A Siege of Bitterns

by Steve Burrows

  32

  Jejeune wasn’t a big fan of intuition, but what else could it have been, really? He stood in the entrance hall of the ejeune and listened, straining to hear beyond the buzz of the sulphur emergency lights, and the empty, eerie silence of the night outside. A footfall? He took another step inside and paused. All quiet. Gently, he eased the big door closed behind him and began walking along the darkened corridors toward Miles Alwyn’s laboratory.

  Large swathes of shadow fell across his path. Only a greyish, ghostly light filtering in from the clerestory windows high above offered any illumination. Jejeune’s steps echoed off the walls. He felt a momentary movement of air, as if some phantom was tracking him, moving with a stealth to match his own. Jejeune stopped abruptly and peered back along the corridor into the darkness. The shadows could have given shelter to a thousand forms, earthly or otherwise. He listened, but only the hiss of the silence came back to him.

  Alwyn did not look as surprised as he might have at Jejeune’s unannounced nocturnal visit. “Inspector, I hear congratulations are in order. It must be a terrible time for poor Katherine, of course. To have lost Cameron, and now Malcolm’s arrest…. Still, to have resolved both murders so quickly, well, your reputation clearly does you justice.”

  Though a general sense of relief was normal when a murder suspect was arrested, there seemed to be more than a few people in these parts keen to rush things to a conclusion Jejeune felt might still be some way off. He wondered, too, where Alwyn was getting his information. Malcolm Brae’s arrest had not been shrouded in any particular secrecy, but it was hardly a matter of public record yet, either. Quentin Senior’s earlier warnings about the Saltmarsh rumour mill seemed well-founded.

  “I am trying to fill in a few gaps, Professor. I was wondering if you could shed any more light on Cameron Brae’s request for that survey.”

  Alwyn had turned back to his experiments, and seemed to find nothing in Jejeune’s question worthy of drawing his attention away from them. “I thought you had already answered that, Inspector. Something about some rarity he was hoping to find. How is your sergeant, by the way? His health, I’d heard?”

  “Doing better, I believe.” Jejeune wandered over to a window and drew back a blind a short way with a fingertip. The university car park was dark and quiet, the few cars scattered throughout it empty. He turned away and took a seat at Alwyn’s desk.

  “He’s not a university man, the sergeant.” Alwyn wasn’t posing a question. “It’s a pity, he has a good mind. We could have made something of it, if we had gotten him early enough.”

  “I’m afraid the army beat you to it.”

  “Ah, military. I should have guessed. Must have been a difficult transition, I would imagine, from the black-and-white world of army life into police work, with all its shades of uncertainty.”

  Alwyn waited a beat for Jejeune to comment. Seeing he would be disappointed, he continued. “It’s funny; I would have thought a man like Sergeant Maik would find the clarity of science comforting. And yet he seems to hold me responsible for Cameron’s marital problems, simply because I told his wife the truth. Problems in relationships are inevitable, in any species, but they are hardly the fault of the scientists who observe them. It is like blaming the disruptions in cetacean mating behaviour on the scientists who discovered that the oceans are becoming louder.”

  Jejeune couldn’t help himself. “Louder?”

  “Oceans are becoming more acidic with climate changes, and higher acidity allows sound to travel much farther. The impacts on the mating calls of animals such as whales and dolphins are potentially enormous.”

  “I think for the sergeant it’s more a question of whether it was necessary to be so forthright,” said Jejeune.

  “Or whether I should have withheld the facts, you mean, out of some sort of loyalty to my former colleague?” Alwyn smiled smugly. “Surely my greater loyalty must be to the truth.” The professor’s tone softened slightly. “Regardless of what you might think, I did like Cameron, despite his obvious flaws. He was a little brittle, perhaps, in some respects, for such an accomplished person, but then ambitious people so often are, aren’t they?”

  Jejeune apparently did not consider he had spent enough time among such types to form an opinion. He rose silently from his chair and walked to the door. He peered out into the darkened corridor. “Are any of the other labs in this wing occupied just now?”

  “Shouldn’t think so. Can I ask what you’re looking for? Visitors rarely call at this time of night. It’s one of the reasons I like working late. It’s nice and quiet here.”

  It would be necessary to see Alwyn’s reaction to Jejeune’s next question. He walked around the lab bench and stood silently behind the rack of test tubes, waiting, saying nothing, until Alwyn eventually straightened to meet his gaze.

  “What did Cameron Brae actually want that report for, Professor? Was it to confirm the findings at Lesser Marsh? The ones that showed it was contaminated?”

  Alwyn’s smile was indulgent, but probably not as reassuring as he had hoped. “It is not unusual for a survey to find contaminants, Inspector. One litre of oil has the capacity to contaminate a million litres of fresh water. It would be barely detectable at such levels, but it would still be present.”

  “But concentration levels high enough to drive away bird species permanently? That would have been sufficient for the ministry to have denied Largemount his permit for the wind farm. And yet somehow one was still granted, wasn’t it?”

