The Devil's Due

by Oliver Davies

  Meanwhile, Abbey went to pay at the till. She refused my share of my bill.

  “This was my choice, and I invited you along.” She unzipped her pink purse, pulling out a wad of £10 notes and selected one. “There you go.”

  I wondered what she did for a living to encounter that sort of money. The bill only came to £9, the chip shop never ramped up its prices. Abbey paid generously, and the server handed us our meals. We waved the kindly server goodbye and tucked right in.

  “Hm. That’s good,” I noted quietly and shoved the newspaper onto a silvery table. The chip shop had a few dotted opposite the sledge display, in case trades like us needed to sit. Their food warmed us comfortably, and we sat opposite one another. Abbey ate with gusto, settled in front of me. A few questions swam through my mind as I stabbed a chip with my wooden fork prongs.

  “Why did you wait for me today?” I asked.

  Abbey swallowed her mouthful and washed it down with some cola. “Well, I noticed you this morning. You looked stressed—”

  “You winked at me,” I added, contemplating that morning’s events.

  “I thought you were hot. Problem?” She raised a neatly plucked brow in my direction. Abbey was blunt and truthful with her emotions. Pure honesty and frank communication, something I often found myself upsetting people with.

  “Right. Uh, thanks?” I questioned, wondering if a response like mine was acceptable in these situations.

  “They asked me to go to the station and fill out a witness statement,” Abbey explained more after chewing down a bite of cod. “Mainly because you were busy chasing up some lead. That’s what they told me, anyway.” She was talking about Jack Harper. “I finished not long before you and read the local headlines. I thought you’d want a pleasant distraction, or a drink to take your mind off it.”

  “No more drinking. They’ve caused half of my troubles,” I scoffed with ease.

  “It wasn’t that bad. We’ve all done it. I once booked a holiday to Taiwan whilst drunk.” she admitted, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

  “Really?” I wiped my mouth, disbelieving her.

  “Really. I went with two random people who were at the party, who booked at the same time. We had great fun. Can’t remember half of it, but that’s the point of holidays, isn’t it?” Abbey had a fair point. “What I’m trying to say, is that we should go for a drink,” she remarked and placed her hand over mine. “Together.”

  “I can’t,” I shuffled away, not meaning to insult Abbey. “It’s a work night. I’ve pushed my luck already. DCI Campbell wouldn’t stand for it twice,” I imagined what McCall would say if I showed up drunk tomorrow.

  Abbey brushed my rejection aside. “Ah, so you’re a workaholic,” she derived.

  I hadn’t thought about it much before. “I suppose I am.”

  “Does no one ever tell you to slow down and enjoy yourself? What about your girlfriend?” Abbey hinted, pretending to scrutinize a greasy chip.

  “Are you snooping?” A knowing grin tugged my lips.

  “Maybe. Yes,” she admitted, throwing her hands up in defeat.

  “I haven’t got a girlfriend,” I chuckled, shaking my head enjoyably. Abbey was easy to get along with and someone new to interact casually around. I didn’t have to watch my tongue too much.

  “A wife?” Abbey didn’t drop the subject, pouting in question.

  “You’ve got no filter, have you?” It wasn’t a problem. If anything, it was sexy. Most people are too afraid to say what’s on their mind.

  “Filters are for boring people. I like to get down to the interesting gossip straightaway,” Abbey undid her purple scarf, highlighting her smooth collarbones.

  “No wife either,” I admitted in the end. “That’s not why I rejected you, and it wasn’t a rejection, not really. You said so first: You’re our witness, and that would feel… wrong.

  “Or, maybe, you’re too uptight,” Abbey articulated, prodding her fork in the air for emphasis. “It doesn’t bother me.”

  “Right. Good to know.” I retreated inside of my social shell. “So, what exactly did you see this morning? I didn’t get a chance to ask. Bit busy with… other things.” I had to filter what details came out of my mouth concerning Gavin Ellis. A chip burnt my tongue slightly, but I played it cool.

  “We’re not discussing this on our first date,” she groaned. “I refuse.”

