“And construction was due to begin today? Was this common knowledge, would you say?”
“The local papers have been all over it, what with the promise of jobs, both during construction and after. You’d have to work hard not to know what was going on here.”
Jejeune thought about the sergeant’s comment. He had heard about people deliberately avoiding newspapers and television as a way of combatting the incessant stream of negative news stories. Even if he could understand this approach, he had his doubts about whether it would be successful. It seemed to him that bad news had a way of tracking you down, whether you hid from it or not.
“An out-of-towner might not know, or a recent incomer, I suppose.” But Maik’s tone suggested he was already a long way toward rejecting the idea, as he knew his DCI would be. Randomly choosing a site that sat neglected for years, only to have work begin there the very next day, smacked of the kind of coincidence they had both long ago learned to distrust.
“I might as well go on back to the station and get started on the missing persons database,” said Maik. “You’ll want to stay on here for a while, I imagine?” He knew his boss would want to take in the scene, trying to draw something from it, as it settled again to stillness once the disturbance of the body’s examination and removal was over.
Maik began picking his way carefully across the uneven terrain, leaving his DCI looking out over the site, deep in thought. On his way, the sergeant did his best to avoid stepping on the plant life, these non-natives that were, like his boss, now rooted in the Norfolk landscape, if not perhaps in its folklore.
The undulating land rolled across the space between the watcher and the younger detective. A safe distance. It had been hard not to draw back when the man had looked over this way. Certainly, this watcher would be nothing more than another indistinguishable shape on the far side of the wire, one of a growing number of people gathering along the fence to observe the proceedings inside the taped-off police perimeter. But he had a reputation, this detective, for seeing the things the others missed, for drawing connections that eluded everybody else.
Through the fence, the watcher’s eyes had tracked the older officer’s departure from the site. He had walked with his head down, staring at the ground, like someone lost in thought. Perhaps his mind was travelling beyond this place, reliving memories of other bodies, evoked by this scarred, rubble-strewn landscape.
That the younger detective had remained troubled the watcher. What was he seeing, as he stared around him? Perhaps the medical examiner had told him things that had given him a new perspective. It seemed unlikely the M.E. could have told him anything significant at this stage, but his comments seemed to have made an impact on the young detective. He was acting now like someone looking for a context into which he might place his thoughts.
Look well, detective, thought the watcher. Drink it all in, every detail, every feature of this place, because you will never be this close to the truth again. From this point on, everything you learn will lead you further away from an understanding of what really happened here. In the end, the evidence, the clues, all of it, will convince you that you know the truth. But you will be wrong. You will have only facts. And you and I both know that the truth is something very different.
2
Domenic Jejeune sat in the quiet gardens of Titchwell House, leaning back in the wicker chair and turning his face towards the sun. He closed his eyes, listening to the early spring birdsong that filled the air around him. A high box hedge screened the garden on three sides, the square completed by the glass wall of the hotel’s dining room. This had once been a place of refuge for Jejeune, when his brother’s problems were threatening to unravel his career, and his life. He remembered the deep reluctance with which he used to leave here to go out again and confront the turbulence Damian had brought to Saltmarsh. But even now, when Domenic did not need this garden setting as a bolt hole, it remained a favourite spot of his; a place for quiet reflection, a place to bask in the sun and watch the birds. The garden’s well-stocked feeders and varied vegetation attracted a wide variety of species, both local and migratory. On one remarkable occasion, he had seen a Hoopoe, an exotic visitor from the tropics, wheedling its way across the manicured lawns, looking for insects. He retained a birder’s illogical hope that the bird would one day return to this same spot, but, of course, it never had. There were other prizes, though, that he could rely on; the dainty Long-tailed Tits that came to the feeder, the Wren that fidgeted through the base of the hedgerow, the House Sparrows that flitted constantly back and forth through the curtain of ivy draping the rough stone wall above the dining room.
Jejeune opened his eyes and saw a couple at a table in the restaurant. Though the windows looked out onto the lawn, these people had eyes only for each other, leaning in intimately and parting only reluctantly as the waitress arrived to take their order. He thought about his last trip here with his girlfriend, Lindy, smiling at the memory of her indignant expression when he had remarked on the prices on the menu. “As the cost of bringing Lindy all the way up to Titchwell so she can sit in the Reserve’s car park while you go birding,” she had told him archly, “I’d say you’re getting off cheap.”
How close they had come to losing all this: these wide, blue skies, this air filled with the early spring fragrances of bluebells and violets, this abundant birdlife. Lindy had shared his despair when he’d been transferred following his return from Colombia. But since his reinstatement here, it was as if they had discovered Saltmarsh anew, revelling once again in all the wonders of the area. The reprieve had reinvigorated Lindy in other ways, too. She was back to her full-blooded best at work. Today, she was due to confront her editor, Eric, about another of his arcane journalistic policies. She would return home flushed with success — there really was no other possible outcome when Lindy had her dander up — but it would not be until later this evening, after the post-match analysis with her friends, over a glass of Chablis at the Boatman’s Arms. Going home now, to an empty house, was one more argument against leaving this garden oasis, where not even the sound of a passing car on the coast road beyond the hedge disturbed the tranquility.
