Jejeune was walking a fine line between giving Maik his attention and sorting through things in the drawer of his desk. So far he was managing his balancing act, but it was a close thing. Maik paused for a moment to see if his outgoing DCI might spare him the ordeal of having to monologue the entire meeting. But he could understand why he wouldn’t. Jejeune had a few other things on his mind at the moment.
“With you so firmly locked onto him, Oakes was going to need somebody else for you to look at. Enter Connor James. But even there, he was going to have to be clever. Don’t frame him, but make it look like he was framing you, instead. Only leave just enough clues for a good detective,” Maik paused and looked at Jejeune, “a very good detective, to follow.” The sergeant shook his head. “Like I said, he was clever.”
Jejeune paused in his drawer search and looked up at Maik. “Detective Chief Inspector Laraby is getting a good man, Sergeant. I understand it’s not in your nature, but it might not hurt to remind him of it every once in a while.” He offered Maik a thin smile.
“Even the business with the Barn Owls was part of his plan, wasn’t it, sir? Directed at you.”
“Yes, I think it was.”
“The rest of us, we might have just shrugged it off as a bit of naughtiness by an over-zealous photographer. But he knew you’d go after him; pursue him to the fullest extent of the law, no leniency, no tolerance. To some, it might have looked like an over-reaction. It might even look like it was affecting your judgment, continuing to look at him for Erin Dawes’s murder in the face of all this mounting evidence pointing to Connor James. It would have made a lot of people think twice about why you had Robin Oakes so firmly in your sights.”
Jejeune replied with silence. He closed the drawer gently and looked at his sergeant. A lot of people, perhaps, but not all. You wouldn’t have questioned my approach, would you?
“And to think, DI Laraby said clever criminals don’t come his way very often,” said Maik eventually, giving his head a small shake. “I think we could say Robin Oakes is the exception. Of course, Oakes’s problem was, he was expecting somebody as clever as he was to be investigating the case. But he didn’t get you, did he? He got Inspector Laraby. And me. So he had to give us those eyes all the time, make sure we knew he was lying, so he could lead us by our noses right where he wanted us to go, toward Barn Owls and away from land ownership.”
“Marvin Laraby is a very good detective, Sergeant.”
“Is he?”
“Yes. He is. Just don’t …” Jejeune stopped suddenly. “He’s a very good detective.”
He took a small book from a shelf behind him and tossed it Maik’s way. The sergeant caught it deftly with one hand. It was a guide to the birds of Norfolk. “In case you ever need it,” said Jejeune. “For a case, I mean. You never know.”
Maik tapped the book against his fingertips and nodded slightly. “You never know. I’ll leave you to it then, sir. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of things to do.” He looked at Jejeune. “I don’t get over to Minton very often, but it’s not that far. I could be there in a hurry, if ever there was a need.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Maik had his big, calloused hand on the door handle before he turned around. “If you can manage it, sir, try to make a point of popping in before you go. I’d like the chance to say goodbye.”
55
Laraby took off his jacket and slung it over the back of one of the beige Formica chairs in the cafeteria. “So,” he said brightly, “it looks like we’ve got a lot to talk about.”
Rather than meet his expectant gaze, Salter looked around the room. She had always hated this place, with its functional furniture and insipid decorating scheme, and it’s buzzing, sickly-yellow fluorescent lights. It was a room to kill appetites, of any kind; an oppressive windowless space designed, it had always seemed to her, to drain the joy out of any experience.
“It’ll be a bit of a change of pace for everybody after what they’ve been used to recently. But at least DCI Jejeune’s landed on his feet. Off to bigger and better things, just how he likes it.”
“Does he?” Salter was still having trouble meeting Laraby’s eyes. “It wasn’t his decision, though, was it? I mean, I heard DCS Shepherd say she’d decided it was best for all concerned.” She finally found a way to look at him, her eyes unwavering now, searching his.
