The Devil Among Us

  The Devil Among Us

  A Cooper & McCall Scottish Crime Thriller

  Ramsay Sinclair

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  10. McCall

  Chapter 11

  12. McCall

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  A Message from the Author

  Prologue

  Seagulls cawed and swooped from a whirlpool of clouds forming overhead. Gentle crashing ocean waves lapped at the slither of dirty sand and slippery pebbles. With every step taken, the rocks ground together with a dull sound that made the hairs on my arms stand upright. The finite, gritty residue of sand also stuck to the soles of my shoes.

  Sailing boats were struggling against the building gale-force wind and slowly made their way back to land. Meanwhile, the coattails of my jacket wiped and slapped erratically on my calves.

  In the near distance, the Forth Bridge’s vividly engineered construction was lost in the rolling fog coming in from the south. A tangy hint of salt settled on my tongue and every pore felt clogged up from its heavy vapour.

  Any sight of tourists or locals was soon lost, due to the rapid changes in weather. They’d run for shelter in whatever bars or restaurants were available. The scent of hot foods carried along with forceful winds. Mainly elderly folks or demure families enjoyed the quirkiness of our bay, as well as a stream of tourists throughout the year who enjoyed its kookiness and feeling that no other town possessed. Then again, maybe I was simply biased?

  The miserable weather didn’t bother me much. In fact, it was quite refreshing. Seeing as the wife was at work, I’d decided to take a wander. Sitting home alone wasn’t much fun, and there wasn’t any work to do; I’d been forced to take time off by McCall and our DCI alike.

  Having a few months away from CID for ‘medical reasons’ felt like a halfhearted excuse. The local papers had said the same, but they never did take a liking to me. Their lurid headlines were only there to sell copies, rather than flatter a middle-aged detective inspector.

  After an array of diverse cases, various shocks over the years, and my overall unhealthy lifestyle, the doctor said that I was lucky to have avoided a heart attack. It was a shock to hear, but not surprising. Not with the nightmares I often endured, and the number of cigarettes inhaled over a lifetime. Plus, I’d always been prone to the odd stress-induced migraine.

  They’d warned that my lifestyle was taking its toll on my body and must change immediately. Hence the leave, and torture of watching my wife throw every single cigarette into the bin. She’d also insisted on a new healthy diet, as well as plenty of exercise, thus the walk I’d embarked upon.

  That may help combat the high blood pressure, but it didn’t stop the nightmares that plagued me. Nothing could. I supposed, seeing the things we officers do, that it was natural to have restless, terrible dreams. Mine would consist of a washed-up body one night, to a woman screaming the next.

  That very morning, I’d jolted awake from the memory of an explosion. Forced to relive the booming reverberation of noise, and heated flames that licked against my heels. The incident had been pushed out of my mind for a long time, though it wasn’t purposeful. It wasn’t the first fire I’d seen, nor last, but it was an influential one for CID.

  Even strolling didn’t stop me from thinking about the station, and what cases they had. McCall had tried hard to relay most of the important details correctly, as I’d done for her when forced to take time away. We struggled to stay away from each other, for being partners for many years had established a strong connection between us. Even if we wouldn’t admit that out loud.

  If walking was supposed to clear the mind, it had put mine into a transcendental state. I’d had little control over where my feet had decided to roam. Perhaps thinking about the explosion had subconsciously led me here, to the place where it all unfolded.

  Barely anything had changed. The old fashioned architecture showcased a typical derelict house, which should’ve been knocked down. Even before the explosion, it was just as run down and tired looking. Then again, it could’ve been a listed building. I was surprised that the townsfolk hadn’t kicked up a fuss about the eyesore that was still standing. Just.

  Its boarded-up windows had graffiti all over, designed by some hoodlums with nothing better to do. Dalgety Bay had little entertainment to offer for the youths. It certainly wasn’t a particularly exciting place for teenagers, unlike Edinburgh or somewhere even busier like London. Judging by the empty larger cans and various plastic items I’d rather forget, the building had become something of a hangout spot.

  Splatters of raindrops steamed over my face, cool and fresh. The droplets settled onto my eyelashes and dislodged themselves each time I blinked to join the other drops on both cheeks.

  They also poured onto the dampened brickwork, creating pools of discolouration wherever they landed. The inside was probably covered in mould, as a direct result of the awful weather spells we’d received. Underfoot, the dirt had become a troughed pit of slick mud, threatening to slip me up any moment soon.

  Craning my neck to peer up at the intimidating structure, it towered tall, like a looming father would to a child. If I closed my eyes, the flashbacks of the heat bellowed against my chilled skin and the sound of burning fluid cackling against wood beams sent shivers across my spine.

  There came a strange sense of closure returning here, one which was gladly accepted. I let it wash over me, from the tip of my fingertips to the heels of both feet. There was a sense of forgiveness in the air, as though the rain was washing the tainted memories away.

