The Devil Inside

by Heather Atkinson

  “Sounds like a good idea,” said Pete, shaking his head. “Right, we need to figure out a way to bring down Malachi and get into that compound to search the bloody place.”

  Cass looked to Gardner. “You need to show Donaldson.”

  “Show me what?” he said.

  They all looked to Gardner, who curled in on himself again. “I…I’m not sure about this.”

  “You were given that footage to do something with it,” said Cass. “After the danger Mark put himself in to get it, don’t let him down.”

  He nodded. “Alright Cass, you make a good point.”

  Gardner took out the phone, brought up the relevant footage and handed it to Donaldson, Mason peering over his shoulder.

  By the time it had finished, Donaldson’s expression was grim. “Who took this footage?” he said.

  “A client of mine who came to me for exit counselling when he left Higher Light,” replied Gardner.

  “We need to speak to him.”

  “You can’t. The official verdict was suicide but I’m sure he was murdered after being stalked by Malachi’s minions.”

  “So there’s no one to verify that this did come from Malachi’s compound?”

  “No but it did.”

  “That’s beside the point,” said Pete. “In order to submit this video as evidence in court a statement is needed from the person who took it. Seeing how Mark’s deid, we’re no gonnae get that statement.”

  “But it clearly shows one of Malachi’s men who was at Mason’s house today,” said Donaldson. “So this must be connected to the church.”

  “That zealot will never give evidence against Malachi.”

  “Can Brodie identify this place as where he was held?”

  “It’s a darkened room, it could be anywhere.”

  “What are you to do with all this?” Donaldson asked Mason.

  “I’ve been investigating Higher Light for months, under increasing pressure from Malachi to stop I might add. It isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened and intimidated but today was the worst, all thanks to that article.”

  “About that,” said Cass. “Where did you get your information from?”

  “I can’t reveal my sources.”

  “Remember Brodie’s threat to drop you off outside Malachi’s compound? Well that still applies only I’ll be doing the dropping.”

  “Alright,” he sighed. “I heard from his dead wife’s best friend. Samantha told her all about it, she found out about his affairs. She’d been suspicious for a while. One day she managed to get access to his emails on his laptop and found messages from three different women, some of them pretty explicit.”

  “I hope you have more proof than just rumour?” said Donaldson.

  “Actually I do,” he replied, his natural smugness returning. “I have copies of the emails.”

  “Fantastic,” said Elliott.

  “What’s this best friend’s name?” said Pete.

  “Deborah Morrison.”

  “Why has she chosen now to hand over those emails? Why did she not produce them during the original investigation?”

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” said Donaldson.

  “Because she was terrified of Malachi, or Johnson as he was known back then.”

  “So what’s changed?” said Pete.

  “Her father’s gone into the church,” replied Mason. “He’s severed contact with his family and they’re all heartbroken. Deborah thinks if she can bring down the church she’ll get her dad back.”

  “Does she realise she can be done for withholding evidence in a criminal investigation?”

  “Please focus on the bigger issue here. This woman has done a very brave thing. She knows exactly what Malachi’s like. Samantha told her all about the abuse. Why do you think she was so meek and mild and always did as Malachi told her?”

  “Because he brainwashed her?”

  “He kept her doped up on drugs, filled her head with all sorts of religious claptrap, telling her if she didn’t obey him in all things - like she’d agreed to in their wedding vows - then she would go to hell. He never hurt her physically, it was all mental.”

  “So why did he kill her?” said Cass.

  “Please Ms Carlisle,” said Donaldson. “I think you should leave the questioning to me and the DI.”

  “Wind your neck in son,” said Pete a little impatiently. He looked to Mason. “Answer her.”

  “Deborah said Malachi became paranoid that Samantha was cheating on him,” replied Mason.

  “Was she?”

  “No. She was far too compliant. Deborah said in the weeks leading up to Samantha’s death he became odd. Well, even more odd than he already is but no one else seemed to notice, only her but then again, she always saw through him.”

