A Siege of Bitterns

by Steve Burrows

  Jejeune followed Nancy, the PA, along the wide hallway into a drawing room off to the left. He hadn’t been in the room before, but it was a matching bookend to the one on the opposite side, where Malcolm Brae had sat brooding into the fireplace the night of his father’s death. Mandy Brae sat in a wing-backed wicker chair set sideways and facing toward a large bay window. The glint of water from the surface of the marsh was visible through the tangle of brambles and hedgerows at the foot of the garden.

  Mandy Brae turned her head as Jejeune entered the room and offered a weak smile of greeting. She indicated a chair opposite her, and Jejeune sat.

  “How’s Danny doing?” she asked.

  “Fine, I believe. He’s back at home.”

  “But not ready for active duty yet. So they sent you instead? You’re the one who gets all that great publicity, aren’t you? You ought to get yourself an agent. A lot of celebrities would kill for column inches like that. So tell me, Mr. Jejeune, Domenic, how are you enjoying your fifteen minutes of fame?”

  Jejeune inclined his head. “Fifteen minutes can be a very long time.”

  She nodded knowingly. “Still, it must be different when they are writing about your brains rather than your dress sense. With us the audience seemed to be split between schoolgirls who wanted us to join them for a pajama party, and creepy blokes looking for a memory to keep them warm in the old age home. Women loved us, of course — all that empowerment and girl power. In fact, about the only group we didn’t connect with was boys our own age. It probably explains why Ally and Tammi are out there shagging everything in sight these days.”

  Jejeune remembered the stories about the acrimonious breakup of The Roquettes, and the subsequent tabloid exploits of Mandy’s former partners. But why did she feel the need to bring it up now? To make a comparison with her own stable relationship? If so, for whom?

  “Do you know much about you stepson’s dealings with Earth Front? Perhaps you saw some literature, or some of his friends came by.”

  She shook her head. “No. He would have kept anything involving Earth Front’s activities at his place. And he would certainly never discuss something like that with me.” She smiled. “It’s funny. I actually would have had some sympathy with them, the less radical side, obviously. You see a lot of the dark side of humanity in the music business, the waste and the excess. You sometimes wonder if it would be such a bad idea to let Mother Nature take over the running of the planet again. She could hardly do a worse job than we have, could she?”

  She was being flippant, but Jejeune recognized there were seams here that Earth Front could mine in another, less worldly individual.

  “Your stepson believes you married his father …”

  “I know what he believes. That I’m just some airhead who needed Cameron to give my IQ rating a boost. A sort of Marilyn Monroe to his Arthur Miller, I suppose. Thanks for bringing it up, Domenic. It’s just a teeny bit bloody insulting, as a matter of fact. I did go to a grammar school, you know. Mastered joined-up writing and everything.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …” But he stopped. After all, it was exactly what he did mean.

  She looked at the inspector carefully. Jejeune suspected that, consciously or otherwise, she had spent most of her adult life trading on her sexuality. She was used to men being attracted to her, comfortable with it, even. His detachment was making her uneasy. He considered reassuring her that it was no reflection on her, that she was really very attractive, but that would have taken the interview in a different direction entirely.

  “I did believe in Cameron’s work, Domenic. I do believe in it.”

  Her childhood accent slipped its leash momentarily. She had had many years of practice in keeping her working-class background out of the limelight, but when she spoke with conviction, sometimes the roots still showed.

  “Were there any other threats or problems in your husband’s life?”

  Jejeune’s question shocked her out of her contemplations. “I thought you had solved the case.”

  So did he, once. But not now. And yet, he wondered if he was acknowledging this for his own benefit at least as much as for hers. This was dangerous ground. Alwyn’s information had shaken him more than he wanted to admit, and added to the misunderstanding over Senior’s findings, it had left him reeling and uncertain.

  “You’re talking about his affair, aren’t you?” She shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t know anything.”

