A Siege of Bitterns

by Steve Burrows

  Jejeune shifted slightly in his chair and crossed his legs. Something about Brennan’s tone belied the detached concern for her community she was trying to convey. As was often the case in conversations like this, Jejeune’s measured silence encouraged another contribution from the other speaker. Brennan seemed compelled to reinforce her point.

  “Inspector, you come here with an impressive reputation, and we all appreciate that your record is one of the highest order. The DCS has great faith that you will get to the bottom of this, but I have to say, from an outsider’s perspective, frankly, I’m still waiting to see some results. You can appreciate, I am sure, that your appointment here, with all its attendant publicity, has left us all wondering what all the fuss is about. Now the DCS seems perfectly happy to indulge your, shall we say, unconventional methods. She has been, and may I say, still is, unqualified in her support of you thus far. But when, after this amount of time, the best you have to offer is some theory about a birdwatching list … well, I’m sure you can appreciate our concerns.” This time, there was not even a frozen smile to soften the words.

  Jejeune felt the DCS shift uncomfortably behind him. He leaned back, but not, as Brennan suspected, to distance himself from the politician’s attacks. He had begun to realize how the landscape lay. When a superior has offered someone free reign and unqualified support, it is hard to justify questioning their methods. But if you just happened to be in the room when a powerful and well-connected acquaintance touched upon it under the guise of concern for business interests, well that wasn’t quite the same thing, was it? It was, he realized, a sign that his support from his superior might not be as absolute and unqualified as Beverly Brennan was suggesting. Unless he produced some results soon, DCS Shepherd’s disillusionment would no doubt take her beyond having to use other people as a shield for her questions.

  “How would you characterize your own relationship with Mr. Brae?” Jejeune asked suddenly.

  The question may have taken Beverly Brennan aback, but a lifetime of dealing with unpredictable inquiries left her external cues unmoved.

  “I suppose you know we had our professional differences. His comments were not always helpful to development in this area. The national park idea, for example. He seemed determined to make the difficult job of attracting new business to the area even harder. My constituents were concerned.”

  Jejeune consulted his file, although no one in the room believed he really needed to. “‘Naive and uninformed,’” he quoted. “‘Narrow-minded to the point of negligent. Beverly Brennan appears to lack the intellectual curiosity required of her office.’ I would hardly classify Cameron Brae’s comments as professional differences. They sound a bit personal for that.”

  “Do you have a point to make, Mr. Jejeune?”

  “You see, that seems to be the problem here, Ms. Brennan. Everyone I speak to in this case seems to be holding back as much information as possible. I am wondering why that might be.”

  “This is Saltmarsh. People like to keep their affairs to themselves. They don’t take kindly to people prying into their private lives when they see no reason for it.”

  “Unless they’re withholding evidence. This is a murder investigation, Ms. Brennan, and the citizens of Saltmarsh can’t neglect their duty to co-operate with the police just because of some quaint ideas about minding their own business. However, since it seems that the only way I am going to get any answers is to start asking direct questions, would you mind if I start with you? Can you, for example, give me a complete account of your movements on the night of August 17th?”

  The DCS moved forward in her chair, “Oh, I don’t think …” But Brennan raised her hand. Jejeune saw the colour begin to rise in her cheeks and a muscle start to work down along her powdered jawline. A flint of steel entered her eyes. Beverly Brennan’s beauty seemed a long way off now, but her poise was still intact.

  “Are you implying I’m a suspect in Cameron Brae’s murder, Inspector?” She tried to sound amused by the idea, but she missed by some distance.

  “You want me to do my job, Ms. Brennan. At this point, anyone who has either motive, means, or opportunity is a suspect,” said Jejeune. “You yourself have pointed out that you are among those with a motive, along with most of the business community of Saltmarsh. So now I am moving on to opportunity.”

  “And if I feel I have good reasons for not answering?”

  “Then you would have to convince me why those reasons outweighed the considerations of a murder investigation.”

