The Devil's Due

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “Mandy had been away all week, visiting her son. I let her have a week off. She works hard and never asks for more. Lovely lady. She keeps the keys to everything.” He noticed my dubious expression. “I’d trust her with my life,” Sammy vowed.

  “Where would I find this Mandy Smalls?”

  “In a small office, near the back of the building.” Sammy pointed out a series of directions. “Go easy on her though, DI Cooper. She’s like a grandmother to us boys down here.” He gestured at those bold as brass men braving the unpredictable water. Although Sammy had spoken politely, it rubbed me up the wrong way.

  “I’ll do my job my own way, thank you very much,” a stern tone flooded out of my nearly blue lips. These young men were all well and good, but I cannae cope with weather changes.

  I set off on a hunt for Mandy Smalls with a direction and heading clear in my sights. Sammy waved a tiny goodbye, knowing I wouldn’t reciprocate it. Time could not be wasted on such invaluable formalities. After all, we weren’t friends. Merely two people whose paths converged over one unfortunate incident. Gavin Ellis.

  Footsteps pattered behind me, the unmistakable sound of McCall’s work shoes following me. I ignored her for a few minutes, irritating her on purpose. Eventually, I got fed up and stopped dead in my tracks. Only then did McCall decide to walk faster and overtake me. I stared at her moving figure with disbelief at how petty she could be. From behind, her ginger curls bobbed up and down with every step, her black suit grimy from our surroundings.

  It was my turn to catch up with my work partner now. My body felt heavy and weary compared to McCall’s slimmer figure. Next year, I vowed to kick start my life into shape. This case had brought out the worst in me, but there was no point in starting a regime in December. Everyone knows you have to begin fitness on the first of January.

  “What are you doing?” I hissed at McCall so no passers-by would hear us.

  “Walking, DI Cooper. What about you, Sir?” She emphasised the ‘sir’ purposely to annoy me. All those previous years, she had called me Finlay, and I hated it. Now McCall acted professionally by calling me DI Cooper, but I hated that even more. A guy can’t win.

  “Stop the act, McCall. I had a right to be annoyed at you. I looked ridiculous in that interview--”

  She cut me off mid-lecture. “Just in the interview? I was under the impression that you look ridiculous all the time, Sir,” McCall sneered childishly.

  This woman had ticked me off one too many times.

  “I may be ridiculous, but at least I’m not parading around with a younger officer,” I reminded her of our stoic interaction outside the fish shop.

  “Oh!” She laughed under her breath but not with humour. She laughed intending to bring me crashing down to earth. “You can’t talk. I could’ve sworn I saw you out for dinner with a girl no older than a teenager. Did she have to leave before daddy shouted at her for being late home?” McCall patronised, red in the face.

  “She’s not a teenager. Don’t change the subject. You withheld important information from me—”

  “Stop being such a whiny baby and deal with it. Did you get her number?” McCall wound me up about Abbey to distract me.

  “So now you want to talk properly? I never know where I stand with women like you.” I huffed, trying to storm away faster than her.

  “Women like me? Is that supposed to be an insult, Cooper?” McCall snorted. “Just because your snotty reporter didn’t kiss you don’t take it out on all the women in your life. I feel sorry for your mother. Imagine having a son who’s got a face like a slapped arse and a temper worse than the grinch on a good day.”

  How rude. Uncalled for.

  “Were you ever going to explain how serious you and DC Taylor are? Or are you hiding other things from me too? More evidence I should know about?” I fired back.

  “Ah. I know what this is,” McCall changed into a softer tenor. She grinned a smug grin momentarily. “You’re jealous.”

  “No, I’m not.” I played things cool. Most of my attention diverted to my feet, burying them into the mud out of ferocity.

  “You’re jealous of DC Taylor and me. You can’t stand the fact that I have a life outside of work and you don’t. Is that why you went on your date?” She gaped in surprise, thinking she’d read me like an open book, but she hadn’t.

  “It wasn’t a date,” I snorted.

  “Are you sure she knew that?” McCall said.