Where had these times gone from his life? he wondered. How had he allowed them to slip away for so long? It seemed he had spent so much of the previous few months stumbling from one crisis to another; family, personal, professional. And now, all of a sudden, this; gaps in his day, chunks of time upon which no one was making any claim. He saw the waitress making her sweep of the gardens, and on a whim he decided he would order tea and scones. Jam and cream, too. But which cream was it that he liked? Clotted? Double? Were they the same thing? He realized that without Lindy to guide him through the intricacies of an English cream tea, he was lost. In the end, he settled for ordering just another cup of tea.
As he waited, he thought about the case that faced him. It had some troubling aspects to it already, but he was unlikely to receive any pressure from DCS Shepherd to arrive at a quick solution. In previous cases, Shepherd’s timetables had so often been set by someone else’s agenda — superiors, diplomats, politicians. But this time, no one would be pressing them for a result, at least until they located the victim’s family. So far, all they had was a body. And the dead have all the time in the world.
From the top of the hedge, Jejeune heard the distinctive, multi-part call of a Yellowhammer. He located the bird, the full sun catching its bright yellow head as it moved around. For once, he had no need to regret leaving his bins in the car. The bird was so close that even with the naked eye he could see the tiny throat muscles moving as it churred out its song. Birding, even snatched moments like this, had always had a way of driving the cares from his mind. Even during Damian’s situation, it had managed to provide some respite from the swirling madness he had faced. Damian’s situation. The decision of whether or not to acquit his brother of manslaughter now rested solely with the Colombian authorities, but Jejeune knew he had done all he could to assi
st in his brother’s case. There was a kind of reassurance in the thought, and if that was not quite the same thing as closure, for now, it would do.
The server delivered his tea and disappeared inside to take the lovers their lunch; cellophane-thin slices of cucumber on squares of flimsy white bread with the crusts removed. It seemed to Jejeune that if you were that intent on avoiding nutrition, you might just as well eat the paper napkin that came with the food. But he enjoyed these snippets of English eccentricity. Perhaps it was the guilty pleasure of forbidden access, an intimate look at a country’s unguarded self, a peek into this delicate, genteel world to which he was still, in so many ways, an outsider.
He looked around at the carefully landscaped gardens. It was still mostly evergreens this early in the season: Italian cypress, Japanese umbrella pine, Hungarian gold cedar. He had not realized how many were non-native. Exotics they were termed in settings like these. It was a garden landscaped for the humans that visited, rather than the birds. But the birds, too, had adapted, taking the seeds they found, gleaning insects from the alien branches and leaves.
Overhead, a single cloud plotted a leisurely course across the sky, a lone white blemish on the pale-blue canvas. Only one cloud remained on his own horizon; a review of an earlier case that he knew would be coming, had to be coming, all because of the unsafe conviction of a man named Ray Hayes. Jejeune had no wish to revisit the events surrounding his rescue of the Home Secretary’s daughter, but he had no need to fear them. He could have done things differently. He should have. But he knew no one would ever hold him accountable for his actions. Only he would blame Domenic Jejeune for what he had done, and what he had failed to do. And regardless of the outcome of the review, he knew he always would.
The cloud had drifted in front of the sun, turning the garden into a world of cool shadows. It was time to head home. Jejeune slid away his half-finished cup of tea. He hadn’t developed the unquenchable capacity for it the English seemed to have. He wondered if he ever would. He realized the Yellowhammer had stopped singing and looked over. There was a small flicker of movement deep in the hedgerow. The bird would reappear again soon enough. Perhaps he would wait, after all, just a few minutes more. For once, like the dead, Domenic Jejeune had all the time in the world.
3
Silence was one of Danny Maik’s particular talents — that, and standing still. Few people could fill a space so completely with the force of their presence alone. But the brooding dormant volcano Detective Chief Superintendent Colleen Shepherd and the other officers were familiar with wasn’t the Danny Maik standing at the front of the Incident Room today. He seemed strangely distracted, disengaged almost, barely registering the usual commotion as the rest of the team settled into their seats. As Maik surveyed the room, Detective Constable Tony Holland saw the sergeant’s gaze flick to the empty desk of Lauren Salter.
“Don’t worry, Sarge. She hasn’t forgotten.”
Maik’s puzzled expression was its own query.
“Your birthday. While Lauren’s away, I’m under strict instructions to have a whip-round and get you something. Just between you and me, though, I think it makes more sense if we do away with all that paper and ribbons and crap, and you just pick something up for yourself. Let me know how much it is, and I’ll make sure these tight-fisted gits all chip in to make sure you’re not out-of-pocket.”
“Thank you, Constable. After all, it’s the thought that counts.”
