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

Ryan was taken straight into the ambulance, needing sharpish patching up on the shoulder. Robin and Sam were covered up with sheets and lifted away on stretchers instantly. All that was left behind of them were the bloodstains on the road.

I rolled my shoulder back, for they’d been tense throughout the entire scene. My jaw ached from clenching too hard. “This’ll be the front page news of tomorrow’s papers.” Truth is, I didn’t know what to say.

“Forget tomorrow. They’ll be out tonight,” McCall agreed.

DCI Reid was already stepping out from behind the cars, ordering us CID lot to follow suit. “It won't be pleasant. Two local boys died on the street,” he added, his booming voice cutting through the chatter that erupted from all over. “All our names will be dragged through the mud.”

As the uniformed officers started to bundle Flynn into their police transport, a hospital worker stopped them. We could just about make out the conversation between them.

“He’ll need medical attention first. He’s in visible shock. I’d suggest he stays in hospital for a few days. There are some nasty cuts on his body too,” the hospital worker informed and scoured Flynn’s bare skin face. Judging by the way Flynn stuttered, he wouldn’t be able to talk properly, anyway. Taking him to hospital was probably the best course of action.

“Well, there we are then.” DCI Reid sniffed his flaring nostrils, examining the hectic scene. Armed response was packing up, barely showing any indifference to what had happened. This was their job, they saw these situations on the daily. The man who had communicated in the megaphone saluted towards DCI Reid, suggesting the rest was up to us.

“Let’s get to work.”

2

We stepped over the pools of blood respectfully, but also to keep our shoes clean. The superintendent wouldn’t be impressed if we trod the substance into the station carpets. The uniformed officers stood out of the way, letting us get on with our work.

They were our guys. We’d searched for them too long to let the others have all the fun. I yanked open the back doors of the beaten-up turquoise van. We all covered our noses in disgust at the pure stench that came out.

“Urgh,” McCall retched at the strength of it all. It penetrated through my shirt, and I was concerned my skin would start to stain from the ugly stench.

“Definitely them, no doubt about it.” DC Taylor plugged his nose too. It was rare seeing him out of the office. Usually, the lean constable preferred some behind-the-scenes work. Our newest recruit, Rebecca, had been the unfortunate one to stay behind at the office. Along with Tony, they were elected to fill out a bunch of monotonous reports which needed doing. They could be trusted on their own.

We’d had a rapid decrease to our team since DCI Campbell’s retirement a year ago. A few constables had left too, leaving us with a smaller team than we were used to. It had given us a chance to bond, and it all worked out quite nicely in the end.

“Cocaine, by the looks of things,” DCI Reid stooped and stuffed his plumper figure into the back of the van to sift through. I rounded the corner to observe the load next to McCall. Our van was stuffed to the brim with white powders, enough to last anyone years. Nobody would have suspected that the plain van on the outside contained a wealth of illegal drugs inside.

I glanced around to where a crowd of reporters were still trying to break past the physical barrier of PCs. They flashed their cameras over the PC’s shoulders, in hopes of capturing anything they could. At this rate, we’d all be blinded soon. It seemed that the local news reporters were filming too, their microphones pointed towards the uniformed officers for statements of some capacity.

“I can barely think over all their noise,” I grumbled, feeling an easy headache coming on. McCall noticed straightaway, knowing me all too well. She passed over a clear plastic bottle, full of water that had gone warm.

“Take some,” she urged. “I always bring one with me these days, I never know if you’ll get a funny turn somewhere.”

“Cheers.” The water went down my throat smoothly.

“Dehydration is what causes headaches, you know. Keep it,” McCall informed me, and brought our attention back to the evidence. “It’s a massive shipment. Wonder where it all came from.”

“A foreign country probably, hence the tightening of our borders. They wouldn’t be the first. There’s money here, and a lot of it too.” DCI Reid heaved himself out again, a wad of currency notes clutched in one fist.

I whistled in amazement. They were in Scottish pounds.

“Looks like they’ve already sold a load of this stuff.” DC Taylor suggested, huge eyes widened at the sheer amount of cash there.

“They’ve probably transported a few other shipments past the border recently and sold them to some dealers already. They’ve made a pretty penny in doing so.” DCI Reid flicked through the wad, trying to count it all.

“What on Earth would anyone spend all that on? It could last an entire lifetime,” McCall continued, unable to look away from the printed notes.

Until now, Cillian had stayed uncharacteristically quiet. Usually, he could be a tad erratic and excitable, but so far I’d been impressed with his ability to act sensibly when the time had called for it.

“Foreign strippers,” Cillian announced with finality, certain he was correct.

I spoke too soon. Only when we stared in confusion did Cillian feel a need to elaborate.

“Foreign money and lots of it! What else do these types of guys do on holiday?”

“Anyway,” I shook my head in disbelief. “Robin, Sam, and Flynn. What an odd trio.” It’s true. They were.

“Like Laurel, Hardy and,” Cillian screwed his youthful face in thought. If he tried any harder, he’d burst a blood vessel. “The other one.”

The analogy was crap, but I understood the effect he was going for.

“They do make a random group.