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

unshaved stubble. “Because that’s all you are. A witness,” I tried to stop her advances from progressing any further.

I knew these types of women. Flirtatious and enjoyed hunting down men to date and trap into relationships. Well, not me. “So please, leave me alone. I’m rather busy.”

“What, getting drunk and sleazing over reporters in bars? Seems a fun way to spend your time. It wasn’t what I expected of you, Pops,” Abbey retorted, sticking to the original nickname she’d given me, Popeye.

“Stop calling me that. It's DI Cooper to you.” A stroke of cold numbness filled my body unpleasantly. “How did you know about last night?”

“Who doesn’t?” Abbey said. Truly an enigma of a person.

“You’re talking in riddles,” I scoffed. “I’m a detective, not a mind reader.”

Abbey sighed. “Are you winding me up?” She clocked my expression and realised I wasn’t. “Here.” She pulled out her phone and opened our local news articles. There I was, glorified in a horrid depiction of my drink-fuelled endeavours.

It didn’t feel quite so drunk then, but a picture speaks a thousand words, and my picture spoke two thousand. My hair was ruffled terribly, shirt stained and crumpled. I had a gormless expression plastered on, obviously having no clue as to my surroundings. The article was entitled, ‘My night with DI Cooper’ and the tagline didn’t improve. ‘An insight into his personal woes, work troubles, and women.’

She’d set me up, I realised, heart thudding to the floor. She’d gotten close enough for me to spill all my deepest, darkest secrets. I’d been played and with no small feat. Georgina Ryder was out to get me, to cut me down using only her pink, fluffy quill. The devil in lipstick. I scrolled through her article, the main gist hinting towards my unsuitability as a detective inspector and whether I could take on such immense responsibilities during my ‘mid-life crisis,’ as cruelly penned by her.

I bet McCall was gloating in appreciation at Georgina’s words, loving my public shame and takedown. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole office read the article by now. News spread like wildfire around here. Copies would be pinned in jest to my office door in the morning. Georgina had trapped me, and I fell straight into the shark’s jaws. I only hoped DCI Campbell would keep clear of this issue.

“DI Cooper?” Abbey nudged me, finally naming me appropriately.

I handed back the phone and stayed quiet, not quite knowing what to say. Could Abbey be on Georgina’s side, another scapegoat for the press to get an easy article? And the nickname, Pops? I hated it. It reminded me of a mixture between grandpa and a less-than-capable detective, something I didn’t want to be branded as.

“Listen, I don’t know what your game is, or what your intentions are by coming here, but I don’t need any publicity or humiliation,” I grumbled. “Alright? I’m a simple guy, with simple tastes. I want to solve the case we’ve been given and then I want to start another one. Because that’s what I do. I don’t need another pesky woman trying to sabotage me.” My words were perhaps unjust, for Abbey had not done wrong by me yet.

Our tiff turned into calm as the cold Dalgety Bay air worked through our bones. After a while longer, we realized neither of us had a heading, we’d just been walking in circles. I didn’t want her to know where I lived, and her vice versa. Underneath a burnt ember coloured streetlamp, the smaller woman stopped us, and an eerie light illuminated her features. They joined in harmony to create a pretty face.

“I’m hungry,” she announced. Although she’d blatantly appeared to ignore my rant beforehand, I knew she’d listened because her expression had softened. “How about we grab dinner? Fish and chips sound good? I could murder a bag of chips.” Abbey grinned without thinking. “What I mean, is that I’m hungry, and you must be too.”

I mulled the invitation over in my head. Abbey was polite to offer me food, and I was starving by then. But, on the other hand, I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. That’s where I should have drawn a line.

“It’s not a date, detective. Don’t panic.” The flirty girl linked her arm in mine, an unusual gesture to me. “My way of apologising for hounding you the way I did and making up for your newspaper sting.” She cruised ahead and pulled my tired body along too.

I heaved a long sigh, fog spilling from my lips as a result of the weather. My pride had been officially swallowed, and I accepted the offer with as much grace as I could gather.

Dalgety Bay’s most beloved fish and chips bar bustled with activity. They served local after local, alongside a few random tourists. This time of year was popular with visitors. The atmosphere of Dalgety Bay aided a Christmas feeling like no other small town could. Fairy lights hung from the fish bar roof and gave a contrasting golden glimmer to the pitch-black night sky and filled people’s hearts with joy. The owners had fashioned a makeshift Santa’s sleigh outside their window. It was only a red sledge with a plush Santa Claus inside and garden ornament lights shaped out of reindeer. It gave a sweet air of vintage Christmas.

Even men like me, with an ice block for a heart, could find room to thaw a little. Young children frolicked, pretending to ride Rudolf the Reindeer, jolly and having a lot of fun. When it snowed, no doubt the scene would be almost picturesque. I would have never imagined my run-up to Christmas spent arm in arm with a random girl, purchasing newspaper-wrapped fish and chips.

Previously, I’d be working every night after all my contemporaries had gone home. Christmas day itself consisted of a problematic dinner round the parents’ house with my sister and me. None of us made any effort to keep in contact throughout the year, but Christmas day always had