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

“Unless you’re into all that kinky stuff, Guv?” DC Hall called out, leaving McCall and Murphy sniggering. DC Shipman only recoiled in disgust. I did the same.

DCI Campbell grinned good-naturedly. “The wife doesn’t complain.” He cracked a joke, leaving them all hollering. “Lighten up, Cooper.”

DCI Campbell contained the right amount of humour and ability to knock people’s blocks off during fights. But he didn’t know the correct time or place to use it. Cracking jokes during a murder enquiry wasn’t my idea of fun.

“I haven’t finished, Guv. A phone call from DC Taylor came through. We received door-to-door statements from Jack Harper recently, who lives up there.” I pointed out, to which DC Murphy agreed.

“I know. We wrote his statement down. Droned on for hours about a load of old cobblers.” DC Murphy fake yawned, showing off in front of his friend.

“Those ‘old cobblers’ happen to be significant,” I chastised, up to my wit's end with the ragamuffin group. “DC Taylor found out Gavin went to prison for raping and overdosing Emily Harper. Probably related in some form.”

“Yeah, his daughter,” DC Murphy donned an unusually respectful tone. “I asked who his memorial was for. Harper seemed upset, but I assumed Emily Harper died older than his pictures suggested.”

“Stop assuming and listen properly next time.” DC Shipman was also fed up, cold and hungry. She was only in her mid-forties and desperately fed up with CID shenanigans.

DC Murphy couldn’t believe his ears. “Keep your knickers on, love. Shouldn’t be too hard, they’re probably those huge knickers my grandma wears judging by the size of your ar--”

“That’s quite enough, DC Murphy,” I said, cutting him off. “She’s right. Everything should be raked with a fine-tooth comb.”

McCall pretended to type on her phone, not wanting to get involved in our cross-exchange of words. “It’s Cillian, sir. You don’t have to call us by ranks just because you’re a superior officer now.”

“Right,” DCI Campbell got involved, fed up with listening. “I suggest us three pay Jack Harper a visit.” He pointed at me, McCall, and himself. “You miserable lot get back to the office. There’s also a bunch of paperwork to file, so get on with it. No messing around.”

Our team groaned in exasperation, missing out on the fun, practical jobs. We watched their work cars drive off, heading back to ‘base’. Jack Harper’s house would only be a five-minute walk, if that. McCall and I flanked our small group of three, joining together at certain points for discussion. DCI Campbell led the way, a newfound spring in his step.

“This seems wrong,” McCall observed, slightly out of breath from the walk set on an incline. “DC Taylor… John, I mean. He’s stuck back at the office whilst we relish in his glory.” Now she mentioned it, DC Taylor had been a huge help, never shying away from a bit of hard work.

“He’s a good worker, but don’t you think you’re too soppy? In larger teams, nobody gets any praise. Any piece of work completed is a group effort. We’ve visited Gavin’s crime scene multiple times, whilst they sit cosily in our office.” I hated being this way inclined, but the truth was always best.

“Is that all? A good worker?” she scoffed. “For the record, I'm not soppy. It wouldn’t kill you to be nicer or try smiling for once, crabbit.”

“Don’t start,” I forewarned, my Scottish accent overpowering. We panted, climbing up further still. “I’m too lenient, you know.” McCall snorted, disagreeing completely. “How long have they called me that?

“What, Crabbit?”

“Yeah. Those guys back there. Who came up with it?” Our shoes scuffed on various stones dotted around the floor. McCall was silent for a while, avoiding my question. “McCall?”

“Uh, fine. I did,” she admitted. “I came up with the nickname a couple of years ago now. It’s true, though, you always showed up miserable. Half of us weren’t sure whether you had any teeth because we didn’t ever see them!”

I stopped dead, shocked to my core. It took a while to string together any comprehensible sentences. “Dear God, McCall! Thanks.”

“Oh, stop being such a sod faced... knob,” McCall struggled to think of a better, more educated insult. We carried on awkwardly, listening to the breeze blow gently. I stared downward, not daring to peek over at McCall. She sniffed, sauntering slightly ahead.

“Sod faced knob?”

“Whatever.”

A bright light flashed, cutting right across my vision. Without realising, I had hunched over, breathing ragged breaths. McCall gripped onto my arm, squeezing gently and fanning a sheet of paper nearby. Was I deluded or catching a cold?

“Finlay? What’s wrong?” McCall over-pronounced, in case I couldn’t hear.

“I’m not an idiot, McCall,” I got out. “I do speak English.”

“Next time, help yourself, Finlay Cooper.” McCall huffed in exasperation, helping to steady my fumbling frame. She thrust over a small flask of hot chocolate, upgraded since the coffee incident.

“I’m fine. Where did you even get that from?”

“You really are a stubborn gobshite. Drink it.” The cocoa tasted genuinely enjoyable, warming my insides and outsides in unison. “It’s from home. I made it myself. It’s winter, and we’ve been spending an awful lot of time outside.”

My blood sugar levels slowly returned to normal, as DCI Campbell had trekked on ahead impatiently, leaving us to follow behind.

“You’ve got to stop swearing so much,” I noted.

“Don’t tell me what to do. It’s the only way anyone will listen to me. Finlay Cooper!” she hissed, struggling to keep up. “You’re sick. Slow down, right now.”

“I’m not sick. I have a headache, that’s all. DCI Campbell will be waiting up there, and Jack Harper needs interviewing. See? Absolutely fine.” I swigged a mouthful of hot chocolate. “Could do with more milk.”

McCall snatched her flask away. “Me and you are having a serious discussion afterwards,” she threatened, taking a sip of the drink. “It doesn’t need any more milk. It’s nice.”

“That’s disgusting,” I grimaced at the fact McCall drank out of the same cup as me,