  Cass frowned down at the emails. She didn’t like it, it was too convenient. “Did you check out the women in these emails?” she asked Mason.

  “No. Why?”

  “What if they’re not real?”

  “The women?” he frowned.

  “The women, the emails, the whole story.”

  “Of course it’s real. Deborah was Samantha’s best friend, I’ve already established that.”

  “What if this is a set-up?”

  “Why would Deborah set me up? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes perfect sense. If she was any sort of best friend she would have handed these over during the initial investigation, not sat on them for so long. And if her dad really is trapped in the church then pissing off Malachi would be the last thing she’d want to do because he’d take it out on him.”

  “That’s a good point doll,” said Pete.

  “Do you have a photo of Deborah?” Cass asked Mason.

  “Yes, somewhere, in my notes,” he replied, indicating the large bag he’d brought with him.

  “I need to see it.”

  He pulled a bulging buff folder out of his bag and after rummaging around in it for a couple of minutes he produced an image of a pretty brunette and handed it to Cass.

  “Why does she look familiar?” frowned Cass. “There’s something about her face…I’ve got it. Me and Brodie saw Malachi in a restaurant in Edinburgh with this woman a few days ago and she was at the compound too. It’s Eve.”

  Mason blanched, his body going weak with shock. “No.”

  “Yes.” She handed him back the photo. “Surely you know Eve from your investigations? She’s always hanging around Malachi.”

  “Of course I do but she’s got long blond hair and the woman in that picture has short dark hair. She looks completely different.”

  “Did you ever meet Deborah?”

  “No, we chatted through email and I spoke to her on the phone. She said she was too afraid to meet up in case someone in the church saw us together.” Mason turned white with shock. “They set me up. What the fuck have I done?” he rasped, throat tightening.

  “You’re going to be sued to buggery for slander,” commented Pete.

  Mason slumped onto the couch, his head in his hands. “Finally I thought I’d found a way to bring him down. Now I’ve just made everything worse. I’ll be made out to be a liar and fired and everything I’ve ever reported about the cult will look like lies too.”

  “That’s about the size of it, yes,” said Donaldson.

  “Or,” said Cass. “We could use this to our advantage. Malachi doesn’t know that we’ve found out his game.”

  “Great idea doll,” said Pete. “How do we do that?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she replied. Once again her thoughts turned to the syringe Jules had sent her, which was still safely stashed away.

  “Malachi injected Brodie, didn’t he?” said Mason. “That’s why I didn’t hear anything from him for a while.”

  “You’ll stop asking nosy bastard questions,” said Pete, jabbing his index finger at his face. “And be grateful you’re no’ being done for withholding evidence from a criminal investigation.” />
  “You can’t do me for that if the evidence is false,” he retorted.

  “He’s got you there Sir,” commented Donaldson.

  “Aye I know,” he sighed. “Someone get me a doughnut, I’m crashing here. I missed brekkie.”

  “Here you go,” said Elliott, handing him the box. “They’ve got custard in the middle.”

  “Get in,” grinned Pete, pulling open the lid, taking one out and stuffing it into his mouth, a blob of custard dripping down his chin.

  “Once again,” said Gardner. “I can help you with that doughnut obsession of yours. If you’re not careful you’re going to end up with diabetes.”

  “They’re my one pleasure in life,” Pete announced through a mouthful of doughnut. “If anyone tries to take them from me I’ll smack them right in the nose. Got it Professor?”

  Gardner’s eyes widened and his hands shook. “Got it,” he said before delving into his briefcase and producing a bottle of pills.

  “I need to get back to the station,” said Donaldson. “Believe it or not I do have other cases to work on.”

  “Me too,” said Pete. “Thanks to the witness I spoke to this morning I can nick the turd who assaulted some poor old biddy for a few quid and put her in hospital. When you lot have come up with a plan let us know.”

