A Siege of Bitterns

by Steve Burrows

  Jejeune looked up and could see white patches of sky through ragged holes in two of the stick bundle nests in the rookery. “Have you moved the other birds?”

  Holland shook his head. “But I thought there might be ticks or something. You know, contaminate the wounds. That’s why I covered the body with that sheet.”

  “Don’t touch any of them. Or the nest material.” He went to stand among the massive trunks of the beech trees and looked all around him. Jejeune looked up and manoeuvred himself until he was positioned directly beneath the nests with the ragged holes torn in them. The bodies of the Rooks lay to his right and his left. He stared out from his vantage point into the courtyard, where Largemount’s body lay a few feet away. Now Jejeune had his missing pieces, or at least some of them. He didn’t know who had killed Largemount, or why, but he was getting a picture of how the event had unfolded.

  Maik saw it too, now, having watched Jejeune, having seen him look up into the trees, and then out to where the body lay. Did Jejeune appreciate how easily it came to him, he wondered. Other DCI’s Maik had worked with would have thrashed around a scene like this for hours, days even, before they were able to put the scenario together. The slogan, for a start; that would have had them off and running in all directions. But not Jejeune. He had seen it, considered it, and dismissed it, all in the time it took most of the young officers here to decipher the big words. Maik knew he had never seen anybody analyze a scene so thoroughly, so competently, so quickly in all his years of policing. He might not always be right, this new chief inspector, but Maik was pretty sure that he was spot on this time. And if Domenic Jejeune did this often enough, Maik could begin to understand what all the fuss was about.

  29

  The DCS emerged from her car and hugged her coat around her, although there was only the lightest of breezes up on the rise. Beverly Brennan pulled up next to her and got out. The two women exchanged a hug and a few brief words. Jejeune watched them from a distance, though he was not sure what he was looking for.

  The women walked toward him together, carefully picking their way over the gravel in their high heels. Their eyes flickered toward the blue sheet as they approached, but neither woman made a point of looking in that direction. When DCS Shepherd got close enough, Jejeune could see that she had been crying. Fresh makeup had been carefully applied, but he could see the red skin around the base of her nostrils, and the slightly sunken eyes. Beverly Brennan looked as composed and polished as he would have expected. But there was something that connected the women, an atmosphere that hung around them, like the stillness before an electrical storm. There was no animosity between them. Domenic was sure of it. Whatever it was that these women felt, it was a shared emotion.

  “I can’t begin to express my outrage. This is so terrible,” said Brennan. “I just …” She stopped short of saying she couldn’t believe it. The body lying beneath the sheet a few feet away was enough to convince even the most resolute skeptic. “I understand Peter was your main suspect in the murder of Cameron Brae. I don’t know what to say. I considered him a dear friend as well as a colleague. I would never have suspected that Peter, of all people, could be capable of such an unspeakable act. It must be a mistake, surely.”

  “It seems to be the most likely explanation, at the moment.”

  “But you have your doubts?”

  “In the absence of a confession, there is always room for doubt,” said DCS Shepherd. “What he’s saying is that we’ve absolutely no concrete proof at all that Peter was involved in anything. Right, what do we have here so far?” she asked.

  The effort of keeping her composure was obviously taking its toll on the DCS. Her voice wavered dangerously at times, and her attempts to sound efficient and businesslike fell just the wrong side of brusque overcompensation.

  “It looks as if the victim’s … Mr. Largemount’s killer was waiting for him in the shadows beneath those beech trees,” said Jejeune.

  They strolled over to the damp earth beneath the trees. Above them, the Rooks cawed loudly, descending to lower branches to make their displeasure all the more apparent. Shepherd looked up into the trees. “What the hell’s wrong with those bloody birds?”

  “They’re agitated,” said Jejeune. “The rookery took a direct hit from the second shotgun blast. A couple of nests were destroyed and we found the bodies of three adult birds on the ground beneath the trees.”

