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

“You’re joking, aye? Seeing lovey-dovey youngsters holding hands all day long and gushing all over each other? Wait until they see what marriage is really like. They’ll be begging for my help then,” the elderly woman said without mercy, lumps of fat poking out from the waistband of her trousers. Her wiry brunette hair was missing in some places, her hairline slowly receding. “Although it was more peaceful than here. I’ve had men shoving paint pots all over the place and leaving cups on my desk. Look at all the tea rings.”

“I know,” I dryly agreed. “They’re everywhere.”

She spun around in disapproval, wiping the desk down pointedly. “I’ve just cleaned all of this, Cooper, from those messy buggers,” she shouted over a whirring drill. “I told them my desk is available to three types of people: new arrivals, officers and Colin Firth whenever he’s available. Not for sodding men with their cracks hanging out every time they bend over!” She raised an eyebrow towards one of the prime examples.

“Oi,” she shouted towards the poor, unexpected painter. “Not in my station. Pull it up.”

I grinned with gusto at her sparkiness and inability to filter her words. Dora could outwit and replace anyone of the guys on our CID team, but the trouble is, she didn’t want to.

“What are you doing here anyway, Cooper?” She threw me a knowing glance. I didn’t know her age exactly, but she could get away with anything between twenty-five and fifty-five.

“Where are your manners, Skip? It’s DI Cooper. I didn’t pass my exams for nothing, and I’ve got a twenty-pound note, so spit it out,” I urged from low-key excitement. Dora was blessed with regard to horse racing. Whoever she predicted or heard would be rumoured to win usually did. If, and when, we won, I’d buy her lunch with some of my latest winnings. It was a small price to pay.

Dora glanced around to check that nobody could hear. There were only a few locals waiting for appointments, so she leaned in closer.

“There’s only one thing on everyone’s lips. Purple Haze,” she revealed with a pout.

“Purple Haze? Never heard of ‘em,” I said truthfully.

“I had my doubts too,” Dora replied, acting all hush, hush. “Insiders knowledge,” she tapped her large nose twice.

“Put twenty down for me,” I whipped out a note, sliding it over for her to receive.

“Of course.” Dora sneakily folded up the money, not that anybody was paying much attention to our interaction. “Oh, whilst you’re here. I thought you’d want to see this.”

“What is it?” I began but was soon confronted with a giant newspaper, printed in black and white. On the front page was a picture of the police vehicles that were on the scene, and I groaned. “Keep it. I’d rather not know and live in ignorance.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” She shrugged and shamelessly read it herself.

“I’ll leave you to it, things to do.” I paced towards CID, waving goodbye to the firecracker of a woman. She was too invested in the paper to hear or care. I took it upon myself to grab a quick snack whilst en route, saving myself from the inevitable starvation the day was likely to bring.

When I got to CID at last, everyone stared at the arrival.

“Finally you made it, Cooper.” DCI Reid sat idly in the main hub on Tony’s empty desk. “We were beginning to think you got lost.” They appeared to be having a debriefing of sorts.

“Sorry.” My voice was muffled from the snack. “Where’s Tony and--” I searched the room. Someone else was gone, for it seemed awfully quiet. “Cillian?”

“We traced the van back to its origin, or where the criminals found it at least,” DC Taylor got involved, typing away at his computer keyboard frantically. “It was found at a local scrapyard which would explain why nobody was looking for it. Cillian and Tony are out there, taking a peek around to see if there’s anything that stands out.” He didn’t even take his concentration away from the screen.

“Nothing, I can imagine,” DCI Reid shared.

“Me either,” DC Taylor pressed enter, “but no stones unturned.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” McCall noted as she peered over his shoulder, reading the screen interestedly.

The office atmosphere was dull without the others, for both DC Taylor and Rebecca were workaholics. She was too busy writing at speed, hoping just to get the robbery files out of the way.

“Well, it’s not much of a debriefing now, but…” DCI Reid paused, straightening his hunched posture. I was worried that Tony’s desk may snap if he shuffled around a second time. “This morning, before the hospital visit, I got the forensic files back. We’ve got all the evidence we need on paper, so I ordered for uniform officers to take the drugs away to be destroyed. A load like that would call all the criminals if left there.”

“Ok, so now what?” McCall asked a viable question. “A scrapyard car, forensics are back, two dead, and we’ve talked to Flynn. Where do we go from here?”

DCI Reid didn't seem to have much idea either.

Luckily, DC Taylor was on the ball. We were all a bit slow around lunchtime, it often happened when we were hungry. Hangry is probably a better term to use.

“We could talk to Michael. He’ll be out tonight.” He tapped rhythmically, making music with his thumbs.

“Who’s Michael?” DCI Reid wondered.

9

Michael was a homeless man who often resided under the bypass. Despite our offers to get him help, he always refused politely. He was an ex-gambler but always had time for us. It was the company he enjoyed, I supposed. In return, we would get information about the word on the street.

During his long, restless nights, addicts often passed by, and he’d give us names of the most notorious dealers around. If there was anyone who’d know about these new suppliers and the loads that came with them, it was him.

I’d offered to go at it alone, whilst the rest of the team