  The two police officers left together. Mason snapped himself out of his shock long enough to ask where his room was.

  “There isn’t one,” said Cass. “We only have three bedrooms. You can either share with Gardner or take the couch.”

  “The couch,” the two men replied as one.

  Brodie slept for two hours and woke feeling refreshed, stronger and much more his old self, the spaciness that had hung over him ever since Zarqa and Jules had cured him finally gone. He woke with the urgent need to see his big brother, so he and Cass headed over to the psychiatric hospital he was staying in.

  “Are you sure I don’t look ill?” Brodie asked Cass for the fourth time. “He’ll only get upset if he thinks I’m sick.”

  “You look fine, back to your normal self,” said Cass as they were led by an orderly through the patient’s day room and outside into the sunny garden at the rear of the hospital. “Stop worrying or he’ll pick up on it.”

  “Aye, you’re right hen.”

  “There’s Ricky,” said the orderly. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Bloody hell, will you look at that?” chuckled Brodie.

  Ricky, his leviathan of an older brother, was dressed in a white kimono, slowly turning in a circle on the grass, moving his arms and legs in deliberate movements, his brow furrowed with concentration. For such an enormous man he moved with a grace that was quite hypnotising to watch.

  “He’s really fucking flipped this time,” said Brodie. “Why’s he prancing about like that in his jammies?”

  “It’s a kimono, not jammies,” said Cass. “And he’s doing tai chi. It’s a form of Chinese self defence but it’s also great for calming the mind.”

  “If there’s one thing that bugger needs it’s calming doon a bit. Hey Bruce Lee,” he called across the garden. “You’ve got visitors.”

  All four patients involved in the tai chi class sighed and threw their arms in the air.

  “I think you ruined their zen,” said Cass.

  “Good. If I don’t get any bloody zen then neither should anyone else.”

  Ricky strode up to them, a grin on his face. Brodie found himself enfolded in his brother’s huge arms.

  “Your massive pecs are suffocating me,” Brodie mumbled into his chest.

  “Sorry,” said Ricky, releasing him. He turned to Cass. “Alright gorgeous, how are you doing?”

  It never failed to amaze Brodie whenever he saw Ricky hug Cass. He couldn’t bear anyone touching him, other than Brodie or Natalie, their younger sister. He’d hospitalised plenty of people for making that mistake.

  “I’m good thanks,” she replied. “I didn’t know you’re into tai chi?”

  “Aye, it helps my anger, keeps me calm. It’s working really well too.”

  “That’s brilliant. I know a bit of tai chi, it’s really relaxing.”

  “Aye it is. You’ll need it more than ever now you’re shacked up with my wee brother. How’s that going by the way?” Anxiety always shone out of his eyes whenever he asked this question. She was the best thing that had ever happened to his brother and he didn’t want him to lose her.

  “Great,” she smiled. “I’ve not killed him yet.”

  “Always a good sign.”

  “We’ve got some news,” said Brodie.

  “You’re having a baby?” said Ricky, eyes lighting up.

  “No,” they said in unison.

  “Neither of us want kids,” said Cass.

  “It’s a bloody shame, you’d be great parents.”

  “With our chaotic lives?” said Brodie. “I don’t think so.” He took Cass’s hand. “We’re engaged.”

  They found themselves pulled into Ricky’s mammoth chest, which was wide enough to comfortably accommodate them both.

  “Fucking fantastic,” he exclaimed. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years. You set a date yet?”

  “Not yet. We’ve only just got engaged. Do you think this lot would let you out of here long enough to be my best man?” said Brodie when they were eventually released.

  Ricky was rendered speechless, his eyes bulging.

  “Oh bloody hell, I’ve broken him. Hello, Ricky?” he said, waving his hand before his face.

  “I’m fine you daftie. I’m just a wee bit…” He trailed off and swallowed hard.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No I’m sodding not. I’m just overwhelmed. You want me at your wedding and not just as a guest but as the best man?”

