No need for them, really. Everything was easily walkable, and no one ever came or left by car or truck, since the only road in and out of town was washed away. It was mostly boats, though a few of the guys had motorbikes, and then there was old Mr Brown’s station wagon, and the police cruiser, of course.
Ciaran spent his days working in his antiquities store. An unusual venture, given the town had no passing tourism, but the internet provided an incredible platform. He sold artefacts and antiques to people all over the world.
The majority were items he’d procured himself from shipwrecks. The Southern and Indian Ocean floors were a treasure trove of voyagers past being wrecked by the untameable waters and winds.
He sold coins, gold, jewellery, bottles, jugs and jars, compasses and even the odd sextant, and various other tools, most dating back hundreds of years. He did a lot of paperwork to keep it all legit, and some items he gave freely to maritime museums and the underwater heritage folks. He also bought and traded items and restored and resold some of them.
He loved his job.
How he procured most of these items was his secret. He kept an updated SCUBA diver’s licence. Not that he needed it, but it was all about appearing legitimate to anyone who would go looking.
And every time a new cop came to town, they always started looking.
Ciaran set about his work—getting mail orders out and taking inventory of new stock acquired in the latest haul—trying to put his reaction to the new cop out of his mind.
Trying to ignore how he’d felt. The pull so intense, it was almost tangible.
So physical.
Visceral.
The need to look at him, to go to him, to hear his voice.
To touch him.
Yeah, Ciaran was ignoring that the most.
Chapter
Three
SAWYER
When Inspector Hadeomhad said Tenebrae Cove was small and remote, he wasn’t kidding.
The main street fronted the bay and was lined with a row of Federation-style, or maybe Colonial, buildings, a fuelling station at the far end, what looked like a convenience store, and one or two shops that appeared to be businesses, but Sawyer couldn’t be sure without further investigating. And there was an antiques store, which was odd, given there was likely zero tourism or passing foot traffic.
The police station, which included his small flat at the back of said station, was an old sandstone building, with white painted frames and shutters on the windows, which softened the harsh metal bars adorned on each one. Inside the station, on the right side, was one desk and computer, a filing cabinet, and on the left was a holding cell.
An actual cell. Floor-to ceiling metal bars and a cot along the far wall with a blanket neatly folded at the foot. The large old key dangled idly from the lock in the cell door.
Christ,Sawyer thought. This was definitely Colonial era, probably built when this state was a penal colony. It made the ancient computer on the desk look positively space-age.
The place was cold, unused, and smelled musty and dusty. Sawyer quickly deduced he’d be spending his first day on the job cleaning.
His small flat at the back of the station hadn’t fared much better in the dusty-and-old sense, but it was perfectly adequate.
There was a modest living area with a TV that was tiny by today’s standards and a small kitchenette along the far wall. There was a bedroom with a double bed—just as well he liked a hard mattress, because it felt like slate—and the bathroom was possibly updated in the 1950s, but the showerhead was the type with awesome water pressure, unlike the water saving ones of today. There was even an old washer and dryer in the bathroom too.
He could hardly complain. He didn’t need anything more than this.
The fridge was one of those old, rounded Westinghouse fridges that must be at least fifty years old. He opened the fridge, surprised to see it had been running all this time. It would need a good clean, though, and the freezer needed defrosting, but Sawyer didn’t mind.
He had nothing but time.
Five years, to be exact.
He sorted out his clothes, which took all of two minutes, found some old cleaning products under the sink, and put himself to work scrubbing every surface in his flat and the station. He opened the windows to air the place out, and once he had the place set to rights, he thought he’d best go in search of food and supplies.
