I think about my mother again.
“And the festival is our way of making sure they aren’t forgotten. But most days at this time of year the beach is the same as it was back in 1878. Empty.”
“And was that the case today? Or can you remember seeing anyone?” I ask.
She frowns as though it might be a difficult question, looks at Carter still bent over double in the distance, then back at me. “Yes. Him.”
39CARTER
“She says she saw you,” DCI Bird informs me after sending Diana Harris away.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I reply, wiping my mouth with an embroidered hanky from my pocket. I can’t believe I was sick, I’m so embarrassed. I’ve seen dead bodies before, but not like this—with their faces bashed in—and never someone I might know.
“She said you were running away from the scene.”
“Then I’m guessing she saw me running back to the village, withyourdog, having got a call from dispatch about a body being found. They didn’t know which beach when they first called me and there’s more than one near Hope Falls. Diana dialed 999. It goes through to a switchboard at Devon and Cornwall Police HQ, and I guess whoever took the call doesn’t know one Cornish beach from the next.”
“She said she called after you, when she saw you earlier.”
“Well, I didn’t hear her. If I called your name from a distance right now with the sea and the wind I doubt you’d hear me either. I didn’t see her. I didn’t see the body. But I did see someone else.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. A man.”
“What man?”
“I chased him but he vanished.”
“Vanishedwhere?” Bird looks around at the vast sandy beach, the rocks, and the cliffs. She looks at me as though she doesn’t believe me, as though she suspectsmeof something, and I hate her for it. I wish we’d never met. It’s my fault she’s here. My fault she applied for what should have been my job. My fault she’s ruining my—
“How are you feeling?” she asks then, with a tiny dose of something like compassion.
“I’ve been better.”
“This can’t be the first dead body you’ve seen?”
“Do you think it’s her?”
“Do you?” she asks but I just shake my head. “You must have an opinion, you met the woman.”
“She still had a face when I met her.”
“What does your gut say?”
“My gut says I’m going to throw up again.”
Her face darkens, any trace of patience gone. “There’s the reason you didn’t get promoted. You’re not ready to do my job, you don’t have what it takes. You need to show some initiative. Trust your instincts. Follow your gut.”
“It could be a coincidence.”
“There is no such thing. Is. It. Her?”
Her words sting so much I’m scared I might cry.
“It’s possible,” I say. “Sorry, I think I might be sick again—”
“For fuck’s sake. It’s just a body.”
