A Tiding of Magpies

by Steve Burrows

  And perhaps there was just something in her tone, thought Maik, that suggested the Empowered Investigator might already have her doubts about just how straightforward and run-of-the-mill this audit of Jejeune’s old case was going to be.

  10

  Jejeune and Maik had been met in the lobby of the Whitehaven Golf Club by a timid receptionist who seemed to expect her every sentence would be met by a rebuke. Though neither man was happy with what she told them, they were careful not to imply she was to blame, offering only smiles of gratitude as she guided them along the maze of short corridors. They had been summoned here on the premise of meeting a golf pro who claimed to have information about an open murder case. There was currently only one open murder case on the Saltmarsh Division docket. But the man in question had apparently developed a sudden illness, and while second thoughts were not unusual with witnesses, or informants, the detectives were being ushered to the executive suite with a speed and efficiency that suggested prior planning. Neither detective now believed there was ever a possibility that the golf pro would have been providing them with information about an open murder case, or anything else.

  They were shown in to the lavishly appointed corner office and stood side by side, just inside the doorway. Light poured into the room through banks of floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along the two outside walls. Beyond them, Jejeune could see the immaculately manicured greens and fairways of the golf course, fringed along the far edge by a stand of trees. The sight seemed to fascinate him, and he stood for a long time looking out while Maik took a survey of the room. It was redolent of the Empire: a glass-encased Union Jack hung behind an expansive oak desk, while a picture of the reigning monarch, in full regalia, adorned the remaining wall.

  Both men turned at the sound of a side door opening. Jejeune did not recognize the man, but judging from Maik’s reaction, this was someone in whom he might need to take a professional interest.

  “Welcome to Whitehaven, gentlemen. Can I get you anything? A nice pre-lunch G&T, perhaps? I can offer you Gordon’s. It’s English.”

  “I didn’t know you ran this place,” said Maik guardedly. “Or is this just another one of your property development deals?”

  “Develop a pretty little corner of England like this? Perish the thought, Sergeant. I own it. I have others to do the day-today, but I take an active interest in the goings-on here. Active,” the man repeated. He crossed to Jejeune with a hand extended. “Since the sergeant here obviously isn’t going to introduce us, I’ll do it myself. Curtis Angeren. And you, I know to be Inspector Jejeune.”

  The DCI understood Maik’s reaction now. And his comment. Jejeune, too, would not have expected a leading activist in one of the country’s most radical nationalist groups to be running a golf club. Perhaps it was Angeren’s reputation that had led Jejeune to expect someone with a greater physical presence, more robust, more overtly threatening. But the man before him, neatly attired in dark trousers and a restrained sweater, was unremarkable in build and appearance. Only the luxuriant waves in the neatly cut grey-blond hair were of particular note.

  Jejeune turned back to the window and looked out at a foursome that was getting ready to tee off. “Is this a private course?”

  “Private and very exclusive, Inspector. A lot of people felt the Saltmarsh Club had let its standards drop over the years. Letting all sorts in there now.” He shook his head in what might have passed for regret. “Still, it did provide a niche in the market my associates and I were only too happy to fill. Here, our members get to choose the kind of people they share the clubhouse with.” He joined the detective at the window. “Nice set of clubs that bloke has. All made in Asia, of course. I sometimes wonder if we’ll have any industry left at all on this side of the world in a few years.”

  He looked across to see if Jejeune would react, but the detective was now scanning the trees on the far side of the fairway. Angeren crossed to his desk and opened an elaborately carved wooden box. “Care for a cigar?” he asked. “Cuban. Couldn’t find any English ones.” He flicked a brief smile at the men as they declined. He withdrew a cigar and clipped the end carefully before lighting it. He puckered it to life and gazed at the glowing tip for a moment before turning again to the detectives.

  “So I suppose you’re wondering why you were asked to come here.”

