“Sir. Sarge. John,” Cillian mumbled, holding onto his kooky crush for physical support. “Are you coming to the nightclub?”
“Not really my scene,” I scrunched my face in distaste. “But you two enjoy yourselves.”
McCall, wrapped up in DC Taylors large oversized jacket and engulfed in its apparent warmth, concurred eagerly. “Nor ours.”
The three of us who still had our senses intact watched as they broke apart from the group in peals of laughter without so much as a coherent goodbye. They giggled at utter nonsense, stepping over invisible cracks in the cobblestone pavements.
“I wouldn’t like to be them poor buggers on Monday,” DC Taylor grimaced. “That hangover won’t be very pretty.”
McCall sniffled in the harsh winds that were blowing from the waterfront located to our east. “That’s ages away yet.” She burrowed deeper and rubbed her cheek against the soft lining of his jacket.
“I know. My point exactly.” He softened at her in adoration. It still took getting used to the ranking difference and handling their relationship in that respect. Outside, they were equals, whereas, in the office, they were strictly superior and constable. Sometimes.
“Where are you two heading?” I wondered as we came to a split in the path that forked off in two separate directions, each with alternate destinations.
Scuffing the sole on her kitten heel on a cobblestone, McCall stopped to face me. “Home.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan,” I said.
“No, Finlay,” she replied awkwardly, glancing between us two men. “We’re going home together, and we kind of hoped to be alone.”
“Oh, I see.” Thankfully the lack of light disguised my burning face, minus a lone and flickering streetlight. “That’s fine. Abbey’s waiting up for me, anyway.”
“Yeah.” She leaned in for a friendly hug. “But I’ll pick you up on Monday and don’t sleep in late this time, you stubborn git. Another week, yet another case. Sometimes it feels as though they never end.”
Without letting me escape from a firm and respectable handshake, DC Taylor vigorously clasped our palms together. “Bye, sir.”
“DC Taylor,” I said fondly, glad that the constable still thought of me as an eminent figure of leadership in his life even after the messes we’d seen the tail ends of.
“Look after her, or else,” I warned humorously and took the separate trail to them.
“I’m a grown-up, Finlay,” I heard McCall’s voice float through the evening air. “I can look after myself.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I called back wittily and was left to my own devices.
A roaring remained in my eardrums like the aftermath of a long concert where you’d sat directly next to the speakers. The desolate path made my footsteps echo enough to make me paranoid that someone had followed me here and was stalking me in the plethora of shadows cast by the brilliant moon that loomed high above. No one was there, only me.
There was poetry about the moment, the realization that there were only ever our own fears projected across our lives to make the terror much more tangible and frightening than it should be.
To overcome ourselves was to win the internal battle.
That oh-so-familiar hankering returned, from the itching in my fingers to the pucker of my lips. The convulsing of my lungs and the stammering of my heartbeat flipping in imaginary circles. Pulling the lighter from the depths of pockets and the packet that stood on standby for longer than we were used to, the dancing spark ignited our union.
27
Tenterhooks. That’s how I described the fizzing and churning of this morning’s breakfast that steadily rose up towards my throat. After swallowing as much of the untasty bile as I could, my usually powerful voice sounded meeker than a mouse.
A kindly receptionist directed me towards which room I had to visit, strategically placed there to quell the budding nerves and greet the nervous officers like me. This building felt too quiet, too silent. Almost awkwardly so.
I acted as forthcoming as possible and managed to eventually spit out a half coherent stutter while disguising my trembles with a blase attitude. Something told me the receptionist didn’t believe the guise for a millisecond, her knowing leer seeing straight through me. Everything inside this place seemed a bit clinical, almost as though things ran too smoothly. It was nothing compared to CID, where we had papers strewn all over the desks and floor, along with spilt sugar all over the counters from the dozens of coffees. Even the smell here was boring.
