  “He is extremely lucky,” DCI Reid overheard having gotten fed up with too many repetitive farewells. “Other people wouldn’t be so fortunate, but you’re showing me up in front of my wife. She’ll be asking why it wasn’t me taking the punches.”

  “That wasn’t my intention, Sir,” I grimaced.

  “Bloody constables and their fists,” he continued and accompanied us out of the hall. Since we’d arrived, the sky had changed to a cover of midnight blue and most of the fog had moved on. Twinkling clusters of stars hung still above our heads.

  Outside, the cold wind was a refreshing change from the stuffy hall and Abbey had to hold her red dress down to stop it from flying up. Iona didn’t endure the same struggle, for hers was almost skintight. DCI Reid sighed in relief and pulled the bow tie off.

  “I’ve wanted to do that for hours. Can’t stand the thing,” he complained. Abbey had been pulled ahead down the path by an eager Iona, who was gossiping about a multitude of things al
ready. “Women, eh? They don’t understand us.”

  “I think it could be the other way around, Guv.”

  “I think you’re probably right,” he acknowledged. The sounds of the water could be heard from here, short crashing waves slapping hard against the jagged rocks. A few, sparse cars whizzed by along the otherwise empty roads.

  “Cards, Cooper,” DCI Reid suddenly spoke loudly, capturing my curiosity.

  “Cards?” I repeated and my forehead lined from interest, wondering if I’d misheard him.

  “Yes, cards,” DCI Reid repeated. “Cigarette?” He extended a pack towards me, sneakily watching out that his wife didn’t spot them passing between us. “There’s a club I go to. Very meticulous. Very specialist. They don’t let any old person in there.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir.”

  He lit the cigarette for me. A cigarette could cure anything, I was convinced.

  “I joined this club, a few years back. A sort of gentleman’s club, only the most decent of them all. They’ve got doctors, bankers, all that sort of scene,” he admitted.

  “Gambling, Sir? I didn’t put you down as the type.”

  “I’m not usually. I prefer friendlier games, ones where you only pay an entrance fee, but these guys are different. They’re good men. Pals too, I suppose. It’s more than just cards,” he explained, our shoes making noise against the concrete. The cigarette ash from his mouth reached mine, being carried across on the breeze.

  “They sound decent?” I didn’t know where this was heading.

  “Oh, top-notch. Brilliant guys. You’d like them,” he inhaled.

  “I would?”

  “Oh, certainly, Cooper. They’re our sort of people. If I’ve figured you out correctly, that is. You see, I think you’re a decent, shrewd guy, with a bright future ahead of him. Aye?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I sounded flabbergasted and tried to disguise my underlying contempt.

  “You don’t have to act so modest,” DCI Reid roared heartily. “You should come along and check the club out tomorrow. I’ve a feeling you would enjoy it very much. All men and their brandy’s, no time limits, no curfews.” It all sounded enticing on paper.

  “Yes, maybe I will see what it's all about.” I mulled over the idea, intending on seeing what DCI Reid was all about, rather.

  “Excellent. I’ll give you all the details. Except… keep the location to yourself, eh? It’s all quite private.”

  A telling off from Iona Reid cut the discussion short. “Alec, I’ve told you before. No smoking, you’ll clog up your arteries. You too, Cooper. Young blood like yours, you don’t want to ruin that too early.” Iona plucked the brown cigarette from DCI Reid’s dry lips which stuck to the limp object, and that was that, but it didn’t matter.

  This was just the break we needed to crack this case open.

  23

  Reid's home was huge, compared to what we were accustomed to. That was to put it mildly. Their road only had a few buildings on it, on account that they were each too big to fit any new builds in between. It suited their outrageous personalities, for it was as lairy as they were.

  There were at least four upstairs rooms, and the kitchen alone could have fit half of the gala guests in at once. Complete with a marbled, floating kitchen island, Iona was busy cutting open frozen wappers of finger food and heating up their oven. They’d laid out a spread on the glass coffee table in front of us and it was a dangerous thing to keep food in such close proximity to me. I kept sneaking back to steal another sausage roll or mini Scotch egg. Abbey slapped my hand away a few times, but it was DCI Reid that forced us to eat more.

  They had an affiliation for white everything, even down to the furniture, carpets, and paint. Their shag carpets were taken straight from the seventies and remodelled to suit their luxurious abode. The house would’ve suited a fashionable city like London perfectly, but a nostalgic and historical place such as here, not quite so much.

  “Get this down your neck.” DCI Reid handed me over a single serving of brandy in their posh glasses, whilst Abbey had returned to dabbing my chin with some antiseptic provided by the couple. I was forced to lean back on their white leather sofas and be doted on by all three of them, handing us drinks and creating easy conversation.

  “It’s a beautiful home you have, Iona,” Abbey complimented the woman who flapped about in their open-plan kitchen, whilst DCI Reid placidly stacked some bottles in their front room minibar. They seemed so normal here, less like a DCI and more like the average married pair.

