“They shoot them, you know,” said Angeren. “Too many of them, they say. English-born and bred yet they call them vermin.”
All three men watched the bird for a moment, strutting around, flicking its tail now and then in jaunty defiance of the world and its prejudices.
“Vermin is vermin,” said Tony Holland tersely. “No matter where it comes from.”
Angeren half-turned, one elbow on the shiny cherrywood bar top, to look at the speaker. “So, who’s this bright boy then, Sergeant?” An idea seemed to strike him. “Don’t tell me he’s the DCI’s replacement.”
Maik introduced Holland.
“Welcome to Whitehaven, Constable. Would you like a drink?”
“What I’d like is to find out who set the fire at the Polish Centre.”
“That place up at Tidewater Marsh?” Angeren looked down into the colourless liquid in his glass and nodded slowly. “Yes, I heard about that. Much damage, was there? Only I know some people who work in demolition. They could tear down the rest of it and haul it away, if you like. They’re very good at what they do. Give ’em a couple of days and they could wipe out all traces of that place. Make it seem if it had never been there at all. Guaranteed.”
“Two women almost died in that fire,” said Holland angrily.
“Neither of them was English, though, right?”
“Des Gill is third generation British, for Christ’s sake,” shouted Holland. “Her family have been here since the fifties.”
“Then I’d say they’ve been over here long enough, wouldn’t you? It’s high time they went back where they came from.”
“They come from Essex, you moron.” He looked at Angeren coldly. “We’re going to find out who set that fire, and when we do, I’m going to remind the arrest team that a serving police officer, an innocent woman, was almost killed in it.”
His eyes never left Angeren’s face, but the other man wasn’t rising to the bait. He took a sip from his glass and smiled at the constable. “Oh, I’d hardly imagine she was innocent, Constable Holland. There’s not one of us that isn’t guilty of something. It’s what happens as you grow up. Only the young die good. Isn’t that right, Sergeant Maik?” He took another drink. “But perhaps I detect a bit of personal interest here. You might want to think about who you’re consorting with, Constable. Doesn’t reflect well on your department at all, you hanging about with that type.”
Holland made a move towards the bar but Maik eased his body over to block his path. “Paulina Kowalski was left for dead in that fire, Mr. Angeren. We’re treating it as attempted murder.”
Angeren inclined his head. “Ah, so that’s why you’re here.” He looked between Maik and Holland. “Well, I don’t know about you two, but I can’t come up with a single motive I might have for wanting to harm Mrs. Kowalski.”
“Unfinished business with her son would be one,” said Maik. “That day you were so angry with Kowalski. It hasn’t come back to you why that was?”
Angeren bunched his fingers at his temple and exploded them outward. “Gone clean out of my mind.”
“So you hadn’t heard he was up to anything illegal?”
Angeren looked intently at the sergeant, as if studying his features for clues. But Maik had spent a lifetime making sure his expressions revealed only what he wanted them to, and after a moment, the developer gave up. “I hear a lot of things in my line of work, Sergeant. Some of them are even true. But I can’t say I ever heard a small-time chancer like Kowalski was involved in anything major around these parts. Can I ask what particular enterprise we might be talking about?”
Maik seemed content to let the awkward silence between the men go on indefinitely. Angeren held up a hand. “Official police business. I understand. No offence taken.” He looked down onto the golf course again. “Pity you never took up the game, Sergeant. You’d probably get some decent distance on your drives with that upper body strength of yours. If you ever fancied a try, I could arrange a few lessons for you. On the house. Not your chirpy friend here, though. I’m afraid the constable would have to pay full whack.” He turned to look directly at Holland. “That’s the way it is, see — when you own the place, you can always find a way to discriminate if you want to.”
“I hear you were up at Tidewater Marsh recently,” said Maik, his tone offering Holland a textbook example of how to ignore a comment completely, “giving Teodor Sikorski a history lesson.”