  Alwyn’s soft brown eyes were wide and owl-like behind the spectacles, but Jejeune detected for the first time a flint of steel. So many academics he had known seemed unsuited for a role in the real world; naive, innocent, even, as if they thought their pursuit of higher knowledge isolated them somehow from the realities of everyday life. But Alwyn had a nervy edge, a survivor’s instinct about him. Jejeune supposed that in academia, like any other field, to get to the very top, you had to know how to take care of yourself.

  Slowly, and with great clarity, Jejeune laid out the details of the deal Malcolm Brae had revealed to him. Alwyn listened patiently, the same wide-eyed look of indulgent curiosity on his face. When Jejeune had finished, the professor clasped his hands in front of him, as if he was afraid that the truth might somehow escape from them.

  “Well, Inspector, Malcolm Brae’s story certainly has the appeal of neatness and simplicity, two things that are undoubtedly of great importance to the general public. Unfortunately, neither real life nor science tends to offer us such tidy solutions. As far as I am aware, Peter Largemount’s influence on the funding committee was no greater than that of any other member.” Alwyn spread his hands to indicate his little empire. “Certainly, nobody could deny the investment has been amply repaid. Over the past five years this department has gained an international reputation. I am myself now considered one of the world’s foremost authorities on salt marsh ecology. I am also, by some considerable measure, the most widely and frequently published member of the faculty, which, frankly, appears to be the raison d’être for all of us academics these days. But to return to your point, while it may well be true that Cameron entered into an arrangement with Peter Largemount, since neither one of them is any longer able to either confirm or deny it, I’m afraid all you are left with is one more unsubstantiated rumour.”

  Jejeune seemed to be listening to something beyond their conversation. He walked back to the door and eased it open slightly.

  “The thing is,” said Jejeune, peering into the pockets of darkness, “despite the contamination showing up in the original survey, Largemount was still granted his development permit.” He turned to face Alwyn. “I am told that some contaminants are remarkably stable. It would be a relatively straightforward process to re-examine the soil samples you submitted and extrapolate the contaminant levels back five years. You were aware that the ministry keeps the samples submitted with land survey reports?”

  Jejeune had half-expected Alwyn to
take refuge in his experiments again, to become suddenly busy or preoccupied. But Alwyn needed no time to compose himself.

  “May I ask who it was you consulted about this? There are very few in this field who would be comfortable challenging the findings of a survey conducted by a peer of my standing. Robertson, perhaps? Envy in academia has a particularly unpalatable flavour, I find. Still, it is perhaps to be expected from someone whose own career has so spectacularly failed to flourish.”

  Jejeune’s silence confirmed that his sources were confidential.

  “Perhaps it was Stiles. She’s a good scientist. At least she knows what she’s talking about, most of the time. But, yes, your source, whoever he or she is, is perfectly correct. If they were to do it properly, the results would accurately reflect the contaminant levels on Peter Largemount’s property at the time of my original survey.”

  Alwyn’s confidence was beginning to unnerve Jejeune. He had seen brazen denials before, but there was something about Alwyn’s assured manner that didn’t seem right. He was an intelligent man, and he knew all the bravado in the world wasn’t going to alter the outcome of an independent examination of his survey results.

  “But if the results you submitted were accurate, then why would the ministry approve the permit, unless …”

  “It is the bane of your profession, I suspect, to consider only wrongdoing. If it is not in one area, then it must be in another. There is no corruption in the ministry, Inspector, at least none that I am aware of. The approval of the permit was perfectly lawful, based on an accurate set of readings from Peter Largemount’s land.”

  “Then I don’t understand.”

  “That is because you are unwilling to consider the one obvious truth: the contamination levels did not exceed the thresholds at which the ministry would deny a development permit. And that is because there has never been any contamination spill on Peter Largemount’s land.”

  “But, surely …” But Jejeune’s protest petered out as he realized he was unsure of what to say.

  Alwyn took off his glasses and turned to stare directly at Jejeune. He tipped his body slightly forward across the desk, ready to deliver his wisdom, as he did to his PhD candidates on their first day.

  “There are a number of contamination types, but we are talking here about the difference between static and transitory. A static contamination would be the result of a spill or a release, where the contaminants remain largely in the immediate area. This creates an immediate stochastic event, an ecological catastrophe, large or small, at the site. It results in high readings in the immediate vicinity, for protracted periods. In such circumstances, the ministry would require a controlled and monitored cleanup and subsequent retesting before they would consider issuing a development permit. But transitory contamination moves through the site, wind-blown sometimes, or via surface water. It delivers a constant supply of contaminant, enough to eradicate or drive away species, perhaps, but never accumulating in sufficiently high qualities to exceed threshold levels. This is what is happening at Lesser Marsh.”

  Having spent so much time in his life fielding lies, Jejeune recognized the truth when he heard it. He was stunned into silence. He felt the acidic bile rising in the back of his throat. How could he have been so wrong? Belatedly, he realized that in considering his own failings, he had missed the bigger picture. If Brae had no hold over Largemount about any contaminant spill, then the developer had no motive to kill him. Jejeune’s investigation into Cameron Brae’s murder was back at square one. Worse. Without Largemount, he had no suspects at all.

  “And there could be no mistake? You’re absolutely certain?” Jejeune heard a hint of panic in his voice. Had Alwyn detected it?

