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

on tape. If DCI Campbell were to do routine checks and rightfully chase up our interview processes, I’d be made a mockery out of.

My first case as detective inspector, and I’d already cocked up left, right and centre. I’d been bashed in all the local papers, argued with the guv, and interrogated a wrong suspect even though I’d managed to convince everyone else on the team that he was guilty.

“I hope Catherine finds her own way in life. Imagine being lumbered with a cranky man like him for the rest of your life.” McCall glanced at me. “Never mind.”

I wasn’t interested in McCall’s teasing, especially not when we had so much to figure out on our plates.

“None of our business anymore. You let him go,” I said gruffly. It’s true. My main priority now fell to ensure Gavin’s killer didn’t wander loose for much longer. McCall was taken aback.

“Ah. I see what’s going on,” McCall laughed insincerely. “You can't stand anyone getting results but yourself. You don’t understand the word ‘team’, because you aren’t a part of it. You don’t include yourself, and you don’t get to know those working underneath you. That’s why results aren’t coming through, because you’re too stubborn to agree that others should get credit where credit’s due.”

“It’s not that!” I countered. “You, as a colleague, didn’t debrief me on a notion you had and didn’t adhere to the original tactics we settled on together. As a team,” I waggled two fingers in the air when quoting her earlier accusation.

“So it’s my fault for noticing Catherine’s cut?” McCall tended to jump to random conclusions when angry or wound up. I believed it was partly to throw her opponent off course and change the argument's actual subject. It worked, for our initial argument turned to a completely different matter now. “You resent the fact that I had more knowledge than you.” McCall sneered, for effect.

“Oh, don’t start all that shi—”

“Ever since you were awarded your promotion, you’ve insulted everyone in the office. I stuck up for you, convinced myself that you wouldn’t affront me, not after all the help I've given you.” She paused and gathered breath to argue her point some more. “Me withholding information wasn’t intentional, merely circumstantial. I don’t hide anything from you. I even stole files for you, risking my entire career for a selfish, selfish man.” McCall flounced away, wanting to get as far away from me as possible.

“Don’t expect me to cover for you anymore. I’ll know you as my detective inspector only, sir.” McCall calling me sir was a slap in the face. I didn’t want her upset with me, because of my stupid egotistical problems.

I pulled her back, and she glared at me with ferocity set in her face.

“I covered for you, with DCI Campbell. You’re not going to lose your rank, nor your career,” I said firmly. “I dropped myself in a pile of piss to alter a decision you ultimately made yourself.” It was true. I didn’t force her to visit the medical centre, nor take their files either. She used her own initiative and did what any decent detective would do. She found the details.

“Get lost,” she mocked me, not caring to listen to what I had to say. My guilty conscience nudged me, raring me to run after her and apologize. But I talked myself out of it. Where did apologizing ever get anyone? McCall’s footsteps travelled along the corridor, slapping the floor in haste.

I longed just to go home, sulk and fall asleep.

I didn’t even bother collecting any items from my office, instead preferring to avoid McCall altogether. My footsteps bounced off the station front steps, freeing me of that hideous remorseful feeling creeping up on me.

A woman with dyed red hair, not like McCall’s, waited near a fence. She may have been familiar, but recognising people wasn’t my strongest skill. I noticed people coming and going all day at the station and in various cases. There were too many to keep count of.

“Are you just going to ignore me?” the woman called across, sounding alluring. Maybe? The egotistical side of me, which got me into hot water with McCall, convinced myself that she found me attractive. Tempting, even.

I strolled past the woman, without care for finding out what she wanted from me. My destination was clear.

“Hey,” the slightly insane woman didn’t give up. In fact, she did quite the opposite. She ran after me and fell in step with my strides. “Popeye! Don’t ignore me.”

I tried my best to not look anywhere near the ageless woman. My eyes focused directly on the footpath, and my ears froze with a breeze redirected directly from the bay itself. Don’t look. She will go away eventually, I convinced myself, repeating that mantra in my head.

When we rounded the third street in a row, I knew she wouldn't give up so easily.

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” I grumbled.

Her laugh peeled like a hundred tinkling bells, delicate and natural. Not forced, not fake. I gave in and peeped to my left. She was smaller than me, petite and slight. A rather vivid plaid coat suited her hair well. That red hair started as black at the roots and gradually faded to a boxed dye job. Champagne coloured eye makeup complimented the rest of her features, in resemblance of Geri Halliwell.

She played off my cynical comment without so much as a bat of her eyelid. “Seems the detective has a bee in his bonnet.”

“Do I know you?” My tone consisted of weariness and a hint of mockery. We stepped further along the path, neither of us wanting to be the first to stop and engage in a full conversation.

“Probably not. I was in the woods this morning. I’m your witness,” she introduced herself. “Abbey Aston. You should get to know me better.”

I had a flashback to her awkward wink from the woods earlier. Detectives were often romanticised, especially by members of the public.

“No, I shouldn’t,” I confirmed, scratching my