“Why would she do that?” Jejeune found that he had stood up, though he couldn’t remember doing so. His hand was gripping the phone tightly. “Is she okay?”
“She’s in hospital, sir. It’s just for observation. I went with her in the ambulance myself, and she was talking to me the entire way. She was conscious and alert, but they just want to watch her overnight, and as soon as they’re satisfied everything’s okay, they’ll release her.”
No timeline, no guarantees, noted Jejeune. But this was still vintage Danny Maik, giving Jejeune the outcome, the part he would want to know about, first. The details could wait.
“What happened?”
“An explosion at the magazine’s offices. Lindy was inside at the time.”
“But she’s okay? Not hurt?” Jejeune was pacing like a caged animal. His chest felt tight, as if he couldn’t draw enough breath into it.
“She’s put me on my oath to tell you she’s not injured, and that she’s … all right.” Fine wasn’t a word Maik used, but it would have been the way Lindy delivered it to him, Jejeune knew. “I only got the okay from her to make this call on the understanding that I made sure you knew that, sir.”
Jejeune looked around numbly. The surrounding darkness pressed in like prison walls. “Tell her I’m coming home, would you, Sergeant? I can’t get a flight until the morning. Our time. I can be there by …” His mind fogged, unable to compute the time difference between where he was now and where he so desperately wanted to be, needed to be. He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, confused, unsure, directionless.
“Lindy said not, sir.” Maik paused, as if deciding whether he really wanted to deliver his next line. “She said to tell you she was ordering you not to come back.” And now I have, his tone seemed to say, so it’s up to you two to work out the rules of engagement from here on in.
Jejeune managed a half-laugh, a frail gasp of relief. “That sounds like her. Please tell her I’ll think about it. I’ll call her tomorrow, as soon as I can.” The pause was almost undetectable, but Maik was ready for it. He was expecting what came next. “The explosion, do we know what caused it?”
“It could be a gas leak. We’ve found no signs of anything suspicious.”
But Maik was on shakier ground with the incident details. Or rather, Jejeune was sharper, less numbed by shock now and picking things up. If it could be a gas leak, it could be something else. And how long would it take before you had investigated the scene of an explosion thoroughly enough to definitively declare there was nothing suspicious about it? Certainly longer than they had been looking.
“I’d appreciate it if you could keep me informed,” said Jejeune, trying to make it sound like professional curiosity, but falling some way short.
“Will do, sir.”
Was there still a slight hesitation in Maik’s voice? “Anything else, Sergeant?”
The pause lasted one more beat. Now there was no doubt. “Do you know Robin Oakes, sir, the bird photographer out this way?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You’ve never met him, or had any dealings with him?”
“Not that I know of. Is he saying I have?”
“No. But when Inspector Laraby and I interviewed him as a person of interest in the Erin Dawes case, he made a point of asking about you. Twice.”
Jejeune took a leaf out of Maik’s book and paused himself, just for a moment.
“Inspector Laraby noticed, I take it?”
“It wasn’t the sort of inquiry you could have missed,” said Maik flatly. “Anyway, it was just something I wanted to clear up.”
Maik sounded as if he regretted bringing it up, especially when he knew the DCI had so much more on his mind at the moment. Not to worry, though. He had no doubt Jejeune wouldn’t be dwelling on it after they hung up. Thoughts of his girlfriend lying in a hospital bed thousands of miles away would see to that.
23
Danny Maik was quiet on the drive out to Oakham. Everyone had signed off on the explosion as an accident, an unhappy coming together of a box of abandoned chemicals and an errant cigarette butt. But Danny wouldn’t mind giving it a bit more thought. He might have to let it go for now, though. He had other things to contend with, like this single figure walking across Robin Oakes’s land, carrying what looked like a gun bag. Marvin Laraby, sitting in the passenger seat next to Danny, had noticed it, too, and signalled the sergeant to pull over, just in case it hadn’t already occurred to him. Maik slowed the Mini to a stop and grabbed a pair of binoculars from under the driver’s seat.