Laraby shrugged easily. “I suppose we all knew he’d come unstuck because of this birding business one day. I don’t say it was Shepherd’s only consideration, but I’m sure it made a difficult decision a bit easier.”
“Golden Oriole. That was the bird he went after, wasn’t it? I wonder if he saw it.”
“I’m not sure.” Laraby was guarded now, some of the sunshine gone from his attitude.
Salter shook her head. “No, he wouldn’t have. I talked to a local birder, a woman named Carrie Pritchard. She told me that the likelihood of a Golden Oriole showing up in north Norfolk this late in the year would be, let’s see, how did she put it, “somewhat beyond the bounds of probability,” which I think is birder-speak for not happening. She also said, if one had shown up, the rare bird lines would have lit up like Christmas trees. But they didn’t. Utter silence.”
Salter’s eyes had dropped down to the stained, worn tabletop momentarily, but now they flashed up again and caught Laraby in their twin beams. “There never was a Golden Oriole. You created an alert, and then you sent it to Jejeune’s laptop so you could show Shepherd. And then you deleted it before he returned. But did you know the police can retrieve deleted messages, Marvin? Has the technology reached that far, down The Smoke?”
Her anger was rising now, in her voice and her colour, flushing her cheeks red. But not the same blush he had found so attractive earlier, far from that. Very far indeed.
“It’s called giving yourself an edge, Lauren. It’s what we have to do. Not the chosen ones, not the ones who’ve been touched by the golden hand. You’d never expect them to stoop to anything as low as that,” Laraby said sarcastically. “But the rest of us, the ones who’ve got to put themselves out there every day and make our own good fortune, we need that little boost sometimes. So a little white lie, padding an expense form, a bit of career sabotage for a rival, it’s all fair game when you aren’t part of the privileged set. I wouldn’t expect Jejeune to understand any of this, but you should.”
She shook her head slightly in what might have been some kind of admiration. “And you made sure Danny was with him, because you knew he would never betray Danny Maik, so he couldn’t reveal to Shepherd where he’d been. Even using the one topic, birding, that was likely to find even less tolerance with Shepherd than being disobeyed.” She nodded. “You want to stitch somebody up, it doesn’t come much better than that.”
“Look,” said Laraby defensively, “regardless of whether he went birding or to find some bloke who likes setting off explosives, it was his choice to go. He was told to stay and mind the shop and he went. He showed where his priorities lay, as he always does. With himself, his own interests, his own agendas, not those of the police service.”
“He was trying to save the woman he loved, Marvin. And you used that, you took advantage of it.” She shook her head. “I could have forgiven a lot of things, but not that, not using someone’s love as a weakness to be exploited.”
“Look, why don’t you call your dad and ask him to babysit Max tonight. He likes Davy. It’ll be good for both of them. We can go out and have a nice meal and talk about all this.”
But Salter continued as if she hadn’t been listening. “Max’s father can be a nice bloke in some ways. Thoughtful, attentive, he’s never missed a birthday or anniversary. But he can be a devious, manipulative bastard at times.” She looked directly at Laraby, as if to be sure he would get the message. “I can’t have that for Max, not again. He needs a man around who can show him that decency and integrity mean something. That it’s not okay to shove somebody under the bus just because
you resent their success.”
“He’s not who you think he is, Lauren. Ask him about that case with the young lad on the estate, the case he abandoned to go chasing after the Home Secretary’s daughter. Ask him about that one time, why don’t you?” Laraby took a breath and reined himself in. “Lauren, please. Call your dad, get him to take Max for a few hours. Let’s talk.”
Salter shook her head, ignoring his plea. “She’ll figure it out at some point, you know. Shepherd. She’ll mention it to Eric when he gets back, and he’ll tell her there never was a Golden Oriole alert. But it won’t matter by then. You’ll be here and Jejeune will be in Minton, and it will be too late to put things right. But it’s not too late now, Marvin, not yet. I really wish it could have worked out. Truly, I do. But it didn’t, and it can’t now.”
“It can.”