“My feelings exactly,” said Holland, for whom irony sometimes seemed to be a foreign country. “There’s a secondhand shop on the high street that has some vintage Motown albums. Vinyl ones, with artsy covers and sleeve liner notes. You know, the way you lot used to like them. I thought you could grab yourself one of those. That is, unless you’ve already got them all.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” Despite his evident detachment, Maik still clearly recognized it as his duty to call the meeting to order, and once he had done so, he took up the black marker, ready to begin sketching out their lines of approach on the whiteboard behind him.
“The body we discovered yesterday belongs to an adult male, but the burning was so intense it has prevented the recovery of any usable DNA.”
The cold detachment with which they were discussing the calculated incineration of another human being seemed to occur to them all at the same time. A moment’s reflective silence fell across the room.
“So I suppose dental records are our best hope for an ID?” said Shepherd finally.
“There’s little to go on, apparently,” said Maik. “The teeth are in very good condition. There’s some evidence of light cosmetic work, but trawling through the databases to try to match our victim against everybody who’s had a bit of capping and straightening done would be a monumental task. I can’t see it being worth taking that route until we’ve finished looking at the serial number on the rifle. Although an attempt was made to file it off, it’s probably still our best lead.”
“An attempt?” said Shepherd.
“I could make out a couple of markings with the naked eye, so I’m fairly confident we can recover something once Dr. Jones puts it under a luminescent light. Even if it’s only some of the digits, it’ll help narrow down the search. The rifle is a Brno. They’re not all that common.”
Shepherd nodded with what might have been slight satisfaction. “And what about the significance of the location? Any thoughts on that?”
The response came from the back of the room, where Domenic Jejeune had perched himself on a desk, as usual, feet on the chair in front of him. “I’ll take this if you like, Sergeant.”
Heads spun to look at Jejeune as he dismounted from the desk and began to make his way to the front of the room. Well, this was certainly new. Was it a manifestation of the DCI’s relief at being reinstated, after so nearly losing his position? Did it portend a new era of engagement, a more conventional leadership style in their murder investigations? Whatever it was, it was definitely going to be preferable to having to drag contributions out of him one syllable at a time, the way they had in previous briefings. DCS Shepherd, for one, looked particularly pleased with the new turn of events.
Jejeune took up a position centre stage. Maik was hovering just beyond the DCI’s shoulder, as if he feared he might have to step in, should Jejeune’s newfound resolve suddenly fail him.
“Before we start, I need a little background on the site itself,” said Jejeune.
“Certainly, Domenic,” said Shepherd. “Ask away.”
“Obviously, I wasn’t around at the time the site came on the market.” The small self-conscious smile was new, too. Whatever had brought on this new approach, Jejeune was clearly determined to give it his best effort. “But a prime piece of land like this, at such a strategically important location, I’m sure there would have been no shortage of interest in it.”
“Blimey, you can see how he got his detective’s badge, can’t you?” said Holland, making sure his own smile was broad enough to keep things nice and friendly. “Residential, industrial, commercial; they all went after it like the last pint at a darts tournament. Not to mention the enviro nutters. No offence, sir,” added Holland hurriedly, “just how they were categorized at the time … by the other groups.… Remember?” He looked around the room for support, but none came.
Jejeune nodded. “The land could have formed an important wildlife corridor between the two protected areas. I can imagine environmental groups wouldn’t have been too pleased to see such an important opportunity lost.”
Lost, thought Shepherd. It was an interesting term for a project that was going to provide a much-needed boost to the local economy. “They certainly caused enough fuss at the zoning hearings,” she said. “We had to issue a couple of public order notices, if memory serves. Eventually, there was some sort of settlement reached whereby the environmental groups would agree to drop their protests if the developers promised to set aside some land as a conservation area.”
“Tha
t the local council would then have to pay to maintain,” added Holland, with a sour expression. “Which was great, because, you know, we were all hoping they’d find another way to flush our taxes down the drain.”
Shepherd’s expression suggested they might be able to move things along a bit more quickly if the constable could dispense with the editorials. Clearly, for all his new enthusiasm, the DCI was going to need some practice keeping a daily briefing on track.
“I have to say, Domenic, if you’re thinking this murder might be related to the decision to zone this area for development, I’m not sure the timing makes sense. Those decisions were made years ago. Even the plans to turn the site into a shopping centre have been public knowledge for months.”
Jejeune nodded as if to acknowledge he’d already taken the DCS’s point into consideration. “Yes, they have.” The room waited for something more, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
Holland stepped into the silence with another idea. “I suppose leaving a body at a construction site is an effective way of stopping the work,” he said, “if you are thinking this is about opposition to the construction project.”
The remark was directed at Jejeune, but it was Maik who shook his head slowly. “I can’t see anybody going to all that trouble to bring about such a short-term delay. It’s only going to hold things up for a matter of days, at most.”
“Speaking of which,” said Shepherd, “there is some urgency to conclude our evidence gathering and release the site. The local Chamber of Commerce is not best pleased, to put it mildly, to have found a body in the middle of the most important piece of commercial land to have come available in decades. An ongoing police presence only serves to remind people what happened there. There’s a concern that it might deter shoppers from coming, once the new centre is opened.”
A Tiding of Magpies Page 2
