The Devil's Due: A Cooper and McCall Scottish Crime Thriller

by Ramsay Sinclair

  “H-he murdered my daughter,” Jack revealed the same information he told us the other day, and now it would all be stored on tape.

  “He raped your daughter and overdosed her,” Finlay picked his narrative back up. “Gavin was sentenced to years in jail yet got out in half the time. How did that make you feel Jack? Angry?” Finlay paused for effect, his gaze boring into Jack Harper.

  “My client doesn’t have to respond to these infantile tactics--” The solicitor began, but Jack paid no attention.

  “Of course I felt angry, anyone would. But I also felt sadness too,” Jack struggled to keep hold of his newfound composure. Sweat dribbled unattractively from his forehead and both fists clenched at Finlay’s unforgiving words. I knew precisely what Finlay’s tactics were going to be. Poke the bear, make it angry.

  “Did it make you want to murder Gavin Ellis?” Finlay used a low tone, one that frightened me, let alone the father suspected of murder. Finlay had already made his mind up. He wanted Jack to be the killer so desperately that he wouldn’t tread lightly.

  “My client doesn’t wish to answer your question—”

  “STOP IT!” Jack shouted out in rage and thumped the table in an attempt to gain some form of control. “I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill Gavin Ellis.”

  “When did you last see Gavin Ellis, Jack?” I intervened calmly, to diffuse the tension. I pushed a glass of water towards Jack, which he accepted gratefully.

  “At Emily’s trial. When he was sentenced.” He ignored Finlay’s pants of irritation and talked directly to me. I took advantage of that to build up an element of trust between the two of us.

  “That must have been a hard day for you, as a father,” I observed. “I bet it still is.”

  Jack nodded in agreement and shot a tight-lipped smile of appreciation my way. “They said it would get easier with time. That the pain would slowly dissipate until all I’m left with is grateful memories of her. They lied. It gets harder.” Jack sipped his fresh water. “Have you ever lost anyone, DS McCall?” Jack leant closer to me, praying I knew how it felt.

  “I’ll be the one asking questions here, thank you,” Finlay attempted to interrupt, not understanding that this was what I wanted. Some back-and-forth dialogue. Interaction. Enough to make Jack feel like a human being, instead of some rotten criminal. I had to show him we cared.

  “My mum, when I turned eighteen. It wasn’t overly long ago, though it feels like a lifetime,” I reminisced, lovely memories of us as a family flashed through my brain momentarily. Finlay looked over at me in shock. I’d never told him that before… or anyone else. “You’re right, Jack. It doesn’t get any easier. It never will. I’m not like therapists or counsellors, I won't lie to you. Right now, Gavin Ellis’s mother is sitting at home, not understanding what’s happened to her son. All she wants are answers, like you did with Emily...” I trailed off, noting how Jack’s eyes softened with grief and understanding.

  “Poor woman, but I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” Jack said softly. “I didn’t do it.”

  Stubborn man. His gaze flicked between the two of us, sizing us up.

  “Why did you lie to us? You haven’t worked at the medical centre for months. You ran away from our surveillance team in the hopes we wouldn’t find you. You’ve branded yourself as guilty. Your scalpel was found with blood on at your home, roughly the same size as the mark of Gavin’s arm.” Finlay pointed to the photographs.

  “All circumstantial evidence, I see,” the solicitor pointed out. “Until you have some truly incriminating factors, my client does not have to answer any further questions put towards him.”

  “He lied to us. Guilty men lie,” Finlay refused to accept the Lawyers intervention and acted exactly how I’d expected him to. “You ran to Catherine Jones’s house, a patient which you broke contractual agreements for at your workplace. You committed a criminal offence then. Who’s to say you haven’t done it again? You were just lucky to get away with it back then.”

  Even his solicitor could not argue with that valid point. I took my chance whilst it was available, knowing I could get somewhere with Jack Harper. Possibly wrangle a full confession from him.

  “It’s not looking good for you, Jack,” I observed calmly. “Is there a reason you ran to Catherine’s? When we mentioned your scalpel at the house, you told Catherine to ‘show us’. What did you mean by that?”

