The Devil Among Us, Ramsay Sinclair [black books to read .txt] 📗

“Your tardy arse only just got here. Now you’ve arrived, we can actually begin,” McCall pointedly mentioned as she showed us the way through. The police guard stood aside politely, greeting us formally.

Flynn lay limp, and his face was stitched together for some of the worst cuts. For the others, small plasters covered them. Our clear footsteps echoed, destroying the silence that once surrounded the man.

“Flynn?” McCall gently coaxed the injured man to respond, for Flynn’s eyes barely flickered open properly. He lay facing the bare ceiling, and a few sparse tears flowed onto his scuffed chin. A great sadness hung like an obnoxious grey cloud over the tiny room.

“Flynn Jones.” DCI Reid attempted a different approach to McCall, by snapping loudly. It worked, for he suddenly shot up in shock. At first, he stared towards me, then McCall and finally, DCI Reid.

“How are you doing, Flynn?” McCall opened the questioning lightly, full of sincerity. “It’s better to see you without the gun. It didn’t suit you.”

His dodgy lip hung open in fear, whimpering constantly at the sight of us. We didn’t get a recognisable reply. I found a visitors chair and sat down on one side of Flynn’s bed, McCall the opposite. DCI Reid preferred to pace around; it gave him new ideas, he would claim. McCall carried on, taking over the questioning for she was better at soothing people.

“We know you’re in shock about what you saw yesterday Flynn, we understand it must've been hard for you--”

“It’s their own fault though,” DCI Reid interrupted. “They’re the ones shooting and getting involved in the drug business.”

“Guv,” I quelled him with a look.

“So just talk to the best of your ability, okay?” McCall ignored our separate interaction. Flynn’s small body didn’t budge an inch, and he still didn’t reply.

DCI Reid huffed, easily wound up. “We shouldn’t be kind to him. He’s a criminal at the end of the day.” He paced in circles, heavyset frame shaking the floor slightly. The glass of water on Flynn’s bedside table shook from the movements.

“A criminal in shock,” McCall established, mouth set into a grim line. “What were you doing there yesterday, Flynn?” McCall made an effort to appear soft and gentle.

The man lying down didn’t reply, but the quivering gave him away. Everything we said was being heard.

“You remember us, don’t you? I’m DS McCall and that’s DI Cooper. We helped you out last time, got you sorted out--”

“Or so we thought,” I interlaced my fingers upon my stomach and crossed my legs to sit comfortably. We’d be here a while, I guessed.

“If you tell us what happened yesterday, we can help you. Who were you three working for? Where did the shipment come from? Where was it going?” she hissed through gritted teeth, shooting daggers at us two.

There wasn’t any reply, but a few incoherent whimpers. Obviously, McCall’s attempts weren’t working as well as they did the last time we confronted Flynn Jones. DCI Reid got involved, fed up with listening to the noise.

“Oh, stop whining, Flynn, you’re giving me a headache. You, a gun, drugs and money. Tell us, how did that happen?” DCI Reid’s approach was a bit more… brash. They were bolder accusations, and he had little patience for criminals, especially those who had been caught in the act and shot one of our own. Whether by accident or not.

It seemed to work, for Flynn was frightened by anyone who wasn’t the soft-spoken McCall. “I-I-I--” he attempted to talk but stuttered all the while.

“One of you left, who isn’t talking. How convenient.” DCI Reid heaved an unimpressed sigh, lapping up this ironic timing. “Was this the first shipment you guys have worked on?”

“You’ll go to jail for a long time if you don’t help us out, Flynn. Talk to us. I don’t believe you would do something like this without reason to. I saw the hesitation you had when handling the gun.” McCall filled him with her faith, reaching out to touch his hand gently. He flinched at first, scared out of his wits. “It’s okay, Flynn. I won’t hurt you.”

“I-It was our first,” he finally gulped. “There’s been more, by others too.”

“Who are these others?” I wondered.

“I don’t know. They’re just- just rumours.” He clamped his nervous eyes shut. “We received the-the drugs on our side of the borders, by people in balaclavas. They gave us the guns too. We didn’t see their faces.”

“So all you had to do was transport them from the borders onwards.” I nodded to nobody in particular.

“There are different people for different things. Our--” He took a deep breath. “Our job was to transport them to the bay.” Flynn was starting to become like he was all those years ago: loose-lipped.

“And sell them where?” DCI Reid pressed, his shirt buttons gaping as a result of his bulging stomach.

“I don’t know. We didn’t get that far. They were going to tell us once they were sure that the drugs were safely here. We were given a time to receive a call from them, at a specific phone box,” he explained, jumping when a trolley was pushed by the door and the wheel squeaked.

“And that’s when we caught you,” McCall finished up so Flynn didn’t have to. Her bright disposition contrasted with Flynn’s gloomy one.

“Yeah.”

We descended into silence, thinking about the information we were armed with. Overall, it wasn’t entirely useful. We still didn’t know anything else.

“How did you get involved in this?” I asked to break the silence. “The other two you were with didn't seem like your sort of people. Or what I thought were your sort of people. Then again, it seems we don’t know you all that well.”

Flynn had clammed up again, but I wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Flynn?” McCall tapped his hand softly.

“They offered me money,” Flynn objected, breathlessly. “I was told they’d pay me lots of it.” His eyes flicked to the left shiftily. There was something he wasn’t telling us.

“How did they offer it