- Vol. 04
- Chapter 12
A hot day, warm sand, nothing for him to do except lie in the sun, enjoying the holiday, the solitude he has promised himself, to listen to waves lapping, seabirds calling ... and an irritating sandfly whining. He swats it away from time to time – the only thing spoiling the bliss of this afternoon.
On the cliff behind, a woman with binoculars, her twin lenses trained on him, pausing her scrutiny only to take another bite of her sandwich, another sip of soda – or to jot down a note. "He keeps raising his arm. Maybe he knows he's being watched and wants us to know he knows," she writes in a laboured longhand, "or perhaps he's signaling to an accomplice."
She admires his tan, his choice of beachwear, the length of his limbs ... those legs ... puzzles again at his raised arm, the wrist flick, sweeps her lenses back and forth, up and down the beach, see's nothing suspicious, their resolution insufficient to detect a gnat at such distance.
Sighing, she rises, collapses her fold-up stool, scuffs over the indentations it has left in the grass, stows it, empty can and food wrapper in her canvas bag, takes one more look at his bronzed flesh, before packing her binoculars and pad ... but stops ... to scribble one last note at his latest hand gesture. "Conclusion – suspect he is innocent. Not waving, just browning".