  “I didn’t want to drag Catherine into my mess, but it was the only way you’d listen.” he shook violently, refusing to talk about her any more.

  “We know it’s the same person who committed both crimes, Jack, and all the fingers are pointing at you so far.” Finlay sighed impatiently. Neither of our tactics was achieving anything substantial.

  “So far? Do you mean to tell me the only reason my client has been forcefully brought in today is that you have no further leads? Yet another case of shoddy police work being taken out on a man who is clearly distressed.” Jack’s solicitor picked up on technicalities, grasping at thin air. She may be able to help him wriggle out of our ‘circumstantial evidence,’ but even she couldn’t deny his forged statement and alibi. That was our one valid point, and we were determined to stick to it.

  “You’re condemning me to a crime I didn’t commit,” Jack admitted quietly, uncertain of whether that’s all he was allowed to say.

  “How are we supposed to know that if you don’t tell us anything?” I said.

  “I can’t do that to Catherine. Not unless she’s ready to tell you,” Jack Harper hid his head in his hands.

  “You know, I’m starting to get fed up with you two,” Finlay tutted. “She tells us to talk to you, and you tell us to talk to her. We’re looping in circles here, and I, for one, am starting to feel very dizzy.”

  Jack Harper seemed willing to speak up, but his subconscious was stopping him for some reason. He shuffled in closer and lowered his voice, starting to trust me. I noticed his solicitor sat still with pursed lips, clearly unhappy that Jack Harper trusted us, trusted me. But no matter how hard she had tried to advise him, Jack Harper was and would always be his own man. Strong-willed, hardworking… a grafter. He knew a reasonable deal when it had been offered to him.

  We all waited in suspense for what Jack Harper had to say for himself.

  Knock, knock.

  We all breathed out heavily for a multitude of different reasons. Jack snapped out of whatever trance he was in, thankful for not letting go of any information. His solicitor exhaled in cockiness, triumphant. Mine and Finlay’s sighs consisted of anger and frustration.

  “Interview paused at five twenty-five,” Finlay ensured he stuck to policing guidelines, informing the tape of every little detail. I found it hard to believe time had disappeared so suddenly. “DI Finlay Cooper and DS Kirsty McCall leaving the room.” I guessed Finlay decided we should stick together, a small team.

  My own mouth ran dry, and I could feel Jack stare at us getting up. For Jack, this would be a defining moment of his life. For us, it was an everyday job.

  I was glad when the door closed behind us and hid who knocked upon the door at that all-important moment. DC Tony Hall stood rather apologetically, some papers clenched between his fingers. He was the last of the constables, slightly older than the others. He fiddled with his wedding ring, having settled down reasonably early on in his life.

  “Sir, Sarge,” he greeted us both, in turn, a remorseful shake of his head directed towards us. “We sorted through all the important emails when you asked, Sarge. The forensics came through on the blade a minute. It had no match. It’s not Gavin’s blood.”

  “Oh, bloody hell.” Finlay buried his head deep within his hands, deflated. I supposed that’s what we deserved for pinning all our hopes on this lead.

  How could Jack Harper act as guilty as hell but hide any evidence from being uncovered? Now, we'd suddenly started to fall behind in pursuit of other potential suspects too, after devoting too much attention to Harper.

  “So, w
hat are we supposed to do with him now?” I asked Finlay, knowing his experience in the field was much more valuable than mine.

  “We question him some more. Find out where he went the night of Gavin’s death. Just because that blade didn’t match Gavin’s blood doesn’t mean he didn’t stash something else away,” Finlay confirmed, desperately clutching onto the suspect we’d found. “We continue to act as though we’re onto him. He was close to talking earlier.”

  He wanted to rinse every possible detail about Jack Harper as he could. Finlay pushed his way into the interviewing room and disappeared inside, leaving me to psyche myself up.

  Setbacks were almost always humiliating, especially when the lawyers are trying to prove you are incapable of your job, anyway. It gave them fuel for the fires. DC Taylor and Catherine Jones caught my eye as they passed by. DC Taylor tried to occupy the girl by keeping her busy. Catherine’s perfume tickled my nose as she brushed through the corridor with her head bowed low. Her hand clenched around a plastic cup of water, half empty.