  He could see Shepherd’s anger building; the frustration and outrage beginning to turn in his direction at his indulgence in trivial details, especially bird details. Perhaps, as retribution for the ambush she had set up in her office, he should let her humiliate herself; let her rant about Domenic and his bloody bird obsession, before calmly delivering his findings. It would send the message that he didn’t appreciate elaborate charades, where friends probed for answers to questions others were unwilling to ask. But for Domenic, the humiliation of another person was always an empty victory. Besides, at this moment the DCS was vulnerable, wounded by her grief. It would have been a graceless act to seek revenge on someone so fragile.

  “It suggests there was a struggle,” he said quietly. “The first barrel went off point blank, but the second must have been pointing almost directly up when it was discharged. It suggests Mr. Largemount was grappling for the shotgun at that point.”

  The DCS nodded. She had already gotten to where Jejeune was going next. For Largemount to have approached this closely, it suggested that he knew his killer. And that he wasn’t expecting to have the shotgun turned on him. Suddenly it all seemed too much for her, the realization of what had happened, the horrible reality of the shrouded body lying on the ground behind them, the constant, manic scolding of the Rooks. She wandered over toward the body, head bowed, silent.

  Beverly Brennan watched her go before turning to Jejeune. “But surely you can’t be certain that is what happened? There could be other explanations …”

  “There could be,” said Jejeune, in a tone that suggested there would not be, in this case.

  “If it is true about Peter, even if I still can’t quite bring myself to believe it, does this mean this terrible business is finally over? I mean when you have made an arrest in this case, obviously.”

  “No, I don’t think it is. You see, I am not convinced this is about retribution for Cameron Brae’s death.”

  “But the slogan, the graffiti …”

  “I think this could be about the wind farm,” continued Jejeune. “It’s not the most popular technology. There are the subsidies, and the doubts about its ability to deliver the required power on a consistent basis. Plus the gas-fired plant that is going to be necessary as a backup.”

  “That’s a very short-sighted view, Inspector. You surprise me. There are clear and demonstrable benefits to wind power. This project was central to my election campaign, but I supported it not to win votes, but because I truly believed in it. Peter and I were united in our conviction that it was absolutely vital to the economic future of the area. And I can assure you, the polling numbers suggest it was almost universally supported by the people around here. For that reason, you should know I intend to do everything I can to keep this project going. If nothing else, it will serve as a legacy to a truly remarkable man.”

  Not for the first time, Jejeune realized his lack of roots in the area hampered his ability to fill in the background. What would the locals, steeped in generations of farming and land preservation, really have made of this wind farm? Perhaps they appreciated the economic arguments and had supported Brennan’s position as wholeheartedly as she claimed. But surely there would have been a fair amount of resistance, too? He would have given a lot to have been around during her political campaign, to see how much of this rhetoric she had trotted out, and how well it had been received.

  “The merits of wind power are irrelevant at the moment, Ms. Brennan. But the man responsible for bringing the wind farm to Saltmarsh is dead.” Jejeune seemed to consider his next sentence very careful
ly, as if perhaps the wording of it might hold particular significance. “I believe you should consider taking extra safety precautions yourself.”

  Brennan looked shocked. “Me? Why ever should I be at risk?”

  He had not meant to alarm her, merely to alert her to the danger, but he could see she was shaken. Like many politicians, she considered herself removed from the fate of her constituents, sheltered from their consequences.

  “You have been very vocal in your support of this wind farm. If this is some form of a reaction against it …”

  She stiffened slightly. “Then I suggest it would be better for everyone if you find these people and bring them to justice as soon as possible.”

  “I agree,” said Shepherd, returning to the group. “This was vicious. It was cold-hearted, and it was premeditated. I want these Earth Front bastards brought in, Domenic.”

  “At the moment, we have no real evidence that Earth Front were involved.”

  “Evidence? What do you call that?” She flung a hand toward the slogan on the wall.

