Chapter 23 Birdy
BIRDY
“I finally found you,” I say, stepping inside the police station.
“It’s you,” Carter replies, his face a pretty picture of shock.
It’s been a while since we last met. I’m impressed he remembers me.
Carter is alone and sitting behind a desk that looks too big for him.
He is listening to what looks like an old Walkman with his feet up on the desk.
I notice how neat and tidy it is, just like the man himself.
His uniform is pristine and his hair looks as though he just combed it.
His expression is one of surprise and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
The first and last time I saw him was six months ago, but he looks different.
Tired. Older. Hopefully none the wiser. I remember how we stood side by side standing over my grandmother’s grave, while he told me why she was known as the woman who died twice.
Then he walked me home and we had sex. He would have stayed the night if I hadn’t asked him to leave.
I’m guessing he didn’t expect to see me again after that, which might explain his expression.
His face looks like he just drank a pint of piss.
“You remember me, then?” I ask, stepping inside the station and closing the door behind me.
Carter pulls off his headphones and removes his feet from the desk.
He stares at me, then at Sunday, as though he might be afraid of us both, which is just silly.
I’m aware that I am an acquired taste, but my dog is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
I give Carter a moment to get over the shock of seeing me, and take in my surroundings.
The station used to be a fisherman’s cottage and it still looks like one.
“Of course I remember you,” Carter says eventually, as though his pause button has been released. He sounds unsure and I raise an eyebrow. “Mrs. Bird’s granddaughter,” he adds as though trying to prove it.
He can’t even remember my name.
Carter’s cheeks turn a surprisingly vibrant shade of red—he clearly remembers some of the things we did that night—and I feel a tad sorry for him.
He’s a good ten years younger than me, perhaps not the sharpest knife in the drawer, and I’m aware that he didn’t know what—or who—he was getting himself into when he knocked on my door that night.
I don’t understand why he looks so guilty when he’s got no reason to be.
It isn’t as though he could have called me even if he had wanted to; I never gave him my number.
Maybe I hurt his feelings and he’s still upset about it, even if the silly twit can’t remember my name.
“You can call me Birdy,” I say, putting one of the coffees I just bought on his desk. He stares at it. Then at me. He doesn’t touch the drink. He looks horribly young to me today, almost childlike.
I wonder if I look dreadfully old to him.
Carter squirms in his seat. “I’m afraid things are a little busy around here today—”
“In Hope Falls?”
“Strangely, yes.”
“Did someone steal a fishing net?” I thought that was funny but he doesn’t laugh. “Look, I’m sorry to burst in here out of the blue, but I wanted to talk to you—”
“And normally I would love to catch up with…”
“An old friend?” I suggest, trying to help him out.
“Exactly. It’s just that now is not a good time. I’m very—”
“Busy? In this sleepy village where you said nothing ever happens?”
“A woman is missing,” he says as though trying to impress me.
“It’s almost always the husband,” I remind him. Then I take a sip of my coffee and perch on the edge of Carter’s desk. He looks appalled and stares at me as though I might be dangerously stupid. Dangerous, yes. Stupid, never.
“Sorry, but I don’t have time to catch up today,” he says, standing and stepping away from the desk I am sitting on. He grabs his coat from the stand. “There is a new detective in town—they picked one hell of a first day—and I’m heading out to meet them now. So you’ll have to excuse me—”
“Before you go, there is something I need to confess,” I tell him, and his eyes dart to my stomach.
“I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re thinking,” I say, unable to hide the horror of such a thought from my voice.
He breathes a visible sigh of relief and I can’t help feeling insulted.
Carter’s patience has clearly expired and he heads toward the door.
“I don’t have time for this, whatever this is—”
“It was you who put the idea in my head,” I say.
“What idea? Could we perhaps do this another time? I can’t be late meeting the new detective.”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You already have.”
It takes so long for the penny to drop I’m surprised he passed the entrance exam.
His mouth forms a perfect O and opens and closes like a goldfish.
I almost feel sorry for him.
Almost.
“You can still call me Birdy, but officially it’s DCI Olivia Bird. I’m your new boss.”