  “I always say the kitchen’s the heart of the home. That’s true if you’re married to Alec.” Her high pitched chortles portrayed her tipsiness.

  We gave polite smiles.

  Hissing at the sting of their antiseptic, I tried to interact and turn the conversation towards the decorators. “It’s lovely finishings here. The colour is,” I struggled to think creatively, “nice.”

  “It’s a shame the decorators messed it up the first time round.” DCI Reid didn’t take much persuading to overshare. “We were left with gaping holes in this ceiling here.” DCI Reid pointed upwards to where it now showcased exceptionally clean lines to the plastering.

  It was of nearly a showhome status, one which a man like me could easily ruin with his muddy shoes or overall messy appearance. Abbey suited the house like a charm, like a model in their perfectly fake catalogue.

  “That’s tradesmen for you.” I chomped on a Scotch egg messily, catching the crumbs in my hand. “Screw you over, then charge to fix the mistake.”

  “This boy’s spot on the target,” DCI Reid complimented and finally undid his stiff, starched tie collar. We were getting to the stage of the evening where things were relaxed and simple. No formalities, just laughter and conversation. Exactly what we needed.

  “I can see why you like him.” Iona threw a knowing glance over in our general direction. Abbey finished patching up my neck and gave the colourless liquid one final wipe over my Adam's apple. She caught on to my gist.

  “Say, you don’t have their numbers or anything? I’ve been bugging Finlay to let me redo the living room. It’s uninspiring, to say the least,” she nonchalantly requested.

  “I’m sure Alec would be more than happy to recommend them to you,” Iona barged in, even though DCI Reid didn’t reply himself. “Surely you met them at the station? Alec is the one who hired them to patch up your offices too, saying they were all past their sell-by date.” She sounded proud as she filled up some extra flutes as though some extra guest would be joining us.

  “Iona…” DCI Reid protested, and I acted as though I wasn’t already aware.

  “What? You didn’t mention that before, Guv,” I emphasised his once-fond nickname and accepted the drinks. Abbey’s hand secretively and excitedly gripped my thigh.

  “No, and I wouldn’t have done, either, if my wife wasn’t such a big mouth.” Iona grinned warmly. “I didn’t want anyone at the station to feel like they owed me for the gesture,” he lied through his large teeth, ones a chipmunk would use to gnaw through wood. “They’re good men. Tradesmen that is.”

  “We owe you for the favour,” I dryly remarked.

  Iona barged in again, carrying a tray of steaming tarts. “Nonsense. That station is essentially your life. You lot deserve comfortable and presentable offices. There should be enough funding to cover things like that.”

  “I don’t think the paying public would entirely agree. They pay for the service we provide, not the state of our paintwork,” I joked and sensed that DCI Reid was staring at me weirdly. However, he didn’t say anything unusual.

  “I agree, Cooper.”

  “Which is why,” Abbey joined in, all charm and pleasantries, “the gala was a fabulous idea. Most people got the chance to enjoy the time off, and it was lovely to know the donations went back to their station. Maybe it’s just me, but I want you guys to have the best, for all things you do for us locals.”

  Iona fussed w
ith the spread. “I completely agree. You two barely get any time to yourselves.”

  “So, Iona, what do you do, when DCI Reid’s at work?” I wondered.

  “Nothing much. I’m a regular housewife. I have a few friends here every now and again to catch up and host a few dinner parties. You should come along to the next one, the girls would adore you. You’re a sweetheart.” Iona fiddled with her perfectly manicured nails and filled up Abbey’s champagne flute with yet another serving.

  “Cooper.” DCI Reid grabbed my attention by holding up a brown bottle. “Thirty-year matured alcohol. Want a drop?” He crouched down to grab two new glasses.

  I couldn’t think straight with all this alcohol. That singular bottle probably cost a leg and a half. My leg itself wouldn’t even sell for that much. The home bar was clearly his pride and joy as he dusted everything over routinely, even this late in the evening. Twice.

  “No, thank you.” I held my stomach and groaned dramatically. “You’ve stuffed me too much, Iona. I’m afraid I’ll ruin your fluffy carpets,” I overshared, though everything I said was true. I was full to the bursting point.

  DCI Reid roared with laughter, more relaxed than I’d ever seen him at work. It was strange to see him being a husband and nothing else. He arranged the drink and sat down on his leather armchair with both feet up, tuning into Iona’s hearty nattering. She was still cooking even more buffet food, for some reason.

  “How did you two meet?” Abbey desired to know, truly intrigued by their pairing. DCI Reid flared his nostrils whilst trying to cast their minds back.

  “That’s a long time ago now,” Iona quipped, testing whether her rolls had warmed through properly so that we didn’t leave with both bruises and food poisoning. “I was working as a waitress.”

  “At a cocktail bar?” I joined in sarcastically, leaving DCI Reid bellowing.

  “That was quick, Cooper. I’m impressed.” He smiled towards his homely wife, dishevelled from all the cooking but still undoubtedly glamorous.