The Devil's Due

by Ramsay Sinclair

  Matches. The same kind which were discarded in the shed, next to the sailing club.

  Our killer had come to burn his evidence. But why advertise in such a unique way? Hungry, maybe, I kid myself. The animals caught my glimpse again, and I noted the rope that trussed them up was the same as we found in the supply shed.

  “Jack Harper?” I asked softly, the subject still sore from yesterday’s quarrel. DCI Campbell tutted and changed his stance.

  “Trust you to ask, Cooper. After your little show last night, I posted surveillance to watch them overnight. DC Murphy and DC Staines are over there,” DCI Campbell broke off and pointed at the two officers pushing each other stupidly into the fire pit.

  “I’m sure they took their task seriously,” I pursed my lips at the fact he entrusted them.

  “I wanted the whole team down here and scouring the scene. Otherwise, we would have discovered these matches. Whoever the criminal is, they’re a right little firestarter.”

  “Bit of a creep, if you ask me,” I retorted, taking particular interest in the likes of DC Cillian Murphy and DC Ben Staines. They were taking notes and photographs of the recent crime scene. But I had a few questions of my own.

  The two constables barely noticed my presence, exchanging a rapid rapport between themselves. It wasn’t until I cleared my throat that they acknowledged me.

  “Good morning, Sir,” DC Staines greeted, wiping his muddy hands onto his trousers. “Rough night?” They noticed then.

  “You could say that. I have a couple of questions. The guv posted you two outside Jack Harper’s house last night, didn’t he?” I double-checked to ensure he wasn’t lying to my face. “Did you see anything… you know… suspicious?”

  “Nothing. He didn’t leave, and most of the curtains were drawn so that we couldn’t see much. It was late by the time we were stationed outside.” DC Staines shrugged, enlisting DC Cillian Murphy as his backup. They supported each other completely.

  “No one left?” I thought that should have been an obvious question.

  “No one left, no. His friend went over at about ten last night,” DC Cillian Murphy added with no conviction. Where did we find these detectives? Poundland, apparently.

  “What did this friend look like? Rough height, appearance, or anything?” I persisted, pushing them into revealing more information. They were uncomfortable, I could tell.

  There was a pause, a hesitation. Then silence.

  “Actually, sir, the Guv said you weren’t thinking straight,” DC Cillian Murphy admitted quietly. DCI Campbell ordered our team not to trust me with vital information.

  “I am now. This is important,” I insisted, practically begging them.

  They both looked behind their shoulders to ensure DCI Campbell wasn’t around. My pride stung from the fact my own superior officer felt that he couldn’t trust me anymore.

  “He was tallish. Blonde, kind of. Wearing simple clothes. Grey. No. Possibly black,” DC Staines finalised, proud that he recalled some information.

  “Right.” They had to be the dimmest constables in our office. “Time of departure?” I broke off, analysing their blank stares. DC Staines searched his memories. “What time did he leave?” I reorganised the sentence into simpler words, ones they might understand better.

  Those animals were making last night’s drink and this morning’s bacon sarnie churn deep within my stomach. If only DC Staines and Murphy could hurry up. Then we’d all be out of here in a shot. Finally, DC Cillian Murphy spoke up.

  “Good question, sir. No one asked us that one yet.” He paused for a moment. “He didn’t.”

  A moment of dread hit all of my bones in progression until my brain broke me out of it. Crap, I inwardly cursed. That slimy bugger. The ground had become squelchy and bog-like, due to all our officers churning it over with our feet.

  “Finlay?” McCall stopped my pacing, aware that the other officers were scrutinising me.

  “DCI Campbell, sir,” I grabbed our superior’s attention. DCI Campbell, though elderly, still had perfect hearing. His eyebrows raised in question towards me, awaiting an explanation. “DC Staines and Murphy were put on surveillance last night. It wasn’t your smartest decision I've witnessed.”

  “Excuse me?” DCI Campbell was warning, not asking.

  “A friend visited Jack Harper last night. Bit odd, because he waited until ten to visit him,” I began, and McCall listened intently. “The friend never left.”