  “Stop changing the subject. The fact of the matter is, I can't trust you when you won’t tell me important information!”

  A cough erupted from nearby, and we both snapped out of our argumentative daze to realize everyone on the tiny stretch of beach had listened to our whole argument. DCI Campbell shot us a warning stare from afar. We half smiled, half winced and turned our backs on all those people listening.

  “It was one time, Cooper. Get over it.” McCall hissed, following me inside to search for Mandy Smalls.

  “One time too many,” I returned, trying to seek out a cigarette.

  “Don’t start that again,” McCall groaned at the sight of my lighter and cigarette. “I don’t want to smell like a walking ashtray.”

  “You’ve stressed me out now. Give me a break. It’s been ages since I last had one.” I lit up and puffed away happier now. Smoke reached my lungs, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Much better. I didn’t even feel guilty about it. I didn’t dare cop a glance towards McCall. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be greeted with kindness or a slap.

  Her hand slinked up and wrapped its way around my cigarette, prying it away from between my lips. I gave up trying to fight back. She flicked it to the floor and stamped out the light. I know I promised McCall last year that I’d never smoke again, she got sick and tired of smelling the smoke in our work car, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

  “Buck up. We’ve got work to do. DCI Campbell made me team up with you. He wants us to patch things up. If you apologise, we can get on with it.” With that, she took a look around the dimmed building full of boats.

  “I’m not apologising,” I stubbornly refused.

  “Me neither,” McCall gave as much effort back.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  Both of us knew that was our way of roughly patching things over. They wouldn’t get resolved otherwise.

  “Good. Right then, Mandy Smalls. She’s the cleaner in charge of all the keys,” I explained, reaching what we could only presume was her office.

  “Haven’t heard of her,” McCall replied, glancing inside.

  “I suspect not. She was away on holiday all week, supposedly visiting her son,” I carried on Sammy’s explanation and knocked on the poky office door.

  Rackety blinds did their best to keep the office private, although half were either broken or fallen. We peered inside to see an older woman holed up inside the cupboard of an office. She scribbled onto sheets of paper, her face concealed by a mass of faded blonde hair. I’d imagine it would’ve been a bleach blonde at some point fifty years ago.

  A bunch of multicoloured keys hung by little hooks to the wall, a few holes dotted around where nails had separated away from the plaster. I rattled her door cautiously, making the poor woman inside jump out of her skin.

  The large gap between the door and its frame revealed that a latch was across the door for security purposes. The lock portrayed on the outside was easily pickable by anyone who could have tried. A code was required to open it first, but you wouldn’t have to be a criminal mastermind to get through there.

  The woman we presumed to be Mandy Smalls, heaved herself up from the desk. “May I help you?” She smiled politely through her teeth, probably thinking we were inquisitive members of the club.

  I pulled out my badge and showed it to Mandy. “DI Cooper and DS McCall. Can we come in for a quick chat?”

  Mandy obliged happily and let us squeeze into the office with her. It was a tight fit. McCall had to perch across the desk, and my
chest felt like paper origami folded in on itself. My prime spot for optimal comfort ended up being squashed into a corner.

  “Sammy told me all about you two,” Mandy croaked. She eyed me up in thought. “He didn’t mention you were so handsome, Mr Cooper. My grandson doesn’t have a penny on you.”

  McCall giggled, and my cheeks burned bright pink.

  “Right. Uh, t-thanks,” I tripped over my speech in hopes of diverting Mandy’s uncomfortable stare. “Do you know about Gavin Ellis?”

  Mandy’s eyes wrinkled with disappointment at the mention of Gavin’s name. “Of course. Poor boy. Too young to die that way and on our turf too. Appalling.” She foamed at the mouth, flashy lipstick bleeding into each crevice. “I only just returned from visiting my son. Lives in Edinburgh, he does. Well, him and his wife and my beautiful grandchildren, of course.” A photograph of them stood proud upon her desk. “Yes. A relaxing week away, exactly what the doctor ordered. Arthritis playing up in the old knee again,” Mandy explained with a coy smile in my direction. Dear god.

  McCall thoroughly enjoyed watching me squirm like a worm on a hook.

