The Birdwatcher (10 page)

The restaurant was almost empty. Cupidi and her daughter sat at a table at the back with a bowl of nuts in front of them. Cupidi had a lager and the girl had a Coke.

‘Sorry I’m late. I had to clean up the house.’

Zoë, Cupidi’s daughter, leaned her head on one side slightly and said, ‘I don’t know. He’s not that good-looking.’

‘What?’

‘Oh God. Shut up,’ said Cupidi. She hadn’t changed out of the linen suit, or put on fresh make-up, but she looked more relaxed here, at least.

The fifteen-year-old leaned forward, across the table. ‘She was saying, before you came, she thought you were really fit.’

‘Zoë!’ hissed Cupidi. ‘Behave. William’s had an awful day.’

‘Single mother. Divorced. I suppose she’s had to lower her standards a bit,’ said South.

Zoë clapped her hand over her mouth and laughed: a surprisingly low, loud laugh, given her slight frame.

‘It’s a complete lie,’ said Cupidi. ‘She’s just making it all up to embarrass me. I didn’t say anything about you. Stop it, now, Zoë.’

‘She’s the liar. Not me,’ said the teenager.

‘See why she’s always getting into trouble? She’s such a shit-stirrer.’

‘I’m not the only one who gets into trouble. Tell me, William, which one of us do you believe?’ said the teenager.

‘I know you think it’s funny. But it’s rude. Would you like a beer, William?’ said Cupidi, waving at the waitress. ‘She’s just in a sarky mood because I was telling her off.’

‘Who’s her?’ said the girl.

‘Because I was telling you off.’

A waitress appeared. ‘I’ll have a Coke,’ said South, and ordered chicken wings.

‘Don’t you think this is the weirdest place on the planet?’ asked the teenager.

South looked around at the restaurant.

‘No,’ she said. ‘This whole place. All of it.’

‘William grew up here,’ said Cupidi.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said South.

‘Hope not,’ she said.

‘You’re being rude,’ said Cupidi.

‘She’s fine, honestly,’ said South. ‘It must be strange, after London.’

‘Thank you,’ the girl said, dipping her hand into the bowl of nuts.

‘Zoë is in a bad mood because I have been asking her about a fight at school and what caused it and she won’t tell me.’

‘Zoë is right here,’ said the teenager. ‘It was just a stupid fight. Don’t want to talk about it.’

Cupidi put down her knife and fork. ‘Tell me about the inspector,’ she said.

‘McAdam? He’s a career boy,’ said South. ‘Oxbridge. Loves targets. But he’s OK.’

‘Key performance indicators. Equality impact assessments. Development reviews.’

‘Mum doesn’t always hate inspectors,’ said Zoë. ‘Sometimes she thinks they’re lovely.’

‘What’s wrong with you, Zoë?’

‘Can I have some wine?’

‘No you can’t,’ said her mother.

‘Why did you move here?’ Zoë asked South.

William paused. He looked at his Coke. ‘My dad died. My mother wanted a change.’

‘Yeah, but why here?’ said Zoë.

‘She wanted to go to France, I think, but we never made it across the Channel. This is as far as we managed. It was a long way away from where I grew up, I suppose,’ he said.

‘Where was that?’

South pretended he hadn’t heard, and said, ‘Are you annoyed at the inspector for getting stuck in this afternoon?’

Cupidi smiled. ‘It’s his prerogative. I’m just a lowly sergeant. It’s what he’s supposed to do.’

‘But you didn’t like it, did you?’

‘I’m new. I’m just learning to keep my head down. Stay out of trouble. But I’m good. I know I am. I want him to know that.’

‘You did well. He knows that. If you hadn’t insisted we carry on despite the weather, we’d never have found the murder weapon.’

‘If it is the murder weapon.’

‘Don’t you think it is?’

‘Almost certainly, actually. It fits with the profile of an opportunist. We will get him. I promise,’ she said, and she put her hand on his.

Zoë noticed. She looked down at the hands, then up at her mother. ‘What murder weapon?’ said Zoë. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Sorry, love,’ Cupidi said, pulling her arm back. ‘William’s friend was killed. He only found out today.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at him, then said, ‘Sorry.’

South nodded.

‘That’s why Mum says you’re having an awful day? I thought it was just . . . you know, work. How was he killed?’

‘Zoë. Leave him alone.’

‘We think he was bludgeoned with a stick by an intruder.’

‘How gruesome.’

Cupidi said, ‘You mustn’t go talking about this at school. This isn’t London. In a place like this everyone probably knows everyone.’

‘God, Mum. What do you think I am?’

‘I think you’re a fifteen-year-old girl who gets into fights at school because she can’t keep her mouth shut, that’s what I think you are.’

‘You don’t know anything about it. Sometimes I hate you.’

‘Ditto.’

‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Zoë said to South. ‘She loves me really. Was he a good friend?’

‘I suppose he was,’ said South. ‘I’m only beginning to realise it.’

Zoë picked up her drink and sucked on her straw thoughtfully. Cupidi stood and said, ‘Excuse me. I need the toilet. Be nice.’

When she was gone, Zoë said, ‘I’m really sorry I was being a brat. I didn’t realise. Banter, you know?’

South said, ‘So, why were you fighting? At school.’

Bored staff chattered next to the till. There was pop music playing in the background.

‘It was nothing.’

South said, ‘I bet it wasn’t.’