  “Bit old to be arranging sleepovers, isn’t he?” McCall completed my thought dryly.

  DCI Campbell rubbed his hands together grimly, swallowing his pride. Hesitant to admit that I had a valuable point. He pretended everything was fine and spoke firmly. “Right, well. We’d best find out exactly who that friend is.”

  When we arrived at Jack Harper’s house, the stench from those dead animals still lingered in our clothes. None of us was in any mood to negotiate, nor deal with any crappy excuses. Everything led us back to Jack Harper.

  My knocks were grave and stern, letting whoever was inside know that Finlay Cooper wasn’t in the mood for games. DC Taylor hung back, volunteering to come along for any excuse to escape our stuffy office. McCall answered the radios, keeping a secure line of connection and communication between DCI Campbell and us.

  “Open the door. It’s CID,” I shouted loud enough so even their neighbours could hear and twitch their curtains.

  Jack’s door soon opened timidly to reveal the guy who matched our Tweedledee and Tweedledum's descriptions. Tallish. Blond. Plain. An average Joe. McCall did the honours of flashing our badges towards the bloke.

  “We want a word with your friend. Jack Harper.” I invited myself in, much to the bloke's annoyance.

  “Do you have a warrant?” he asked.

  “Don’t need one. Who are you anyway?” I shot out.

  “Jack’s friend.”

  “Okay, Jack’s friend. Did he ask you to come around last night?” McCall grilled him.

  “I’m not saying anything.” Jack’s friend objected.

  “Did he bribe you? Is he paying you to stay quiet?” I noticed the bloke guard his wallet sensitively. “I’ll pay you double to spill the details,” I snidely brought a twenty out of my pocket.

  “Finlay!” McCall couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

  “Jack told me to stay overnight. Move around a few times, you know? He didn’t say why or where he was going to go.”

  “How did he leave?” I waved the twenty coaxingly in front of his face.

  “He knew you guys were watching him. Went over the back fence. That’s the last I saw of him. Didn’t tell me nothing else.” The lad was a little piggy, desperate to squeal.

  “Damn it.” I banged the wall furiously. McCall was disappointed in my bribery tactics.

  “Can I have my money now?” The bloke grabbed the money.

  “I’d suggest you piss off home now and don’t do your ‘friends’ any favours. You’ll be the one who takes the fall, in the long run.” I folded up my twenty and stuffed it back into my pocket, much to McCall’s relief.

  The friend disappeared sheepishly, just glad to still have Jack’s money inside his wallet.

  “He knew we were watching,” McCall derived. “So why run?”

  “He’s guilty. Got to be,” I stared at my shoes.

  “I’m not sure,” McCall confessed.

  “Why?” I squinted, something about her seemed off. “Do you know something?”

  DC Taylor scribbled down a few reports of our encounter for legal purposes. He’s that kind of officer, by the book and straight down the line, in his own world. He wandered into the front room, jotting down every note possible.

  McCall eventually gave into me. “Last night, after your blow up with Campbell. I went to the medical centre, exactly as you’d suggested. Jack Harper didn’t clock in on the eighth because--”

  “Sir?” DC Taylor grabbed my attention away from McCall. “I think I’ve found something you
’ll want to see.”

  I faced our young team member, noticing how good looking he is in broad daylight. I don’t swing that way, but it’s easy to see why women like McCall could be attracted to him. His youthful eyes had no lines of worry. Lucky genes.

  He led us through to Jack’s shrine of a living room, pointing behind a cream armchair. “There’s a bag, looks as though it was stashed in a hurry. We don’t have a warrant, but I wondered-”

  “Oh, stuff the warrant,” McCall barked, practically throwing both fingers up to protocol, as restless as I was. She leant down to examine the bag. DC Taylor was well equipped and handed her a pair of latex gloves to minimise potential evidence contamination.

  “Never leave without them,” he revealed.

  “Good to know. Handy.” My pun wasn’t the best, but it was enough to make DC Taylor snort appreciatively. Once they were on, McCall dived straight back into the bag.

