Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Sliding into the passenger seat, Flynn caught the amused twitch of Sergeant Proctor’s eyebrows, but there really wasn’t time to have a conversation about his love life.
Plus, for all the sergeant knew, he and Lily were just hanging out as friends.
It wasn’t as though it was the middle of the night or anything.
They could have had dinner and watched TV.
“A burglary?” he asked, pulling his seatbelt around him. “Are you serious?”
“That’s what dispatch said.”
“It was a 999 call?”
The sergeant didn’t slow at the junction. “We get them now and again.”
“You’ve said that before, but I’ve been here for six months and I don’t recall any others. It’s definitely the first burglary. I’d almost forgotten that was a thing.”
The sergeant put his foot down on the long stretch of road bordered by fields and hedges. “It’s not usually a thing around here. Thefts of any kind are rare since it’s so difficult to get away with. It’s hard to get stolen goods off the island.”
Flynn braced against the dashboard as the sergeant took a corner at speed.
“According to the woman who called, she disturbed them and they ran. She thought they left on foot, so there’s a chance they didn’t get far. Especially running in the dark.”
“It feels weird without my uniform,” Flynn said.
“There was no time to stop.” The sergeant kept his focus on the road. “Do me a favour, though, and at least put your T-shirt on the right way before we get there.”
Flynn grimaced as his gaze flicked to his chest, but he waited until they arrived at the house before pulling it off and turning it the right way.
“Your kit is on the back seat,” the sarge said, stepping out of the car. “Do a sweep of the outside while I speak to the owner.”
“On it,” Flynn said, grabbing his radio and his belt. He switched on his torch and swept the beam over the surrounding area before striding around the side of the lone cottage to search the garden.
Only a minute passed before the sergeant came on the radio, relaying the information from the homeowner that the thief had taken off on the road heading north.
Flynn told him he’d drive in that direction to look, but he wasn’t optimistic about catching them given the cover of darkness and the fact that they had a head start.
Half a mile up the road, a figure sitting on the wall had him slowing to a stop.
The young, shaggy-haired guy didn’t move when Flynn stepped out of the car. In the open, noise from a nearby house caught his attention, and his gaze roamed beyond the guy to the glow of a bonfire at the back of a large house.
“What are you doing sitting out here in the dark?” he asked, shining his torch beam beside the guy to illuminate him.
He squinted against the glare. “I saw flashing lights.” He tipped his head the way Flynn had come. “Wondered what was going on.”
“Do you live here?”
He shook his head. “Just visiting.”
“But you’re staying here?”
He turned, pointing over his left shoulder. When Flynn moved the beam of the torch, it landed on a small tent at the far end of the field.
“Do you know the people having a party?”
“It’s an artist’s retreat. They’re staying in the house. I just prefer to be out in the open.”
“Have you seen anyone around here this evening who shouldn’t be here?”
He shook his head. “Are you a copper?”
“Yeah.” Flynn frowned at the odd question before remembering he wasn’t in uniform. Pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, he held out his ID to show he wasn’t merely out joyriding in a police car. “PC Grainger,” he said. “You are?”
“Silas.” He paused before offering his last name. “Thorn.”
“You haven’t seen anything unusual this evening?”
“No, why?”
“I’m going to speak to the rest of your group.” He hopped over the wall to take a direct route rather than continuing to the driveway. “Come with me, please.” Striding through the grass, he reached for his radio and told the sergeant he was having a quick chat with the neighbours.
The wind changed as he approached, sending smoke from the bonfire rushing at him.
It also carried the out-of-tune voice of the woman swaying beside the bonfire with a guitar in her hands.
Apparently she kept forgetting the words but kept up a steady stream of strumming and giggling with the odd line of lyrics thrown in.
“Silas!” she said, pausing her singing but continuing with swinging her hips so her flowing white skirt swished around her legs. “Did you find a friend?”
Silas ignored the question and took a seat on a sturdy log beside a smiley middle-aged woman.
Flynn held out his ID, which got everyone’s attention. “PC Grainger,” he said.
“Did he really call the police on us for having a tiny little party?” The singing lady set her guitar aside and spluttered a laugh.
“He’s such a grump.” She swung around to a man with a neatly trimmed silver beard and flat cap, lounging in a deck chair.
“Didn’t I tell you, Roland? I said he was looking murderous when he left earlier.
I’ll bet he claims it was the neighbours who complained about the noise, and not him. ”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the man replied. “There are no neighbours to complain.”
“Nobody made a complaint,” Flynn said. “There was an incident down the road, and I wanted to ask if you’d seen anything suspicious or anything out of the ordinary.”
“What kind of incident?” the lady beside Silas asked, running a hand over her frizzy blond curls.
“A break in.”
“We haven’t seen anyone all evening,” the guitar lady said.
“I’m Saffron, by the way.” She stepped forward and offered her hand.
“This is Roland…” She tipped her head towards the man in the deckchair and then at the two people seated on the log.
“That’s Martha and Silas. Best of friends, we are!
” She shrieked with laughter and finally released Flynn’s hand.
“We actually just met a week ago, but we’ve bonded over our common enemy.
” She lowered her voice and leaned close enough that the bulky string of beads around her neck whacked against Flynn’s chest. “Gideon runs the retreat, and he’s a little set in his ways. ”
“Is he here too?” Flynn asked.
“Inside,” Roland said, pushing his cap up. “He told us not to stay up late – as though we’re a bunch of kids.”
“He’s not so bad,” Martha said. “He’s a very talented artist. We’re lucky to learn from him.” Her eyes met Flynn’s. “Are the police here always so casually dressed?”
“No.” He forced a smile. “Not usually. So there’s nothing you can tell me? You haven’t noticed any suspicious activity?”
“No.” Saffron ran her finger over his upper arm. “And it’s ever-so-quiet around here. If someone had come past, we’d have noticed.” The scent of wine on her breath and the intrusion on his personal space had him taking a step back.
“If you think of anything, or see anything odd, please call the station.” Annoyingly, he didn’t have a business card to leave, but they could look the number up if need be. “And make sure you lock the doors when you go to bed.”
“We can continue the party, though?” Saffron asked.
Flynn nodded. “Just keep an eye out for anything unusual.”
“Want to stay and join us?” When Saffron ran a hand down his arm, he took yet another step back.
“I’m working,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
As he retreated to the road, Silas slunk away from the fire, wandering through the field and back to his tent. Saffron picked up her guitar again and continued with her dubious melody.
Flynn’s radio crackled to life when he reached the car – the sergeant asking where he was.
He told him he was on his way and turned around in the driveway ahead.