The Devil's Due: A Cooper and McCall Scottish Crime Thriller by Ramsay Sinclair (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📕

I scoffed in disbelief. How dare he speak to me that way? He may be my boss, but he could not control every damn move I made. “Will your wife know what you’ve said tonight? That you’re not willing to pursue hunches, despite the fact a killer could be in our midst. Who’s to say your wife isn’t next--?”

“Do not bring my wife into this.” DCI Campbell scrunched my collar up between his fist tightly. Not enough to injure me, nor fight me, but enough to convey a deadly serious message.

“I’m going over to Jack Harper’s workplace, see whether he showed up for his shift.” I shoved DCI Campbell’s hand away, stomping in the direction of our parked cars.

“You will stop right there. I’m starting to rethink your position as DI, Cooper. You are not behaving rationally. Sloppy detectives make mistakes, and I will not have a sloppy detective representing our team,” DCI Campbell argued, spit flying whilst he spoke. His eyebrows quivered in annoyance, and his whole face grew bright red with fury.

McCall’s face said it all. There would be no return from this point on if I snapped at him. My fists balled in ferocity, but I hid it fairly well.

“Say all you like, sir, but what if I’m right?” I argued, trying to bring the argument down. All of our emotions ran high from lack of sleep and the amount of caffeine we’d ingested.

DCI Campbell breathed in, rationalising. “Think realistically, DI Cooper. If Jack was out for revenge on Gavin and Gavin alone, he won’t kill again. A scared father is not a logical man. He’ll trip up, eventually.” Good, he was making an effort to act reasonably.

Maybe an obstinate part of me tried willed to prove the papers wrong, that we could nip our case in the bud, sooner rather than later.

“You’re serious about this?” DCI Campbell interrogated, eyes glazed over and staring into my soul.

McCall tried warning me from afar. ‘Say no’, she begged silently.

“I think so.”

“Be sure, DI Cooper, before you come against me,” DCI Campbell gave one final warning to assert his alpha wolf dominance.

“Yes. It’s the only lead we have.”

A breeze of wind howled, picking up around us. Specks of sand from Dalgety Bay slapped our faces, yet we refused to move. It became atmospherically melancholy, their faces lit by streetlamps only. At last, DCI Campbell took a deep breath and swallowed a tiny lump of pride.

“I’ll put surveillance on Jack Harper overnight, track his movements. If he so much as takes a step out of his front door, they’ll know.” DCI Campbell gave into my headstrong motives, getting out his phone. “Go home, DI Cooper. Now. We will reconvene tomorrow. I’ve compromised, but if I find out you’ve disobeyed me and visited Jack Harper's workplace, you’ll be on leave for erratic behaviour.” He strode away powerfully, leaving only footprints behind.

McCall gave a pained expression, hoping to speak to me, but before she could, DCI Campbell called her away. They still had work to finish. I was left alone, ego slightly bruised but mostly intact. I had an instinct and followed it to the end, like all the great detectives did, never pausing to doubt themselves.

The wind felt bitter and twisted, much like me. I hankered after something strong to quell my existing anger. A pub would be a great place to start, where more than one drink was on the menu.

11

I was never one of those men who enjoyed going to the pub. Our team was always meeting up there for nights out. That consisted of too much social interaction for my liking. I never understood how you could respect a superior after seeing them drunk.

The large bell tinkled as I stepped through the pub’s front door, letting the locals know of my arrival. Alcohol stunk out the place, for obvious reasons. It gradually improved once I had settled in. Expensive wines decorated the pub’s back wall, all of them too fancy for me to name. Draft beer would always reign superior.

Still heaving from DCI Campbell’s confrontation, I decided a seat nearer their bar would be the most sensible place to sit. My smart shoes rested on the silver bar situated below, its surface slightly sticky to touch. Oak browns tied their main colour palette of burgundy and mauve together to create a cosy, comfortable atmosphere. Nearby, some fellow had a punt on their gaming machine, pressing random buttons. Good luck to him.

“What are you having?” a bloke bartender asked, non-intrusively. He understood us locals were there to drown our sorrows, not make small talk.

“Whatever. You decide.” I was too fed up to have made a sensible decision. He grabbed a glass, tilting it slightly. Some foam overflowed onto the bar area, but who cared? A dodgy pop soundtrack played from every speaker, not to my taste at all. All those songs sounded the same.

Exchanging a tiny wad of cash for my drink, I gulped, appreciating my bitter liquid. I grimaced at the taste, and the bartender grinned. He’d gotten me hooked on the flavour.

I wasn’t sure how long I spent drinking, but it had taken over two hours. Three pints later, and my body temperature had risen dramatically, inhibitions loose. My uncomfortable, stuffy jacket hung over their seats, and I rolled up my alcohol dampened sleeves. Much better.

“Another one,” I slammed my glass down with no objections from anyone else. My lips were loosened, I realised after discussing utter, unmemorable nonsense with their bartender for half an hour. Nobody particularly waltzed in or out, due to weekday obligations and having work scheduled for another few days.

That was until a particular person sauntered through, grabbing every guy's attention as she clicked her stupidly high heels along the pub floor. Some even looked away from their beers when she entered. They couldn’t believe that a woman of her status would slum it in their pub. I didn’t take much notice