  Growing as a man since the case meant learning a few lessons along the way. I could now see how the series of events had ended up in this wretched place, though with a weird sense of dissociation. It felt like I was watching the past events playing out on a movie screen, or in a storybook.

  I could imagine the entire scene in front of me, even all these years later, and a strange sense gripped tight my throat and took away the breath that resided there. Ghosts of the pasts weaved eerily out of the window like mirages, capturing the attention of my wandering thoughts.

  Who knew how many hours I had stood there for? I’d lasted longer than the bout of lashing rain itself. Just thinking, from an entirely different perspective to the one I had back then.

  1

  “Two rights and a left.”

  “Could you slow down with the instructions? They’re hard to remember whilst trying to drive past all the bloody idiots in the way.” I zigzagged through incoming queues of traffic, much to the annoyance of many drivers with road rage. A few beeped and honked frustratedly, whilst some even tried to cut us up.

  We were speeding as fast as possible for the road we were stuck on, but even that didn’t seem extreme enough. Although, I was an extremely impatient man. Every red light possible had stopped us along our journey.

  “I shouldn’t have offered to be in charge of the instructions. Your driving’s making me feel sick. I’d rather keep my breakfast firmly down,” McCall held her stomach nervously, auburn waves scraped back into a neat ponytail.


  “You were being greedy by choosing both porridge and toast.” We naturally swayed to the left as the car swerved around the street corner.

  “Hey,” McCall grumbled defensively and then sighed. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach,” she admitted after pausing for thought.

  “Sarge?” DC Taylor’s voice cracked through to our radio. “Shit’s going down on the streets. Armed response has been called out. These guys are going crazy and threatening to shoot one of the PCs. Guv said to be careful.”

  Things must’ve gone downhill for the big boys to get involved. CID had received an anonymous tip-off that a turquoise van, suspected of carrying shipments of drugs, would pass through early this morning. By the sounds of things, our source was correct. Good thing too, as half the station was out there waiting for them.

  We’d had a surge of drugs users overdosing in the bay, a thing we’d tried hard to tackle. However, arresting the dealers didn’t help our growing problem. When we’d arrested one, two more would pop up on the streets the very next day. These things were being made readily available for anyone to get hold of; kids involved with the wrong sorts of gangs, or people exploiting those dependent on substances for some fast, illegal cash in hand.

  The problem lies at the core. Those growing the plants, and those transporting them past the borders and into the country. Even with all the new restrictions being put into place there, drugs were still getting in and the criminals were notoriously tricky to catch in the act. Slippery would be a better way of describing them.

  “Threatening to shoot?” I said, indicating and rounding the corner. We’d barely had any incidents that required armed response. The criminals transporting the loads were obviously hoping to go down fighting.

  “Thanks for the update, DC Taylor. When did you arrive?” McCall replied on our own radio, waiting patiently for an answer. Adrenaline coursed in my veins, glad to have an exciting case at last. Recently, there’d been a few drab robberies and not much else.

  At last, DC Taylor answered. From the amount of interference in the background, things didn’t sound simple. “Uh, just. Me and Cillian. The Guv was already here,” he politely replied, but sounded increasingly distracted.

  “We’re five minutes out,” she said, checking our surroundings. We didn’t want to miss out on all the action, not when we’d been waiting for these guys to show their faces for a while now. She turned off the microphone and looked at me. “We’re the last of ‘em. Late as usual.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can! You’re the one threatening to be sick all over the interior,” I defended, and a flash of colour in the street made me hit the brakes suddenly. We lunged forward unexpectedly, nearly hitting our noses on the dash. Neither of us had braced ourselves for the halt.

  “Woah,” McCall exhaled shakily, watching the elderly woman hobbling across the zebra crossing. “That didn’t exactly help.”

  I placed a quivering hand to my beating heart, having missed the lady by mere inches. The elderly woman barely noticed and squinted at the pathway ahead of her. As soon as it was safe to do so, I swung the car back into gear and stepped onto the accelerator. The last thing we wanted was a murder charge on our hands, especially when the guys we’d searched months for were this close.

  “It’ll be nice to finally put a face to these guys. We’ve seen too many people die from the bastards,” McCall continued, checking her appearance in the mirror attached to the sun visor.

  “It’s not a fashion show, McCall,” I said dryly and looked into the wing mirror at the car behind. “They’re only one of many more to come.”

  I earned myself a tut. “Positivity. It’s something, at least. We cut the chain--”

  “We stop the strain,” I repeated our police saying, whereby halting all drug transportation meant less chance of the addicted gaining their lethal supplies. “I wonder who tipped us off?”

  I recalled the moment when McCall burst into our canteen that same morning, distracting me from a wee bit of breakfast. She had practically carried me out, ranting and raving about a tipoff for our most exhausting case. I learned never to relent against an excited McCall.