“No, it can’t. Because you’re going to tell the DCS that you’ll be taking Minton instead.”
“Now, wait a minute, let’s think this through. This is not just my future we’re talking about here, Lauren, it’s yours, too. Ours. Even Max’s.”
“Because if you don’t,” she continued as if Laraby hadn’t spoken, “first thing tomorrow I’ll be telling DCS Shepherd all I know about Golden Orioles. It’s not much, but I’m betting neither job offer is going to be on the table by the time I’m finished.”
She sat resolutely, staring at him. She had wondered how she would feel, whether her emotions would start to take over. But she was in control, calmer than she imagined she’d be. Perhaps she’d been resigned to this even before today’s announcements. So she didn’t stand up. She didn’t walk away. This was her station, her life, her tired, depressing, rundown canteen. It was Laraby who had entered her world. It was he who would be leaving.
He seemed to sense her resolve and stood up. Salter could see that he had accepted the situation now. There was finality to his movements, the way he squared his shoulders. There would be no more requests for her to reconsider.
“I hope you’ve made the right choice here, Lauren,” he said, collecting his jacket from the back of the chair and shrugging it on. “Because, you know, for such a good detective, even Jejeune forgets to ask the right question sometimes. Like about Ray Hayes, for example.”
Salter was puzzled, shocked. Amid all the turmoil between the two of them, what was Laraby doing dragging up some name she had never heard of?
“We put him away for twenty-five to life. Only he’s out now. But the inspector you’re so keen to protect has never asked why. Sometime when you’ve got a moment alone with him, perhaps you’d like to tell him for me. Only when you do, you might want to make sure it’s somewhere quiet. He’ll need a few minutes to collect himself, I imagine.”
Laraby leaned forward to rest his hands on the table across from her. “Ray Hayes was released on an unsafe conviction. Seems there was some dodgy handling of evidence around that time. All of the cases that went through our station during that period are under review. And that would include the one involving the Home Secretary’s daughter. Tell him that, would you? Only, a word to the wise, Lauren. You might want to let him enjoy his Christmas first. Because I can guarantee he won’t be enjoying much of anything after you get around to telling him.”
Salter watched Marvin Laraby’s back as he departed. She had been preparing herself for a range of emotions when he left. Trying to work out the complexities of his rivalry with Domenic Jejeune had not been among them. She stared around at the drab walls of the cafeteria. No matter how ugly, familiarity had its own comforts at times.
56
The supermarket’s Christmas decorations taunted Lindy with their joy, every blinking light, every twinkling strand of tinsel. Even the cheery piped-in music seemed to magnify her own sadness. She gathered her goods desultorily, on this, perhaps her final grocery journey to this shop. But she would dig deep, find that steely resolve again that had been missing since the explosion, blown out of her it seemed at times, leaving only hollowness, weakness, a lack of will. If this was to be their last Christmas in Saltmarsh, she would make it a good one. No tears, no moping around, no regrets.
When her phone rang, she thought briefly about ignoring it. False levity was beyond her at the moment, and no one deserved to hear her sorrow as they were gearing up for their own Christmas celebrations. She saw it was Dom’s number. The one person she could speak to, the only one who would understand her inconsolable sadness, who shared it. Except, he didn’t sound sad; tentative, perhaps, but definitely not sad. She listened for a few moments as he spoke and then sought out a quiet corner where she could turn her head from the passing shoppers to hide the tears welling up in her eyes.
“Oh, Dom, that’s fantastic. It’s the best Christmas present you could ever have given me. Did Shepherd say what changed her mind?”
“Only that the position had opened up again, and she hoped I would consider staying. She didn’t say why.”
“Of course not. She’d be too embarrassed to say she’d had a rethink and come to the conclusion you’re the best detective she’s ever had, and the station would be absolutely lost without you.” She looked down and her cart, her eyes still moist with emotion. “The shopping can wait,” she said. “I’m coming home. We’re going out to celebrate.”
Lindy walked to the door, where a man held it open for her.
“So what’s happened to Laraby?”