“Invasive species control, that’s what they’re supposed to be working on up there, according to him. As far as I can see, it’s just some make-work project to help out a bunch of foreigners.”
“It’s hardly make-work,” said Maik. “More like backbreaking labour.”
Angeren was shaking his head to reject the words before Maik had finished speaking them. “The government have already admitted they’re never going to be able to get rid of all the Japanese knotweed in this country. So why pay this geezer and his mates to remove it, when they know it won’t do any good in the long run?”
“It’s a particularly dangerous hybrid species, as I understand it. It has the potential to do a lot of damage.”
“It’s charity is what it is,” said Angeren. “A handout for a bunch of people who shouldn’t even be here. Two billion pounds a year. That’s what the government pisses away on schemes to control invasives. You know how you get rid of unwanted intruders once and for all? Burn ’em out. A scorched earth policy, that’s what’s called for.” He looked at Holland and gave him a cold smile. “You can tell that foreign lady friend of yours I said so, too, if you like.”
This time, Holland made it to the bar. His reflection in the polished wood surface was less than a hand’s span from Angeren’s. “I don’t like you,” he said, looking into the developer’s face. “I don’t like your views, or what you stand for, or your slimy, pretend respectability. And that’s bad news for you. I don’t know what kind of deal you’ve got going with Jejeune, but for whatever reason, he seems inclined to give you a free pass on everything that’s been going on around here. But you won’t get one from me. And that’s a promise.”
“I imagine we should be checking in with the station,” said Maik, leaning into a space between the men that hadn’t been there before. “Just to see if any new information has come in.” He fixed Holland with a stare. “I wonder, Constable, can I ask you to take care of that, while I just wrap things up here with Mr. Angeren?”
The two men watched Holland’s angry departure in silence.
“You’re going to have to rein that one in, Sergeant. A bit too much enthusiasm for his own good.”
“I like him the way he is. For one thing, he’s got very good instincts.”
“You know, another man could take some of the comments today as threats. I happen to know DCS Shepherd frowns upon that sort of thing. Still, one man’s word against another. I daresay an official complaint wouldn’t go very far.” Angeren looked down to the golf course. The Magpie was still there, gleaning insects and seeds from the ground.
“A nation of Magpies, that’s what we’ve been reduced to these days,” said Angeren bitterly, “through the attitudes of people like your young friend. Grab a bit of tat from this culture, a bit of dross from that one, and what have you got? A pile of crap all cobbled together in the name of inclusiveness. Well, to my mind, there’s still a lot to be said for exclusiveness.”
Maik’s look told Angeren he’d heard just about all the philosophical discourses he wanted to for today. “You’re interested in this arrangement the inspector and I are supposed to have. I can assure you, Sergeant, I have no idea what Constable Holland is talking about. I do know DCI Jejeune is not interested in any gentleman’s agreement to exchange information. I have to say I’m surprised. I’d have thought any plans Ray Hayes might have, imminent or otherwise, would have been of interest to him. But there you are. If he’s choosing to do me any special favours around the station now, I can only assume it’s because he’s seen the error of his ways
in having suspected me in the first place.”
Angeren reached behind the bar and grabbed a bottle of gin to top up his drink. He didn’t offer to pour one for Maik. “Must be hard for somebody like you to see what’s going on in this country, a man who’s served with such bravery and distinction.” Angeren raised his glass. “Your service is appreciated by some, Sergeant, even though I’m sure it doesn’t feel like many people care these days.”
Maik eyed him warily. The appreciation of a man like Curtis Angeren wasn’t really at the forefront of his thoughts when he was doing his military service.
“The thing is, Sergeant, there’s still battles to be fought. If it ever crossed your mind that you’d like to continue what you started in the army — protecting our values and keeping our way of life safe from those who’d try to take it from us — I just want you to know, there’d always be a place for you in my organization.”
