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

head to toe in crushed velvet suits with polished, golden instruments.

Classy was the word I searched for, something I wasn't familiar with.

“Expensive taste,” I noted and had to shout over the music for Abbey to even hear. “But then again, he’ll have money to spare now.”

The noise was overpowering from the conversational crowds and a box was suddenly thrust under our noses. A constable rattled the tin of money around pointedly. “All donations required, it’s all being given towards police funding. New equipment, yadda, yadda…” The constable listed all the reasonings off, seeming increasingly bored with his talk and staring wistfully at the bar.

“Uh, right.” I dug deep into my pockets, finding a couple of pounds to spare for both me and Abbey alike.

“Robbing thieves, aren’t they?” Someone attracted us from behind after the donations officer had stalked to harass some other new arrivals. “I spend enough time and money in that place without them stealing more.” We spun around simultaneously to see Cillian shaking his head, a pint in his hand.

For a posh event, he hadn’t bothered to get himself dolled up too much. He’d changed into a different brown suit that was identical to his office one, which clashed awfully with his brunette mop of hair. He must’ve attempted a new style, for pieces and strands stuck up randomly in alternate directions. It didn’t seem to bother him much.

“M’lady,” Cillian bowed to Abbey. He took her hand and kissed it passionately on purpose.

“Lay off it, Cillian.” I batted him away lightly. “It is a charity event. That usually entails spending a bit of money.”

“Eh, calm down, Sir. It’s just a joke,” he said cooly, trying to act suave in front of our female company. He failed miserably.

“It’s always a joke with you, Cillian.” Abbey nudged my ribs with a pointed elbow, telling me to be on my best behaviour.

“Are you having a good time?” I rectified myself, and Cillian seemed glad that I’d spoken to him pleasantly. It was an unusual occurrence between us two.

“Yeah. It’s alright, I suppose. Where there’s beer, it’s always lively.” Whilst we were speaking, Cillian kept glancing elsewhere. Following his wistful stare, it led straight to Rebecca. She was already dancing with a random partner, golden dress shimmering as they twirled around lightheartedly.

“You like her?” I made light conversation.

“No,” he denied it and sipped the foamed beer. He was one of the few people there with a pint.

“Yes, you do,” Abbey chimed in. “I can tell.”

“If you tell any of the team, I swear--” Cillian struggled to think of a decent threat. Though a childish sod sometimes, there was a timid man behind the light-hearted facade. “It’s private.”

“They already know.” I chuckled at the horrified expression he gave.

“My beer’s empty,” he announced, even though it was only half empty. “Excuse me, Sir. Miss.” Cillian scarpered away and disappeared into the crowd.

“That’s one way to get rid of him quickly.” Abbey raised her eyebrows and swiped a glass of champagne from the waiters passing by and carrying flutes on their silver trays. “Still, he was on his best behaviour.”

“It’s probably the alcohol. He’ll be back to his normal self next week.” I accepted a glass too and inspected the crowds wandering and circulating the large hall. “Plus, this isn’t a time to hang out with the team. They may be relaxing tonight, but we’ve got serious work to do.”

“You’re a mean one, Mr Cooper.” Abbey inhaled sharply. “If it wasn’t for my intervention, you probably would’ve offended Cillian. What did you do before you met me in social situations like these?”

“I stayed home,” I admitted, feeling the champagne bubbles fizz in my nose.

“Ah.” She’d already swigged the entire glass.

“Abbey,” I gave her empty glass away to a woman waiting to clean them, “I need you to be at least semi-conscious when we find DCI Reid.”

“Relax a bit. It’s all part of the plan to blend in. Nobody comes to a gala completely sober. Plus, I needed some Dutch courage,” she explained, and I had to admit that sounded like the best plan to cure my jittering nerves.

“I think we’ll both need some Dutch courage to get through this,” I grimaced at the taste of mine, for champagne wasn’t my favourite.

There was a strange scent in the air, of mixed alcohol and an almost tangible mix of excitement with uncertainty. The officers of the stations were enjoying themselves, yet weren’t sure how to approach the whole formality a gala entailed.

Dora spotted us, seated at a table where she sat chattering to some poor men who were trying to escape whenever they could. She gave a bright wave before returning to her accomplices, either conning them out of their spare change or persuading them to bet on her winning horses. It took a while for me to realize the superintendent and his wife were actually in discussion with her too, and it appeared quite an energetic conversation.

“Well, I never,” I muttered under my breath.

Abbey still heard and saw who I was looking at. “Who are they?”

“That’s Dora. Skipper. She appears to have charmed the superintendent somehow. She’s certainly a firecracker.”

They all sipped from wine glasses, merry already. The superintendent tapped his beat to the rhythm of the steady beat, wizened features haggard in the mood lighting. Their table erupted into raucous cackles at a crude joke Skipper most likely told.

“They’re very lively,” Abbey commented. Choking on a gassy bubble, she had to slap my back to help ease the coughing. “Smooth.”

Setting the champagne flute firmly down, the dry liquid penetrated my tongue. Why anyone would opt for champagne on the daily was beyond me?

“So, where’s DCI Reid then?” She peered among the throng of constables.

“I’m not sure,” I truthfully admitted as we crossed by the bar and closer towards the stage. Patting Abbey’s shoulder, I led her through the flocks by the small of her back.

As the masses parted, the rounded DCI and his extravagant wife could be seen by a few steps to the side