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

to realize everyone on the tiny stretch of beach had listened to our whole argument. DCI Campbell shot us a warning stare from afar. We half smiled, half winced and turned our backs on all those people listening.

“It was one time, Cooper. Get over it.” McCall hissed, following me inside to search for Mandy Smalls.

“One time too many,” I returned, trying to seek out a cigarette.

“Don’t start that again,” McCall groaned at the sight of my lighter and cigarette. “I don’t want to smell like a walking ashtray.”

“You’ve stressed me out now. Give me a break. It’s been ages since I last had one.” I lit up and puffed away happier now. Smoke reached my lungs, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Much better. I didn’t even feel guilty about it. I didn’t dare cop a glance towards McCall. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be greeted with kindness or a slap.

Her hand slinked up and wrapped its way around my cigarette, prying it away from between my lips. I gave up trying to fight back. She flicked it to the floor and stamped out the light. I know I promised McCall last year that I’d never smoke again, she got sick and tired of smelling the smoke in our work car, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Buck up. We’ve got work to do. DCI Campbell made me team up with you. He wants us to patch things up. If you apologise, we can get on with it.” With that, she took a look around the dimmed building full of boats.

“I’m not apologising,” I stubbornly refused.

“Me neither,” McCall gave as much effort back.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Both of us knew that was our way of roughly patching things over. They wouldn’t get resolved otherwise.

“Good. Right then, Mandy Smalls. She’s the cleaner in charge of all the keys,” I explained, reaching what we could only presume was her office.

“Haven’t heard of her,” McCall replied, glancing inside.

“I suspect not. She was away on holiday all week, supposedly visiting her son,” I carried on Sammy’s explanation and knocked on the poky office door.

Rackety blinds did their best to keep the office private, although half were either broken or fallen. We peered inside to see an older woman holed up inside the cupboard of an office. She scribbled onto sheets of paper, her face concealed by a mass of faded blonde hair. I’d imagine it would’ve been a bleach blonde at some point fifty years ago.

A bunch of multicoloured keys hung by little hooks to the wall, a few holes dotted around where nails had separated away from the plaster. I rattled her door cautiously, making the poor woman inside jump out of her skin.

The large gap between the door and its frame revealed that a latch was across the door for security purposes. The lock portrayed on the outside was easily pickable by anyone who could have tried. A code was required to open it first, but you wouldn’t have to be a criminal mastermind to get through there.

The woman we presumed to be Mandy Smalls, heaved herself up from the desk. “May I help you?” She smiled politely through her teeth, probably thinking we were inquisitive members of the club.

I pulled out my badge and showed it to Mandy. “DI Cooper and DS McCall. Can we come in for a quick chat?”

Mandy obliged happily and let us squeeze into the office with her. It was a tight fit. McCall had to perch across the desk, and my chest felt like paper origami folded in on itself. My prime spot for optimal comfort ended up being squashed into a corner.

“Sammy told me all about you two,” Mandy croaked. She eyed me up in thought. “He didn’t mention you were so handsome, Mr Cooper. My grandson doesn’t have a penny on you.”

McCall giggled, and my cheeks burned bright pink.

“Right. Uh, t-thanks,” I tripped over my speech in hopes of diverting Mandy’s uncomfortable stare. “Do you know about Gavin Ellis?”

Mandy’s eyes wrinkled with disappointment at the mention of Gavin’s name. “Of course. Poor boy. Too young to die that way and on our turf too. Appalling.” She foamed at the mouth, flashy lipstick bleeding into each crevice. “I only just returned from visiting my son. Lives in Edinburgh, he does. Well, him and his wife and my beautiful grandchildren, of course.” A photograph of them stood proud upon her desk. “Yes. A relaxing week away, exactly what the doctor ordered. Arthritis playing up in the old knee again,” Mandy explained with a coy smile in my direction. Dear god.

McCall thoroughly enjoyed watching me squirm like a worm on a hook.

“When did you get home?” McCall interjected helpfully in an attempt to swerve the discussion back on track again.

“Only yesterday, dearie.” Mandy opened her desk drawer and revealed a stash of custard creams. The packet made its rounds to the both of us and we accepted gladly. Mandy selected one and rustled the packet closed before shoving it back in her desk again. “Lived in Dalgety Bay all me life. Since I was a little nipper in baby grows. My father lived here before me. Dalgety blood, through and through.” A visible storm cloud washed over her face. “This murder, it’s terrible.”

“Which is why we came to you,” I said after scoffing down the biscuit. “The equipment shack on the other side of the beach, it belongs to the sailing club, doesn’t it?”

“Right you are.” Mandy bumbled her fingers across her handmade knitted jumper. I stared directly at the jumper, and she caught me. “I’ll make one for you, pet, next time you come to visit me. You’re roughly the same size as my son. I’ve got an order for the church fayre and children’s nativity costumes, but any time after that you can come and collect it.”

That sweet gesture from Mandy brought me to understand what Sammy meant by thinking of her as a grandma. “Uh, thank you. Very kind.”

McCall sniggered, shocked to see me acting polite.

“Ahem. I