The Devil's Due

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “No, Finlay. He put us in charge. As a team,” McCall shouted back, escalating into a bigger argument than we’ve ever had. I blame the stress for causing friction and strain on our working relationship. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

  “Don’t I?” I stared into her angry eyes, questioning her sincerity. She didn’t break away first, too stubborn for that. “Just leave me alone, McCall. I can do this on my own.” I paced away, leaving her standing in the middle of the path, shouting after me.

  “Go ahead! See how far you get without us. Nobody can do it alone.”

  “I can,” I insisted.

  “Prick.”

  “Whatever.” I shuffled on alone until the community church bordered edges of greenery in the distance. I got lost halfway there and ended up travelling the long way round. Laura most likely would have cut down by the bay, for an efficient journey from her house.

  I diverted my attention back to the church itself. Apart from the huge cross hung proudly on the outside, it wasn’t obvious this was a place of worship. It blended in nicely, red brick matched with the overall feel of the bay. A random circular clock tower rose from the building's side, for sculptural reasons, no doubt. Its roof slanted casually, creating a different shape to other buildings.

  Thin layers of ice were starting to build up, a result of winter's revenge. It was already slippery now, and I had to go carefully to maintain my balance.

  Having not stepped foot inside a parish church for a good number of years, I had almost forgotten what to expect. The inside contained small amounts of natural light that suited the dark wood interior. It was stunning, to say the least. The room was practically empty apart from one man reading from a book.

  I needed a moment of peace to put myself into Laura’s shoes. Why did she visit the Parish daily? Did it bring her comfort, or was it a burden? What were her needs, her wants, her sins?

  The wooden bench felt cold and hard underneath my trousers, and I had to adjust my posture a couple of times to get anywhere near relaxed. The room plunged into an eerie quietness.

  The man up front sneezed loudly, catching me staring. He waved kindly, not at all what I expected. Now and again, a small beam of sunlight would break through and hit a painting created especially for the church. In the light beam, tiny particles of dust and other pieces danced ethereally. For a man who despised inner peace and preaching, I had to admit the place had a certain ethereal quality to it.

  “Good afternoon,” a cheery, yet soothing voice interrupted my inner thoughts. I didn’t even realise my eyes had closed of their own accord to envision Laura sitting in the very same spot. The new voice disturbed my illusion of Laura, her lifelike breathing wiped entirely from my mind.

  “Who are you?” I snapped.

  “I’m the priest,” he paused. Surely he was taking the piss out of me.

  “Right.” I didn’t want to scare the guy away. I had answers to find.

  “I haven’t seen you before.” The priest intertwined his fingers as he settled beside me.

  “That’s because I've never stepped foot inside a church before,” I revealed, shuffling uncomfortably. “I wasn’t brought up to believe in stories.” I noticed the priest was slightly taken aback. “No offence.”

  “None taken. We’ve had many like you in here before, who all say the same thing.” He smiled. “Most of them now visit me daily.”

  I snorted loudly, out of place in the echoey church. “Are you paying them? Not me, I'm afraid. Once I've made up my mind about something, I usually don’t change it.”

  “People change.” The priest inhaled, staring out of a window. “I chose this life from a very early age. My parents did the same before me. And my grandparents. No wife to speak of, nor children either. Keeps me busy. We’re a community here. Everyone who comes within these doors is treated as an equal by our Lord himself. What brings you here?”

  “Death.”

  “Ah, I see. You’ve come to find comfort in the passing of your beloved one?” He almost seemed invigorated by the notion.

  “No. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about a recently deceased woman.” I fumbled to find my badge.

  “I’m a priest, not a psychic,” the priest hooted on account of his own comedic timing.

  “DI Cooper,” I made an introduction. “We’re investigating the death of Laura Smith. She used to volunteer here, didn’t she?”

  “By gosh. She’s dead?”

  I guess God really couldn’t see all. The priest needed a moment to control himself.

  “Yeah, haven’t you read the papers?” I guessed they’d have a full-page spread about Laura’s misfortune by now.