  “Your stepson, he knew about your husband’s infidelity.” It wasn’t a question.

  “He couldn’t wait to point it out — ‘Called Dad at the uni yesterday. They hadn’t seen him. Any idea where he was?’”

  A weaker woman might have succumbed to the tears that had started to her eyes, but she drew a fluttery breath and was soon back on the topside of her self-control.

  “Could he just have been encouraging doubts where there was no reason for them?”

  She shook her head, perhaps just for a second not trusting her voice. “He enjoyed it, obviously, but he was right. Cameron was seeing someone. Danny believes it, too. I think he may have found some evidence, only he was too kind to tell me.”

  It was Jejeune’s turn to shake his head. “There is no evidence.”

  “Danny even thinks I might have had something to do with Cameron’s murder because of it. You know, revenge or something. He doesn’t want to believe it, but he can’t help himself. I could see it in his eyes, the last time he was here.”

  “He likes to consider all the possibilities. It’s what makes him a good policeman.”

  “I didn’t kill my husband, Inspector. Whatever Cameron was up to when he wasn’t with me, I loved him. I could never have hurt him.”

  “I believe you. Can you tell me, how did your husband seem, the last time you saw him?” he asked.

  “The last time I saw him, he was fine. A bit distracted, maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary. By the last time I spoke to him, though, something had changed. He was moody, telling me he loved me one minute and then so angry the next he could barely speak.”

  “Angry about what?”

  “He wouldn’t say, but I don’t think it was me. Malcolm perhaps? They had had a fight a couple of nights before. That always used to upset him, though it was rarely him who started them.”

  The fight Jejeune already knew about. And the reasons for it. It had to be something else. “Can you think of anything else that could have made him that angry?”

  She inclined her head slightly. “Sorry. All I can say is it wasn’t like him to get so bent out of shape like that. He normally handled stuff pretty well. It was one of the things I loved most about him.”

  Nancy tapped discreetly on the door. “It’s almost time for your conference call.”

  Jejeune stood up abruptly. “I should be going anyway. Thank you for your time.”

  “Say hi to Danny for me, would you? I have some of his records here. Should I give them to you?”

  “I’m sure he would prefer to come over and collect them himself. I’ll remind him you have them.”

  36

  “So this is the message?” Lindy stood before the untidy red lettering splashed across the front of Largemount’s house, just below the bay window. Large and bold at first, then tailing off as it drooped to the right, as if either the anger or the strength of the writer had waned the longer the work went on. “At least they got their capitalization right. Perhaps I should let Eric know. He might want their resumés.”

  “Yes, and when was the last time you saw a graffiti artist worry about punctuation?” Jejeune was standing behind Lindy, halfway between the house and the stand of beeches, where the Rooks swirled and looked down on them from on high.

  “No confession from the son, then. Do you think he did it?”

  Jejeune didn’t need to think long about his answer. “He has the entire package, the motive, the means, the opportunity. He even says he would have liked to have killed Largemount. But he didn’t
do it. I’m sure of it. The trouble is, his story about a deal between Largemount and his father only makes sense if you’re prepared to take a lot of other things on faith.”

  “You’ve got to trust your instincts, Dom. You did before, when everybody else was telling you you were wrong. And that didn’t work out too badly, did it?”

  She smiled, and he knew she was reliving the drama and the glory of it all once more. It was a high point for both of them, he piecing together the evidence, she reporting his progress, formally at first, and then, even after they began seeing each other, still with as much professional detachment as she could manage. Until the day he made the arrest, and saved the girl, and she reported it, and the world exploded into fireworks around them. It must be hard for her now, thought Jejeune, seeing him involved in another high-profile case, more media scrums, more scrutiny and public interest, and having to keep her distance.

  A Sparrowhawk flew low and fast across the forecourt, causing an outburst of cawing amongst the Rooks. Jejeune watched it go, a silent, lethal arrow without a target. Yet.