  “When did you get home?” McCall interjected helpfully in an attempt to swerve the discussion back on track again.

  “Only yesterday, dearie.” Mandy opened her desk drawer and revealed a stash of custard creams. The packet made its rounds to the both of us and we accepted gladly. Mandy selected one and rustled the packet closed before shoving it back in her desk again. “Lived in Dalgety Bay all me life. Since I was a little nipper in baby grows. My father lived here before me. Dalgety blood, through and through.” A visible storm cloud washed over her face. “This murder, it’s terrible.”

  “Which is why we came to you,” I said after scoffing down the biscuit. “The equipment shack on the other side of the beach, it belongs to the sailing club, doesn’t it?”

  “Right you are.” Mandy bumbled her fingers across her handmade knitted jumper. I stared directly at the jumper, and she caught me. “I’ll make one for you, pet, next time you come to visit me. You’re roughly the same size as my son. I’ve got an order for the church fayre and children’s nativity costumes, but any time after that you can come and collect it.”

  That sweet gesture from Mandy brought me to understand what Sammy meant by thinking of her as a grandma. “Uh, thank you. Very kind.”

  McCall sniggered, shocked to see me acting polite.

  “Ahem. I presume you are in charge of the keys for your shed, Mandy?” I pointedly shuffled toward the vivid array of keys hanging up.

  “Always. We get plenty of families using the shed throughout the summer and a few in the winter. People are always in and out of there for various reasons. Some boys on the bay keep their ropes in there, as well as a few bat-and-ball games for the kiddies.” That news wasn’t exactly comforting.

  “Who used it last?” McCall said.

  “I told you, dearie. I haven’t been here for the last week. Could have been anyone. Plenty of people know the code. Most people who come for a catch up let themselves in here.” Mandy leant back in her chair and folded her hands. “It’s two, double-six, nine.”

  “I see what you mean about giving it away easily,” McCall quipped.

  “I’m still waiting for the key back though. Whoever used it last still has it,” Mandy continued, distracting herself by eating. McCall and I shared a knowing glance.

  “What about CCTV?” McCall brainstormed aloud, us both adding to the train of thought now and again.

  “Too expensive for us, love,” Mandy chattered away. “Our profits have been disappearing for a while now. The majority of us work for free, as a favour for Sammy. He’s helped us all out in one way or another, and now it’s our turn to repay him. Nobody here wants to see his business go under. Even in his time of crisis, he’s raising money to help pay for Johnny’s wedding, one of the lads who helps out.”

  CCTV tended to be too expensive for small clubs like these. Which is how people always got away with committing crimes in or right by them. Mandy knew the ins and out of the club and yet she couldn’t figure out any leads for us to follow.

  “Thanks for your help, Mandy,” McCall slapped her thighs suddenly, the polite way of suggesting we were going to head off. I agreed with McCall. There was obviously nothing new about to jump out at us.

  “Oh, do stay a while longer,” Mandy tried to tempt us with another biscuit. “I have enjoyed this. It’s always nice getting to know the locals, especially the handsome ones.” She patted my arm, but as sweet and unharmful as Mandy’s nature seemed to be, she couldn’t help us out any more than she already did.

  “Any news from Smalls?” DCI Campbell pondered aloud as we clambered into the Volvo.

  “Dry as a brick,” I tutted, staring out the window. I didn’t bother belting up, McCall would drive safely enough.

  “Same as everyone else at the club,” the Guv spoke with gusto.

  “She did mention the keys hadn’t been brought back or returned yet,” McCall shared, a glimmer of hope evident in her voice, but before I could say anything, my phone vibrated on the seat, diverting my attention away. I picked it up, wishing that those two in the front could pipe down so I could hear better.

  “Hello?”

  “Sir? It’s DC Taylor. Again.” His voice contained an element of discomfort, probably hearing from McCall that I witnessed them out together.

  I cleared my throat, letting some words form themselves. “Yeah. What’s up?”

