Chapter 54 Carter
CARTER
I don’t know how I let this happen. DCI Bird being in the same room as my wife was more than just uncomfortable.
I am not looking forward to seeing Harrison Woolf again either.
I know too much about him now, and I worry about him knowing too much about me.
Sometimes it is better to fly under the radar of people who think they are powerful; they can be even more dangerous than powerful people.
Dinner with my boss and my wife was a disaster, and I feel nothing but relief when Jane starts clearing our plates from the table.
“That was delicious, thank you,” Bird lies.
“We’re going out for a bit,” I tell Jane.
“Are you two going to join the Day of the Dead parade?” she asks.
“Yes,” Bird replies before I can answer. “Can’t wait.”
I’m glad she doesn’t tell her we’re working. I’m already in the doghouse for “working late” last night.
“The parade will be fun! I’m jealous I can’t join you—I would if it weren’t for the lil’un upstairs—it was lovely to meet you,” Jane says.
“Likewise.”
“Won’t be late,” I tell her as we head out the door.
The festival is well underway, and the torchlit procession through the village is approaching my house just as we leave.
It’s quite something to see and we join the crowd, weaving our way through a sea of people in fancy dress.
As is tradition, the majority are wearing skeleton costumes with elaborate face paint or masks, but there are a few smugglers, and a couple of mermaids too.
Most festivalgoers look like they’ve had a drink or three already, and with almost all of them carrying a flaming torch, it looks like a scene from a horror film.
When we pass The Smuggler’s Inn I’m surprised to see the pub is in darkness.
It’s normally the busiest night of the year.
“Why is the pub closed so early?” Bird asks, shouting to be heard above the merry mob making their way along the street.
“Not sure. Might text Maddy, check she’s okay,” I reply, before sending a quick message to my sister.
“Maybe she’s in the crowd, you’d never know,” Bird says.
She’s right—everyone is in costume and most people are wearing masks.
When the rest of the procession snakes around the street toward the coast path, the two of us take the lane that leads up the hill to Spyglass instead.
I feel anxious for so many reasons when we reach Harrison’s house, and I stop on the lane a short distance away before going in.
The lights are on. I’m sure he’s inside.
“What’s wrong?” Bird asks.
“That’s Mary’s car,” I tell her, staring at the red Mini parked on the driveway.
“You’re sure?”
“She almost ran me over with it earlier, so yes.”
But now that we’re here I’m feeling unsure about everything. What if my theories about all of this are as crazy as they sound?
Why would a man pretend that a woman was his wife if she wasn’t?
“And seeing her car here, parked outside Spyglass…” I say.
“What? Spit it out.”
“Well, your grandmother’s carer—the one nobody ever saw—always parked a red Mini outside this house. That’s how I knew someone was here taking care of old Mrs. Bird.”
“You think Mary used to be my grandmother’s live-in carer and now works at The Manor looking after the new owner of Spyglass’s daughter? That would be a bit of a mad coincidence.”
“There’s no such thing. You taught me that.”
Before she can answer, the front door swings open and Diana Harris from the art gallery strolls out. The door closes behind her, and she smiles to herself as she walks toward us. We’re standing in the shadows and she doesn’t see us straight away.
“Oh my goodness, you scared me!” she says when she does. “Why are you here?”
“We could ask you the same question,” I say.
“Have they confirmed the body was Eden? That poor man. I just dropped off one of my special homemade casseroles. Perhaps I should stay? Be on hand to offer him some comfort after you have broken the news? A man like that shouldn’t be on his own at a time like this.”
“That’s very thoughtful, but we don’t know for sure that the body is Eden yet.”
Mrs. Harris barely hides her disappointment.
“That lovely man has been through so much. I just wanted to let him know that I—we—are all here for him if there is anything he needs. Anything at all.”
“We’ve got this, Mrs. Harris, but thank you,” Bird says. “You have a good night now.” She waits until Diana takes the hint and has waddled away down the lane and out of earshot before adding, “That’s right, off you fuck.”
“Are you sure we should be doing this?” I whisper when we reach the front door with its fox-head knocker.
I used to hate the fact that nothing ever happened in Hope Falls, now I wish it never had.
I miss the quiet life. “What if I’m wrong?
Harrison Woolf is a powerful man. He already tried to have me fired—”
“Tried and failed and poppycock. You can’t be afraid of people like him.
Nobody is above the law, I don’t care how rich or successful they are.