  “Remember that ex-soldier you interviewed last year, the one who had come back from the Gulf and started a pacifist movement?”

  Even from a master of non sequiturs like Jejeune, this one took Lindy slightly by surprise. “He was not on his own, either,” she said. “He said he could name half a dozen others, even from his own regiment, who felt the same way. I suppose it’s natural, to see what they have seen, and want nothing more to do with war.”

  “I don’t know about natural. But it is understandable. And that’s the thing. Whether you agree with his position or not, there’s a rationale to it, a logic. But what about the other way? A life-long pacifist suddenly develops a taste for warfare. Not too often you see that, is it?”

  “Why do I get the feeling we are not talking about my soldier anymore?” asked Lindy in that guarded tone she used when she realized Domenic was about to launch into one of his musings.

  “I believe the development of the human conscience has a certain pattern to it,” continued Jejeune. “Whether it’s an attitude to war or anything else. The destroyer who gradually turns to creating. That’s an understandable progression. It’s redemption. Not everybody follows it. I’m not even saying it’s always right. But it makes some kind of sense. But going the other way, from being an advocate for nature to becoming an exploiter of it with little or no regard for the environmental consequences?” He shook his head.

  “Like Beverly Brennan, you mean? I take your point, but if you’re thinking she may have had some help with her decision, well, underhanded dealings involving an MP? Say it isn’t so! Besides, you have to admit, there is a certain appeal to the imagery. One day, flowers in her hair, the next a hard hat. Talking of hard hats, how is Sergeant Maik?” she asked, changing the subject. “You should go and see him. We could go up there for a drive tomorrow.”

  “He doesn’t want any visitors. Besides, I need to focus on these cases. Now more than ever. I need to find some evidence that lets us move on from Malcolm Brae, one way or the other.”

  Lindy squeezed Domenic’s hand. She realized this business had shaken his faith in himself. His carefully constructed theories about Peter Largemount and disappearing waders and contaminated marshes had turned to dust and blown away, and taken a good portion of his self-confidence with them. “You’ll get there in the end, Dom. You’ve just got to keep believing in yourself.”

  But the hard sell never really worked with Dom. and now that Lindy had planted the seed it was time to switch to lighter fare. “By the way, what’s this I hear about you fawning over aging starlets? That nice Constable Holland called yesterday and said you would be late because you were visiting Mandy Brae. He said you had been there all afternoon. At least somebody cares that I was sitting at home all alone, abandoned.”

  “I would hardly call thirty-three aging. Mature, maybe. Knowing. Experienced. Besides, what can I say? She gave me an impromptu concert.”

  Lindy looked into his face, unsure whether to believe him or not.

  He nodded. “She did ‘Party Animal’ for me.”

  “Really? Omigod, I used to love that song.” Lindy was suddenly a young girl again. “I’m a Party Animal. Let me be your cannibal …”

  Jejeune, who had been intending to listen to the song as soon as possible, decided against rushing into anything. By now, he was beginning to wonder if he was the only person in the U.K. who had never heard it. He had certainly heard of The Roquettes when he was back in Canada. Their success was worldwide. So why couldn’t he remember any of their songs? Perhaps, like so many things in this wired-up global village, it was only the fame that had travelled, and not the substance it was based upon.

  “So why did you go to see her, really? Is she a suspect? An affair would have been hard for Little Miss Party Animal to deal with. A woman like that would need to feel like she was the only one. Convince her of that and she would be yours for life. But if she slipped to second-best, chances are you’d never get her back. So I’d say that’s definitely motive, and for a woman with her money, means would be no problem. Does she have an alibi?”

  “Are you asking as a member of the public who is not privy to such information, or merely as a journalist who has not been assigned to the case?”

  Lindy stuck out her tongue. “Looks like it’s no cannibalism for somebody tonight.” She danced over toward the trees, humming “Party Animal” and doing something very interesting with her shoulder.