  “We know why,” said Maik. He seemed particulary keen to take the lead, and since he clearly had more experience with Angeren, Jejeune was happy to let him. “We were going to be interviewing a golf pro, who may have information pertinent to a case we’re working on. Except he seems to have had an attack of the vapours.”

  Angeren nodded. “Ah yes, Nigel. Finished nine holes this morning but then came over a bit strange. Said he wasn’t quite himself.”

  “Feeling a bit above par, was he?”

  The quip earned a couple of appreciative jabs from the end of Angeren’s cigar. Even Jejeune managed a smile. Maik’s humour was usually worth waiting for, even if it generally had a message. This comment was delivered in a tone that suggested he wanted to get on with things, as if he didn’t expect he was going to enjoy Angeren’s company very much. Jejeune concurred, but it was clear this meeting was going to proceed according to Angeren’s schedule. And people didn’t often go through the elaborate ritual of lighting up a cigar unless they had time on their hands.

  Angeren inclined his head slightly. “I thought a bit of discretion might be in order. A person of my known political affiliations, and a high-profile detective … a couple of them —” a smile in Maik’s direction here “— you know what the gossip is like around these parts. Which is partly what I wanted to talk to you about. After all, Inspector, if you’re as good as they say you are, you’re going to come across the rumours soon enough.”

  He pulled on his cigar, providing a pause long enough to check whether any rumours had yet come to light. If they had, neither detective was saying.

  “I understand that body they found on the construction site has been identified as Jakub Kowalski.” He shook his head. “Must be awful for the mother, losing her only child like that. The grief, you can’t imagine it, can you?”

  Maik was inclined to ask where he might have learned about the tentative identification of the body, but since his DCI seemed uninterested in pursuing the point at the moment, he let it go.

  Angeren took another deep draw on his cigar as a prelude to continuing. “The thing is, you might come across some talk that I was not best pleased with Mr. Kowalski. I may have said a few things that, taken out of context, could be misinterpreted.”

  “And what might someone have misinterpreted them to say?” asked Maik warily.

  The developer walked to the window again and looked out at the first tee, where another party of four were readying themselves to begin their round. “Look at that. 11:40 bang on the dot. That’s another thing our members get to enjoy here: properly observed tee-off times. I mean, it’s not really what you’d call a strength of your average foreigner, is it, punctuality?”

  “The Swiss seem to have got the knack of it,” said Maik. “We were talking about misinterpretation.”

  Angeren turned slowly from the window. “I see now, with the benefit of hindsight, that my comments could be interpreted as wishing Mr. Kowalski might come to some harm. That’s the trouble with words, isn’t it? Once they’re out there, there’s really no way of retracting them.” He flashed a short smile, asking for understanding, but receiving none.

  “Are you telling us you put out a contract on Jakub Kowalski?” asked Jejeune with surprise.

  “No, I’m saying I can understand how my outburst could have been interpreted that way. Figures of speech, you see; you can never tell when somebody’s going to take them literally, can you? A keen bunch, the rank and file in our organization, but I don’t imagine any of them have ever been accused of over-thinking anything, if you get my drift.”

  “Even if what you say is true,” Maik’s pause left plenty of
room for an alternative point of view, “if somebody decided to kill Jakub Kowalski directly as a result of your comments, you’d still be criminally responsible.”

  A faint smile softened Angeren’s features. “And that’s why I’ve gone to all this trouble of inviting you gentlemen here,” he said indulgently. “To assure you with absolute certainty,” he paused, “absolute certainty, you understand, that Jakub Kowalski was not killed by anyone in my organization, or by anyone associated with me.”

  “How can you be so sure?” asked Jejeune.

  Angeren shared a knowing look with Maik. “Because I’ve asked them.” He looked out the window again. “You should have bought your binoculars, Inspector. We get some lovely birds out here. Got all the kit, I suppose — binoculars, digiscope, spotting scope? All made in Asia, no doubt.”

  “Some of the finest optics in the world come from Asia,” said Jejeune flatly.