A pistachio coloured door I’d been directed to was already propped open and awaiting my imminent arrival. There was an atmosphere of calm to the adjacent room until I entered, all frantic and flustered.
Inside, some leatherette chairs were dotted around a table set with a jug of water placed on top. None of the walls had any form of decoration apart from depressing posters full of medical and healthcare advice for mental well-being.
Astonished by the whirlwind of commotion that followed my highly strung self, a man standing in the corner of the room and staring out of the singular window turned in expectation.
“Finlay Cooper, I presume? I’m Carl,” he introduced himself loudly, as though I was deaf or dumb, and gave a polite handshake. “I’ll be your counsellor for the duration of our sessions. I hope that’s alright with you?”
There wasn’t much choice, so I supposed it was.
“Right. Carl. I’ll do my best to remember. I’m not the best at names.” I said awkwardly and wiped both hands across the material of my trousers. I took another peek at the window, the view wasn’t much to write home about either.
Working here would drive a man like me crazy. Carl was something of a saint to put up with the lack of spontaneity here. After a couple of days, I could learn the interior in a heartbeat. Peeling paint around the sills, a sort of bump in the wall from a fist or something similar and four holes where pictures used to hang from iron nails.
But Carl himself looked out of place. I’d place him at his mid-thirties, yet the early wrinkle lines and aura of complacency could be misleading to some. His dress sense seemed impeccable, and expensive too. The waistcoat shone in the different lights, a silken material that the highstreets wouldn’t stock. With no ring and no family photographs around, I guessed that the money he earned didn’t go towards anyone else’s upkeep or trinkets to surprise a woman with.
I also wasn’t aware that things had to be so formal here. Was I underdressed in my scruffy work suit or overdressed because my work attire was a suit?
“Let yourself relax,” Carl suggested and gestured pointedly to the well-worn chairs that had plenty of other bodies sitting there during their time. “Please, do sit. I’m not going to bite you. If I do, you probably deserved it.”
Following instructions now that I’d left my own domain and no longer remained in charge, the cushioned part dipped with my weight and creaked too. A set of somewhat gappy teeth were directed towards me, but the gesture wasn’t reciprocated. Conducting himself again, Carl settled down upon the chair opposite. Shuffling underneath his obvious scrutiny and clear scanning of my outward appearance, I fiddled with a mark in the leather.
“Now, I wanted to start by saying that you have no reason to be nervous--”
“I sort of do. You’re going to write down everything I say. Even this. In fact, you’re probably remembering what I’m saying now, aren’t you? This is some sort of test.” I checked over Carl’s streamlined shoulder for a sign of notepads or pens. Paranoia had crept up on me, and I was well aware that I sounded delusional.
“No tests,” he chuckled and shifted to reach a glass of water. I knew this tactic. We used it in the interviewing room. “Here, have this. As I was saying, there’s no need to be nervous. I’m not a monster. Most people have the preconception that I’m here to judge them.”
“That’s your job,” My own slightly crooked teeth clinked simultaneously against the plastic cup.
“And would you say
your job is to arrest people unfairly?” Carl questioned and sat upright when awaiting my response. His brown eyes glossed over at the delay.
“Erm,” I hesitated. Faltered even. This guy had a hold on me there, and he knew it.
“No,” Carl answered and dipped into a brief pause again. “My job isn’t to judge you. I’m only here to help.” His hooded lids shone in a sheen of natural oils.
“Why?” I questioned, and Carl looked surprised at the response given. I bet in all his years of psychiatry and multiple studies, nobody had asked him that before. The element of surprise tended to be my speciality, yet some people had often mistaken it for rudeness. Inquisitive is a term I’d much prefer. I liked to know what drove people, and I enjoyed delving deeper into their psyche to understand their motives. Part of the job, perhaps?
“Why do I want to help?” he hummed. “Do you want the truth?” His crinkled eyes twinkled at my stubborn and observant nature.
“Truth is what I live for,” I said frankly.
Carl didn’t hold back, probably one to crack easily under pressure.
