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

“It’s all of our jobs,” she countered.” You’re too selfish to see that we’re all in the same boat. Working, tirelessly to find these robbers, or killers, or whatever our next case ends up being.”

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand, McCall. You’re the people’s favourite. Friendly, conversational… unlike me. I’m miserable. Rude. Awkward. If I don’t wrap this up soon, the consequence rests on my shoulders. DCI Campbell put me in charge for a reason.”

“No, Finlay. He put us in charge. As a team,” McCall shouted back, escalating into a bigger argument than we’ve ever had. I blame the stress for causing friction and strain on our working relationship. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me.”

“Don’t I?” I stared into her angry eyes, questioning her sincerity. She didn’t break away first, too stubborn for that. “Just leave me alone, McCall. I can do this on my own.” I paced away, leaving her standing in the middle of the path, shouting after me.

“Go ahead! See how far you get without us. Nobody can do it alone.”

“I can,” I insisted.

“Prick.”

“Whatever.” I shuffled on alone until the community church bordered edges of greenery in the distance. I got lost halfway there and ended up travelling the long way round. Laura most likely would have cut down by the bay, for an efficient journey from her house.

I diverted my attention back to the church itself. Apart from the huge cross hung proudly on the outside, it wasn’t obvious this was a place of worship. It blended in nicely, red brick matched with the overall feel of the bay. A random circular clock tower rose from the building's side, for sculptural reasons, no doubt. Its roof slanted casually, creating a different shape to other buildings.

Thin layers of ice were starting to build up, a result of winter's revenge. It was already slippery now, and I had to go carefully to maintain my balance.

Having not stepped foot inside a parish church for a good number of years, I had almost forgotten what to expect. The inside contained small amounts of natural light that suited the dark wood interior. It was stunning, to say the least. The room was practically empty apart from one man reading from a book.

I needed a moment of peace to put myself into Laura’s shoes. Why did she visit the Parish daily? Did it bring her comfort, or was it a burden? What were her needs, her wants, her sins?

The wooden bench felt cold and hard underneath my trousers, and I had to adjust my posture a couple of times to get anywhere near relaxed. The room plunged into an eerie quietness.

The man up front sneezed loudly, catching me staring. He waved kindly, not at all what I expected. Now and again, a small beam of sunlight would break through and hit a painting created especially for the church. In the light beam, tiny particles of dust and other pieces danced ethereally. For a man who despised inner peace and preaching, I had to admit the place had a certain ethereal quality to it.

“Good afternoon,” a cheery, yet soothing voice interrupted my inner thoughts. I didn’t even realise my eyes had closed of their own accord to envision Laura sitting in the very same spot. The new voice disturbed my illusion of Laura, her lifelike breathing wiped entirely from my mind.

“Who are you?” I snapped.

“I’m the priest,” he paused. Surely he was taking the piss out of me.

“Right.” I didn’t want to scare the guy away. I had answers to find.

“I haven’t seen you before.” The priest intertwined his fingers as he settled beside me.

“That’s because I've never stepped foot inside a church before,” I revealed, shuffling uncomfortably. “I wasn’t brought up to believe in stories.” I noticed the priest was slightly taken aback. “No offence.”

“None taken. We’ve had many like you in here before, who all say the same thing.” He smiled. “Most of them now visit me daily.”

I snorted loudly, out of place in the echoey church. “Are you paying them? Not me, I'm afraid. Once I've made up my mind about something, I usually don’t change it.”

“People change.” The priest inhaled, staring out of a window. “I chose this life from a very early age. My parents did the same before me. And my grandparents. No wife to speak of, nor children either. Keeps me busy. We’re a community here. Everyone who comes within these doors is treated as an equal by our Lord himself. What brings you here?”

“Death.”

“Ah, I see. You’ve come to find comfort in the passing of your beloved one?” He almost seemed invigorated by the notion.

“No. I’ve come to ask you a few questions about a recently deceased woman.” I fumbled to find my badge.

“I’m a priest, not a psychic,” the priest hooted on account of his own comedic timing.

“DI Cooper,” I made an introduction. “We’re investigating the death of Laura Smith. She used to volunteer here, didn’t she?”

“By gosh. She’s dead?”

I guess God really couldn’t see all. The priest needed a moment to control himself.

“Yeah, haven’t you read the papers?” I guessed they’d have a full-page spread about Laura’s misfortune by now.

“No, I spend too much time here to get involved with that nonsense.” One thing we could agree on. “Laura was a lovely spirit. She gave a lot to our community. All the best ones get taken too soon.” The priest bowed his head in grief and respect.

I struggled to articulate my questioning, so it didn’t sound insensitive. “When did you last see Laura?”

The priest smoothed a palm across his sweaty head, disguising the inner turmoil he so clearly felt.

“I hadn’t seen her for a couple of days, which was odd for her,” he recounted. “We were quite close friends. When she didn’t show up, I thought she’d become overwhelmed from caring for her children. She’d changed after her husband…”

“Left,” I finished the sentence he wouldn’t.

“She wanted to keep it a secret from everyone, to live without hassle