  Brennan stepped forward. “Inspector, I’m sure we all appreciate your willingness to look beyond the obvious, but there is some merit in taking things at face value. I don’t see that you can ignore blatant evidence at a crime scene just because it doesn’t fit into your convoluted theories. Sometimes the simple explanation is the best one, surely.”

  He was uncomfortable discussing the case in front of Brennan, but he was far from certain the DCS, in her current state, would agree to exclude her. In a way that Jejeune couldn’t quite understand, Shepherd seemed to be drawing strength from Brennan’s presence. But if the absence of compelling evidence wasn’t going to carry the argument today, maybe simple logic would.

  “As far as I am aware, Earth Front didn’t even know Largemount was a suspect in Cameron Brae’s murder,” said Jejeune simply.

  DCS Shepherd stole another backward glance at the flimsy blue sheet as it rippled in the breeze. “Brae’s son did. He’s a member, isn’t he? And as I understand it, you practically identified Peter for him as a suspect. I want the son brought in, under caution.”

  “I’m not sure …”

  “Immediately, do you understand? Bring him in, Domenic, or I’ll find somebody who will.”

  As she turned to leave, her heel caught in the gravel and she tipped slightly to her left, off balance. Brennan caught her arm and supported her, and once righted, the two women began their ungainly tiptoe through the loose stones back toward their waiting cars.

  Maik came over as soon as the women had left, approaching with all the enthusiasm of a man entering a site where a radiation leak has been reported. Despite the breeze up on the ridge, he was sweating.

  “Are you okay?” Jejeune eyed him with concern.

  “Yeah, just a bit of heartburn. They’ve started putting more pickles in the sandwiches down at The Boatman’s Arms. They think we won’t notice they’ve cut down on the ham. That was me, by the way, who said you’d mentioned Largemount to Malcolm Brae. She had asked if he was in the clear.”

  Jejeune gestured with his hand to show it didn’t matter. He watched Beverly Brennan’s Renault make the tight turn in the forecourt and speed away, spewing gravel from beneath the tires. He did not want to be stampeded into a course of action just because the local MP wanted a tidy solution, but at the moment he could see no way around obeying the DCS’s directive.

  “When I first met Ms. Brennan, she went out of her way to explain her shift toward development from environmental activism. Any particular thoughts on people who volunteer elaborate explanations for their positions, Sergeant?”

  “Well, sir, thoughtful as it is of them to help us out like that, I do sometimes wonder if they do it to stop us looking for our own explanations.”

  “And if we did?”

  “There were some whispers about her private life a while back. I didn’t pay much attention to them at the time, but I could start digging around if you like. I’m sure Constable Holland isn’t short of a few details.”

  “Let’s start with the most obvious motive: money. It takes a lot to run a political campaign. As soon as the wind farm subsidies started to roll in, Largemount would have had more than enough to start bankrolling his favourite candidate. Check Ms. Brennan’s bank records, see if any large deposits of cash may have influenced her opinion on the merits of wind farms.”

  “Can I ask why we’re going this route?”

  “Because there was something wrong with this wind farm deal from the start. Brae didn’t denounce it, he completely ignored it, despite the fact that it was virtually on his doorstep. You heard how vehemently he opposed Archie Christian’s GM project, yet even though the potential impact of Largemount’s wind farm was much greater, Brae never even gave it a second glance. Largemount wouldn’t have been able to make him back off, but maybe Beverly Brennan found a way. Either way, she’s just become the leading proponent of wind power in these parts. And I think that might put her in a lot of danger.”

  30

  It just didn’t fit. Largemount had been responsible for Cameron Brae’s death. Jejeune was sure of that. Whether or not Brae’s son had come to the same conclusion, he did not know. But even if he had, was it really Malcolm Brae standing in the forecourt of Peter Largemount’s ancestral home that night, waiting to end the developer’s life with a shotgun? By the end of this night, Jejeune would almost certainly know one way or the other. But a long shift awaited him between now and then.