  What struck me, what stood out exceptionally to me was the long red scar that decorated the back of her hand. It didn’t look exceptionally fresh, yet it wasn’t healed entirely either. Thin and not especially deep, it bore a resemblance to the mark on Gavin’s arm, the kind of mark that a scalpel could have easily made. Namely, the scalpel we found in Jack Harper’s home.

  Was this what Jack had fought hard to contain?

  The air in the interview room felt thinner than earlier, now we had all had time to cool off and rationalise. Jack and his solicitor had immersed themselves in a serious conversation whilst we were gone. Those tears cried about Emily had dried off, and his arms crossed over his body. My lungs filled with stuffy oxygen, and Jack Harper’s musky scent was not a particularly pleasant one. I twirled my earring in thought and left Finlay to begin the next part of the proceedings.

  “Interview continued at five-forty.” Finlay tugged his sleeve back over his wristwatch, in the hope of seeming smart. Jack’s nose twiddled and managed to push his spectacles further up without needing to use his hands.

  Impressive. Small things kept me entertained at moments like these.

  “Where were we?” Finlay mumbled under his breath.

  “You were accusing my client falsely,” the solicitor suggested. Finlay smirked in appreciation and sarcasm. He loved people who could be wound up easily. He enjoyed getting under people’s skin, and most of the time, it was mine.

  “Ah, yes.” Finlay focused on Jack Harper. “Where were you on the night of the eighth? Because we’ve got your file to prove you were fired.”

  Finlay inched Gavin’s photographs closer to our now possible suspect. Jack Harper’s weathered eyes flickered down again, still not used to situations of death put so crudely before him. Usually, people around him sugar-coated death, due to Emily’s unfortunate passing.

  “I was at home,” Jack insisted.

  “Why should we believe you?” I insisted softly. “You’ve lied to us a lot since we’ve known each other.”

  “Drop the act, Harper. Your neighbour arrived home the time you left for ‘work’. He reported in his statement that you both stood and had a polite chat,” Finlay read directly from a statement of significance that DC Taylor kindly chose for us. He crossed referenced them all last night, finding any that would prove Jack Harper’s statement as untrue.

  “Alright, so I went for a walk. That’s not a criminal offence. Or is it? Please tell me. I’d love to know.” Jack hit the desk with a false sense of superiority.

  I never understood why liars blamed us for their lack of details. If Jack Harper were upfront and honest with us, the whole ordeal would be over in a flash. Finlay tried his best to control his inevitable temper. I found my time to arbitrate, letting Finlay take a well-deserved break.

  “We found your scalpel, as you well know,” I explained to Jack and noticed he paid slightly more attention to what I had to say.

  “My client has already said he didn’t harm Gavin Ellis. We’ve proved that this is a pointless line of investigation. Can we move on—?” The solicitor tried to shut me down but to no avail.

  “The forensics came through a while ago. We were wrong. Your blade didn’t have Gavin’s blood on. I think it’s best to admit that to you, Jack,” I said truthfully. “We’re speaking honestly with you. Can you try the same for us?” Jack’s face softened in relief, precisely what I had intended.

  Finlay, however, was a landmine waiting to implode. I already knew he would be furious without having to exchange a glance. I’d deliberately ignored his tactics and what he’d planned to ride the whole interview on. I’d recognised Jack Harper wasn’t a man who shared information readily, not after being holed up with his own grief for such a long time. Finlay’s heart may be too cold to appreciate that, but mine wasn’t.

  “So, I can go?” Jack questioned me with relief. He had his hopes up, I knew that much, but the interview wasn’t quite finished. I had my sucker punch tucked neatly away up my sleeve, unknown to everyone else in the room. Finlay already began to pack away our statements and photographs of the scene, impatient as always.

  “No,” I broke my news, visibly feeling the temperature grow colder. From the corner of my eye, I could see Finlay’s heavy brow sinking lower. He hated being left in the dark. “I said the blade didn’t match Gavin’s blood sample. You used it on someone else, didn’t you, Jack?”

  Jack Harper’s face drained of any colour, and his body went limp as his blood turned colder.

