The Devil Among Us Ramsay Sinclair (librera reader .TXT) 📖

“Do you have children?” Flynn changed the subject on a whim, and McCall replied with a reluctant, “No.”

Flynn thought about the answer momentarily, a glint of sadness evident in his shining eyes; they were still wet from tears.

“They always want more,” he rambled for no real reason. “I wanted what’s best for my daughter and wife. New shoes instead of hand-me-downs and second-hand charity shop toys. For her birthday, all I could give her was a purple balloon. It was all we could afford.” The memory made McCall smile in sadness. “But she wasn't disappointed. She loved it. Kept it safe, day and night. One day, it burst, and she was in tears.”

Flynn Jones held an element of adoration in his eyes, reserved especially for his daughter and family only. A wave of fondness for the child washed over him, sending Flynn melting like hot lava into his hospital bed.

“What a lovely story,” DCI Reid interrupted, and it was evident he didn’t mean it. “But that still doesn’t explain a thing, apart from distracting us from the real subject at hand.” He cleared his throat.

Every so often, visitors would pass by and stare through the window, distracted by the presence of a police guard standing on duty. McCall watched carefully, ready to push us into line, should we cross the invisibly marked one.

“At least my daughter will be able to visit me from prison,” he revealed, then closed his eyes properly, as though resting.

“Flynn?” We tried in vain to get him to speak.

“I think that’s all the sense we’re going to get for today,” I mumbled disappointedly. We couldn’t exactly force him into much.

“What a load of bollocks,” DCI Reid fumed. “We need more than that, he’s the only one that made it out of there alive. People will die on my streets tonight from these bloody drugs.” He spiraled into a rant, and I moved to interrupt before he got too far.

“Guv,” I hummed, and he snapped to attention.

“Sorry,” he quietly said. “It’s a lot of pressure.”

“I know.”

7

We walked away from the ward, pondering over the few facts we were given. A dodgy smell rose from the canteen downstairs, making us all feel queasy.

“He went funny when we mentioned how the offer was made,” I discussed quietly when our mismatched group of three passed along the winding corridors. Each room we looked in had sick people or machines beeping in a twisted rhythm. We hoped nobody was listening in too much.

“He mentioned his daughter visiting him in prison too,” McCall added. “I don’t know what he meant by that.”

DCI Reid didn’t say much but blazed along ahead, smart shoes making funny noises on the polished flooring.

“Maybe that was interlinked somehow?” I wondered, thinking hard.

“You think he was trying to deflect from the offer itself? A hint,” McCall suggested, furrowing her gingery, plucked brows.

“Maybe the offer is one he’s ashamed of. He didn’t seem willing to explain how he received it. Apart from that, he was relatively open with the fact he gave us.” Sweat stains covered my armpits as a result of the crowded hospital. Nurses walked on by, shooting us strange looks up and down.

“Maybe he was threatened? That seeing his daughter in prison is the only way possible,” McCall theorised. “If we went back another day, maybe he’d be willing to tell us more.”

“No.” DCI Reid glanced over his massive shoulders. “You saw the way he was. He wasn’t tired, but had enough of us.”

“Okay, what about me?” she began. “He kept looking at me. I felt his hand grip mine, comforted by me just being there. He clearly remembered how we helped him last time.”

DCI Reid concealed a sarcastic laugh. “Are you kidding? He didn’t start speaking until my voice startled him. You’re too soft with these types of people, they walk all over you because they know that.”

“I build trust with them,” McCall defended her actions. “If I went back, I’m sure he’d tell me more.”

“He’d spin more stories about his daughter to make you feel sorry for him.” DCI Reid waved the offer away. “We’ve got as much as he’s willing to let on. We’ve more important work to do.”

I would’ve gotten involved in their tiny, ego-clashing spat had I not spotted Ryan Shaw inside one of the rooms. Stopping to look through the little window panel, I saw that he was surrounded by get-well cards and balloons from officers.

“This is the reason why we need to stop wasting time. Find the people who handed them three the guns.” DCI Reid appeared next to me, gazing in too. I saw a hint of worry in his eyes for Ryan. He didn’t look great, pale and asleep.

McCall stepped up on the other side, staying quiet, but I knew she was upset by the sight of the lad. She wasn’t one to enjoy seeing people hurt. The machines in there beeped ominously, the only consolation being the number of people that seemed to care for the PC’s wellbeing.

“Yeah,” I whispered respectfully. “In that case, we should go.”

They abided by the welcomed instruction, reduced to a hushed state at last. The weight of the situation was sitting on our shoulders, and we all looked worse for wear. A clamouring filled our ears when we neared the reception area.

“The locals are rowdy,” DCI Reid commented stiffly. “It’s probably an old lady who’s fallen over outside. People always crowd around to help.”

I choked on a scoff and did up my jacket to face the weather. DCI Reid left as head of the group, leaving us two to follow in his footsteps. The sight we were confronted with was overwhelming, but we knew it would happen at some point.

Reporters shoved their cameras up to our faces and thrust microphones to our mouths. I ducked, just missing one that swung in the air. The noise was unbearable, and I cursed that I’d be on the local