  “You said it wasn’t a date!” I dropped the chip, mouth agape.

  She poured ketchup over the remainder of chips, stealing one from my own bag. “I lied.”

  “You should be kept on a leash,” I suggested without thinking. “Reel you in a bit.”

  “Yes please,” she winked, changing my original meaning into something unique. Was she suggesting…? No, she couldn’t be. Abbey exaggerated her action of licking her lips. She was suggesting.

  “Dear God,” I couldn’t help but blurt out, much to Abbey’s amusement.

  My head tilted to one side, noticing two familiar people pass by. Their hands held onto each other’s, joining them together. Unlike Abbey’s dyed hair, McCall’s crazily bright hair stood out from a mile away.

  McCall twisted casually and stopped dead. Noticing me too. DC Taylor was still staring in the opposite direction, unaware of my presence. McCall couldn’t believe Abbey was with me and her casual, easy smile diminished from sight. I’d realised she was pissed off from our earlier interaction, but I didn’t realise to what extent. Her gloved hand gripped DC Taylor tighter and tugged them away out of sight.

  Abbey had noticed the whole awkward interaction quietly.

  “That’s my work... colleague,” I struggled to pinpoint mine and McCall’s relationship after that exchange. Abbey’s eyes opened wide.

  “I thought I recognised her. She’s nice. She spoke to me this morning. Are they…?” Abbey hinted about DC Taylor’s role in this whole debacle, hinting at a possible couple on the horizon.

  “I think so,” I bundled up my chip packet irritably and grabbed Abbey’s discarded wrappers too. My entire mood had turned sour whilst I stalked across the street to find a bin. Abbey sat scrolling through her phone from far away, her pretty face illuminated by her phone screen. My feelings were jumbled and all over the pace. I had no clue what I was doing here, with her.

  “Thanks, you know, for the food, but I’m gonna head home. Long day ahead tomorrow. There’s still a criminal to catch,” I said, as a means to excuse myself from Abbey’s company the minute I returned.

  I bundled up my jacket, and she didn’t try to stop me. Abbey grabbed her bag, a napkin and pen, jotting down some readable scribbles.

  “You’re welcome. Take this.” She handed the paper over to reveal her number scrawled across. “Call me if you ever want a night out or another date.” Abbey winked once again and showed off her expertly applied makeup.

  “This wasn’t a date,” I excused.

  “You keep telling yourself that, DI Cooper,” Abbey waved cheekily, then slung her bag back over her shoulder. She sauntered away towards a wine bar across the street. What a woman.

  I was left to wipe my greasy hands down my smart trousers, with no other alternative. I’d already thrown the tissue away. McCall’s reaction replayed in my mind, haunting me. We’d always been like fire and ice, everybody said so. Except, our iciness had tripled. I shouldn’t have let McCall get so close to me, so personal. Friendships didn’t last at CID. Casual acquaintances did.

  Maybe Abbey would be the correct way forward, no former connections or friendship. The angel on my shoulder warned me to distance myself from women altogether. They always came with an abundance of trouble and mess I couldn’t worm my way out of.

  Nineteen

  The next day brought no further happiness. Fish oil clogged its way down my throat and had me begging for a glass of water all night long. I woke again with another splitting headache, consisting of all its usual symptoms.

  My small cod repeated on me throughout the entire day, esp
ecially when I stared down at Gavin’s lifeless body. DCI Campbell situated himself next to me, whereas McCall decided she should stay as far away as possible.

  “There appeared to be an initial wound on the stomach, just… here.” The pathologist mimed a circle around the wound. “I’d suggest he was facing the attacker, due to marks along his forearm. The wounds would suggest self-defence, like he tried to shield himself away from whoever stabbed him.”

  I acted out a small scene in my mind of how that scenario would have played out. If both hands were thrust into the air, anybody could have easily welded a knife into Gavin’s abdomen.

  “If you look carefully,” the pathologist lifted Gavin’s eyelid gently, “you will note the bloodshot eyes. Usually happens when victims are suffocated, a hallmark of asphyxiation.”