“I had a sister who was in the police force.” He gazed at the wall behind me, far away and neck-deep in his own memories. “She was quite a bit older than me. When I was a teenager, her best friend was killed in action. They’d worked on the same team for years.” I could imagine the heartache there. I couldn’t bear to think about that happening to McCall.
“She didn’t have anyone to talk to. In fact, she refused to let herself seem vulnerable. She wouldn’t talk to me about it, no matter how much I begged her to,” Carl smiled sadly at the memory. “She committed suicide a few months later, and that was that. I swore that if I could help others, or stop a family from losing people in a way like that, then I’d do it.”
That was heavier than I’d expected. I respected Carl and his brutal honesty. I liked honesty as a trait in somebody. It made them easier to trust.
“Fast forward many years later, and here I am. No, here we are.” Carl shook himself out of memory lane and turned to face me. “Now, DCI Harvey formally referred you here. That’s one heck of a superior,” he switched the topic of conversation. I was glad. I wasn’t great at all the comforting malarky.
“She is. My sergeant also had some involvement. I guess I finally lucked out in that department.”
“Right you are.” Carl scratched his prematurely greying hair, a shade that nearly matched the seats we were on. “We spoke over the phone. She mentioned you’re here because of a situation between you and your previous DCI called Alec Reid, is that right? A death if I’m not mixed up,” Carl checked with me before continuing.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, DI Cooper. This still isn’t a test. This is just a chance for me to see what we’re dealing with here, how you’re coping and what's going on inside,” Carl made sure he explained every step of the way, sensing my nerves despite my attempts to disguise them. He’d remembered all of this without a single sighting of a notepad.
“You may have gathered I'm not exactly the soppy type. My inside feelings are usually personal,” I hinted.
“There’s nothing soppy about struggling to cope with a loss. It’s brave, actually, that you’ve even managed to come here today. Most people don’t even get this far. You should be thanking yourself,” he suggested and scratched at his rounded chin. He had to be kidding.
“I won’t give myself a pat on the back if that’s what you’re expecting.” I chuckled, but it didn’t sound right. It sounded disjointed and out of place. So I stopped immediately.
Carl filled the quietness with his soothing tone, well crafted and practised over decades of experience with officers like me. Carl was a creature of circumstance, a product of the job. Aren’t we all?
“That’s perhaps a bit too literal. And just to make you aware, nobody has to filter themselves here. It’s all confidential, and anything said stays inside this room. Everything said,” Carl reassured me and licked his drying lips. He made a wheezing noise when he inhaled breath. “So, how long have you been in the force?”
I had to debate long and hard to work it out. “Roughly eleven or twelve years. Me and our sergeant have worked in cohesion for most of them.”
“What made you want to join the force? Anything in particular?”
A bunch of daffodils standing tall on a mantlepiece ridge behind Carl suddenly caught my eye. I hadn’t noticed them before, so perhaps my earlier statement about listing off the features of the room off by heart had been drawn too quickly. They stood tall, proud even, as a vision of light in the otherwise depressing, tiny room. Their vivid hues of saffron illuminated a sensation of spring. Next to them, a small bowl of apples sat.
“I don’t know.” I tried to think of what drew me to CID in the first place. “I wasn’t completely academic. I wasn’t dumb, don’t get me wrong. I just prefer doing something practical as a career.” Carl didn’t speak and gave me a chance to take the floor instead. “I sort of stumbled across the PC position first, although I had to apply a few times before I finally got in. Even for a smaller station, there were still a lot of applicants. I tried for two years before they let me in.” I remembered those old days where we would roam the streets until our soles were worn and our stomachs were begging to be filled. “Then came CID, and finally I passed my inspectors exam.” I coughed at my overly lengthy story and dipped into a sullen haze again.
“How did you feel getting the DI promotion? I bet that was a day to celebrate.” Carl seemed to be asking a lot of questions, considering we’d only been in each other's company for a few minutes.