  “Guv said they were an anonymous source. No clue. Couldn’t trace it back to anywhere.” McCall shrugged. “LEFT,” she shouted and turned the steering wheel of her own accord. I was speechless, due to avoiding a collision with another vehicle by a mere inch, but McCall simply shrugged. “I told you earlier. Two rights and a left.”

  The Volvo rolled up to the street where everything was taking place, the entire road backlogged with police cars, armed response and officers there on foot. The sheer amount of blue lights were almost blinding, and we parked horizontally. A few people walking past had stopped to be nosy, and the media were already clamouring to take photographs, even in the middle of a tense situation. There was a time and a place. Some sparse PCs tried to hold them back, even though they were desperate to get a snapshot for their twisted articles.

  We couldn’t see anything from our angle, our vision blocked off by a crowd officer’s backs and their vehicles. McCall got out first, slamming her door in anticipation. I followed, determined to push past the crowds of locals and police alike to get involved.

  As we stepped together towards the scene, the sight we were met with was certainly unexpected. There were two opposing sides; the police and the criminal. They pointed at each other like two sides at war. This was, in its own way, a war. The turquoise van looked more beaten up than originally suspected, and the criminals had lined up on one side of it. Well, criminal. There were three of them to begin with, but two of them were already lying face down on the concrete, in a pool of their own scarlet blood.

  Armed response seemed to hold their fire for the last one left.

  “This is an absolute mess,” I claimed angrily, shocked to see two already dead in our usually clean streets.

  “Stay back. It’s a hostile situation,” a police constable warned, and he attempted to restrict our entrance onto the scene to join the rest of our team. We were grouped on the outskirts, struggling to even get past the mobbed journalists.

  “CID,” McCall flashed our badges, then started to walk on cautiously.

  “Miss, I cannae let you in.” The officer restrained any further movement from her and held a palm to McCall’s chest. He pushed us away firmly each time we tried to move.

  “It’s ma’am to you,” she spat furiously. “These are our guys.” McCall peered through and spotted our team cowered behind some vehicles for cover from immediate fire. A line of armed response was spread out in front of them, acting as their cover.

  DCI Reid glanced over, frowning at our struggle to get in. He used a hand motion to wave us through, mouthing something we couldn’t entirely understand.

  “See?” McCall forced the PC to face DCI Reid and his impatient gestures.

  “Fine,” the police constable caved in, moving slightly to the right to finally let us go. Talk about making a fuss. “But tread carefully. Follow behind the vehicles in case this loony shoots too.” He pointed to the cars he was talking about.

  “Cheers,” I said, itching to get in there. Sometimes danger could be exciting. That was, after all, the reason we choose our careers. McCall went first, ducking as she walked. I followed suit, the stooping action wreaking havoc on my knees.

  The team greeted us with hushed voices, and every so often, they would straighten up to watch the interaction unfurl. Sandwiching ourselves between DC Taylor and the Guv, we could see a bit clearer now.

  DCI Reid sported an entirely different demeanour. He stood up confidently, both elbows on the police car roof, watching the interaction with intrepid interest. The Guv was bold as brass, and a gun wouldn’t scare him or break those nerves of steel.

  I trusted DCI Reid’s actions. If he wasn’t afraid to potentially put himself in harm's way, then I as a DI shouldn’t be either.

  “It’s quite alright, Cooper. There are too many armed response officers around
for him to do us any harm. He’ll end up like the others if he tried,” DCI Reid murmured, barely taking his eyes off the scene. I assumed he referenced the remaining gun-wielding criminal. “Plus, it’s not us he’s aiming for. The others are just being cautious.”

  That explanation gave me enough confidence to stand up further and watch too. McCall was just as curious. We were squashed so close together that we rubbed arms whenever one of us shuffled. The car roof was hot to the touch.

  “What happened here, sir?” McCall asked, shamelessly intrigued. Granted, I was too.

  “You two sure missed out on half of the action.” He dryly nodded towards the criminals lying faced down. “Those two guys came running from the back of their van, shooting anything they could. Surprised us all. It’s like they wanted to go out fighting. Glory maybe.” DCI Reid’s growing moustache wobbled when he spoke. “Armed response tried to give them a chance to put their weapons down, but they refused to listen.”

  McCall listened intently, shrewdly surveying the scene. “The number of officers here probably frightened them.”

  “Most likely.” DCI Reid gave a curt nod. “Their aim wasn’t very good, they hit more cars than people.” He pointedly showed the few bullet marks on the paintwork of a police van. All of that violence for a bit of cash in hand.

  “What a waste of their lives. Just for some poxy drugs,” I scoffed, bewildered.

  “It’s a lifestyle, Cooper,” DCI Reid reminded me. “We thought that it was over, but then this last guy came running from the front. Must’ve been driving the van.”