He was about eighty, at a guess, maybe older, thin with wiry white-grey hair and a long scruffy beard. He wore brown overalls, an old plaid jacket, and had a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He used a gnarled walking stick, probably sourced from his yard, and he had a pronounced lean to the left.
Sawyer climbed out of the cruiser and offered Mr Brown a smile and a handshake. “Mr Brown, is it? My name’s Detective Sergeant Douglas Sawyer. I answer to a lot of things, but most people call me Sawyer.”
He smiled, crooked teeth and all, and Sawyer realised then that perhaps Mr Brown was vision impaired, if not completely blind. “Cern Brown,” he said, his voice like crinkled paper. Sawyer could now see he had an odd silver necklace and pendant that was half hidden by his coat, but it looked older than him.
“Kern? Is that short for colonel?” Sawyer asked, trying to make small talk.
“Just Cern, with a c,” he said. “What brings you out this way? Haven’t gone breaking any laws, have I?”
Sawyer was half tempted to bring up the old car but thought better of it. “Nah. My predecessor Carpenter said I should come out and say hello, that’s all.”
“Ah, the young constable,” Mr Brown said, his pipe bobbing up and down. “Nice fellow but not cut out for this town.”
Sawyer nodded slowly, also realising maybe he’d learn more from Mr Brown than Carpenter had meant. “He didn’t last too long?” Sawyer hedged, hoping Mr Brown would elaborate.
“They rarely do,” he said. “Been a lot over the years. Not just police. People come but they never stay, and eventually they just stop coming.”
“When the road was washed away?”
“Long before then. This used to be a mining town, ya know. They found copper, but the miners got spooked. Even the logging barges would come in once upon a time, but they stopped too.”
“You’ve stayed on,” Sawyer said brightly.
“Been here my whole life.”
This surprised Sawyer because good lord. “Wow.”
“Born here, and the gods willing, I’ll die here too.”
“Not just yet, I hope,” Sawyer said with a grin.
“Got a few good years left in me yet, I’d reckon. Time passes funny in these parts, anyway.”
Sawyer looked at him then. “Slower, you mean?”
“If at all,” he replied. “I’ll be one hundred and two in June.”
Holy shit.
“A hundred and two? You don’t look a day over eighty.”Maybe eighty-five,he mused but didn’t say.
“Must be something in the water,” Mr Brown said proudly. “Just ask those young boys in town. I don’t be seeing too well lately these days, but I don’t reckon those young men have aged a day in twenty years.”
Twenty years....
Ciaran was only twenty-nine, according to his diving license. How could Mr Brown not think they haven’t aged in twenty years? Ciaran certainly didn’t look just nine years old....
“They swim in the bay, you know,” Mr Brown added. “Must be the cold water. Keeps them young.”
The hairs on the back of Sawyer’s neck stood on end.
“That water looks too dark and deep for me,” Sawyer said, hoping it would prompt him to speak further.
“Too dark and deep for anyone,” Mr Brown said. “Even those crazy trawler boat men. They come in to refuel and can’t leave fast enough. I heard one of ’em say something was down there inthe water, watching them. But I’ve never got too close myself. I can’t swim, so....”
“Probably just as well you stay away, then.”
He nodded. “No one’s ever gone in. Except them boys. Good bunch of lads.”