“It was fine.”
“Just fine? Were you proud?” Carl prodded me to reveal some more information.
“I guess. McCall celebrated with me, actually. That’s the name of our sergeant.” I smiled helplessly at the treasured memory.
None of my family was particularly proud of the promotion, as they’d wanted me to have a career that meant something in terms of proper certificates, whatever that was supposed to mean. My sister was the only one in the family who was proud of me, but she attended university in England and lived too far away to nip over for a night of congratulations.
“No family to celebrate with?” Carl said gently.
“I have family,” I finished the cool water. “They were busy that night.” I was unwilling to let on to him that most of my family didn’t like my career.
“Were they prominent in your early life? As a child, I mean,” Carl pondered.
That question was too personal for my liking. I had to admit that Carl wasn’t as intrusive from the get-go as I’d expected, but this was a step too far and too soon. Standing up to stretch my legs, I paced around his room with trepidation and picked up a juicy apple. I went to take a bite into it when Carl stopped me.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. They’re plastic.”
“Plastic?” I dropped it back into the bowl with a clunk. “Who keeps fake fruit in their fruit bowl? That’s misleading.”
Muffling his chuckles, he wouldn’t allow the question to be skirted. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. “So we were talking about your early life,” Carl resumed and undid the top button on his shirt. It wasn’t in a strange manner, simply because the room had become stiflingly hot on account of the sun coming through the window. Although it had rained, the light was beginning to delicately break through the barrier of water, and the clouds had been infiltrated by warmth.
“I’d rather not.” I waved the man away, subtly begging him to move on.
Carl understood and nodded abidingly. “Okay. What about a partner? Romantically, that is?” Whenever someone mentioned Abbey, a stupid smile plastered my lips, making it a blatantly obvious answer to the query. “I see. And how have they been since the incident occurred between you and DCI Reid?”
The mention of that other name wiped the happiness clean away.
“Fine,” I snapped unknowingly. “I think. She’s done well at looking after m
e while I…” I trailed off as the explanation seemed too tricky to shorten down for his sake.
“Looking after you?” he leant on his pointed elbows, interested now. “What does that entail?”
“Oh, you know.” I stared outside and saw the locals on their way home from work. Some of them had brought along umbrella’s that had been wrapped up again after being covered in the light showers of rain that had fallen. “She’s there when I need.” Admitting my faults to a complete stranger felt uneasy and unconventional too.
“I don’t know,” Carl informed, and his eyebrows frowned in oblivious confusion.
Sighing, I joined him back on the bloody uncomfortable armchairs, which were still warm from my body heat. “Sometimes, I have a bit too much to drink. I’m trying to stop.”
“Ah. To take the edge off, am I right?” Carl didn’t sound condescending but rather unshocked. “One or two drinks won't harm anyone. It’s when you feel dependent on them that it becomes dangerous. DCI Harvey did mention a rundown on your... issues recently. She wanted to ensure that you weren’t doing any permanent damage to yourself.” So Carl already knew that I’d been drinking. “It’s a positive step forward that you’ve taken the intervention on board and are giving up alcohol of your own accord. Being here shows that you’re ready to move forward with your life, with your career. My job is to relieve some of your burdens, and hopefully, I’ll be able to make that job a tad easier for you. I won't lie, it won't be simple, but I’ll be here to patch you up again slowly. If you want to shout at me or yell and cry, this is the time to do so.”
“I don’t cry.” I huffed and glared at my lap to avoid Carl’s disbelief.
“I’m guessing that’s because your job makes sure of that. But I’ve had many men sit in that chair who were very self-assured, and they have usually left my chair noticing a change within them or a hint of something they never knew existed.”
“Not me,” I said with uncertainty.
“We’ll see.” Carl pursed his lips as though he knew something I didn’t. “What was your last DCI like as a person? DCI Harvey didn’t explain much on that front.”
Abduction in Dalgety Bay Page 24