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

stronger skills. “Which is why I know you’ll take pity on me. Our DCI wants a more detailed report. Otherwise, our investigation will come to a standstill. We don’t have time for that.” Obviously, I’d had no clearance of the sort, but the guard didn’t need to know that. “If I don’t get this report, uh. What’s your name, sir?”

The guard shuffled on the spot, starting to melt at my innocent act. “Simon, ma’am.”

“Simon, if I don’t get this report, I’ll be getting one of those very… special punishments.” I slyly crossed my fingers as Simon didn’t seem utterly convinced just yet. It was time for the driving force of the bargain, to stab the knife a bit deeper into the open wound.

“Tell you what, Simon,” I leant in and whispered, throwing a wink for good measure. “You stop me from getting a bollocking, and I’ll give a good word to your superiors, aye?”

Simon paused and scratched his bicep. The cogs in his brain were practically whirring aloud.

“Fine.” He finally gave in and checked over his shoulders to make sure nobody was listening. “Go ahead, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Simon.”

I’d escaped with ease into Flynn’s room, where the atmosphere changed into a tense blanket of fear, as cold as ice. Flynn hadn’t stopped whimpering, and it was hard to tell whether he was asleep or crying. A pang of guilt struck inside that we’d left him alone like this.

“Flynn?” I whispered and seated myself onto the same visitor's chair as that morning. He flinched but stayed silent, breathing steadily through those funny shaped lips.

“Flynn,” I repeated louder. Surely I couldn’t be ignored for much longer. “It's me, DS McCall. Kirsty, if you’d prefer. We came to see you earlier, remember? I came to check in on you, see how you were coping with… all this.” I coaxed in a gentle voice so he’d know I wasn’t there to intimidate. “You didn’t talk much earlier. You’re in shock, that much is evident.”

Flynn’s chest rose and fell in a jagged pattern, but something said that he was listening.

“It must’ve been frightening when you got out of the van to see all of us there,” I recalled. It would’ve been intimidating for anyone, criminal or not.

My aim for this interaction was to appeal to Flynn as a human being, rather than a criminal. To play on his emotions, find out why he’d got involved in the sticky situation. I was doing things my way, without interruption.

“I don’t blame you, Flynn. You were frightened,” I admitted. “The other two I didn’t know that well, but you were different. I thought I knew you better than that. You were the last person we expected to see with a gun in your hands.”

He flinched.

“It’s just me now. We understand each other, don’t we?” I waited. “Don’t we, Flynn?” I scrambled to locate his hand like before and squeezed it tightly.

Flynn didn’t fight against it anymore, he interlinked his finger with mine.

“Why, Flynn? You mentioned that your daughter would be able to see you in prison, but she saw you every day before you got into this mess. At home, with your beautiful wife. Why didn’t you stay out of it?”

The mention of Flynn’s family made a choked sob heave against his chest.

“Cry if you want to, Flynn. It’s only me. I’m not here to judge, only to understand.” The sweat on our palms was evident.

“Are we completely alone?” Flynn twitched and cried, as though plagued by memories.

“Alone,” I confirmed. “Only me and you. Nothing pressured or serious. I wanted to talk as equals. As someone who I could help out before, I want to see what I can do now.”

“No one else is here?” Flynn checked twice, suspicious of my confirmation. From the beams of corridor lighting coming through the glass pane, I could see wet tears sliding and dropping onto his chest.

“Nobody,” I affirmed. “In fact, I’ll let you into a little secret. I’m not supposed to be talking to you.”

That made him interested, and Flynn finally made subtle eye contact. “Why?”

“Because everyone is convinced that you were behind the crime,” I spoke honestly.

“Do you?” he whispered, mouth hanging agape. Talking was a start. Hopefully, this was working.

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully, relaxing into the seat, convinced this would be a long night. “You’re a wreck. You shake whenever authority is in the room, you’re awfully fond of your daughter, and I don’t believe you’d willingly do anything to jeopardize that relationship or bond with her.” Pouring him a glass of chilled water, I continued to talk in the shadows. “You’re not the greatest when it comes to crime, Flynn, especially after your track record. Here.”

Taking a satisfied gulp, Flynn slowly but surely began to perk up. In the sense that I was finally getting some sense from the man.

“Did someone threaten you into transporting the drugs?” The air was stifling hot in here. The rooms should at least install decent air conditioning. “You changed the subject earlier.”

Flynn checked left and right with uncertainty. His dodgy lip wavered, dry and bitten to shreds.

“Tell me, Flynn. I can help you,” I promised.

Flynn’s jaw jutted out, a telltale sign that he was going to cry again. Hot tears spilt from the crevices in his eyes, a dozen times over. It was as though all of his fear, humiliation, pain, and anger overflowed all at once. It created an epiphany of release.

“Shhh,” I coaxed and stroked his clammy forehead softly, as a mother would. Flynn warmed to the idea of someone caring for him. Caring about him. Nobody had since the shootings.

“They killed them, and now they’re after me too,” Flynn wept, glowing from a light sheen of sweat and adrenaline.

“Who?” I urged for something more to work with and gripped the armrests tensely.

“They said they’d hurt my daughter if I didn’t get involved. They threatened to take her away from us. To hurt her on purpose, to get to us.” The grown man crumpled like a rag doll.

It