Maik doubted he could have looked more surprised if Angeren had proposed marriage. Surely he must know how fiercely Danny opposed his beliefs. But perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps there was space on Angeren’s exclusiveness ark for non-believers, too, for dependable police sergeants and Canadians whose jobs couldn’t be done by dull-witted natives. As long as you had a purpose, a value to Curtis Angeren, you were considered worthwhile. Nevertheless, Maik felt shamed by the invitation, stained by it, as if perhaps he hadn’t done enough to openly declare his opposition to the man and his repugnant views, as Tony Holland had. The feeling stayed with him as he made his way down the stairs from the rooftop bar towards the waiting Audi.
39
Lindy dropped the keys to the Range Rover in the basket by the front door as she came in. “Thanks for letting me borrow The Beast,” she called out. “But I’ll be glad when I can get my own car back. You tell Danny Maik he’s got a lot to answer for, destroying my lovely little Leaf just to save the lives of a couple of women. Damned cheek.”
She went through to the kitchen and made herself a mug of tea. She’d unilaterally declared herself off alcohol a couple of nights ago, and waited in silence until Domenic had agreed to join her. Tea was their drink of choice now, but he couldn’t drink it in the quantities she could. A couple of cups a day was his limit, and she was sure he’d already had those.
She stood for a moment in the kitchen, stirring her tea, staring down into it thoughtfully. She’d been intending to discuss their trip to Canada with Dom tonight, to see if she could get some sort of commitment from him. She had told herself he was busy, that she just needed to be patient, even if she knew patience was really just procrastination without the guilt. But if he didn’t say something soon, she was going to have to confront him about it. So are we going to Canada, or not? But after the events of today, Canada would have to go on the back burner for a bit.
*
Lindy came into the living room carrying her tea and stood opposite Jejeune, who was reading a file on his laptop. “Shepherd hasn’t said anything to you about Eric getting a bang on the head recently, has she?”
“No.” Normally, Jejeune would have looked up at such a surprising question from Lindy, but he kept his eyes on the file he was reading.
“I think he might be going gaga, quite literally.”
Jejeune realized no matter how much he wanted to avoid eye contact with Lindy just now, not to raise his head at such an alarming statement would seem suspicious, to say the least.
She took a sip of her tea. “He was ranting on at us about security this morning. He said the last one out on Friday failed to set the alarm. According to him, when he went by later that night, the alarm was off.”
Jejeune held his gaze as steady as possible, a task made more difficult by Lindy’s unblinking stare.
“That was me, Dom. I was last one out on Friday night. And I know full well I armed it. It’s like a ritual with us now. Since that spate of breakins on the High Street last year, we’ve been expecting to get turned over any day.”
“For what? That secret collection of chocolate biscuits you keep in your desk?” He had hoped it might be enough to nudge her off track, but in reality he knew a Lindy affronted was a Lindy unlikely to be deflected by such fluff.
“For your information, there’s a lot of sensitive material in our offices: contacts, sources, research documents we’re working on. And if any of it ever went missing, we’d have no chance of getting it back. The police round here are bloody useless.”
She set her tea down and started searching for something in her purse. Jejeune was still sitting, looking at her. Somehow he still felt to do anything else might alert her to his tension. Besides, it seemed likely that this was simply venting. He settled slightly to the idea of letting Lindy’s frustration burn itself out. He’d even help.
“Did you tell Eric you were the last one out?”
Lindy nodded. “I assured him he was mistaken. Quite emphatically, as a matter of fact,” she said, allowing herself a small smile at the memory. “But he still kept on giving me the evil eye all morning. Worse still, he turned his anger on that new intern we’ve taken on. Why can’t she file properly? Doesn’t she know what order the letters are supposed to come in? The poor kid was devastated, and with good reason. I’ve never seen anybody so meticulous. She could work for Mansfield Jones, for God’s sake. If it came to a contest between her filing and Eric’s grasp of the alphabet, I know where I’d put my money. Like I said, he seems to be losing it. I’m actually a bit worried about him.”