  “I see.” Brennan drew a breath, composing herself. “On the night Cameron Brae was murdered, I was at home, working on a draft of a speech. I left my office at around five o’clock and went straight home. I made myself something to eat, I don’t remember what exactly, probably pasta and a salad, and then went to my study. I was there when my assistant called me with the news at about ten thirty. She will, of course, be able to verify that call, should it become necessary.”

  Jejeune’s expression didn’t give any indication of whether it would be necessary or not. “What were you and Peter Largemount discussing at the Hunt Club function? Is he considering draining Lesser Marsh, to expand his wind farm operations?”

  There was a flicker of expression, a darted look toward the DCS. Sometimes, if the stimulus was strong enough, all the training in the world couldn’t suppress human reactions.

  “I consider Peter to be a good, dear friend, but there is no reason on earth why he should share that kind of information with me. And it is certainly no business of yours what we were discussing in a private moment.”

  “Unless he needed your support to get him over some very vocal objections, from someone like Cameron Brae, for example. Then it does become my business. You’re on record as supporting the draining of Lesser Marsh, in theory at least. You do see my problem in this case, Ms. Brennan. So much of the private stuff seems to have much wider implications.”

  Beverly Brennan leaned forward, as stealthy as a coiled cobra. Her voice was chillingly soft. “I don’t know if you follow the goings on in Whitehall, Detective Chief Inspector, but you really should. The political winds are changing. You may well have the ear of the Home Secretary at the moment, but before too long, our party is going to have him by a completely different part of his anatomy. Nothing lasts forever, especially in politics, and that includes a Home Secretary’s posting. You would do well to remember that, Inspector Jejeune.”

  She stood up and gathered up her gloves and handbag. She took time for one further significant glance toward DCS Shepherd before she walked to the door. Jejeune waited until she had her hand on the doorknob.

  “Can I ask how you found out about the attack at Archie Christian’s?”

  “My assistant called me. How she found out, I’m not really sure, but she knows how to do her job. It’s what I pay her for.”

  24

  Maik had not expected to be out here again so soon, not that he minded. He had been looking at an afternoon of wading through shadowy alibis and statements until Jejeune’s urgent summons. Whatever had set the inspector in motion, it had caused him to move with greater purpose and energy than Maik had seen recently, and when he’d burst into Maik’s cubicle, still shrugging on his jacket, the sergeant had been only too eager to abandon his paperwork and join his DCI in a dash to the car park.

  They had taken Maik’s car, the Mini. The Range Rover had picked up an annoying squeak on the front offside wheel, and Jejeune clearly wasn’t in any mood just now to put up with the irritation. He was still flushed from his exchange with Beverly Brennan and he spent most of the drive out to the university staring out the window at the passing countryside. But that suited Maik. With Kim Weston on his CD player begging him to take her in his arms and rock her, rock her a little while, and his boss brooding silently beside him, Maik could afford to lose himself in the odd reverie himself. If Alwyn had been so put out by his previous visit, even though the sergeant had telephoned in advance to set up the ap
pointment, he could scarcely imagine how the professor was going to react to the two of them barging in on him unannounced like this. He smiled at the thought.

  Maik would have loved it to have been Alwyn, but he knew the professor was no killer. He had been around men who were, and he could tell the difference. Blimey, listen to him. He was sounding more like Jejeune every day, with his “feelings” and his “intuitions.” It was all very well going on instinct, but a bit of hard evidence wouldn’t go amiss, once in a while, either. Still, they apparently had something to move on, at last. And to a shoe-leather copper like Maik, that felt very good indeed.

  Miles Alwyn was chatting to two graduate students in the doorway of his lab as the detectives approached. The students seemed overawed, not so much by the presence of the small man before them, but by the knowledge that their immediate fate rested very much in his hands. A man like Alwyn would enjoy the knowledge that he controlled others’ destinies. But for today, at least, the students were safe. With a slightly pathetic gratitude they accepted the benediction Alwyn bestowed on their work and hurried away to begin the next phase of their research.