  She opened the two flaps, giving room for us to peek inside. There was an array of equipment inside. Some bog-standard first aid supplies like bandages resided inside, but another glinting object caught our eyes.

  “What’s that?” DC Taylor mused, pointing from afar at the object.

  It was lying on top, obviously why Jack Harper stashed his bag in the first place. McCall reached in to pull the long silver object out, making sure not to touch the edge, tinted red with dried blood. A scalpel.

  “What kind of a doctor doesn’t sterilise his medical equipment?” DC Taylor noted in disgust, shaking his head.

  “The kind of doctor who isn’t really a doctor,” McCall revealed gravely.

  “What does that mean?” I gawked at McCall.

  “Sarge?” DC Taylor rested his hand upon her shoulder tenderly, persuading her to talk. My hands were bagging up the scalpel, so I couldn’t console her anyway, which was probably for the best. Physicality wasn’t my style.

  “I have something to show you.” She disclosed.

  15

  McCall rifled through the Volvo glove box and hauled out a brown folder. I had no clue what she was talking about, and neither did DC Taylor. I leant against the car door, inspecting McCall fumble about. She seemed uncertain and nervous, different from her everyday confidence. Her gingery locks got in her way, so she flicked them back with aggravation.

  DC Taylor sat down on Jack Harper’s front steps for a small break. It had been all go from the start of this morning. All of us were ready to take a break, even for five minutes.

  “Study that,” McCall told me and placed the folder in my hands with a stern expression. The sticker on the folder read ‘Catherine Jones.’

  “Who’s Catherine Jones?” Had I missed something here? Inquisitively, I opened the front wad of cardboard to reveal sheets of… medical records.

  “Where did you—?” I began, but McCall cut me off.

  “Just read them.”

  I rifled through the sheets as instructed and held on tight, so they would not blow away in the strong breeze. Tablets, GP’s, blah blah. Then my eyes stopped scanning. A particular name leapt out from the monochrome pages. Jack Harper, doctor of Catherine Jones. I still had no idea why McCall appeared so interested in this information.

  “Right, he treated a patient. He’s supposedly a doctor,” I reiterated to my partner, who denied my thesis.

  “Was. Was a doctor. Not anymore,” she stated candidly. “After you and DCI Campbell had your falling out last night, I thought more about what you said. About checking out his alibi.”

  DC Taylor sat up straight, as captivated as I was.

  “Originally, I drove to the medical centre to see if Jack Harper’s alibi matched,” McCall explained. “I asked his clock in time, but he had none. They told me he’d not worked there in the last three months. Huge scandal apparently.”

  She flunked another folder into my arms. Jack Harper’s. There was a reason I enjoyed working with her. She dug deep.

  “Why didn’t anyone else check this out before?” I wondered aloud, fascinated at how she found all this out by following my gut instinct.

  “Lack of time,” DC Taylor helped us out. “It’s been all go at the office whilst you two were gone.”

  “The hospital kept quiet about Jack Harper prescribing prescription drugs to an underage girl.” I read aloud as I skimmed through his file. I pulled out a letter, containing details of the agreement. Confidential agreements.

  “He stole medication for Catherine Jones. She was the underage girl.”

  “He destroyed his career over her?” DC Taylor piped up, and McCall agreed wholly.

  “Exactly. Which is why I think Jack Harper is with Catherine Jones. If it was enough to ruin his whole career over, he must have an affliction with her,” McCall suggested with passion. She truly believed in herself, for once listening to her own instincts.

  “She never pressed charges against him?” DC Taylor asked, regarding McCall’s thought process.

  “No, she didn’t.”

  “They were in agreement. Cahoots.” I snapped the folder shut, memorizing Catherine's address. “She lives five minutes away from the woods.”

  “Last night would have given him enough time to burn his clothes in the woods, plant the animals as a distraction and hide over at Catherine’s.” McCall shared her thoughts.

  “A younger girl would be easy to persuade from someone in a position of power,” DC Taylor joined us.