  “No, I spend too much time here to get involved with that nonsense.” One thing we could agree on. “Laura was a lovely spirit. She gave a lot to our community. All the best ones get taken too soon.” The priest bowed his head in grief and respect.

  I struggled to articulate my questioning, so it didn’t sound insensitive. “When did you last see Laura?”

  The priest smoothed a palm across his sweaty head, disguising the inner turmoil he so clearly felt.

  “I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days, which was odd for her,” he recounted. “We were quite close friends. When she didn’t show up, I thought she’d become overwhelmed from caring for her children. She’d changed after her husband…”

  “Left,” I finished the sentence he wouldn’t.

  “She wanted to keep it a secret from everyone, to live without hassle from the locals.”

  I could sympathise with that reasoning. Dalgety Bay didn’t need any more fuel to its raging fire.

  “How did the split go with her husband? Any hostility there?” The priest seemed hesitant to answer my intrusive questions, obviously feeling a duty of confidence to a late friend. “I need to know. This could be vital in helping us to find out who killed Laura.”

  The priest let out a huge sigh. “Terrible people out there. We’re not even safe in here anymore. Laura thought the split would impact how people of the church community witnessed her. She got paranoid, scared that we wouldn’t let her come to church anymore.”

  “Would you have banned her from coming here?” I wondered.

  “No. Divorce is allowed, on very strict grounds in our religion, like infidelity,” he hinted at the prospect.

  “Right. Because Laura’s husband cheated on her, so the sin was his?” I said slowly.

  “Kind of. You’re halfway there. It’s complicated,” the priest explained. “He was unfaithful to Laura for an entire year, from when their newborn babe arrived. Laura had no idea. That man showed his face here every week, and I spoke to him plenty of times. Would never have guessed. He shunned the whole religion when he left her. Nobody saw him again.” The priest inhaled loudly and stared at the dim ceiling. “Luckily for Laura, her divorce didn’t hinder her chances here. She would’ve been devastated, poor girl.”

  “That’s a lot of control over someone’s free will. You practically own these people, your followers,” I duly noted, truly shocked at the way they lived. I was unaccustomed to their way of life, their devotion.

  “Something changed inside Laura after he left,” the Priest spilt out, probably glad to talk to someone normally without having to give advice. “She became paranoid, completely different from the woman I used to know.”

  “Paranoid?” That word in particular jumped as an odd adjective to describe a friend.

  “She would convince herself that she was a bad person. Repeating things about sins, that she was incapable of being a proper mother.” The priest stared at me directly, being frank. Behind his gaze, the sadness was evident.

  I took a deep breath, hoping he wouldn’t overreact to the next question I had lined up. “Did Laura ever mention any dealings with the devil? Any run-ins with a cult around here?”

  The priest gasped, horrified at the thought.

  “Not Laura.” He shook his head fervently. “She was too spiritual.
She mentioned the devil was waiting for her to mess up, metaphorically, of course. I made sure she knew God was on her side.”

  What if the devil was a physical representation of a person? Like our killer?

  “Where would Laura go by herself? Did she have a favourite place?” I queried.

  He coughed loudly, thankfully covering his mouth by a shivering hand. “She enjoyed walking the baby by the waterfront. I would join them sometimes, if I weren’t busy.”

  Now that I’d managed to juice a bit of information out about Laura, I would have to question him too. He could be dodgy as muck, hiding in plain sight. Not unheard of.

  “And where were you yesterday?” I asked.

  “I stayed here, as always. I had appointments to help some couples through some issues. Confidential, as I'm sure you’ll understand.” I didn’t.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  “The couples. The cleaner,” the Priest listed, cheeks rounding in a smile. He can’t be much older than me. “We had a special prayer group here yesterday too, a very special time indeed. Laura would have loved it.”

  “I’m sure.” I half paid attention, typing his rough alibi details over text for DC Taylor to sort out. I slapped my legs and rose from our uncomfortable bench, cracking my sore back into place. “Thanks for your time. I’ll be in touch,” I assured him.