  I peered over Gavin’s body. Indeed, his eyes were bloody.

  “It takes a long time to strangle someone,” DCI Campbell furrowed his brows in thought, the awful lighting casting shadows underneath his baggy eyes, grey with seriousness, much like the rest of him. This was his idea after our duff encounter with Jack Harper. DCI Campbell believed learning more about Gavin’s wounds could point towards similar murders encountered before. Give us something to work from.

  McCall stayed silent and focused on the body in front of us.

  “We see it happen a lot when attackers suffer uncontrollable rage,” the pathologist noted. “This one stabbed the victim, then probably strangled him to finish him off slowly. Cruel for the sake of being cruel.”

  “Torture,” McCall supported his statement.

  “What would you say the murder weapon was?” I questioned out of curiosity, trying to glimpse a closer look at the wounds carved on his arm.

  “It’s odd, you see.” The expert gestured to each wound as he brought them up. “The first one to the abdomen is small with a serrated edge, not large enough to be any kind of knife. The wound is only two inches deep. As best as we can tell, it was a key of some kind. Not easy to kill someone like that, but enough to hurt. Then, Gavin was strangled and stabbed again, with a knife instead.”

  “So why not use the knife in the first place?” McCall pondered, speaking aloud what we all had to be thinking.

  “Perhaps the attacker used the first thing he could find in a rage. Strangled Gavin for the sake of it, whilst reaching around for his own weapon,” My voice sounded eerily cheerful for our surroundings.

  It wasn’t supposed to sound that way. I simply enjoyed this part of the investigation, thinking in the same way the killer thought. I continued to act out the scene to get a better insight of that night in my head.

  “Gavin was bound to have a pocket knife of some sort with the sort of groups he associated with,” DCI Campbell added, nodding along with my explanations. “Probably carried one for his own protection.”

  “So he could’ve been halfway through the act before finding Gavin’s knife? Stabbed Gavin with his own weapon and threw everything in the water for good measure. The perfect self-cleaning crime.” I shrugged thoughtfully.

  “Probably what they hoped for in the woods. That their evidence would burn to ash and leave the animals as a distraction,” DCI Campbell thought out loud. “Time of death?” He looked to the pathologist for further details.

  “I’d say roughly five hours before the body was uncovered. Unfortunately for the attacker, he didn’t push the body in far enough for it to be unnoticeable. Physically moved, due to the stiffening of his bones and muscles.”

  The pathologist started to place the sheet back over Gavin’s limp body, which had changed to a horrible blue shade.

  “He?” McCall picked up on the smallest insight.

  “I’d say so. Gavin was a heavy lad,” the pathologist noted. “Only a few women could manage all of his weight in one go.”

  “Or there was more than one killer? One could have easily suffocated Gavin, whilst another stabbed him.” I prayed my random guesses were wrong. One killer was enough to deal with.

  The pathologist continuously hiked the sheet back up until I stopped him.

  “What about the mark on his bicep?” I mentioned, and my two workers buzzed in anticipation. “We thought it was from a smaller knife, or could it be from the same weapon?”

  “Small and almost unnoticeable,” the pathologist noted. “At first, it appeared to be no more than a normal cut from the struggle. The same knife could’ve done this if they used less force.”

  A killer marking his victim.

  “Why would he risk being seen over such a small mark?” McCall pondered to herself, watching over Gavin’s limp arm.

  “Well, he did murder Gavin,” I scoffed. “He’s not exactly sane in the head, is he?”

  DCI Campbell coughed in disbelief. “Are you two really arguing over this? Get over it, both of you, there are more important issues at hand,” he reminded us.

  McCall started to roll her eyes, but got distracted in an epiphany. “You said Gavin was stabbed by a key at first,” she prompted the pathologist who nodded plainly. “Could these be the same keys used to open the club equipment shed? And if so, where are they now?” McCall, no matter how annoyed I was with her, posed an excellent observation.