  From Maik’s point of view, Alwyn was disappointingly sanguine about their unannounced visit. He ushered them into the lab with an expansive gesture and closed the door behind them, commenting only briefly on how busy he was.

  Jejeune examined the array of equipment on the benches around the lab. He seemed to be paying particular attention, though, as far as Maik could tell, it was all standard lab equipment: flasks, test-tubes, and the like, some of which even he recognized from his meagre science education at the local grammar school. Since Maik had no idea what it was that had brought them out here, it was going to be up to Jejeune to kick things off this time. The DCI had apparently already come to the same conclusion.

  “What exactly do you study here, Professor?” he asked, tapping on the side of a glass vessel with his fingertip.

  “Yes, if you could avoid standing there, Inspector. We are attempting to simulate exact post-storm growing conditions for those plants. If you block the light source for an extended period, you will render three months’ work useless. And please don’t tap on the equipment. It will disturb the suspended sediment. Wetland ecology is my remit, and all the marvellous sub-disciplines that come along with it: soil systems, hydrology, vegetation.” He waved a hand to indicate the vast boundaries of his realm.

  “It’s a fascinating area. And an important one.”

  “Indeed. Wetlands cover less than six percent of the globe, but they may process as much as twenty percent of the world’s carbon. And as carbon sequestration becomes an ever more pressing issue in the coming decades, the continuing health of salt marshes, in particular, is going to be vital to us all.”

  Jejeune listened carefully to the explanation, but not with the air of a man trying to learn something. More like someone listening for the truth. He already knows all this, thought Maik. There was nothing subtle about the way Jejeune was playing on Alwyn’s vanity, but, like a lot of sledgehammer tactics, you couldn’t fault its effectiveness. The professor had become a good deal less antagonistic since he started talking about how essential his work was. Maik had never met anybody so much in love with his own importance.

  “What did you make of Cameron Brae’s request for the survey report, considering the nature of your relationship?”

  Alwyn seemed unmoved by the inspector’s sudden lurching from the general to the specific.

  “I daresay his need for high-quality information overrode personal considerations. It would hardly make sense for him to ignore the fact that he has … had … one of the world’s leading experts in the field on his doorstep.”

  “And you’ve no idea why he wanted that report?”

  “None at all. We were no longer in the kind of relationship where he might volunteer that sort of information, I’m afraid.”

  Maik made a note. He could feel the professor’s eyes impatiently following the laboured pen strokes so he slowed down the entry further still. Alwyn shifted, and just for a moment Maik thought he was going to reach out and try to snatch the pen away to complete the entry himself. But Danny Maik didn’t have that kind of luck.

  “Would Brae not have had his own copy of the report?” asked Jejeune. “After all, he did work on the survey.”

  “He would have certainly kept a copy of his own data, but as the project leader, the job of assembling the studies into a single coherent report was mine. He was entitled to a copy of the final report, but he would have had to request one through me. I don’t recall him ever making such a request.”

  “Until this time,” said Maik.

  “Until this time.” Alwyn gave Maik his crocodile smile by way of thanks for clearing up the inconsistency.

  “Wasn’t it strange to have Brae working on a survey that was going to result in the approval of a wind farm in the first place, given his known opposition to projects of this nature?” asked Jejeune.

  “I suppose some might have felt there was the potential for a conflict of interest, but with me at the helm, the impartiality of the overall survey was never in question. Besides, I respected Cameron. He was a man of great intelligence and integrity. He lost his way, certainly, but he was basically a good person.”

  “This respect, it didn’t extend to helping his wife though, did it, when she called?” said Maik. “To tell her that she wasn’t bright enough to understand her husband’s work, that would hardly make things any easier for him at home.”

