“Finlay!” McCall distracted me from our Volvo, ready to go. Our people had everything covered.
“I’ve got to go,” I pointed at McCall. “My partner, work partner, I mean.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Lucy raised her neat brows in humour.
“Well, yes. I suppose it is. Right. Uh. You can go,” I blurted out ridiculously and noticed an unnatural amount of sweat beginning to run down from my forehead. I never was any good at goodbyes.
“Oh.”
“As in, you’re free to go home, have a drink. Non-alcoholic, preferably. People in shock should stick to tea or coffee.” Talk about a tongue twister. “Or water. Water would be best.” I slicked my wavering hair back.
Lucy opened her lips, about to speak, but I couldn’t deal with any additional humiliation. I turned on my heel, headed straight towards McCall.
“It’s the devil’s work. He walks among us,” I overheard the auntie warn loud enough for all to hear, blaming Laura’s death on some evil religious figure. Laura’s bible was still tucked away neatly under my arm, no fear of losing it then.
“Actually, Lucy…” I turned back to her surprise and mine. “We can give you a lift home. Me and DS McCall.” I offered politely. “That’s an order, not a question.”
Twenty-Three
We drove away from the scene, leaving the death and ruined lives far behind us. We three sullen souls descended into a journey of solemn nothings down the roads of Dalgety Bay, none of us sure on how to strike up another conversation.
I glanced into my side wing mirror, which reflected Lucy’s face staring out of her back window. I observed her actions, the way her lips turned down at the corners whenever we passed a stray child outside after dark. To anyone who met Lucy, it would be obvious how much she cared for those kids. She sniffed silently and attempted to hold back more easy tears.
My hands absentmindedly patted my suit jacket, which had been placed on my lap in a pile. I couldn’t bear to put it back on, in case I felt another wave of heat. My hand checked the bagged ring still in my pocket. I couldn’t afford to lose what stray pieces of evidence I found otherwise. Both DCI Campbell and McCall would have my head on a plate in seconds.
McCall ground the gears, waking us all up from our inside thoughts. “Sorry. Is it this road, Lucy?”
Lucy sat forward in the seat to survey the road, squinting slightly for her eyesight gradually worsened in the dark. Some people don’t suit glasses, but Lucy wore them well.
“Yeah, thank you.” Lucy tended to overthank people, I’d noticed. Perhaps she felt an imposition to us or simply diverted to politeness when unsure of what else to say.
I had yet to figure her out.
The houses on her street were built into neat rows with well-groomed front gardens, a type of neighbourhood where nobody minded paying for a window cleaner. Through Lucy’s open curtains, a huge, wooden bookcase extended across one back wall, covered with coloured book spines.
“There we are.” McCall came to a smooth stop directly outside, showing off for the guest. McCall acted a complete maniac behind the wheel whenever we were alone, flying around corners and braking suddenly.
“That’s great.” Lucy held onto the door handle, ready to exit the vehicle. I also grabbed onto my door handle, ready to walk her to the house, but she declined my gesture. “Please, stay here. You’ve both done more than enough for me tonight. I’ll start to assume it is favouritism.”
I graciously gave a small wave at the woman, then licked my cracked lips.
“Thanks for the cooperation, Lucy.” McCall continued our final formalities, wrapping the night up. “We will keep in touch for statements, so don’t hesitate to call us if you need to.”
“Goodnight, DS McCall, and you, DI Cooper,” Lucy said quietly and willed herself to get out of the car, almost as though her legs were glued down. Going home alone after a night like this must have been tricky.
The door slammed shut behind, setting a small breeze escaping through the gap and whipped McCall’s hair into a frenzy. Lucy disappeared into her house, and a second light snapped on inside. I could just see through the windows that Lucy collapsed onto a chair, head buried into her hands. From what I already knew about the way Lucy cried, she’d started again.
“What was all that about?” McCall drove away, prodding my side.
I flinched away unexpectedly. “What was what about?”
“You? Being nice, thinking about others for once?” she chided. “You’ve gone soft.”
“Me, soft? Nah.” I enjoyed winding her up.
“Anyone would think you’re in lurve,” McCall shot me that knowing look.