  “The department got a call, sir.” DC Taylor sounded excited. “A guy was pulled in the other night, the same night Gavin was murdered, arrested for possession of an offensive weapon. I requested a record of anyone in the last two weeks arrested on possession, and he stood out most.”

  “Why’s he so important?” I said.

  “He ran in Gavin’s friendship groups. His phone is in police possession, and when we asked him, he had no alibi for the eighth.” DC Taylor had done well, and he knew it.

  “Guv,” I pulled the phone away from my ear, “we’ve got a new lead.”

  20

  “Nathan Smith,” DC Taylor debriefed us three upon entering our station. He’d waited patiently for us and handed over a critical piece of potential evidence to DCI Campbell, who led our small group back to his office, where he’d already requested data encryption devices to be placed.

  “What about him?” I asked impatiently. In recent years, many forces found it necessary to invest in phone hacking equipment, due to a change in the way criminals utilize technology. Many criminals gambled on the fact that our technology would be too outdated to hack an iPhone.

  “Busted twice before and convicted of drug dealing,” DC Taylor began a long-winded explanation. “Released, obviously. Police pulled him in a couple of nights ago for possession of an offensive weapon. It wasn’t until I searched recent arrests logged at the station that I found Nathan Smith—”

  “And you recognised his name from our research of Gavin's friendship group,” McCall interrupted.

  “What weapon was he found with?” I licked my cracked lips, intrigued.

  “One small pocket knife,” DC Taylor revealed, along the lines of what our pathologist believed killed Gavin Ellis.

  “What about the eighth of December? You mentioned that earlier.” DCI Campbell flicked through a couple of forms an officer had shoved in his arms upon arrival.

  “We pulled him in for further questioning. Pressed specifically for details about Gavin, and an alibi.” DC Taylor’s expression changed to a particularly pained one. “He kept repeating ‘no comment’ and asked for a reliable lawyer,” DC Taylor exhaled.

  “And we gave him one?” I groaned involuntarily.

  “It’s called playing by the book, Cooper. Granted, not all of us enjoy it,” DCI Campbell pointedly stared, “but it’s necessary. Our record needs to be squeaky clean when all this business goes to court. Capiche?”

  “Capiche,” I found myself repeating by mistake b
ut quickly cleared my throat in realisation. “Understood.”

  DCI Campbell flung open his office door. “Inside, the lot of you.”

  We didn’t have much choice, nor time to argue with an instruction like that. Although both his son and wife taught him how to use an iPhone, DCI Campbell still struggled with even the simplest technological tasks. Pieces of junk were strewn everywhere from people shoving evidence, statements, and technology wherever they felt like putting it. DCI Campbell grimaced at our expressions.

  “I know, I know,” he held both hands high in mock defeat. “I haven’t had much chance to sort things out around here. Those useless lot from the office don’t give a toss about me needing somewhere to sit,” the guv proved his point by showing off a bunch of folders placed untidily upon his seat.

  “Nathan’s phone, Sir,” DC Taylor stepped forward to push it closer to the Guv.

  The machine used for this particular job didn’t seem like much, but it had the power to recover deleted information, phone logs and calls, deleted pictures, and anything an officer desired. All it took was for Nathan’s phone to be hooked up to the device, similar to a chunky sixties film depiction of futuristic technology. It downloaded straight onto DCI Campbell’s computer with ease, bringing up a folder of data to analyse. DCI Campbell stared blankly, drumming his fingertips musically on his keyboard.

  “Sir? It’s finished,” DC Taylor urged, glancing over to check the computer screen.

  “Aye. Right then.” DCI Campbell invited DC Taylor to scroll through the realms of encrypted code. We all knew he would be the best choice for this task. DCI Campbell had no clue about technology, McCall still had a 2000s style phone, and I barely noticed what phones were more efficient than others. DC Taylor got to work, stretching his fingertips out and cracked his neck.

  “Texts by Anna Smith, yesterday. Nathan Smith would’ve been here by then,” DC Taylor reminded everyone and read out Anna’s message. “Where are you? Nathan? Stop ignoring me. I swear if you've gotten into trouble again, dad will personally kill you. Nathan’s sister, presumably.”