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

spot them passing between us. “There’s a club I go to. Very meticulous. Very specialist. They don’t let any old person in there.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Sir.”

He lit the cigarette for me. A cigarette could cure anything, I was convinced.

“I joined this club, a few years back. A sort of gentleman’s club, only the most decent of them all. They’ve got doctors, bankers, all that sort of scene,” he admitted.

“Gambling, Sir? I didn’t put you down as the type.”

“I’m not usually. I prefer friendlier games, ones where you only pay an entrance fee, but these guys are different. They’re good men. Pals too, I suppose. It’s more than just cards,” he explained, our shoes making noise against the concrete. The cigarette ash from his mouth reached mine, being carried across on the breeze.

“They sound decent?” I didn’t know where this was heading.

“Oh, top-notch. Brilliant guys. You’d like them,” he inhaled.

“I would?”

“Oh, certainly, Cooper. They’re our sort of people. If I’ve figured you out correctly, that is. You see, I think you’re a decent, shrewd guy, with a bright future ahead of him. Aye?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I sounded flabbergasted and tried to disguise my underlying contempt.

“You don’t have to act so modest,” DCI Reid roared heartily. “You should come along and check the club out tomorrow. I’ve a feeling you would enjoy it very much. All men and their brandy’s, no time limits, no curfews.” It all sounded enticing on paper.

“Yes, maybe I will see what it's all about.” I mulled over the idea, intending on seeing what DCI Reid was all about, rather.

“Excellent. I’ll give you all the details. Except… keep the location to yourself, eh? It’s all quite private.”

A telling off from Iona Reid cut the discussion short. “Alec, I’ve told you before. No smoking, you’ll clog up your arteries. You too, Cooper. Young blood like yours, you don’t want to ruin that too early.” Iona plucked the brown cigarette from DCI Reid’s dry lips which stuck to the limp object, and that was that, but it didn’t matter.

This was just the break we needed to crack this case open.

23

Reid's home was huge, compared to what we were accustomed to. That was to put it mildly. Their road only had a few buildings on it, on account that they were each too big to fit any new builds in between. It suited their outrageous personalities, for it was as lairy as they were.

There were at least four upstairs rooms, and the kitchen alone could have fit half of the gala guests in at once. Complete with a marbled, floating kitchen island, Iona was busy cutting open frozen wappers of finger food and heating up their oven. They’d laid out a spread on the glass coffee table in front of us and it was a dangerous thing to keep food in such close proximity to me. I kept sneaking back to steal another sausage roll or mini Scotch egg. Abbey slapped my hand away a few times, but it was DCI Reid that forced us to eat more.

They had an affiliation for white everything, even down to the furniture, carpets, and paint. Their shag carpets were taken straight from the seventies and remodelled to suit their luxurious abode. The house would’ve suited a fashionable city like London perfectly, but a nostalgic and historical place such as here, not quite so much.

“Get this down your neck.” DCI Reid handed me over a single serving of brandy in their posh glasses, whilst Abbey had returned to dabbing my chin with some antiseptic provided by the couple. I was forced to lean back on their white leather sofas and be doted on by all three of them, handing us drinks and creating easy conversation.

“It’s a beautiful home you have, Iona,” Abbey complimented the woman who flapped about in their open-plan kitchen, whilst DCI Reid placidly stacked some bottles in their front room minibar. They seemed so normal here, less like a DCI and more like the average married pair.

“I always say the kitchen’s the heart of the home. That’s true if you’re married to Alec.” Her high pitched chortles portrayed her tipsiness.

We gave polite smiles.

Hissing at the sting of their antiseptic, I tried to interact and turn the conversation towards the decorators. “It’s lovely finishings here. The colour is,” I struggled to think creatively, “nice.”

“It’s a shame the decorators messed it up the first time round.” DCI Reid didn’t take much persuading to overshare. “We were left with gaping holes in this ceiling here.” DCI Reid pointed upwards to where it now showcased exceptionally clean lines to the plastering.

It was of nearly a showhome status, one which a man like me could easily ruin with his muddy shoes or overall messy appearance. Abbey suited the house like a charm, like a model in their perfectly fake catalogue.

“That’s tradesmen for you.” I chomped on a Scotch egg messily, catching the crumbs in my hand. “Screw you over, then charge to fix the mistake.”

“This boy’s spot on the target,” DCI Reid complimented and finally undid his stiff, starched tie collar. We were getting to the stage of the evening where things were relaxed and simple. No formalities, just laughter and conversation. Exactly what we needed.

“I can see why you like him.” Iona threw a knowing glance over in our general direction. Abbey finished patching up my neck and gave the colourless liquid one final wipe over my Adam's apple. She caught on to my gist.

“Say, you don’t have their numbers or anything? I’ve been bugging Finlay to let me redo the living room. It’s uninspiring, to say the least,” she nonchalantly requested.

“I’m sure Alec would be more than happy to recommend them to you,” Iona barged in, even though DCI Reid didn’t reply himself. “Surely you met them at the station? Alec is the one who hired them to patch up your offices too, saying they were all past their sell-by date.” She sounded proud as she filled up some extra