  Jejeune altered his position in the bushes and turned the observation of the house back over to Maik. In the dark stillness of the waiting, he ran over the crime scene again in his mind. The way the car was parked, the dead birds, the position of the body, the injuries. He had done so many times recently, each time less and less convinced that it incriminated Malcolm Brae. Again, from the top. It’s dark when Largemount gets home. He sweeps that big Bentley of his into his driveway. He’s probably had one too many at the Hunt Club, but he’s not too drunk to get himself home safely. He gets out, fumbling with his keys — dropped by the car — and notices the graffiti. Disorientation, a distraction. He sees somebody. Or somebody calls out to him. They are standing in the shadow of the beech trees. He walks toward the trees and as the security floodlights snap on, he recognizes Malcolm Brae. Malcolm Brae, a little left of normal on a good day, and now holding a shotgun. Malcolm Brae, the son of the man Largemount has recently murdered. Holding a shotgun, and pointing it at Peter Largemount. So what does Largemount do? Run for cover? Dive behind the Bentley, hugging his head in his hands? Fall on his knees and beg for mercy? No. He walks over for a chat!

  Jejeune shook his head. It just didn’t fit. But with the DCS taking an active role in the investigation now, Jejeune’s hands were tied, and he would only start to unravel things once he got Malcolm Brae down to the station. So that’s what he was here to do.

  From his cover behind the screen of bushes, Jejeune looked at the house again, noting the backlit shadows behind the drawn curtains in the room off to the right. Earth Front had chosen their base well, a roomy, two-storey house on a big piece of land near the edge of the village. The house was big enough to hold meetings and planning sessions, and there was plenty of space for overnighters and out-of-towners to kip down on the floor. And it was far enough from the neighbours that any comings and goings could take place largely unobserved.

  Earth Front had a long history of violent resistance to arrests, so a surprise raid had been the obvious choice. Malcolm Brae’s presence inside the house had been confirmed by surveillance, but how many other people were in there with him was still unknown. Three had entered the premises after Brae, two of them known to police from earlier encounters. But there could be as many as four or five others, perhaps nine in total, in the house. The DCS wanted a clean arrest with a minimum of collateral damage. Jejeune’s experience told him that was a big ask. And the odds hadn’t been shortened by DCS Shepherd’s decision to bring in an Armed Response
Team. True, there was still a shotgun out there somewhere, and Earth Front had form elsewhere in the country with explosives.

  “And we are talking about a murder here, Domenic, so it’s armed backup all the way, I’m afraid. Full gear and vests for all participants. We take no chances with this lot. And I want no foul-ups. I don’t want someone walking away just because we couldn’t remember basic police procedure. Do I make myself clear?” She had turned her head here, to include everybody gathered around her, but Jejeune had no doubt who it was she was talking to.

  Then to him directly, “I want you there to process the arrest, Domenic, and to secure the scene. And keep an eye on your lot, for God’s sake.”

  His lot was here on merit. Salter and Holland had done the training because racking up the courses was the fastest track to promotion. Maik was here because, quite simply, there was probably no police officer on the east coast better suited for this type of operation.

  A crackle in Jejeune’s earpiece was followed by the hushed voice of the ART commander. “They’re in position,” Jejeune told the team huddled behind him.

  They were all quiet. Holland’s jaw was working a wad of gum as he stared, unblinking, at the house. Salter looked a million miles away. Thinking about her son? Jejeune had seen her, looking at his picture on her desk just before they had left to come out here. Maik was just still. Preternaturally still, like a stalking animal about to pounce. Centred, focused, composed. This was Maik’s territory, night operations, the action. Jejeune could see the sweat glistening on his brow and at his temples. All composed on the outside, Sergeant? How about on the inside?

  Jejeune was always surprised by how calm he found himself on operations like this. He was not much for the action side of things. If push came to shove, he could probably manage either, he supposed. But his thoughts rarely strayed in the direction of physical confrontations. For some reason, though, he never felt worried. Tense, certainly, but when events were so far outside your control like this, worrying about how things might turn out seemed like a waste of energy.