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

“This changes nothing between us, Cooper,” she forewarned me. “I’m helping for the case only, not as a favour to you. Give me your address.” She snapped orders over the phone like a stern mother who’d beat you if you overstepped a mark.

She stayed true to her word, and within ten minutes, my backup had arrived with McCall leading them. “You look like crap,” was the first thing she said to me.

“I noticed.” I rolled my eyes at her unforgiven nature.

“The guy did that?” She handed me a screwed-up Kleenex, the best she could find.

“Yes,” I insisted, fooling nobody. “His name is Paul. Paul Roberts. He purposely ignored Mandy because I was talking to her--”

“Mandy from the sailing club? Down boy,” she teased, knowing Mandy’s true intentions for wanting to see me.

“Not now, McCall,” I warned. “She saw Paul and Laura talking down at the bay on the day she died. I presume they know each other from the church, for he used to be a priest there before his wife died.”

“How did his wife die?” McCall said, intrigued.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’ve been standing out here to ask,” I noted sarcastically. “He matched the exact description that the shopkeeper gave us. It’s hard to believe he’s stayed so low under our radar, even for a statement.”

“And he did punch you. That’s not the best sign of his innocence,” she included.

“Exactly.”

“Check the back, make sure he’s not pulling a Jack Harper on us,” McCall shouted to a couple of officers tagged along for my benefit. “He’s got to admit to injuring you now too.” She found another tissue and dabbed at my face. I withdrew in pain, her touch firm but effective. “Stop being such a baby.”

“I can do it myself,” I checked the tissue to see the blood starting to thin out. At least it wasn’t dripping as bad as before.

“Your eye’s purple, puffed up to twice its size too. Not your best look,” McCall informed me, a tinge of worry in his voice. I’d never had a problem defending myself in any other case, or week.

“Least of my worries. I’m more concerned that the bastard gets what he deserves,” I sniffed gingerly, pacing closer to Paul Robert’s window, assured that there were enough people at hand to help, should further trouble arise. “Here goes.” I thundered against the locks, heavy-handed and unforgiving. We waited a while for a possible reply, even now receiving nothing back. McCall rang the doorbell over and over, holding her finger down on the buzzer.

“We don’t even have a warrant,” she reminded me.

“But he did attack me, so whatever else, he is guilty of a crime.” A clear and distinct shattering sound erupted from the inside. “He’s still there,” I repeated the obvious fact.

McCall bent down to her knees, poking open the letterbox hesitantly.

“Carefully,” I reminded her. “He’s got it out for us.”

We all heard an unmistakable noise of shattering glass. My jaw set in stone, having it up to here with Paul Roberts. If Paul denied me the first time, he wouldn’t feel inclined to answer us now.

“Paul Roberts? It’s DS McCall from CID,” McCall called through the rusted letterbox, peeking through the flap to try to spot Paul hiding away. “Can’t see him.” She directed the last part to me. “We have to talk to you.”

My observant eyes narrowed in on a gap in the curtains, near the top. They hung low, half off the rail. Allowing someone tall to peer inside. I stalked over to the window, past a few officers shining flashlights around the rear entrance of Paul’s house, but I soon discovered I wasn’t even tall enough to peer over.

“Lift me up,” McCall scared me slightly, knocking me out of my calculations. “You’re tall enough for me to be able to reach once you’ve boosted me.”

I nodded, kneeling to create a stirrup-style grip by lacing my hands together. McCall planted a foot in my grasp and glanced down at me.

“Ready? Don’t drop me,” she counted us down from three.

“I would never,” I assured sincerely, planting my feet firmly.

McCall stepped up without fear, my arm muscles steadying her, though not with ease. For a small woman, by God, was she heavy. To keep a good balance, she held one hand close to the wall.

“Up a bit higher,” she asked.

I strained enough as it was but ended up managing to lift her an inch higher. My abs trembled, threatening to fall, but I couldn’t just yet, for McCall glared inside.

“Pass a torch.”

“Really?” I grumbled, her leg nearly kicking me in the face. “You couldn’t have sorted that out before you went up?” I nodded to another officer, who handed a small LED torch up for her to grab. She shone the beam through his window. “Well?”

“Absolute dump. Probably infested,” she half-messed around. “Oh, my God.”

McCall heaved back in shock, startling us both, for our structure crumbled immediately. McCall braced herself to tumble to the floor, opening her eyes tensely when she didn’t.

“Told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” I grimaced. “Ouch.” Whenever I attempted a faint smile, my swollen eye didn’t agree.

“Someone’s lying on the floor. I couldn’t see their face, but it’s similar to the clothes you described,” McCall revealed, shaking from her climb. “They’re not moving.”

“Kick the door down,” I commanded the nearby officers hurriedly. “Phone an ambulance. Now.”

McCall was already on it. Time couldn’t be wasted in a situation where a person requires medical assistance.

“We’ll have to go in without a warrant, under section seventeen,” I made a snap decision and informed the officers, well-versed in their sections. Section seventeen allowed forceful entry inside, providing reasonable grounds to suspect a life is endangered. The goal: to save life and limb.

The back-up officers saved us by taking on the most practical and stamina inducing activities. They set about locating the door hinges. It would be game over if the door opened outwards instead of inwards, for doors can’t be kicked in by those