Through a screen of bare trees Maik could see the figure striding purposefully across the barren fields, silhouetted against the white sky. Maik tracked Robin Oakes as he approached the haphazard jigsaw puzzle of ruins that had once been his family’s home. Oakes stopped and looked around before sloughing the bag off his shoulder and crouching beside it.
“Looks like he’s out to do a bit of photography,” he told Laraby, still watching as Oakes withdrew a large tripod from the bag and began assembling it.
“As good a place as any to have our chat,” said Laraby. “At least those walls might provide a bit of a break from these winds. Come on, Sergeant, a nice bracing walk in the north Norfolk air. Do us both the world of good.” He opened the door and started off across the frost-rimed fields, leaving Maik to trudge along dutifully in his footsteps.
As they approached the ruins across the open field, the detectives were able to better appreciate the former magnificence of the old manor house. In addition to the maze of low walls, one of two larger remnants of the old building still survived. A couple of buttressed corners stood steadfastly against the keening winds, while nearer to Oakes, fragments of a chimney soared above the remains of a once-imposing fireplace.
Laraby and Maik carefully picked their way over the rubble gathered around the base of the walls. Oakes looked up from his camera as he heard their footsteps.
“DCI Jejeune is not back from his trip yet? I presumed he would have taken over this investigation by now,” he said.
“See that, Sergeant?” asked Laraby over his shoulder. “Detective Chief Inspector Jejeune’s star power carries some weight even among other celebrities. You’ve got quite the fan yourself, I understand — an American billionaire, no less. Likes your stuff, does he, this bloke?”
Oakes inclined his head. “He has an eye.”
Even with two, Maik couldn’t see how Oakes could possibly make enough from his photography to manage the upkeep of this estate. But then, these so-called musicians of today were hardly what Danny would call talented, and they were making amounts that would have made the old Motown stars’ eyes water. If you could sell a picture of an owl for five hundred quid these days, who knew what you could get for some commissioned work from a billionaire.
“There’s a picture on my wall at The Birder’s Roost B and B,” said Laraby. “A bunch of Dotterels. Would that be one of yours? Only there’s a fairly hefty price tag on the bottom of it.”
“I believe they do have some of my work there. Although I think you’ll find it’s not a bunch of Dotterels. It’s a trip.”
“A trip of Dotterels?” Laraby looked first at Oakes and then at Maik as if suspecting he was part of some elaborate joke. Maik looked as if he wished for all the world he could say he was. But he knew better.
“You’ve got a significant following among the local environmental groups, I understand,” said the inspector. “Your pictures of birds seem to have caught their attention particularly.”
Oakes shrugged easily. “One tries.”
“Who’s this Juan?” asked Laraby, so deadpan you couldn’t really be sure whether he’d misunderstood or not. But neither man chose to pursue it. “It got me to wondering,” continued Laraby, “this interest you seem to have in Detective Chief Inspector Jejeune. Is he a mate of yours? I imagine you photographers are pretty tight with the birders. They find ’em and you photograph ’em. Is that how it goes?”
/> “I don’t believe the inspector and I have ever met,” said Oakes evenly, “though I am aware of his interest in birds. He found an Azure-winged Magpie some years ago. That sort of thing gets noticed in birding communities.”
Laraby looked around, past the ruined walls to the flat, featureless land beyond. “I have to say, I can’t see much here worth taking pictures of. A few old walls, a few empty fields. What is it about this spot that that makes it worth coming out here on a cold day like this to snap a few photos, I wonder?”
Oakes shook his head in what might have been pity. “Really, Inspector? The play of light on these weathered surfaces is lost on you, the lichens tracing their way across the bleached stone? Even the pockets of shadow in the crevices, or the remains of the walls themselves, set against the backdrop of this stark, barren landscape. None of this seems worthy of capturing? I have to say, I find this place very evocative. The bleakness, the sense of loss. It’s a fitting metaphor for winter in this part of the world.”
Oakes raised his camera to his eye and tested a couple of settings. “Is there something else you wanted to ask me?”
“As a matter of fact there is. When we spoke to you last, you seemed to believe the Picaflor deal was still on,” said Laraby carefully. “But it must have been obvious nothing was happening on your land.”
