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

“Do you have the power to search employee records?” I asked.

“Why do you ask?” that stern lady wondered curiously, doubting why CID had shown up so late.

“I have to find out which shift one of your employees worked. Desperately.” My speech came out rushed, hurried. Too abruptly. A security camera zoomed across, hung up close to their desk. If DCI Campbell watched this over...

“Well, they’re all stored in our database. It’s a nightmare to search through them all,” she said hesitantly.

“No. Please,” I jumped in to their double surprise. An explanation was due. “I’m not supposed to be here. I really, really need this. I drove all the way here because we have to know.”

My desperation persuaded the woman, who threw me a worried look, probably worried for my sanity. She sat behind a giant, wooden desk, whilst I leaned over. Sparse taps emitted from her computer keyboard, the signs of a serious typist. Amazingly efficient.

“Date?”

“Eighth of December,” I recalled, and her cleaner faced us, excited to share some local gossip.

“That’s when that poor boy was found dead. Everyone was talking about it,” she casually rambled, attempting to kickstart her broken hoover. “What a terrible shame. It’s such a scary world out there.”

“It is,” I agreed. It was something we could all sullenly agree on.

“Cass, do be quiet.” The typist couldn’t believe how dim-witted her cleaner could be. “Sorry, Ma’am, she loves all that CSI stuff. We both do. Seen all the episodes about a hundred times. We can’t get enough of Gil Grissom, a right silver fox.” They excitedly matched squeals.

“Sex on legs, miss,” Cass laughed, causing me to crack a small smile. They were friendly enough, though perhaps not the brightest buttons. It’s easily forgotten, working for CID, that people have lives outside of our cases.

“Never seen it. Sorry.” I grinned back, then placed undivided attention back to her glowing computer screen. A whole spreadsheet pulled up, full of employee records and information. Brilliant. Bingo.

“They all clock in on a small machine over there.” The older woman pointed towards the login machine. “Name?” Her fingertips waited, poised and ready.

“Err, Jack Harper.”

“Jack Harper?”

“Uh-huh,” I finished the interaction.

She seemed confused but typed the name in anyway. Nothing showed up on the screen, just a blank page. “Sorry, ma’am, but our databases don’t go back that far. New systems, you see, we had to retype all the information.” The woman shrugged apologetically and eyed me curiously. Something lingered on her lips, though didn’t communicate out loud.

“Great,” I mumbled under my breath sarcastically.

I had risked my job for nothing. If DCI Campbell found out I’d done this instead of Finlay, my neck would be on the line. He would be furious, and I would have no further chances of applying for Detective Inspector. Or anything else. I could forget it now, go home and pretend nothing happened. Or I could take the second option and continue to dig up some dirt on my own. If Finlay were right, I would find something on Jack Harper. And if not, nobody could ever know where I had been.

“So he didn’t clock in or out on the 8th?” I double-checked, just to make sure. Both hands rested on my hips, thoughts flying through my head. The woman still seemed oddly confused, creased lips messing up her neatly applied lipstick.

“No, Ma’am.”

“Was he scheduled to work that day?” I fired back.

She clicked away again, bringing up a whole list of names. She moved back to let me scroll through them by myself. There were plenty of doctors, none of them by the name Jack Harper. Could he have a fake identity, or was he lying to everyone? I could think of one hundred criminal possibilities as to what Jack Harper could be up to. Names blurred into one with my continuous scrolling. Cass pretended she wasn’t listening to our banter, although anyone could blatantly see she was nosy. A sudden reminder popped back into my mind when observing Cass the cleaner.

“How come you have all these names listed and accounted for the 8th when you told me records don’t go back that far?” The older receptionist blinked slowly. Concerned, but not for her wellbeing or reputation as a liar.

“I was confused, ma’am. You told me the date clear enough, I know. But Jack Harper couldn’t have clocked in on the eighth, so I went back further to find the last time he clocked in for you,” she restated as she tucked part of her bob behind one ear. It revealed some dangly earrings which looked like they would get caught in the photocopier if she wasn’t careful. Cass stopped dusting the tables down. They were staring at me like I’d missed the obvious.

Had I?

“Why could he not have clocked in?” I asked them outright, needing to know what was going on. I was the detective in the room but felt like the idiot. It took them a while to spit out the facts I had so stupidly missed. Actually, two of us had missed. DCI Campbell didn’t think to question the information Jack Harper gave us.

“He hasn’t worked here for a couple of months now.” The older woman frowned, wizening her face years ahead of her age. My reaction was probably not what they’d expected. I stayed quiet, but my brain reeled. Jack Harper cried and repeated that information as fact. Finlay’s suspicions were correct. Jack Harper had spun us a reel, entrapping the Guv in a web of lies.

“What do you mean he hasn’t worked here? Did he get a transfer to somewhere else or are there any other hospitals or doctors in Dalgety Bay?” I asked in a rush. “This is the first place I thought of, but Jack Harper could’ve worked anywhere.”

“Oh no, he worked here, alright. Miserable bastard. Had an office always full of empty crisp packets and whatnot,” Cass began until a warning look from the receptionist