After what you’ve shown me tonight, I think we can safely say that Harrison has been lying from the start.
Why a person lies is almost always more interesting than the lie itself.
That’s what we need to find out now. Why.
This is the right thing to do and you did good, I’m proud of you,” she says.
It feels like my favorite teacher gave me a gold star. It’s also the first kind thing she has said to me, which might be why it sounds strange. Like when people take the time to learn a foreign language but mess up the accent.
“Thank you, DCI Bird. That means a lot to me.”
“Call me Birdy, for god’s sake, and don’t start getting sentimental. Let’s get the job done and arrest this fucker,” she says, sounding far more like herself.
The door opens almost as soon as she knocks on it.
“I thought he was suspended,” Harrison says when he sees us standing there. He looks at me as though I were a piece of shit on his handmade shoe.
“Can we come in?” Bird asks.
“This isn’t a good time.”
“I noticed the extra car on the driveway. Bit late for visitors.”
They appear to have a silent staring contest, but Harrison is the first to look away.
“Perhaps it’s best if you speak to my solicitor from now on,” he says.
“I think it might be better, for you, if we came inside. We know that someone called Mary Kendall was impersonating your wife. We know she works as a care assistant at The Manor where your daughter lives. And we know you went along with it. Sergeant Carter has uncovered a sufficient amount of evidence to arrest you. We can talk inside the house or we can take you to the station, your call,” Bird says and he stares at her without saying anything.
As though he is buying some time. Thinking. Amending his plans.
“Have it your way,” he says to her, then turns to me. “For the record, you’re wrong. About everything. But you’d better come in.”
A voice inside my head screams not to. Everything about this situation feels off.
One minute Harrison is insisting we speak to his solicitor, then he just invites us into the house?
This doesn’t feel right. Or sensible. Or safe.
But I don’t know how to tell Bird that without sounding like a wimp.
I think I’ve finally earned her respect; I don’t want to lose it now.
We follow Harrison down the dimly lit hall toward the kitchen at the back of the house, and I wonder why the lights are turned down so low.
Spyglass feels cold and damp tonight, as if the heating has been switched off, as though nobody really lives here.
Bird walks ahead of me and I feel bad about all the lies I have told her.
I used to hate this house, but now I realize I just hated the woman who owned it.
Bird’s grandmother, the woman who died twice, ruined my family’s life when she decided to sell the pub.
She owned both properties—Spyglass and The Smuggler’s Inn had been in her family for over a century.
Just the luck of being born rich rather than a result of any hard work on her part.
There have always been rumors that the Bird family arrived in this village at the same time the Serendipity washed up on Blackwater Bay, and that all their wealth was a result of stolen gold.
That woman never worked a day in her life, and her greed cost my family everything.
Nothing has been the same since.
When Mum was diagnosed with cancer, I was convinced she got ill as a result of the stress of losing her home and her business.
Old Mrs. Bird said she was forced to sell the pub to the brewery to pay for her live-in carer.
She told my parents, via her solicitor, that she had run out of money, and that she had to sell Spyglass or the pub to pay for her care.
She said that Spyglass was her home, so she could never sell it, but didn’t seem to mind selling ours.
I tried to talk to her myself, but she wouldn’t even open the front door.
She said she didn’t have a choice about selling the pub.
But life is all about choices. I guess sometimes so is death.
Old Mrs. Bird made the wrong choice, then she died.
I hear a kettle boiling in the kitchen, and it sounds like screaming.
When I spot two suitcases at the bottom of the stairs the alarm bells inside my head only ring louder.
Was Harrison just about to do a runner? My phone buzzes inside my pocket causing a temporary distraction.
I wouldn’t normally check it at a time like this, but the only person who tends to text me late at night is my wife, and since Steren was born I’m always anxious to know that my daughter is safe.
“Maybe turn your phone off if it is going to keep beeping and buzzing,” Bird says with her usual disdain for technology.
I switch it to silent before opening the message.
It isn’t Jane texting, and it isn’t a number I recognize.
I see a message from the coroner’s office and my eyes can’t read the words fast enough.
“It’s the team trying to identify the body on the beach,” I say.
They both stop and turn to stare at me.
“Well?” Harrison asks. “Is it my wife?”
I don’t answer.
“Carter? Are you okay?” Bird asks.
Her patience soon expires when I still don’t reply.
“For fuck’s sake, Carter. Do you have the results or not?”