  “Course I do. You’re my brother and I…you know…love you. Christ not again,” he said when he was once more pulled into a suffocating brotherly embrace.

  “I’d be honoured,” said Ricky. “But I don’t know if they’d let me out.”

  “If not do you think they’d let us have the ceremony here?” said Cass.

  Both men turned to her with their jaws hanging open.

  “You’d have your wedding in a loony bin?” said Ricky.

  “I’m glad you said it,” Brodie told his brother.

  “Yes I would,” she replied. “The gardens are beautiful and if it means you get to be a part of it then it’s worth it.”

  Cass found herself up close and personal with Ricky’s kimono again.

  “That’s got to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” said Ricky.

  “You’d really do that hen?” said Brodie.

  “Yes. All that matters to me is marrying you Brodie. Where’s not important.”

  “How the bloody hell did you land this angel?” Ricky asked his brother.

  “Nae idea,” murmured Brodie, gazing at his fiancée in awe.

  “You must have done something right.”

  “I don’t know what though.” He kissed Cass and took her hands. “Thank you.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that though,” said Ricky. “They might let me out, I’ve been good for a while now.”

  “Aye you have. We’ll have a word with your doctor.”

  “Christ it would be good to get out of this place, even for just a couple of hours. I haven’t seen the outside world since I was a teenager.”

  Brodie worried how he’d cope with it. All the noise and chaos of the city would be a massive shock and if he saw a police uniform he might lose it and set his recovery back months or maybe even years. Sadness sank like a stone in his stomach. Who was he kidding? His brother would never have a full recovery. He was never getting out.

  “Either way,” grinned Ricky, clapping his hands together. “It’s something to look forward to. I won’t be able to organise your stag do though.”

  “I’m not bothered about all that shite. I’m no’ into getting pissed up in boozers and going
to strip clubs.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Cass wryly.

  “Will I get to wear a kilt?” said Ricky.

  “Aye ya are,” said Brodie. “I am too.”

  “Won’t Pete be pissed off you’ve asked me to be your best man?”

  “Nah, course not. You’re my brother. He’ll understand.”

  “I was going to ask him to give me away,” said Cass.

  “But you have a da’,” said Ricky.

  “I’m not inviting my family. They’ll only spoil it.”

  Ricky was going to ask more questions but Brodie shook his head, so he decided not to bother. “So what case are you working on?” he said instead.

  “Nothing for you to worry about Ricky,” said Brodie.

  “You can’t ask me to be your best man and then lie to me Brodie.”

  “Fair enough. We’re investigating that cult, Higher Light.”

  “That bunch of weirdoes? Aye, I know all about them. One of the inpatients here used to be a member.”

  “What? Who?”

  “He’s a jumpy wee sod. We call him Nervous Neville. Someone just needs to sneeze and he wets his pants, sometimes literally. He’s a bit of a mess, apparently he had the shite beaten out of him by other members of the church and he was tortured. He says he was injected with drugs that spaced him out then he was forced to listen to recordings of their leader, Maji is it?”

  “Malachi,” said Brodie.

  “Aye, that’s the walloper. He was forced to listen to recordings of his voice over and over for days. Sometimes the man himself appeared to talk to him. Neville wakes up screaming sometimes that Malachi’s in the room with him, talking to him or that his eyes are floating before his face. It’s hard to freak me out but the terror in his voice gives even me the chills.”

  “Did anyone ever investigate his claims?” said Cass.

  “Nah. No one listens to someone who’s been branded a madman, even if they are telling the truth.”

  “Do you think he is?”

  “I believe he thinks he is. Whether he is or no’, I couldnae say.”

  “Could we talk to him?” said Brodie.

  “Doubt it. He’s terrified of strangers and I don’t think his doctor would allow it.”

  “What about a polis?”

  “Polis?” said Ricky, his left eye twitching.