  “That’s not what I hear. I hear they tend to lose crispness over long distances, they’re subject to image instability, definition’s a bit suspect. Lot of tat from that part of the world. Have to be very careful about the quality.” He regarded the detective closely. Curtis Angeren had spent a lifetime detecting the tiniest sparks of complicity in like-minded souls; a look, a subtle inclination of the head, a glint in the eyes, anything that might suggest the person did not entirely disapprove of Angeren’s point of view, even if they weren’t ready to voice it in polite conversation. That didn’t matter; a spark could be nurtured later, fanned into flames of indignation, of anger, in any number of ways. It was the initial sentiment that was important. He waited a moment longer but there was no reaction from the detective.

  “The thing is, gentlemen, it would be very useful to me to know just who was responsible for Jakub Kowalski’s death. In my world, you see, if somebody hears you want something done and they do it, they believe you owe them. And they expect repayment — in one form or another.”

  “Only you didn’t, did you?”

  Maik’s remark seemed to puzzle Angeren.

  “Want something done to Jakub Kowalski. So as I see it, you’d be in the clear with these people, even if they did think they were doing you a favour.”

  Angeren turned his gaze from the speaker to his boss. “I was hoping you could do me the courtesy of keeping me apprised of your progress in this case.”

  “You know we can’t do that.”

  “Yes, but in this case, I thought you might be able to make an exception?”

  Maik was about to reiterate their position in terms Curtis Angeren would understand quite clearly, but Jejeune stepped in. “Why might we want to do that, Mr. Angeren?”

  “Because I happen to know that an old acquaintance of yours was in town a short while ago,” he said. “A man named Ray Hayes. Apparently, he was asking around about some girl.”

  Jejeune had not moved, not blinked, not allowed any expression to cross his face. But he had turned to the window now, to look out over the fairway. If his action seemed abrupt to Maik, the sergeant understood why. Jejeune would be reeling from the news, possibly physically sickened by the shock of it. At the very least, he needed a moment to compose himself. Maik locked his eyes on the developer.

  “What do you know about Hayes?” he asked sharply.

  Angeren shrugged. “Just that he was making some inquiries about a local journalist. Something of a looker, by all accounts.” Angeren took a long, slow draw on his cigar.

  “If you know Ray Hayes’s whereabouts, I suggest you share that information with us immediately,” Maik said in a tone that seemed to reduce the light in the room.

  “Why would I want to do that?” asked Angeren pleasantly. “There’s no warrant out for him, is there? He’s not committed any crime. It’d be a breach of his rights for me to be telling the police his personal business. I assume English people do still have some rights in this country.”

  Jejeune still hadn’t turned to face them. An electronic silence seemed to buzz through the room. From somewhere outside came the faint sound of applause for a well-hit drive. Maik leaned in, close enough for the other man to see the tiny blood vessels the sergeant’s sleepless nights left in the corners of his eyes. “It’s a bit noisy in here,” said Maik, the menacing irony dropping his voice a further notch, “so just in case you misheard, I asked if you’d mind volunteering information as to the whereabouts of Ray Hayes.”

  Angeren drew deeply on his cigar again and let the smoke dribble slowly from his lips into the narrow gap between them. “See, Sergeant. I ask you people for something, you say no. And then you turn around and expect a favour from me in return.” He paused for a couple of heartbeats to look directly into Maik’s eyes before breaking the spell, wheeling away and rounding the desk. “But I’ll tell you what I’ll do, just as a show of good faith. I’ll tell you the exact location of Ray Hayes at this moment in time. He’s in Cambridge.”

  “Cambridge? What’s he doing there?”

  Jejeune turned to hear the answer, and he watched as Angeren drew an expensive watch up to his eye line. “Almost certainly sleeping, I should think. It’s the middle of the night. Cambridge, Australia — did I forget to mention that? It’s near Perth, I believe. His uncle has some land out there. He’s not doing well, apparently, and Hayes has gone to pay his last respects. I imagine he’ll be back soon, though.” Angeren made a point of looking at his watch again. “Well, gentlemen, I’m sure we all have things to do. I appreciate you dropping by so we could clear up that misunderstanding about poor Mr. Kowalski.”