“Not in love, per se. Think of it as excitement,” I hinted, thumbing Laura’s Bible absentmindedly.
“Wow. That moved fast. I mean, Lucy’s pretty and all, but I didn’t think she’d be your cup of tea?” McCall revealed her true intentions.
“What?” The very notion had me shocked. “She isn’t my cup of tea, you’re right. Too… smart. We couldn’t be more different if we tried.”
“Who were you talking about?” McCall withdrew her eyes from the road.
“Abbey.”
“Oh,” McCall deflated slightly.
“McCall, I’m not interested. I’ve met the woman once. Whereas me and Abbey, that’s a whole different ballpark.”
“Yeah, sounds as though it might be,” McCall retaliated in disgust at that information. “Well, she certainly is forward, brash, and loud. Like you.”
The police station gradually faded into sight, between mine and McCall’s bickering. After her emotional outburst at the house, I had to catch her up on everything I knew so far about Laura’s death.
We ignored any last-minute requests for us to take on a load more paperwork when we got back. Sometimes, if we didn’t stand up for ourselves at the station, everyone would lumber us with their dirty work.
We were two determined souls on a mission, locking ourselves away into my personal office. I found a spare chair from the night staff and carried it through for McCall to relax on. She’d located a bunch of randomly baked cookies from a night watch officer that they’d baked their day off.
“Well, it’s all here. Everything I found.” I rifled through the bible again as she crunched cookie crumbs everywhere. A few spare pieces decorated her lips, but her pink tongue darted out to lick them away. I sighed and pointedly brushed the crumbs off my desk. “One bible and post-it note plus one large ring.” It clunked in its bag against the tabletop.
“Fake. Look at the rust.” McCall frowned in disgust. “Tacky if you ask me.”
“I wasn’t asking for your fashion opinion,” I snapped. “It was at the bottom of Laura’s bin.”
She stopped eating, dug out a pair of gloves, and slipped them on. Properly prepared, she took the bag from me and pulled the ring out to inspect it.
“Heavy,” she observed. “And huge.” Her eyes widened. She slid it on, and it hung loose on her first finger, the second, and the third. Finally, she tried it on her thumb, and even then, it still didn’t fit. I imagined it would even be loose on my larger fingers. “Either the person who this ring belongs to had huge hands, or their ring didn’t fit.”
McCall placed the ring carefully upon the desk again, sitting atop the evidence bag that had contained it. It was so dull that it wouldn’t even shine directly below a light source.
“What’s that symbol mean?” She pointed to where the front of the ring flattened with a risen circle atop the surface. The inside of the circle showed an upside-down triangle which formed into two squiggly lines of sorts, an unusual pattern.
“No clue. Never seen one before. Perhaps we could get forensics to take a look or… a ring expert,” I spoke slowly, not even sure where we’d find one of those.
“Alright.” McCall drooped down in her seat and lay her elbows down on my desk. From my angle, she may as well have been asleep. “What else did we get?” she mumbled, ey
e to eye with the ring.
“Let’s see. We know the boot print is a size nine, and our killer escaped through the window. He forced Laura down, tied her hands, and cut her wrists. Why, I still don’t know.” I rifled through my memories of the scene for my own sake too. “The post-it note in the bible has the same number written on it that was carved into Gavin’s arm.”
“Nine or a six?” McCall asked sleepily. “You could always check the sticky strip on the post-it note. Nobody writes upside down on one, that’s just wrong.” She had a point, not that it was a one hundred per cent sure thing.
“Well, it’s likely a six then, though we can’t be sure, even with that.” My hand trembled slightly, locating page six in the bible. “Maybe it’s correlating to a passage. Or page… or a chapter,” I spoke, changing pace with my eye movements. “That’s whittled down our searches by a--”
McCall hunched over my desk, entirely exhausted. Her head lay in the crook of her arm, nested comfortably, fast asleep and snoring gently. A streak of makeup splattered her cheek, a result of wiping her face on her shirt accidentally. She’d be drooling soon.
A daft grin decorated my lips, finding the situation extremely amusing. We weren’t as young as we used to be and staying up late didn’t seem to be a viable option as of late.