  DCI Campbell beamed from ear to ear. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

  I was sick of revisiting the sailing club, always driving back and forth. We could make the journey with our eyes closed by now. Sharing a car with McCall and DCI Campbell had to be the worst part. Firstly, McCall ignored me entirely. Secondly, DCI Campbell brought along some unbearably strong coffee. I was shoved in the back seat, window wide open to get rid of the smell.

  “My son arranged a gathering at the pub on Christmas eve,” DCI Campbell informed McCall, their gossiping driving me crazy. “You’re welcome to come along.”

  It sounded more like an order than a request, and I pretended not to listen.

  “That means you as well, Cooper, so long as you don’t start any trouble. I know you’re listening.” He had a jolly twinkle in his eye. “If we’ve solved the case by then, we can all relax in time for Christmas. One last hurrah.”

  I watched his expression in his wing mirror as McCall asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’d all find out sooner or later,” DCI Campbell admitted. “I’m retiring in time for the new year.”

  McCall gasped, not ready for him to leave so soon. He was the only DCI we’d known at the station.

  “I’ve realised how old I’m getting, and quickly too. I want a simple life with my wife and kids, rather than fast-paced action and bickering,” he hinted at us two. “I’ve missed so much of them during these last few years. Everything happens so fast.” A gentle expression fell across his face. “It’s my time to take it slow, put my feet up. I’ve had to be less involved in our cases recently because my body can’t catch up. If I stay any longer, I’ll be a part of the station's original foundations.”

  “I’ll be sorry to see you go, Guv,” McCall said politely, realising it would best for him in the long run. He’d slowed down in the last couple of years, I had to admit.

  “Not as sorry as I’ll be,” Campbell chuckled. “Who’s going to snap your miserable lot into shape, eh? Especially Cooper. He needs watching.”

  Our differences aside, DCI Campbell was a respectable man. He’d introduced me to CID and was the one to promote me to DI. Despite our opposite opinions on handling cases, DCI Campbell had never shied away from handing me responsibilities, and I could respect that decision.

  “Don’t refuse the party, Cooper,” DCI Campbell warned, knowing I liked to wriggle out of team nights out like those. “After seeing those newspapers yesterday, we all know you enjoy a bit of a party.”

  “Very funny, sir,” I sighed for his benefit. Perhaps, in hindsight, he could always leave earlier. I could work with that.

  “Until then, no rest for the wicked. I want this guy captured before I leave,” DCI Campbell affirmed, switching off from our intera
ction to discuss a plan of proceedings. We were at the club now, and McCall searched for somewhere to park.

  My duty was to find out who kept hold of their keys and scour through their tons of members to find Sammy Davis. Amongst all the anarchy, McCall pushed past groups of gossiping sportsmen, trying her best not to sneak a peek. They were all old enough to be her father.

  Sammy Davis was immediately distinguishable from the other guys. He stood boyish, and tall. A man who commanded attention without asking for it. That charming smile of his captured sailing club wives’ hearts and McCall’s undivided attention. She had already wormed her way into a group discussion, taking her friendly neighbourhood police approach.

  Sammy clocked me straight away. He greeted me with an observational salute and excused himself from a discussion some people were mid-way through. We joined up nearby the waterline where small waves lapped in and out to its own invisible rhythm.

  “Hi. Again,” Sammy Davis breathed heavily, having run over a small distance. Sweat dripped subtly from his upper brow line. I half-convinced myself that it wasn’t sweat, but condensation. Nobody could ever act so cool after running from A to B otherwise. “How are things with the case?”

  “Not that much different since we last met,” I answered blatantly and felt too short to stand so close to Sammy. I took a cautious step backwards, separating the two of us. “Just a quick one. We found some evidence in your equipment shed about two days ago, not long after recanvassing your site. We found a few things stolen from there, including some rope and a few matches. They were later found at another crime scene by the woods.”

  “I heard about that,” Sammy agreed absentmindedly.

  “Right,” I continued. “I just wanted to know where your keys are. Your shed lock wasn’t broken, you see. Someone had to have access.”

  “You’d have to ask my cleaner, Mandy Smalls.” Sammy shrugged. His judgement clouded with worry at my expression.