‘You’ll tell Mum,’ said Zoë.

‘Can’t promise I won’t,’ he said. ‘But I know what it’s like, moving to a place like this.’

‘Just don’t, OK?’ She leaned forward, talking more quietly. ‘You know my mum dropped me off at school this morning in the car? Just as she was dropping me off she put the blue lights on and the siren in front of everybody and just literally shoved me out. All the other girls were saying goodbye to their mums, and mine was driving off going
nee-naw nee-naw
.’

‘She would have just heard about my friend Bob,’ said South. ‘That’s when they discovered his body.’

‘Oh God. I’m sorry. What happened to me is nothing. I’m being such a selfish idiot.’

‘No. You’re fine. I asked.’

‘It was my second day, today. New school. Can you imagine what that’s like? These . . . cows started taking the piss: “Your mum was so keen to get away from you she had to put the siren on.” ’

He nodded. ‘They can be cruel.’

‘They don’t like coppers. They don’t like coppers’ kids. That’s what it was about. There are some psychos there. The girl who attacked me in the toilets says they’re going to get me. Please don’t tell Mum. She’ll only go in to the Head and complain or something stupid and make things a trillion times worse.’

‘I won’t,’ he said.

‘Promise?’

Cupidi was coming back from the toilet already. She said, ‘What are you two talking about?’

‘William was telling me about what it was like when he first came here,’ said Zoë.

‘I was going to ask,’ South said. ‘Why did you decide to move here?’

Cupidi said, ‘I wanted to move Zoë out of London for her GCSEs. This job came up.’

‘It was because of your stupid job,’ Zoë said. ‘I was fine in London.’

‘No you weren’t.’

‘Are you two always like this?’

‘Just don’t go pretending it was because you wanted me to move out of London when it was nothing to do with that.’

‘Keep your voice down, love.’

‘I’m the one who’s lost all my friends and have to start again.’

‘They weren’t very good friends.’

The girl said, ‘How can you say that they weren’t very good friends? At least they wouldn’t have dragged me to this hole because you’d—’

‘Enough.’ Cupidi’s voice was suddenly loud.

The other diners stopped talking and stared. Apart from the Take That song playing in the background, there was silence.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Zoë. ‘I didn’t mean it.’

‘I think we should call a taxi,’ said Cupidi.

‘I’ll drop you,’ said South.

‘No. It’s fine.’

‘I don’t mind. Honestly.’

‘What about pudding?’ said Zoë.

Out in the car park Cupidi waited as her daughter ambled towards them across the wide tarmac. ‘I’m sorry. I thought we could have a relaxing evening to get your mind off things. She’s taking a little time to adjust, that’s all.’

South just wanted to get home now.

‘What she said about why we left . . .’

South shook his head. ‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘Thanks,’ she said, looking at the tarmac.

It was a Micra, a two-door car. He looked away as the teenage girl squeezed herself into the back seat.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s a tripod.’

‘You take photographs?’

‘It’s for a telescope.’

‘William is a bird spotter,’ said Cupidi.

‘Really?’ said Zoë.

‘Don’t start,’ said Cupidi.

‘Cool. How many different birds have you spotted?’

‘Around three hundred and fifty.’

‘That doesn’t sound that many.’

‘Three hundred and fifty-six, in fact.’

‘How do you tell the difference?’

He turned towards the back seat. ‘The trick is to know what you’re seeing. You can take people who’ve never been before and they can’t even see what you’re pointing at, sometimes.’

‘A bit like being a copper, then,’ said Cupidi. ‘Noticing the stuff no one else does.’

DS Cupidi’s house was three miles out of town. The night was black and thick. Cars came towards them, lights on full beam.

The housing estate was on a right-hand turn. South had to wait a long time at the junction, cars careering towards them at crazy speeds, before there was a long enough gap in the traffic.

Cupidi directed them to a cul-de-sac. ‘Here,’ she said.

It was a new house, recently completed on a new estate; pale brick and white wood windows. The new grass outside it had turned to mud in the heavy rain. It would have to be re-turfed.

‘Thanks. See you tomorrow,’ said Cupidi. She ran to the tiny porch with the front door keys. As Zoë pushed her seat forward she said, ‘Will you take me bird spotting one day?’

‘You?’

‘Why not?’

‘I suppose,’ he said, unsure of himself. She was the teenage daughter of a colleague. ‘If it’s OK with your mother.’

Zoë snorted loudly and stepped out of the car.

The constable was still enduring his miserable shift alone in the car. South offered to fetch him a cup of tea but he said he was OK.

South’s car crawled past Rayner’s house, all dark now, a
Strictly No Entry
notice on the door. He tried not to think of Bob being battered slowly to death while South had almost certainly been in his house, close by. He had been beaten ‘over a prolonged period’, the report had said. Had he cried out to South for help? He must have done. But South hadn’t heard; no one had come.

The terrace was dark now, lit by a single street light. Letting himself into his own house, he paused for a second and listened. He felt for the handle of the baseball bat he kept by the front door and stood there for a second in the darkness, listening, a weapon in his hand.

Just in case.

At night, he lay in bed, blankets up around his chin. His mother was downstairs, fussing. A full moon was inching slowly across the sky outside the window. To stay awake, Billy pressed his fingernails into the palm of his hand. Tonight, when he needed her to sleep, Mum was busybodying around the house. She was starting to throw stuff out.