Conscious of the lamplight shining directly onto McCall’s face, I flicked the switch off, and the dreary office plunged into darkness. My original intention was to use my phone torch instead, but I soon relaxed far too much. Before I realised what had happened, my own body sunk down as I allowed both eyelids to close.
We tossed and turned uncomfortably throughout the night, sighing dreamily in unison, the two sleeping detectives.
Twenty-Four
“DI Cooper. DS McCall. Get your sorry arses up. We’ve got work to do,” I jumped awake at DCI Campbell’s harsh tone and ended up banging my head on the same lamp I switched off late last night. The metal bar clanged loudly on my skull, and I grabbed my head in a sorry state.
“Ouch,” I groaned loudly, not realising I’d mimicked McCall’s sleeping pattern during the night. I had only intended to take a quick nap, not fall into a coma induced state all night long.
“Hm?” McCall groggily said, not entirely with the program yet. I brought my arm off the desk at the same time and accidentally knocked McCall’s cold tea over. It spilt across the desk Laura’s retrieved bible. Sods Law. Exhibiting an incredible range of reflexes, I swiped the liquid away before too much damage could be caused. I couldn’t help the tea soaking a few filled out document forms though, but nothing which couldn’t be rewritten.
McCall’s eyes bore into my body, then lifted her arm for me to see. Her entire shirt arm had been covered in my brown tea liquid.
“Did you not hear what I said?” DCI Campbell shook his head at the sorry sight of his team leaders, unprepared and unorganised. In the early morning light, which barely escaped through the general office windows, a bunch of wispy hair placed themselves upright on DCI Campbell’s scalp. “I’d expect this from those bunch of poofters out there, not you two.”
Both me and McCall winced at his choice of language. At times, DCI Campbell forgot we had moved into the twenty-first century, where terms like those weren’t appreciated anymore. Our haze of sleep vexed us from making quick, logical connections to his speech.
“I’m waiting,” he reiterated with a frustrated expression and an irritated sigh. Ah, yes.
“Uh, here’s what we found last night.” I pointed to the slightly tea sodden bible and the ring I left out carelessly on display. “I presumed Laura’s death to be suicide, but it’s not in the least. Forensics found a print, matching a male size nine shoes,” My flurried speech conveyed my inner excitement.
DCI Campbell sighed in frustration. “Why does it matter? You’re supposed to be fronting Gavin Ellis’s case. We’re so close to getting Nathan. We can’t take our eye off the ball.”
“Nathan isn’t our guy,” McCall grimaced, breaking our changed news.
“What?” DCI Campbell heard. He just didn’t want to accept the notion.
“This was found on Laura’s bedside table.” I handed over our post-it note, giving him time to study the number and the writing. “Coroner, at a guess, agreed with my suspicions. Laura was forced down by the same someone who proceeded to slit her wrists. It’s not suicide.”
“The same number.” DCI Campbell had a faint turn, pinching his forehead in stress. “Reckon it’s also the same guy?”
“Certainly appears that way, doesn’t it? Assuming our killer has struck again, it’s not Nathan Smith. He was locked up here all night,” McCall stated the obvious.
“He’s a slimy bastard,” DCI Campbell grit his teeth. “Two murders poses the question of how far he’s willing to go.” He scanned the number with narrowed eyes.
“It’s a six,” McCall shared.
“I can read perfectly well, McCall.”
“Searched a bit in the bible for any correlating verses, or passages. All looked like righteous crap to me.” I banged the bible down in reference. “Someone else may think differently.”
“What’s linking these two people together?” DCI Campbell wracked his brains, finding it physically painful. His face steadily distorted. “They’re different age brackets, genders, from two different walks of life. A criminal and a religious churchgoer, but there’s always a reason.”
“What do you make of this, guv?” McCall hooked the heavy ring with a pencil off my desk and held it up for Campbell to see. “Finlay found it in Laura’s bin.”
DCI Campbell gaped at me specifically in disgust, his chins showcased eminently. “You rooted inside her bin? You’re hired for CID, not forensics. Hope you washed your hands afterwards.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s evidence, guv. I used gloves.”