  Alwyn had a stab at a disarming smile, but he was long out of practice and his efforts fell well short. “We are a science faculty. We deal in facts here, Sergeant. She was not up to the task, intellectually. I simply told her the truth.”

  “These survey results,” interjected Jejeune, “would you have emailed the report to him?”

  “No, I sent him a hard copy.”

  “What would it have looked like?”

  “A standard university report. Spiral-bound. Letter-size paper once white, a bit yellow now. It had a buff cover, I believe.”

  “And he didn’t return it to you?”

  “No. If it wasn’t at his house, I have no idea what he did with it. Still, I do have other copies, so it really isn’t an issue, from my perspective.”

  Jejeune turned away from the professor and strolled slowly away across the lab. He looked out the window for a moment. Here we go, thought Maik, time for some tinkering with the fixtures. He was just starting to prepare a question to fill the void when Jejeune surprised him by taking up the mantle again.

  “I’ll tell you why I think Cameron Brae wanted that report,” said Jejeune from across the room. “He was looking for something remarkable. Something rare or unique about Lesser Marsh. Something that might be enough to get it a protection order.” He stopped short of telling the professor about Largemount’s plans to drain the marsh. “Since he was the macrobiologist, most likely he couldn’t find anything obvious among the big orders, the amphibians or the birds, so he was hoping you might have had something on the invertebrates, or the crustaceans. Would he have found it, Professor? Is there something special about Lesser Marsh that might earn it protected status?”

  Alwyn shook his head confidently. “Absolutely nothing. All marshes are unique, Inspector, in their species composition, their hydrology, even their drainage patterns. But apart from the fact that it is the only marsh in these parts entirely on private land, Lesser Marsh, I’m sorry to say, is a remarkably unremarkable wetland. If Cameron had asked me, I could have confirmed that for him and saved him the trouble of looking. Really, Inspector, if this is what you came all this way to discuss, the phantom treasures of Lesser Marsh, I must insist on being allowed to get on with my work. I have genuine value to uncover in other wetlands.”

  Maik matched Jejeune’s loping stride along the corridors of the university. Neither man spoke until they reached the sanctity of the car park. They paused beside Maik’s car.

  “So Br
ae wanted the survey data to try to put a stop to Largemount’s plans to drain the marsh?” Maik needed to be the first to speak, to deflect any questions Jejeune might have wanted to raise about just how the subject of Brae’s wife had suddenly cropped up in their interview with Alwyn.

  “We’ll know if there’s anything in the birding records as soon as Senior gets back to us, but Brae was clearly hoping there might be something else, an endangered insect, an invertebrate, perhaps even a worm. Anything that might be enough to put Largemount’s plans on hold.”

  “A worm? Really?”

  “Perhaps, if it was important enough. They can be a vital part of a food web, without which an entire ecosystem could crumble. If the survey turned up one important enough, an endemic, for example, found only in this area, it might have been enough to get Largemount’s project stopped.”

  “But Alwyn said there was nothing,” said Maik. The two men fell silent. They both knew Brae was not going to go up against an opponent like Largemount empty-handed. “This American Bittern,” said Maik carefully, “surely that would have done the trick, wouldn’t it?”

  Jejeune shook his head slowly. “Not as a single vagrant sighting. And that’s the puzzling part.”

  “Then how about a flock of them?”

  “It’s a siege. A siege of bitterns. But they usually occur singly, when they occur at all. The only possible way the ministry would consider a stop order due to American Bitterns was if Lesser Marsh was a potential breeding site, or an identified habitat for an established population. But even Cameron Brae would have been laughed out of the local birding community for making such an outrageous claim.”

  Still, Maik knew Jejeune didn’t like coincidences any more than he did. An earth-shattering event like an American Bittern sighting had to have something to do with Brae’s efforts to get the marsh-draining project stopped. But what?

  Jejeune was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know how Brae was planning to use that sighting,” he admitted. “But whatever he eventually came up with, it must have been a pretty compelling argument. I think it was enough to get him killed.”