  Maik had not expected his DCI to be in any condition to contribute anything further, but as Angeren’s hand reached for the door, Jejeune spoke, his voice steady and firm.

  “What did he do?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Jakub Kowalski. What was it he did that upset you in the first place?”

  Angeren turned back to face the room and shook his head ruefully. “You know, I can’t even remember. I’m like that, see. Impulsive. Fireworks one minute, but the next it’s all blown over and I’m back to my usual affable self.” He nodded slightly. “I have struggled with my anger issues in the past, I don’t mind admitting it. But no harm done, in this case.” He looked at Jejeune one final time. “I trust you’ll have a think about my request, Inspector. See what you can do. Good day, gentlemen.”

  Angeren exited through the side door, leaving the men to find their own way out.

  11

  At first glance, the shapes in the distance looked like animals, grazing cattle, perhaps, or even deer. But one by one, the tawny backs straightened and several humans stretched to their full height. Behind them, the pale afternoon sun threaded its way through a veil of mist hanging above the wetland. Pools of silver light flashed among the reeds, and the stands of tall grass fringing the marsh tilted lightly in the breeze. No sound disturbed the ethereal silence that hung over the landscape. The people stood, as quiet and still as the land of which they were a part, watching as the detectives approached.

  The two men had been subdued on the drive out. Maik had not insulted Jejeune’s intelligence by suggesting there was still no firm evidence to connect Hayes to the explosion that had hospitalized Lindy some months earlier. Jejeune had been convinced at the time that Hayes was involved. They had both been willing to believe he was wrong, based on later events, but now that Hayes had re-entered the picture, it was all the confirmation either of them needed, firm evidence or not.

  “I’ll put out an alert for us to be notified when Hayes returns from Australia. I can be his welcome home committee, if you like.”

  Jejeune had given his head a short shake. “Angeren is well-connected enough to hear about any official request from us to the Border Force, and he’ll make sure Hayes finds out about it. As he pointed out, there is no legal reason for us to be paying any special attention to Hayes. A harassment suit would effectively tie our hands from now on. Besides, I’m fairly sure Angeren will still be willing to let us know when Hayes
is scheduled to return.”

  For a price, he didn’t say. A price Maik was certain his DCI had no intention of paying. But they both knew as long as Hayes was out of the country, Lindy was in no danger, which meant Jejeune still had some time to work on ways of keeping his girlfriend safe. They had let the subject drop and completed the rest of their journey in silence. Now they were ready to concentrate on matters at hand. Namely, interviewing this tall, distinguished individual who was striding toward them over the marshy ground with such purpose.

  “Good morning. I must inform you that this is Crown land, access is restricted. Signs are posted at the road entrance. But perhaps you did not see them?” Even in these rustic surroundings, the man’s elegant bearing was undiminished. He held his tall body upright with the kind of rigour that suggested a military background. But there was more here than simple discipline. His finely carved features spoke of a noble heritage and were carried with the confidence of the highborn. His white hair was worn in a longish cut, and his clothes betrayed the faint vanity of those for whom appearances are a kind of silent testimony to character. Rather than the same tawny colour as the others’ jackets, this man’s yellow coat took on almost a golden hue against the soft, diffused light that rested over the wetlands behind him.

  Maik flashed his ID, and the man inclined his immaculately coiffed head. “Ah, to the police, of course, no access is restricted. Welcome to Tidewater Marsh,” he said.

  “We’d like to speak with Teodor Sikorski,” said Jejeune.

  Another slight incline of the head accompanied his smile. “At your service.”

  The men introduced themselves and Sikorski’s face brightened. “Inspector Jejeune! Our paths have never crossed, but I know of your reputation. An Iberian Azure-winged Magpie. A first British record,” he said with a broad smile.