  “I know why you asked Catherine to show us back at the house. You used it on her, didn’t you?” I already knew the answer. “I saw the cut on the back of her hand. Same size. Same depth. Is it Catherine’s blood on the blade?”

  Finlay faced me, incredulously. Even Jack’s solicitor stayed silent, wanting to hear where this was going. Tears wet Jack’s eyes helplessly, and he flopped over, giving up.

  “You started as her doctor, it said as much on her records,” I stated coolly. “You stole medication for her. For Catherine. Did she force you to?” I took a stab in the dark, only imagining what could have happened between a doctor and his patient to lead us to this stage.

  “And you couldn’t refuse. A beautiful young woman, showing the slightest bit of attention to you, a man way past his prime and stricken with grief. Catherine Jones, a breath of fresh air. Exactly what you needed.” I observed Jack’s laboured breaths. “When we suspected you of murdering Gavin Ellis, you ran straight to Catherine. You felt safe in the arms of a young girl.”

  Finlay wasn’t expecting that conclusion when we seized Jack on account of suspected murder.

  “This has nothing to do with the Gavin Ellis case, DS McCall,” the solicitor spoke primarily for our tape, but I could tell that she was also curious about her client’s lies.

  “If you already knew, why did you put me through all of this and make us come here?” Jack Harper whispered feebly, confirming some of my suspicions. “Was it to embarrass us? Ridicule us?”

  “I didn’t know, not until I saw the mark on Catherine’s hand,” I said firmly. “Explain to us, Jack. You and Catherine, because I don’t fully understand.”

  Jack broke down and allowed himself to sob freely, just like he did the first day we questioned him at home. “It’s not like that. I can see it in your eyes already. You’re judging me.” The man had a bad case of paranoia, that was for certain.

  “We are not judging you, Jack,” I said.

  “I am,” Finlay added with disgust. Not helpful.

  “It’s Emily’s birthday week, last week. Or was,” he corrected himself sadly and heaved a large sigh. “Catherine and Emily were friends from school. During the year Emily died, I visited her grave most Saturdays. Tidied it up, put fresh flowers on, that kind of thing. Made it a place to be proud of.”

  My heart went out for Jack Harper.

  Jack sighed softly. “I first met Catherine there. I’d never met any of Emily’s friends bef
ore. She was always embarrassed by me, just her daft old dad, but Catherine used to visit after school. She’d always leave one single, fresh flower on her grave.” Jack stroked the table as though it was Emily’s grave.

  “And then what?” I pushed him to continue.

  “We saw each other most days down there. Purely coincidental.” Jack remembered the days vividly. A ghost of a smile graced his lips.

  “How romantic,” Finlay quipped sarcastically, ruining Jack Harper’s fond memory.

  “Carry on.” I smiled tenderly, gentle in approach. I touched Jack Harper’s hand, giving him enough courage to speak up in front of us all.

  “Catherine told me stories of Emily. How cheeky she would be, back chatting all the teachers and never completing homework on time. They skipped school together and hung around the shops, calling out to all the boys they fancied. I would’ve given anything to see Emily get a boyfriend. To have him take her to prom in a pretty dress. She would have looked a picture.” Jack strayed from the incident at hand. His aura brightened, and I could tell that talking about Emily made him happier.

  Finlay swallowed, trying to maintain a bit of calm.

  “We shared our grief. It made a hard time so much easier with Catherine by my side. Nobody else would understand, so we kept our meetings secret. She was just seventeen--” Jack said openly, glasses steaming up from his embarrassment.

  “Did you have sex with Catherine Jones when she was underage?” Finlay intruded, all guns blazing. To be fair to him, the question was playing on our minds.

  “Never.” Jack defiantly shook his head, disgusted by the notion. “It’s not that type of relationship. It never was and never will be.” Jack sighed in annoyance at Finlay’s presumptions, confirming his worst fears of being branded a sex offender. His cheekbones flushed a dark shade of crimson, fear bottling his chest and binding together his words.

  “What about now? Do you exploit Catherine’s emotions in return for affection? Do you use her fondness for your daughter to keep her around? To make your life less miserable?” Finlay prompted, snarling, waiting for some mud to stick to Jack Harper. Finlay imagined his sister in the same position as Catherine, and that infuriated him.