  “He had nowhere else to go,” McCall pressed on. “No family, a few friends, but none of them exactly criminal masterminds. Perhaps he thought he’d be safe there, with her?” McCall looked to DC Taylor in desperation. “Surely it won't hurt to check it out. We have no other leads to follow.” That was becoming a standard issue to this case.

  “Before we do, McCall. It’s illegal to take these files without permission. We had none.” Now I understood her initial reservations, why she didn’t tell me right away. We didn’t have enough reason to bring the files into this case. But now, She’d kept medical records, and we’d carried out a search with no warrant. McCall was in a place of vulnerability and had risked her career because she trusted my initial instincts.

  “You could lose your job.” DC Taylor chimed in.

  “It’s worth it.” She smiled bravely, not allowing herself to fall apart. Not now. I’d never expect a fellow officer to risk anything for me, let alone the officer I trusted most. I’d jeopardised her, all because of a stinking attitude problem. “My actions, my consequences,” McCall told us firmly.

  “Think about it, McCall,” I told her. “I need you on this team. We all do. You uncovered vital pieces of evidence.” We did need her, someone with bravery and initiative. McCall sighed.

  “Can we go? I don’t want to lose him, again.” She strode away, leaving us to clamber after her into the car. I had been demoted to the passenger seat as McCall was silently worried that I may still be alcohol influenced. I wasn’t, I could tell, but I let her take her moment.

  Catherine Jones didn’t live a million miles away. The odds were stacked against Jack Harper, we all hoped. We discussed methods of approach and decided on one of us knocking at her door, one stationed around the side and one around the back. By covering all exits, we could make sure Jack Harper wasn’t about to make another dash and go. He’d be so lucky as to play that game with me twice.

  No. We would be ready this time.

  And follow the plan we did. McCall took the front to greet whoever answered the door with a friendly face. A chance to do good. A chance to talk. DC Taylor took the back, probably a faster runner than all of CID put together. It was only natural; he spent his spare time doing fitness.

  I positioned myself around the side door, ready to aid any one of my team, no matter which way Jack Harper ran. I clattered into some bins and hoped the people inside couldn’t hear the noise. DC Taylor signalled the ready sign to me, which I directed towards McCall. She took a deep breath and knocked three times.

  We waited patiently enough until the cha
in echoed into the air, meaning the door had been opened. I strained my hearing to listen to what McCall was saying.

  “DS Kirsty McCall, CID. Can I come in, please?” she said resolutely

  I heard a female gasp, and then McCall shouted out. “Cooper, inside!” That signalled my cue to enter. DC Taylor stayed put, just in case.

  I hammered around to the front, out of breath already. My earlier sneaky cigarette didn’t help. Both eardrums pumped full of blood and adrenaline. McCall had left the front door open for me to enter. A young lady, presumably Catherine Jones, stood in the hallway, wearing nothing but skimpy pyjamas and a matching dressing gown.

  That didn’t matter for the time being, what mattered to us would be catching up to Jack Harper. I noticed McCall disappear upstairs, so I flew up the staircase to back her up. Women on the front line sometimes didn’t end up so well. Men could be a lot bigger physically and a lot more powerful than a woman with a frame like McCall.

  A commotion came from one of the bedrooms, the smaller one. I burst in to find Jack Harper crouching on the floor with both hands clamped around his ears. He tried to block out our voices, and he didn’t want to hear us. There was no aggressive behaviour, no running or shouting. DC Taylor would still be waiting outside, so I opened the nearest window.

  “He’s here,” I called out. “We got him.”

  DC Taylor appreciated the heads up and came to join us inside.

  “Jack Harper, we are arresting you on suspicion of murdering Gavin Ellis. You don’t have to say anything, but anything you do say may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” I read the customary police caution to Harper as I slapped a pair of handcuffs onto him. McCall held him in case he made a mad dash for the nearest exit.

  His gaunt face streamed with tears, and his glasses were skew-whiff, which caused his ears to turn a bright red. Jack Harper smelled of sweat and must, obviously carried over from his own pit.