“I’m rarely at this property these days. I spend a fair amount of time in the United States. And besides, I had no idea what sort of timeline we were dealing with. For all I knew, there were months of preparations to go through before Amendal began his trials. I simply expected to come home one day and find a squadron of drones flying across my land.”
Maik turned up his collar and eased back slightly into the meagre shelter of the wall they were standing beside. But despite the raw winds reddening his cheeks and making his eyes water slightly, DI Laraby seemed to be enjoying himself.
“You said before you had no reason to kill Erin Dawes. But it seems you’ve lost out on a fairly lucrative options holding with the investment not going through.”
Oakes lowered the camera and looked at Laraby directly, giving him the full benefit of his handsome, playboy features. “Beyond some vague possibility that Picaflor stocks might rise in value at some point, I lost precisely nothing by the deal not going through, Inspector. I’d have thought both Gerald Moncrieff and Amelia Welbourne had stronger motives. Assuming, of course, you’ve already eliminated Dr. Amendal himself from your inquiries.”
Maik couldn’t help himself. “Amendal? What’s he got to do with this?”
“He was furious at Erin’s continuing delays. He claimed every day the deal did not go through was one day further his trials fell behind.”
“When you say furious,” asked Maik, “did you ever hear him threaten Ms. Dawes?”
“Not in person, but the tone of those phone messages he left…. Would you call them threats? I don’t know, but from what I understand they were hardly friendly inquiries.”
“We’ve checked her phone messages,” said Laraby curtly. “There was nothing from Dr. Amendal.”
“Not on her home phone. He called the IV League number. It’s a separate line we set up.” He looked at the men quizzically. “You don’t know about this?”
He gave them the number and Maik dialed it. A female voice recording identified the line as the IV League’s number and made the standard request for the caller’s details.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the code for retrieving messages,” said Oakes, in answer to Maik’s expectant look. “I imagine that might be something the phone company could help you with?”
“Or you could tell us what the messages said yourself?” Laraby accompanied the words with a smile. But it wasn’t a friendly one.
“I never heard them, I’m afraid. But I do know Erin was upset by them. She said Amendal was growing increasingly hostile. Borderline harassment, she called it, and somewhat abusive. I did think of calling him about it myself to give him a piece of my mind. I mean, Erin and I didn’t always see eye to eye, but bullying a person like that, it’s just not on, is it?”
“You didn’t call,” confirmed Maik.
“Erin said she would take care of matters and everything would be resolved.”
Laraby looked like a man whose day wasn’t turning out quite as he had planned. “On the night Erin Dawes was murdered, as you remember things, you were up at the gatehouse. Alone.”
“I was.”
“Looking at photographs, you said.”
“Correct.”
“Of what?”
“Of birds, actually. Barn Owls. As I told you, they roost here, in the chimney remains, mostly.” He began to dismantle his tripod and pack up his photography equipment. “Not getting the contrasts I need at the moment,” he explained. “Perhaps I’ll give it a try later. I hear there’s a storm coming. I might get some nice atmospheric cloud cover.”
Maik watched the careful way Oakes put away his equipment, a series of precise actions performed almost mechanically. It was the work of a man with a love of order, a methodical mind, a planner. Laraby seemed to be watching him, too. “This photography you do,” he said, as Oakes snugged a lens into his bag. “I don’t suppose you ever took any pictures of Erin Dawes? In dodgy poses, for example?”
Oakes looked up at him from his crouched position. “Not my thing, Inspector. I might be able to put you in touch with somebody who deals in that area, though, if you’ d like a few more prints for your collection.”
Laraby rewarded the comment with the thinnest of smiles. Maik had wondered at the time if perhaps Laraby had missed the upward flickering of Oakes’s eyes again when he’ d claimed to be in the gatehouse looking at the bird photographs, but the DI’s parting remarks suggested he’d seen them after all.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Oakes. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon. I have a feeling I’m going to come across more evidence about who killed Erin Dawes any day now, and when I do, I’m going to make sure you’re one of the very first people I share it with.”
