The Devil's Due: A Cooper and McCall Scottish Crime Thriller Ramsay Sinclair (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

myself. I followed what those higher in power expected of me. Maybe it was time to break out of that derogatory cycle and do something of my own accord.

I prided myself on knowing my team inside and out, much to Finlay’s disapproval. I believed you must know your team like the back of your hand to get results faster as people aim to please. The CID contained unique working styles across its members, and that determined how they worked best.

DCI Campbell’s police radio crackled, a male voice floating through, warped by tuning sounds, and that broke me out of my thoughts.

“Guv? We’re stationed outside Jack Harper’s house. Nothing much to report. No movement and no visitors. Absolutely none,” DC Cillian Murphy reported back to us. “Messy bastard though. I’ve got Ben with me.”

“We’re sitting tight till morning, aye?” DC Cillian Murphy questioned, yawning through his radio. Ben and Cillian together in one car would be a waking nightmare. They’d forever be pranking each other stupidly. Casting back to mere hours ago, at Jack Harper's house, Finlay seemed adamant Harper lied to us.

DCI Campbell unhooked his radio, bringing it closer to his wrinkled mouth. I listened in, concentrating on pulling into a tight car space at the same time. Most officers at the station parked however they pleased, leaving less room for bigger cars such as these.

“Aye. Watch him closely. Jack Harper won’t go anywhere tonight, though our ‘esteemed’ DI thinks differently.” DCI Campbell sounded less than impressed by Finlay’s beliefs.

“Copy that,” DC Cillian replied, and I could hear Ben murmuring from behind.

“You’re telling me crabbit made us sit here, freezing our asses off? Why couldn’t he come instead, the lazy bastard?” he moaned in annoyance.

I copped a glance at DCI Campbell, sat with the face of a storm cloud. They were understandably annoyed at Finlay. The thing is, Finlay acted out of character tonight. I noticed right away, having worked alongside the depressing guy for too many years. Earlier, he was in pain, trying to hide his visible agony. Either Finlay was hiding something from us, or he fancied proving a stupidly stubborn point.

DCI Campbell’s weathered, lidded eyes fluttered, carrying the weight of the world. Maybe they did? “Jack Harper can’t be our murderer,” he announced with conviction.

I stayed silent, biding my time, if there even was a correct one.

“He’s scared, frightened of blame being passed in his direction. I’ve seen it before,” DCI Campbell explained, convincing himself.

“Yes, sir. Once DC Cillian and Ben return, I guess we’ll know for certain.”

Apparently, my quietness mingled with the way I took my work keys from the ignition appeared frightening.

Campbell inhaled again, fighting something on the inside, a question perhaps? At last, he swallowed his pride to face me, frowning with anguish. Shadows highlighted every haggard feature, emphasising his larger nose.

“Do you think I was too… harsh on DI Cooper?”

Yes. But I couldn’t precisely tell our DCI that. So, I tactically tried hinting at my genuine opinions.

“We all have different beliefs, sir. That’s why we work for CID. Our gut instincts warn us all differently for various reasons. Both you and DI Cooper could be right... somehow,” I spoke softly, so not to alarm him.

His face fell, realising I was polite. “Never ask women for advice. My wife always makes me feel guilty for the way I treat people too.” DCI Campbell grinned, shaking his ageing head.

I chuckled, knowing my words washed over his head completely. Men.

Long winter coat trailing behind him, DCI Campbell bid me goodnight and disappeared inside our station, probably to pull an all-nighter in his office. Sulking, as most men do once they realise they’re wrong.

I sat in the car for a while longer, deliberating between right or wrong. The vehicle got stuffy quickly. Breath fogged up the glass. Condensation dripped from each window as a result of temperature difference. Plenty of officers on duty strolled by without a clue to my altercations. Were DCI Campbell’s rules made to be broken, if breaking them helped solve a murder case? But what if I, too, was suspended for breaking every code in the book? Was that worth the risk?

Yes.

I revved into gear and reversed rather spectacularly. It’s a shame no one was there to witness. Back on the winding road again, I was a bit suspect in an unmarked car.

What would a psychoanalyst think about Jack Harper? His house was dirty, as any heartbroken father’s house would be, festering in grief. He lived well below his means and didn’t have to shell out for anything, no overly expensive gadgets, nor suspicious items to add suspect Jack Harper was involved in dangerous activities. Maybe his house remained unkempt on purpose. To hide away from society, stay unnoticeable. Stay ghost-like.

What did Jack Harper subconsciously project? He took a while to answer the door. Scared, confused… or did he know what was going on, why we arrived to question him informally? My unmarked Volvo pulled up outside Dalgety Bay Medical Centre, where Jack Harper declared to work on our statements.

Inside, lights were starting to switch off. Damn it, I inwardly cursed, double-checking the time. Five twenty-five. Closing time. Gravel flicked randomly over my shins as I ran towards their entrance, knocking frantically. There were two people inside, one stern woman with a complicated updo sat typing away, chatting to the other young woman, probably no older than twenty. She hoovered their grubby carpet.

The updo woman answered first, showcasing a wardrobe of unique clothing as she slowly crept over hesitantly. I held my CID badge up to the glass, pressing it close enough for them to notice. Their expressions visibly changed to apologies before she fumbled to unlock all three locks. Serious security paranoia.

“Sorry to interrupt you, ladies, I’m sure you want to go home. DS Kirsty McCall. I’ve got some information which needs cross-referencing,” I explained slowly, not wanting to overwhelm them with too much information.

“Uh, sure.” One allowed me through, closing their doors behind us while the cleaner smiled politely, continuing with