  Jejeune scanned the treetops with his binoculars. He found the Sparrowhawk perched on a snag high up in a dead elm tree on the far side of the forecourt. He watched it for a long time, a small, grey, innocuous presence sitting motionless on the bare branch. They like their high ground, our predators, thought Jejeune. Their penthouse apartments, their mountain retreats, their clifftop mansions. They can see their prey better, sit there unobserved and wait for us to drop our guard. Had Largemount been a predator, perched up here in his hilltop aerie? If so, who had been his prey? Brae? Brennan? DCS Shepherd? Jejeune walked toward the edge of the rise and looked out over the vast grey forest of wind turbines. What if Malcolm Brae was telling the truth? What if Largemount had claimed responsibility for the contamination on his land? It was such a preposterous story, even more so now that Alwyn had taken away any reason for Largemount to do so. But just suppose for a moment that it was true. Would Largemount go as far as murder to preserve his deception? Would he kill to protect his lie?

  Lindy joined him at the edge of the rise and laid her head against his shoulder, trying to see whatever it was that Domenic was seeing among the turbines. She was so afraid of losing him. But she knew if she started to, that there was nothing she could do to prevent it. Dom’s philosophy was that if something was outside your control, it was pointless worrying about it. But that was okay if you were Domenic Jejeune and you had pretty much the whole world on a string. But what if you were Lindy Hey, sometime famous journalist, now anonymous magazine columnist? Belinda Ann Hey, who barely had control of her temper sometimes, let alone her life. What good was a laissez faire approach then, when other people could make decisions that could affect your work or your relationship and there was not a damn thing you could do about it? Then it was a little harder to trust in the fates. Then, worry was about all you had left.

  A sudden frenzy of scolding shattered the stillness, and they turned to see the Rooks rising in a black mass as the Sparrowhawk made a half-hearted pass over the colony. In a moment, it was all over and the birds settled quietly again into the beech trees on the far side of the forecourt.

  “Perhaps Largemount was involved,” said Lindy softly, “just not in the way you think. Perhaps he and Brae had other issues, besides the contamination of the marsh. Not everything in life is about birds, you know.” She stroked his arm. “It’s okay to be wrong every once in a while, Dom. You can allow yourself that little luxury.”

  But he couldn’t, could he? Not where police work
was concerned. If he was ensnared in this job, this career, then it was because he had a gift for it, a talent. But he had been wrong this time, wrong about everything, from the start. And if that was true, then he had lost the only excuse he was prepared to give himself for doing a job he found so desperately unfulfilling. That he was good at it. And he got results.

  Lindy withdrew her hand. “I’ve got to be getting back. I have a deadline, though for the life of me, I can’t see why people clamour for details about the misappropriation of government funds. Eric reckons they are probably mostly looking for tips on how they can get in on it.” She didn’t smile.

  She took a last, lingering look at the slogan scrawled across the wall, with its message dipping toward oblivion. A couple more words and it would have disappeared completely. Above her, the Rooks offered more half-hearted caws as the two of them walked to the car, but with the sun beginning to set, the birds had started to settle into their roosts for the night, and energetic protests were apparently altogether too much work.

  “Are these those birds Senior was talking about, the ones that play just for the fun of it?”

  Jejeune didn’t answer. Preoccupied, he turned to her: “Largemount never allowed birders onto his property. So how did Senior know there was a rookery here, let alone that it was near the house?”

  Lindy shrugged. “Perhaps he came here in a non-birding capacity at some time. You know, as a regular human being.”

  But the humour was lost on Jejeune, who got back into the car with the same preoccupied expression as before. When they reached the end of Largemount’s driveway, he pulled the Range Rover over and got out. He walked out into the middle of the driveway and looked back toward the property. From here, neither the stand of beech trees nor the rookery was visible. With his binoculars, Jejeune could just make out faint black specks circling in the distance. You would have to be a very good birder indeed to identify those black dots as Rooks. But then, Quentin Senior was a very good birder, wasn’t he?