24
The appearance of DCS Shepherd in the doorway at the start of the morning briefing had become a rarity during the last few weeks; part of an ongoing effort, at least as far as Maik could tell, to stay as far away from Inspector Jejeune as possible. That she had showed up for the second consecutive briefing under Laraby’s tenure told Maik a lot.
“Now, as you all know, I like to stay out of the way as much as I can.” Maik’s eyes grew wide at the comment. Perspective was a strange thing, but he doubted anyone would be willing to offer a different one. Besides, even if Shepherd’s declaration was ostensibly directed to the group at large, there was really only one person in the room she needed to reassure. Her next statement seemed to acknowledge as much. “For the record, I’m happy with progress on this case. I just want to make sure you’re aware you’ll have support at the senior levels, regardless of where this goes.”
To the upper reaches of Saltmarsh society, she meant. If an outsider like Laraby wanted to go around questioning the rural aristocracy of north Norfolk, it was going to be okay with her. Laraby spread his arms expansively. “I’m sure my team appreciate the vote of confidence, Superintendent. We are looking to bring this case to a speedy conclusion, for everybody’s sake, but we’ll do our best to ruffle as few feathers as possible.” He gave the DCS an accommodating smile and Shepherd offered one of her own to acknowledge the comment.
She looked across to Maik. “Have you heard if Lindy Hey has been released from hospital?”
“She’s got a couple of minor cuts and bruises, but she said she’ll probably feel like going back to work by tomorrow. Wherever that is, of course. I understand the magazine’s looking for temporary premises.”
Shepherd nodded. “Keep me informed. I’ll pop over to see how she’s doing as soon as I can. Domenic’s not coming back early, I understand?”
Laraby’s head swivelled around at this information. “Must be some important birds he�
��s seeing out there,” he said. “I’d have been on the first plane home.”
“There certainly appears to be something keeping him in Colombia.” Shepherd seemed to realize she had spoken aloud and hurriedly indicated to Laraby to begin the briefing.
“Right, let’s have a quick run-through, shall we? Sergeant, anything on the Connor James angle you were so keen to have a look at?”
Maik, who had farmed it off to Salter, looked at the constable expectantly and she scrolled through her tablet. “Nothing to suggest any criminal activity, but that photograph by Oakes is not the first item he’s sent over to the gallery recently. There’s been a steady stream of items, mostly from his flat in London: paintings, sculpture, all on consignment. They definitely all belong to James; he’s providing original purchase receipts for everything, and the items all have solid provenance, so, as I say, nothing illegal seems to be going on.”
Maik pointed in the direction of the information. “He’s selling up. That’s what the boat reminds me of, a place that’s been staged for sale. See if The Big Deal is on the market, Constable.”
“Selling a few items is not suspicious activity, Sergeant,” said Laraby reasonably. “Not even a boat. Nor is failing to report it to the police. It might explain why that boat’s still in the water so late in the season, though. If he can flog it quickly, the buyer might still be able to sail it away.”
Salter’s fingers hovered over the keypad. But Danny didn’t rescind his request. If Laraby noticed, he made no comment.
“What about those messages from Dr. Amendal?” Shepherd asked Laraby. “Has anyone had a chance to listen to them?”
Laraby wagged his finger between himself and Maik. “We did, this morning. A bit of aggro, but nothing in the nature of a specific threat. Amendal was miffed, rightly, that the IV League seemed to be playing games. He made it crystal clear that any delay would mean they’d have to begin tests on a site other than Oakham, and this would mean extra work for him.”
As Laraby shrugged his shoulders, Maik did his best to hide a look of surprise. “A mountain of extra work” was how he remembered Amendal phrasing it. And miffed would hardly be the term he’d choose for the string of invective the young scientist had unleashed into the IV League’s answering machine. There seemed to be an escalation, too, as the deadline for the investment drew closer. Amendal didn’t strike Danny as the type of person who would act on his anger to the extent of murdering somebody. But then, he hadn’t struck Danny as the type of person who would leave such vitriol on an answering machine in the first place.
A Shimmer of Hummingbirds Page 15