  “I can assure you that these contaminants did not originate on Peter Largemount’s property, Inspector. The concentration values throughout the site are far too low.”

  Jejeune was silent for a moment. This close to the coast, there would be many different water sources flowing into Lesser Marsh. Any one of them could be delivering the contaminants. The actual source of the spill could be miles away, in any direction.

  Alwyn’s head snapped round at the same time as Jejeune’s. This time there could be no mistake, a footfall, a shuffling, something in the corridor. Alwyn, nearer the door, was first into the corridor, but Jejeune passed him easily and sprinted along the dark hallway back toward the entrance doors. Both men changed direction as they heard something, skittering shoes, off to one side, and ran toward where the sound had come from. At the end of the long corridor Alwyn doubled over, winded, and waved Jejeune on.

  Jejeune ran blindly along the corridors, following sounds and echoes, twisting and turning until he was completely disoriented. He found himself at the end of a long hallway opening out onto a central atrium, a wide open space with exits in many directions. Jejeune paused and listened. He could hear his own breath, and feel his chest heaving. He surveyed the scene before him: a rabbit warren of corridors, hallways, staircases, doors; half-lit from above and deeply pocked with shadows. Whoever he was chasing knew that the darkness was their ally. Stillness and silence would be all that was needed to avoid detection, while he ran around in circles, chasing phantom footfalls and following imagined sounds. He moved out into the centre of the open space, pausing cautiously every few steps. Nothing. He paused again to look all around and listen. Somewhere back in the direction of the lab he heard hurried footsteps. Alwyn. Where was he? Jejeune sprinted back in the direction of the sound, hurtling around corners, jacket flailing, feet skidding on the polished floors. He saw the professor huddled against the wall.

  “Did you see them?” asked Jejeune breathlessly.

  Alwyn shook his head. The two men walked quickly back toward the lab.

  Jejeune stopped suddenly as he reached for the door handle. “Have you been back here?”

  “No.”

  Jejeune knew that some people would have found it difficult to remember whether they had left a door open or not. He wasn’t one of them. The door had been open when they’d left. It was closed now. He placed a protective arm in front of Alwyn and opened the door slowly, using a handkerchief. The lab was empty. Except for the smell; a rich, sweet aroma he had smelled only once before — on the stock of Malcolm Brae’s vintage Churchill shotgun.

  Jejeune turned to Alwyn. “Any idea why someone would want to target you, Professor?”

  “None at all. Surely this is all just some harmless student prank.” Except he didn’t believe that; Jejeune could see it in his eyes. Alwyn knew why he was being hunted, and it scared him. Enough that he was prepared to lie about it.

  “Whoever it was, they’re gone now. I don’t imagine they’re still on the university grounds,” said Jejeune. “But I am going to call the university security service and ask them to escort you to your car. I’ll wait here until forensics arrives. It’s a warm night. Perhaps whoever it was forgot to wear their gloves.”

  33

  Something had gone from the atmosphere of the incident room, and a stilted uneasiness had seeped in to fill the void. Beyond the basics, nothing had been said about the events at the Earth Front offices, and the lack of discussion had hardened by now into a willful avoidance, encouraged by the DCI’s own willingness to treat the subject as toxic. They knew that if Danny Maik was here, there would have been a few assurances about their own conduct at least; an avuncular squeeze of Salter’s shoulder as he went past, a quiet back-handed compliment to Holland: “Well done, Constable. I’ll know who to send next time there’s a punch-up at the infants’ school.” Something to let them know they had done okay, got the job done, despite the general shambles that the arrest had become. But from Jejeune, there had been no acknowledgement, no mention, nothing. It was as if he would have liked to wipe the whole episode from his memory. As a result, everyone was left nursing their wounds, and their suspicions, in silence.

  Jejeune’s similar unwillingness to discuss Danny Maik’s condition in any way was unnerving in its resol
ve. Any attempt to bring the subject up was summarily shut down with an abrupt change of topic, so unsubtle and transparent that the message was unmistakable. So they didn’t even try anymore, Holland’s attempt that morning representing the last foray into the subject.

  “Good news, about Danny, er, Sergeant Maik, sir. He’s back at home. Nothing too serious, he tells me. I was thinking …”

  “Yes. That is good news, but for the moment let’s press on with our briefing…. So, where are we on Beverly Brennan’s financial statements? You were going to see if the sergeant’s inquiries had turned up anything.”

  Holland pulled a face, but shifted gears as required. “Her finances are as clean as a whistle, but I tell you what, she certainly came about her convictions overnight. For years she was all about the environment, save the whales, anything you like, so long as it was green. And then all that changed, and it was all economic development and wise use of resources. But if she did sell her soul, there’s no evidence of it in her bank account.”

  Jejeune pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger. Of course, illicit funds could be hidden in any number of creative ways these days. But perhaps it was something else that had persuaded her to give up a lifetime commitment to environmental causes.

  “Ideas?” he invited.

  “Surveillance on her during a possible security threat some time back turned up something odd, secretive, like, about her comings and goings,” offered Salter reluctantly. “But there are some questions us local coppers find it better not to ask, so it never went any further.”