Mike Dixon

To her annoyance, a man in a dark suit suddenly ap-
peared beside her. She had seen him before. His features
were distinctive – domed forehead and heavy spectacles.
She recognized him as a regular member of the congregation.
„May I join you?‟
She tried to say that she was expecting a friend but he
squeezed past and held out his hand before she had time to
reply. „Kirstin, I hoped you would be here.‟
There was something very professional about his approach.
She recognized it from her childhood. Her Lutheran
father was adept at it. It was about winning souls. She
wasn‟t a member of the Anglican congregation and ex-
pected an attempt to recruit her. She shook his hand and
prepared for a silly conversation in which she would ex-
press her commitment to the ecumenical spirit.
„Don‟t you remember me?‟
She smiled.
„We met in the Brindabellas.‟
Kirstin cast her mind back to an excursion with the bird
watching club.
„Oh. Yes. You‟re the owl man. You arrange the field
trips.‟
Bill Endicott smiled. „I‟m also a police officer and I have
major responsibilities for the maintenance of law and order
in this city. I returned from vacation a few days ago and
was deeply concerned when I learnt of the terrible attack
on your grandchild.‟
„It was very distressing,‟ Kirstin replied.
As they spoke, Cecilia Paget burst into the church, ac-
companied by two elderly people. Kirstin recognized George
Paget and guessed the other was Aunt Grace. She was
shocked by how old they looked.
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