  “Good luck, DI Cooper.” His tea-stained teeth smiled gratefully, and he slapped my back in a fatherly fashion. “Remember if you ever change your mind--”

  “I won’t. See you later,” I excused myself politely and left the priest sitting alone in his palace of forgiveness.

  I strolled down towards the waterfront, to where the priest believed Laura would visit often. A bunch of grubby rocks caused me to watch where I was going. I’d be no use to anyone if I injured myself. I skimmed the stretch of sand, staring across the open body of water beginning to settle to dusk. The sun had nearly set, creating a perfect set of light reflection on the surface.

  The gentle whooshing of waves sounded in and out. A perfect lullaby for a baby, I imagined Laura would have thought the same. Cars in the distance travelled quickly, some queued up in needless traffic. Their headlights piled up upon the tall structure.

  A distressed, dirty bench waited nearby, inviting me to relax and watch the water come and go. The passing of time. To sit still and admire the beauty of nature we miss in our hectic lives. Mine especially.

  “Is that you, Cooper?” a familiar voice shot through one ear and I flinched in fright, squaring up, ready to fight any thug who fancied it.

  Mandy Smalls looked on in surprise, her elderly face a pleasant sight to see.

  “Sorry,” I apologised appropriately, letting my arms sink of their own accord.

  “Boys!” she exclaimed. “Always starting fights but never finishing them.” She chuckled and made some comment about ‘boys will be boys,’ as she bundled her full weight down on the bench and shuffled next to me, the cheeky mare. I shuffled away in the opposite direction. A flirting grandma was not vital to my thoughts right then. “It’s lovely out here, isn’t it? Nothing like a good winter's walk to get the blood flowing.”

  “I wish I could say the same. My walk has been anything but pleasant, I’m afraid,” I shared.

  “Life is what you make it,” she mused. If only that were true for all the people out there who died too early. For those who desperately tried to live, to fight, to stay alive.

  “What are you doing out here, Mandy? It’s dark, and you’re alone. There are bad people out here at night” I fretted, hoping Mandy wouldn’t get herself hurt. That would be one call I’d hate to attend.

  “Let them try. They’ve got nothing on me,” she teased, a real firecracker. “If we were afraid of everything bad in the world, we’d never leave home. I’ve lived through wars. Nothing as frightening or glorious as that. Met a dashing soldier.”

  “You married a soldier?” I was taken by surprise.

  “Of course not.” My comment tickled Mandy immensely. “You don’t marry soldiers, dear. They’re only good for one thing, if you get what I mean.”

  “Yes, I think I do Mandy. Thank you.” I hid my heavy head in my hands, wishing that comment never escaped her wrinkled lips. I rubbed my biceps to keep warm as the temperature dropped steadily.

  “He was my first love. Robert.” The elderly lady breathed a fresh sigh. “I read the news this morning. Don’t know why I bother, it’s always blooming depressing.” Mandy retrieved a flask of hot chocolate from her carry-on bag and offered me a cup.

  “No, thanks,” I declined gently, wishing not to upset the kindly woman.

  “I heard about that woman yesterday.” Mandy shook her head sadly. “Made all the headlines. Dreadful thing to happen, especially in my hometown. Never heard anything like it.”

  “Times are changing, Mandy,” I spoke from my own brutal experience as I readjusted my leather gloves.

  “You’re telling me. People are so cold nowadays. In my time, we would all be visiting our neighbours, watching children play happily in the street. No such thing as an innocent child in the eyes of the world these days.” Her cheeks wobbled when her indignance rose at the world.

  “My parents would invite the milkman in to eat with us,” I reminisced, forgetting all about those times. “Granted, we children would always play harmless pranks on the poor milkman’s float, but he took it with a pinch of salt and scolded us accordingly.” I secretly prayed Mandy might have stuffed a packet of biscuits in that never-ending bag too. She caught me staring inquisitively at her bag.