“No idea,” said Jejeune. “I imagine he’s off back to the Met. Or Minton. But let’s not talk about other people. Let’s make tonight about us, and about Saltmarsh, and about the idea that we are staying here after all.”
The man’s face was hidden in his hoodie, but the spirit of Christmas was flowing freely in Lindy now. Goodwill to all, whether you could make eye contact with them or not. She mouthed a passing thank you to the man as she left.
The man did not let the supermarket door close after her. Instead, he watched her cross the car park, still chatting animatedly on the phone.
“My pleasure, Lindy,” said Ray Hayes.
Chiribiquete and the Karijona
At more than 10,000 square miles (27,000 square kilometres), Chiribiquete National Park is one of the largest rainforest reserves in the world. It is also one of the least accessible. In addition to the tepuis, the “Lost World” mountains that are home to the Chiribiquete Emerald hummingbird, the park features waterfalls, rapids, giant granitic domes, and canyons.
It is also the spiritual and physical home of the Karijona. In the 1790s, the estimated population of the indigenous Karijona people of Colombia was 15,000. By early in the twentieth century, introduced diseases and the appalling exploitations of the rubber harvesters had reduced the population precipitously. Today, only around sixty individuals are known to exist. However, research flights over the park suggest there may be at least one isolated tribe of Karijona still surviving in a traditional setting.
Noted for rowing their canoes while standing, wrapping their chests with beaded belts, and piercing their nasal septum with animal bones, the Karijona people also created the greatest assemblage of pre-Columbian paintings in all of Amazonia. Thousands of depictions of people, animals, and objects can be found at sites throughout the park.
Decree 4633, a law passed in 2011, now makes it illegal to contact Colombia’s isolated peoples. This means it may never be possible to learn the ultimate fate of the Karijona. It can only be hoped that the decree and other measures will succeed in preserving an indigenous culture whose artworks have caused Chiribiquete National Park to be called the “Sistine Chapel of the Amazon.”
In the Same Series
A Siege of Bitterns
Steve Burrows
Globe and Mail 100: Best Books of 2014
2015 Arthur Ellis Award — Winner, Best First Novel
2015 Kobo Emerging Writer Prize — Shortlisted, Best Mystery
Inspector Domenic Jejeune’s success has made him a poster boy for the U.K. police service. The problem is Jejeune doesn’
t really want to be a detective at all; he much prefers watching birds.
Recently reassigned to the small Norfolk town of Saltmarsh, located in the heart of Britain’s premier birding country, Jejeune’s two worlds collide when he investigates the grisly murder of a prominent ecological activist. His ambitious police superintendent foresees a blaze of welcome publicity, but she begins to have her doubts when Jejeune’s most promising theory involves a feud over birdwatching lists. A second murder only complicates matters.
To unravel this mystery, Jejeune must deal with unwelcome public acclaim, the mistrust of colleagues, and his own insecurities. In the case of the Saltmarsh birder murders, the victims may not be the only casualties.
A Pitying of Doves
Steve Burrows
2015 Dewey Diva Pick
Why would a killer ignore expensive jewellery and take a pair of turtledoves as the only bounty?
This is only one of the questions that piques Chief Inspector Domenic Jejeune’s interest after a senior attaché with the Mexican Consulate is found murdered alongside the director of a local bird sanctuary. The fact that the director’s death has opened up a full-time research position studying birds hasn’t eluded Jejeune either. Could this be the escape from policing that the celebrated detective has been seeking? Even if it is, Jejeune knows he owes it to the victims to solve the case first. But a trail that weaves from embittered aviary owners to suspicious bird sculptors only seems to be leading him farther from the truth. Meanwhile, Jejeune is discovering that diplomatic co-operation and diplomatic pressure go hand in hand.
With two careers hanging in the balance, the stakes have never been higher for Inspector Jejeune. And this time, even bringing a killer to justice may not provide the closure he’s looking for.
A Shimmer of Hummingbirds Page 33