DCI Campbell nodded and took the pencil from McCall, using it to move the ring so he could analyse its exterior. “Not the foggiest. Cheap though,” he noted to McCall’s amusement, “and extremely large. Wouldn’t fit any of us here.”
“Definitely costume. The jewellers in town may know more than we do?” McCall queried and flapped her sodden tea sleeve to dry off. Her bright eyes glared at me in mock contempt for ruining her work outfit.
“I’d like permission to visit the church today, Guv,” I distractedly mentioned as I wrote myself a note.
“Didn’t know you were religious, DI Cooper?”
“I’m not. Lucy, the, uh, schoolteacher who found Laura’s body,” I clarified for DCI Campbell, “mentioned Laura would always visit the church before picking Jimmy up from school. Perhaps they saw her last, the vicar or the like.”
DCI Campbell hummed to himself. “Any potential suspects?”
“Ex-husband. Always dodgy.” McCall shrugged ruthlessly, quick to point her finger to the first person on her radar.
“Yeah, maybe if it was only Laura’s death this was connected with. Why would her divorced husband kill Gavin too?” I pointed out.
“Fine, then no. None,” McCall huffed and revolved to face DCI Campbell, purposely blocking me out.
Knocks bellowed from the other side of the office. Someone waited patiently to come inside.
“Come in,” I instructed.
It was DC Ben Staines. His lanky body meant he had to duck underneath the door whenever he entered, in fear of bumping his head.
“Guv, some files and Nathan Smith’s paperwork.” Staines handed it over to Campbell, who tossed it straight into my paper bin.
“Useless. Tell everyone that Nathan Smith is no longer a suspect. We’ve got new leads to follow.” The guv rubbed his hands together excitedly.
“Right. Ugh, you want me to tell everyone? They’ve been working all night long to incriminate Nathan though, sir.” Staines remained respectful, itching his ear uncomfortably.
“So did Lionel Richie. They’ll get over it.” DCI Campbell smacked his lips. DC Staines got distracted by my desk, tilting his head quiz
zically.
“Nice ring, sir,” he addressed me. “Didn’t expect you to buy those sorts of things. Watched a documentary about it once. Not really my style, truth be told.”
“What documentary?” McCall leaned forward, intrigued by Ben’s nonchalance.
“You know,” he chuckled nervously at our intense stares, “about cults and… things?” DC Ben Staines hated any awkwardness or silence. “Well, I’d better go tell them lot to stop wasting their time. We want to watch football tonight.” He gave a tight-lipped, polite smile, closing the office door to leave us all in stunned silence.
“It’s all about religion. God, we’ve been so blind.” My eyes couldn’t focus on a specific object, intertwining and interlinking points in my head. I thumped the desk in irritation.
“Perhaps God isn’t the best person to bring into our topic of conversation,” DCI Campbell advised, humorously, given what breakthrough Staines had given us.
“It doesn’t make sense. Laura was religious, but Gavin wasn’t. He can’t have--” I talked to myself, rummaging through random objects on my desk, searching for something specific.
“So we’ve got a cult loose in the bay?” McCall took a sip of what remaining tea she had left. “I can get my head around the animal slaughters, but cults beginning to kill people for their beliefs? Surely, that’s a step too far, even for them.”
“I wouldn’t put it past them. I heard groups like that recruit people off the streets.” DCI Campbell interlaced his chubby fingers.
“Like Misfits. One episode had a cult who possessed people into agents of Satan,” McCall agreed.
“What’s Misfits?” DCI Campbell requested, forever out of touch on the topic of TV shows.
That’s also when I tuned them out to focus on my search. I knew I’d stashed some vital photographs somewhere.
“Aha!” I rejoiced, retrieving the folder full of Gavin’s pictures.
That broke the pair from their popular culture discussion, and they stared at me as though an alien had landed in my office and replaced me. I systematically laid out Gavin’s glossy prints one by one and stared at them analytically. It took time, but eventually, I whittled the selection down to two photographs only. One of Gavin’s clothes. One of his arms.
The Devil's Due: A Cooper & McCall Scottish Crime Thriller Page 21