  “I know that look. The same one my son gives me and his little nippers too.” Mandy settled the bag on her lap, and sure enough, dragged out a packet of biscuits. She passed them to me with a twinkle in her eyes. “Have a go at them. Never leave the house without. Just in case I meet anyone half as special as you, DI Cooper.”

  “Cheers, Mandy,” I thanked her and found it hard not to laugh. “Although I don’t think I’m half as special as you make out.” My argument with McCall weighed heavily on my mind. “I seem to upset people, mainly McCall. She’s the one person who supports me, and yet I still don’t let her help me.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid of being wrong, which I am half the time.”

  “Then you have to start trusting people who are going to help you fix them. And try to stop being so stubborn.”

  “I think you’re right,” I murmured.

  Another figure stepped behind us, out on a night stroll, but I barely paid any attention. Mandy was the opposite and lifted her voice.

  “Hello, Paul. Lovely evening, isn’t it?” The man didn’t reply, which caused me to glance up indignantly. She had spoken loud enough to be heard. “He must be in a rush tonight.”

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “Paul Roberts.”

  Never heard of the guy. I copped another look at the pacing bloke, heavy jacket covering most of his body. He had a red hood up, even though there was no chance of rain tonight. His shoes were big and clunky and almost tripped him up a couple of times.

  “Walks here most nights,” Mandy continued to explain. “I see him sometimes. He came by my office the other day for a catch-up. Poor guy.”

  “Why’s that?” I swallowed an abundance of Garibaldi crumbs.

  “His wife, Linda, died a few years back. I invite him over for tea whenever he wants to talk. A lot of people around here haven’t bothered to keep in touch with him after she died. He used to be a priest at the church, but he became too frail to cope with their full-time duties,” Mandy mentioned vaguely. “He's probably upset about the papers this morning.”

  “Why, did he have a full-page spread too?” I commented sarcastically.

  “He knew that woman who died,” Mandy repeated. I bit into a Garibaldi distractedly. “It was only yesterday he spoke to her.”

  The biscuit crumbs mushed in my mouth, and when swallowed, they exp
anded to twice their size. “He spoke to Laura yesterday?”

  “Why yes, I saw them. Just along there.” She pointed down the waterline, nearer the direction of the sailing club.

  Was this Paul the last person to see Laura alive?

  “Sammy let me go home early. I came straight here from the club with a packed lunch and watched the sunset over the bridge.” Mandy sniffed as a result of the cold air.

  “Could you hear what they were saying? Where did they go?” I urged Mandy to focus.

  “No, they were too far away. It looked serious, though. They went back in that direction.” Mandy pointed again in the opposite direction. The opposite direction of the school and church, in the direction of Laura’s house.

  I didn’t hesitate, scaling the bench without so much as an explanation. My feet thundered, trying to catch up to the man.

  “I see how it is,” Mandy called out, shaking her head. “Always rushing off. Trust in good people, DI Cooper!”

  I knew she wasn’t aware of the importance of those details she spilt, but I could kiss Mandy… on the cheek, of course.

  I wasn’t trained to run distances, but once I had a mission ingrained into my head, there was no stopping me. All my determination, passion, fury and pride spurred me on, shadowing the route Paul took away from Mandy and me. His footsteps were evident, a mixture of churned up mud, gravel and muddy sand all in one. Paul hadn’t gotten far, his footsteps slower than my adrenaline-fuelled run.

  My heartbeat drummed, cursing throughout my eardrums and specks of purple began to show up in my irises. I couldn’t let any of it stop my pursuit. As I rounded a corner, up a small incline, a now altered concrete path speared off into a row of residential houses. Each one appeared the same, yet still had a standout element to make them their own. The neighbourhood spiralled off into roads upon roads, full of more houses. Then more after that.

  Taking the logical approach, I stalked up the main path and inspected each avenue with a quick head turn and scour to see any movement. Paul couldn’t have escaped my grips already, not unless he crossed back on himself, a near-impossible task, as most avenues and roads leading off finalised into cul-de-sacs.