The Devil's Due: A Cooper and McCall Scottish Crime Thriller by Ramsay Sinclair (good inspirational books .TXT) 📗

some unsuspecting guy during the night. Not in real life, just subconsciously. Safe to say, I tossed and turned for hours on end. Dreams are supposed to communicate real-life problems into twisted realities, but what if nightmares really came true?

“Who do you think you are, Cooper?” A fake version of DCI Campbell sneered, pushing his contorted features into my face.

“I’m DI Cooper. Detective inspector.”

“You are nothing but an arrogant, egocentric prick!” McCall slapped me hard, not so different from real life. It left a gigantic mark. She was dressed beautifully in figure-hugging trousers.

“McCall?”

I shouted, though nobody heard. They disappeared into... nothing, leaving camera flashes to fill the empty space instead. Tormenting, hounding reporters. I tripped over a body, blood pouring out from one side. Gavin Ellis. His blood covered my hands, dripping back onto Gavin’s own face. Gunshots fired from behind, and I jumped uncharacteristically in fright. Turning to spot whoever held that gun, they lured me into the main road on Forth Bridge. A large car hurtled down with force, and I raised both arms protectively, bracing for collision.

“Ah.” I started awake, heart racing, beating, pulsing. Thundering adrenaline called me to wake before slipping further into darkness. My hair stuck up in tufts, face aching from those padded cushions. Probably a housewarming gift from someone.

“Jesus,” I groaned sleepily, noticing last night’s dinner plate adoring the floor and yesterday's clothes scattered randomly over chairs. Elsewhere, faint buzzing from a comedy program played, accompanied by an annoying laughter track. That beekeeping program had long finished. Stifling a yawn, I grabbed my phone and pressed a random button. The screen lit up, illuminating one crucial factor. I was about twenty minutes late for work.

“Bugger.”

That terrible feeling of being severely rushed numbed my entire being. If I were not out of here in ten minutes flat, DCI Campbell would nail my balls to the nearest telephone post. He expected detective inspectors to set an example, not become an example.

Seizing any clothes which remained closest by, I ended up wearing those same, slightly musty trousers again. Odd socks adorned either foot, one black, one yellow. Nothing about today’s outfit matched, but at least it gave me a chance to leave home quickly. Debriefing should be occurring in half an hour, meaning I could reach the station with, eh, seven minutes to spare.

Individuals gawked at the madman running past them: me. I charged through buildings, cut through local parks, and even passed a teenager on his paper round. The teenager insolently sniggered at my running. Little sod. When we were teenagers, kids were taught to respect their elders. Dalgety station wasn’t a million miles away, thankfully. Every front garden contained copies of newspapers, printed instinctively in black and white. Big, bold headlines covered their front pages, though at a distance you’d have to squint to read them.

Curiosity got the better of me. As famously quoted, curiosity killed the cat. Kill me, it did. There came a moment in every older man’s life when they wished they could have avoided a particular moment. One crucial instant, which changes how we viewed our world and its inhabitants. More so than before.

As I rustled a flimsy newspaper between both rough hands, my eyes observed our local headlines. ‘Dalgety Bay shocked after Boy’s body washed up on coastline.’ So, that part was bearable. Reporters were bound to share deaths and details, plus everybody from town heard of Gavin’s death already. What I wasn’t prepared for, was my face plastering their front page, alongside DCI Campbell’s name and McCall’s.

Their tagline read, ‘Townies uncertain whether Dalgety Bay’s youngest DI is ready to face such a heinous investigation and why DCI Graham Campbell agrees.’

So it began. Is that really what DCI Campbell thought? Townies should have nothing to be nervous about. Hopefully, my promotion was based on professionalism and ability. Nearby, charcoal clouds threatened to downpour, ready to soak those gossip columns into mush. Rumours needed squashing before they interfered with Gavin’s investigation.

“I will not have filthy leeches meddling or gossiping about CID. One of you, get on the blower and strike a fast deal to shut them up. Sharpish. I don’t care how much, pay them whatever they want. That’s an order,” I barked upon entering CID, causing our team to stare in confusion. DC Cillian and Ben snorted mischievously, but I was not in the mood.

Smacking a newspaper onto Eileen’s desk, she briefly read over its front page and then began punching numbers into the work phone. Following orders. Any smart officer would agree that the press could hinder investigations into potential homicides by blabbing their big mouths about crucial evidence. Tracing our steps for Dalgety Bay to read. McCall sized me up from her own desk but pretended to be ordering statements.

I retreated towards my safe haven of an office whilst murmured chatter rose between colleagues. A couple of whispers reached my ears.

“Boss doesn’t look so good.”

“Crabbit’s back boys. Hide your daughters.”

“Cor, even the sun hides when he shows up. Anyone else feel that chill?” Cillian mock shivered.

All delightful compliments, of course. That’s how things have always been between them and me, which is fine. DC Taylor strode over, smiling with an overly sincere expression. Too friendly. One ear poked out from behind his curtain of black hair, adding to his overall youthful appearance. “Morning, Sir. I’ve compiled all our door-to-door witness statements already. Thought they’d be a priority.”

DC Taylor spoke kindly, yet my warped dream version ran circles around my head, imagining him as a cocky guy instead of a CID team member. No matter how hard I tried shaking those vivid nightmares away, nothing worked.

“Okay.” My blunt answer didn’t faze him.

“The guys who visited Gavin’s street said most of his neighbours heard the barney but didn’t see Kris leave suspiciously after that. Emma Wells lives at number fifteen, and she confirmed that Kris went over for tea and a chat. Kris returned home afterwards.” DC Taylor closed shut his black notepad and stared at me with raised