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

his face, altered by the dodgy street lighting. Even from a small distance, the smell of tangy sick repulsed me. Dead bodies smell, but this was worse, believe it or not.

Finlay gulped, nodding absentmindedly at my words whilst he fiddled with the jacket hem bunched in his grasp. Both eyes flickered accordingly, unable to focus on any one thing at a time. His face appeared severe and haggard, unlike his usual self. Something serious played on his mind. He gazed up at me as I towered over him sternly.

“I wanted a drink,” he mumbled. “That’s not a crime. Everyone else does it.”

“Everyone else does it sensibly. One or two at the most. Not however many you’ve had. And we usually schedule it for weekends only,” I lectured him.

“You shouldn’t be here. I can help myself,” Finlay rambled. He grunted with effort trying to stand up. His attempt was a duff one, for both legs gave way. I lunged forward and propped him up, trying my best not to touch any sick.

“You’ve done a cracking good job so far.” My voice dripped with sarcasm.

He was burning up to a crisp which was odd. It was bloody freezing out here. In a desperate attempt to get some sleep tonight, I started to haul Finlay’s heavy body back to my awaiting car. He grunted with effort. I don’t know why he grunted; I was doing all the heavy lifting. I propped his long-limbed body against the bonnet of my car and gave him my next instructions.

“Shirt off,” I glowered. Finlay blinked, not following my instruction. “It’s not for my own entertainment, Finlay. You stink. My car is not getting tainted with that vile smell and getting soaked into my expensive interior. No way.”

Sweat glimmered on his brow, and a woman passer-by looked at me oddly. Finlay paused, deciding what to do. He made up his mind and began to unbutton the ruined dress shirt.

“I have a carrier bag in the back. We can put your shirt in there. It needs throwing away, really,” I said. It did, a huge stain now decorated the front.

I went to the boot and rifled around for a bag. With the white plastic screwed up in my hand, I walked over to Finlay. He was shirtless now, out in the open for the whole public to see. A few rowdy drivers honked their horns in jest whenever they drove past.

I never thought I would see Finlay Cooper shirtless. He was probably one of the most uptight people you could ever meet. Plus, we worked together, which doesn’t matter to me, but in Finlay’s books, that was a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed. If he were thinking straight, there was no chance that Finlay would have taken his shirt off in public.

I mean, it wasn’t bad. Definitely not bad. He always covered himself up with jackets and buttoned-up shirts, a deliberate attempt to deflect female attention. He didn’t know how to deal with that manner of attention. In the whole time I had known him, Finlay had never had a girlfriend or a date.

He was good looking, so that wasn’t the issue. I saw the way women looked at him. He just preferred the bachelor lifestyle. No commitment but work. In most ways, I understood. CID took up a lot of our time. It was a lifestyle, not a career.

I handed Finlay the bag, and he shoved his soiled shirt in. I copped a quick look again whilst I stood there. Who wouldn’t? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. He wasn’t overly toned, or overly heavy. A happy medium. He wasn’t trying too hard to work out but had not quite let himself go yet.

“Kirsty?” Finlay slurred quietly, keeping himself upright by holding onto the bonnet.

Had he just called me Kirsty? It sounded sweet coming from his lips, unusual to say the least. A shiver rose up my spine.

“Yes, alright. Let’s get you in the car,” I sounded like a mother figure. Not my intention. Finlay followed suit, collapsing into the back seat of my car, completely out of energy. His head rested on the seat, and the rest of his body followed suit. That way, he was lying down fully. No doubt his dizziness had increased with that small action.

For what felt like the one hundredth time today, I started the car up. I would have to start charging taxi fees at this rate. The folder on Catherine Jones caught my eye. I discreetly moved it into the glovebox, away from Finlay’s eyes. I’d tell him another time, when he’s sober.

He lay with a hand over both almond-shaped eyes to block any light from reaching his irises.

“So, what happened tonight?” I prodded, trying to uncover some information about Finlay’s night. He groaned in response. Obviously, it was too painful to be reminded of. It took Finlay a while to gather his words.

“Apart from the threat of suspension?” He sighed, probably starting to sober up a little more. That moment with DCI Campbell and Finlay felt like days ago. Too much had occurred tonight to keep tabs.

“Is that why you went to the pub on your own?” I asked.

He breathed out loudly and changed position on the back seat. “I needed to relax. The pub was the first thing I thought of. Everyone else does the same,” Finlay said to excuse his actions.

“Nobody else needed taking home because they were practically blacked out,” I stated, much to Finlay’s annoyance.

“I know I’m right. About Jack,” Finlay almost spoke to himself, aware that I was listening.

If only he knew.

“He’s a liar, McCall. I know it,” Finlay repeated over and over again. He smiled goofily to himself, unable to help it. Finlay hated smiling, but it suited him, even if it was only a result of alcohol intake.

“What did you do at the pub?” I enquired to fill the silence, half expecting him to retort back with a sarcastic comment of ‘drink’. But, to my surprise, he didn’t. He slapped