“He’s probably just got a lot on his mind at the moment,” said Jejeune. “Work things.” He needed to straddle a dangerous line here. It was important Lindy didn’t harbour any genuine fears for Eric’s mental health. Their relationship was important to her, and she would be truly worried if she felt he was showing signs of instability. On the other hand, he could hardly reassure her that Eric’s faculties were fine, without revealing exactly how he knew. The alarm had been off when Eric entered the offices on Friday night. It was Jejeune who had disarmed it. And while he couldn’t speak to Eric’s knowledge of the alphabet, there was a good chance the files were out of order because Jejeune may well have misfiled them in his haste to replace them as Eric entered the office.
“What was he doing in the office after hours anyway?” It seemed a reasonable question, one that somebody innocent might ask.
“How should I know?” asked Lindy, resuming her rummage through her purse. “Probably installing spyware so he can track the porn sites we visit. Poor Emma. Hot Boyz in Thongz is one of her favourites. She’ll be devastated if Eric blocks it.” She was smiling as she raised her head. “Relax, Dom, I’m joking. You know you’ll always be my number one hot boy, thong or no thong.” She became serious again. “Do you really think it’s just work? He’s been acting strangely for a couple of days now, guarded, not at all like his normal self. I do hope there’s no problems between him and Shepherd. He seems so happy. They both do.”
Once again, Jejeune was trapped. If there were no problems between their bosses, there almost certainly would be very soon. But they were not of the kind Lindy meant. He was as sure as he could be that they still cared for each other, perhaps even more so now such a major threat hovered over their relationship. He couldn’t find it in himself to shut her out any longer.
“You remember that talk we had? The one about you having qualities that have always impressed Eric?”
“Like my Polish folk dancing, you mean?” Flippancy was often Lindy’s safety net when she was becoming unnerved by the direction of the conversation. She abandoned her purse search for good and took another sip of her tea.
“Like your professionalism, your journalistic integrity. Eric actually said that, didn’t he, when he hired you?”
“Darn that memory of yours,” said Lindy, colouring slightly. “Had you not plied me with alcohol that night, I’d never have told you something like that.”
“I seem to remember you were fairly well plied by the time you came home,” said Domenic simp
ly. “But he was right, Lindy. You would never falsify a story, or manipulate someone to get one.”
“Where’s this coming from, Dom? Is there a point to all this? If you’re working up to asking me for money, I’m afraid you’re out of luck until payday.”
But he couldn’t let it go now. He’d come too far. “The thing is, it’s always seemed to me that the qualities people admire most in others are the ones they lack themselves.”
Lindy paused with her mug to her lips. She brought up her other hand to hold it also. “Dom, you can’t be suggesting what it sounds like. I’m having trouble finding a way to tell you this, dear, but, erm, you’re wrong. I know it must come as a bit of a shock. Do you want to lie down? Perhaps I should bring you some smelling salts.” Her tone was playful, but she looked at him over the top of her steaming mug as she sipped her tea, just to make sure he got the message. She waited a moment to see if he was going to say anything, but he stayed silent. “Come on, Dom,” she said reasonably, “you can’t seriously believe Eric would ever be involved in anything illegal, even to get such a great story as the Vincent Canby confession.”
At this point, Domenic Jejeune wasn’t sure if he seriously believed it or not. But he knew DCS Colleen Shepherd did.
“Of all the journalists covering that case, Eric was the one Vincent Canby called in to hear his dying confession, Lindy. The only one.”
“I told you. Eric must have built up a rapport with him. He’d earned his trust.”
“I’m not sure how he would have done that. They’d never met.”
There was a long silence. Lindy set her mug down gently on the table and waited until her face found the expression she wanted. “I know Eric fairly well, Dom, and I know a lot of people who know him even better. There has never been a whisper from any of them about any improper conduct. None. Ever. Do you hear what I’m saying?”
A Tiding of Magpies Page 24
