Page 35 of The Other Side

“Thank you so much. Can I give you drink?”

“Some water would be lovely, thank you.”

When she handed him the glass, with a flirtatious smile, he tried not to wince. “You were so brave.”

He was. His lower legs were stinging.

“How did it happen?” he asked.

“Someone sitting outside gave a single goose a piece of toast and the next thing we knew, we’d been invaded.”

“Have they done it before?”

“No.”

“You could do with a sign telling people not to feed the wildlife. Bread is really bad for them.”

“A sign is a great idea. Thank you. You’re new.” She smiled again.

Oh God. Drum quaffed the water and handed her the glass. “Thanks. Hopefully you won’t be invaded again.”

He escaped while he could. He wrote the incident up in his vehicle and sent it in.

The rest of the day was uneventful. He made arrangements to call at an assisted-living facility on his beat. Ticking another box. He was hot and sweaty by the time he got back later that day. The Amazon deliveries were on the doorstep. He put the light in the bedroom. He didn’t feel like going to Lily’s book club but he didn’t want to let her down, plus it would count as work. Just as well since it was a bit too far to bike over there.

A shower revealed the damage the geese had done. His lower legs were covered in lots of little bruises, but luckily, their beaks hadn’t broken his skin. He’d almost stopped looking at his scars now. For a while, he’d been able to do nothing but look at them and remember how he’d got them, how Cotton had pulled a knife from the block in Drum’s kitchen and carved an A onto Drum’s chest, how he’d been beaten up, how Ashford had driven a knife into his back multiple times before he’d passed out, then woken to find himself in the warehouse. Thinking about what had happened to him always brought back memories of the pain, how helpless he’d felt, how he’d thought, more than once, that he was going to die. At least he couldn’t see the scars on his back. Plastic surgery had put his face back together. The surgeon had done a really good job.

Drum put a load of washing on, including the clothes he’d worn that day, and wore his spare uniform. While he ate beans on toast, he read reviews of Mutiny on the Bounty to remind himself about the book. Drum had liked it so he was shocked to see there were a number of people picking fault.

When his work phone rang, he wished he’d put the book club on his log, because he didn’t want to get sent somewhere else.

“Derbyshire Police, PCSO Drummond. India-Sierra-four-six.”

“This is Sergeant Wilson.”

Drum sat up straighter. As if she can see. Ha! “Yes, ma’am.”

“It didn’t take long for us to get a complaint about you.”

Drum swallowed hard. “A complaint? Who from? What about?”

“The Motsons. You interviewed their son about some alleged sheep rustling.”

“Yes.”

“They don’t believe you conducted yourself appropriately.”

What the hell? “In what way?”

“You were rude. Dismissive. Unprofessional.”

“That’s not true.”

“They said you spoke to their son as though you’d already decided he was guilty.”

“He was guilty. I saw him with the sheep last night. The farmer identified him and I confirmed that identification when I called at his house today. Ma’am.”

“They’re claiming their son was pressured into an admission without proper consideration being given to the circumstances.”