A Siege of Bitterns

by Steve Burrows

  Maik tapped a gnarled knuckle against the driver’s window and waited patiently for it to be lowered.

  “Any chance of a lift, Archie? I’m going down the station.” Maik’s glance swept past Archie Christian’s hunched form, toward the containers in the back of the van. “And if those drums contain what I think they contain, so are you.”

  Maik straightened up from the window, as the arresting officers from Traffic moved in to begin their work. He caught one last glimpse of the defiant figure of Archie Christian as he was taken, resisting, from the van and bundled into the back of the waiting patrol car.

  Maik approached Jejeune, unable to keep the note of triumph from his voice.

  “Definitely chemicals, eight drums that I could see. Don’t know if it’s TBT yet, but whatever it is, it’s a safe bet it’s not something you should be transporting unsecured and without the proper documentation. Certainly enough for a warrant to search his premises, and do soil tests on his land. By the way, sir, just so you know, the boys have asked me to pass on their apologies. What with it being dark and all, and us having a bit of a chat about football, none of us could really make out what went on out in that field. Completely passed us by. I suppose we should have been paying more attention, but there you are. Oh, and you might want to get that bang on the noggin looked at, too. It looks nasty.”

  Jejeune nodded. The gate, the pursuit, it would all have happened exactly as he chose to put it down in his report. Nobody was sure exactly where the legal chips had fallen tonight, but Archie Christian wouldn’t have any friends left in places of influence, not now he had finally fallen from grace.

  Jejeune got into the Range Rover and pulled in behind the convoy of police cars, pursuit vehicles, and van, successfully reversed out of the ditch and now driven by Tony Holland, all heading toward the station.

  Maik watched them go. He leaned on a narrow stile and looked out over the darkened fields. He felt the warm evening breeze on his face. He had no idea where things might lead from here, but whatever Archie Christian was eventually convicted of, Maik was fairly sure that, when added to the drug thefts from the vet’s offices, it was a safe bet that the outside world had seen the last of him for quite a while. He eased himself up from the stile and began the walk back along the quiet, dark lanes toward his car. On the whole, he decided, it was nice to be back.

  46

  Katherine Brae made herself very busy after ushering Jejeune into her front parlour. First it was tea, then, while the kettle was boiling, it was the cushions that needed attention. Finally, a few of the ceramic statuettes on the mantelpiece above the fireplace needed rearranging, though if they were returned to a different position, the change was not immediately clear to Jejeune. By the time she returned from her second visit to the kitchen with a tray of tea things, they had been in the house together for at least ten minutes with only the barest of pleasantries exchanged. Clearly Jejeune was not the only one for whom this was going to be a difficult meeting.

  “You should get stitches for that head wound, Inspector,” said Katherine Brae, handing Jejeune a cup of tea. “Men are so silly about these things sometimes. It wouldn’t make you look weak, you know.”

  “Professor Alwyn claims he only acted to protect Dr. Brae’s reputation,” said Jejeune, anxious to change the subject.

  “Did Cameron’s reputation deserve protection, I wonder?” She dismissed her thought with a wave of her mottled hand. “Miles Alwyn never acted in any way other than to serve his own interests, Inspector. If it was to protect anyone’s reputation, it was his own. What will happen to him?”

  “Obstruction of justice, evidence tampering. There may be other charges. Likely no custodial time.”

  “Cameron must have realized there was something wrong with the marsh some time ago. He never actually said as much, you understand, but you could tell, if you knew him. There was something in his face whenever he returned from there, a sadness I had never seen before.”

  “He noticed that some of the waders were disappearing, though they are still showing up in healthy numbers at Titchwell, Cley, and other spots along the coast. He reasoned that Great Marsh was being contaminated by something. An antifoulant called TBT, as it happens.”

  “But the other birds at the marsh,” said Katherine Brae, “they won’t all be affected, surely?”

  “I’m afraid so. The Godwits, the Oystercatchers, the longer-billed birds are still there because they probe deeper for their food, beyond the present contamination levels. But problems will show up in their food sources in a few more seasons, as the contamination accumulates and works its way through the ecosystem. Eventually, they will all be gone.”

  “How terribly sad. Poor Cameron. What it must be to watch something you love so much dying by degrees like that.” A thought seemed to strike her. “It won’t be enough for Colleen, I expect. A suicide, I mean. It should be, shouldn’t it? Surely society benefits if it is proven that there is one less murderer among us than we thought? But she will have been looking for something more … well, dramatic. Poor Colleen, life never seems to satisfy her expectations.”

  She looked up at Jejeune’s silence, but did not intrude upon it. For some moments she made herself busy with her tea cup. “Do we know who was actually responsible for contaminating the marsh, Inspector?”

  “We have made an arrest in connection with that.”

  “Mr. Christian?” She looked at Jejeune. “Of course, you can’t say until charges are formally brought.”

  “We believe we have the right person.”

  She poured more tea for both of them, although her own cup was still half full. “I understand Malcolm is to be formally charged with Peter Largemount’s murder.” She let the act of pouring claim all her attention.

  Jejeune looked around the room, at the comfortable furniture, the ornaments along the mantelpiece. Was this any kind of a setting to be talking to a mother about her son’s arrest for murder? But then, what was?

  “There will be a press conference at 5:00 p.m. today at which I will be announcing an arrest and charges. I wanted to let you know beforehand, in case there were any arrangements you had to make.”

  Katherine Brae was silent for a long time. From the next room, the unremitting ticking of a clock sounded. They could be so quiet, these country houses, thought Jejeune. Outside, a Pied Flycatcher alighted on a bush for a moment. Migration was underway already, another sign that summer was coming to an end.

  “I see. Well, I suppose I should thank you for your courtesy in coming here, at least. You should know I have engaged the best firm of solicitors in the area. The senior partner was a personal friend of Cameron’s.” She paused for a moment. “You seem to be far too good a policeman to bring a case on such flimsy evidence, Inspector. Is there anything I should know? Has Malcolm confessed? He didn’t do it, as I suspect you know.”

  “No one has confessed. I’m sorry. I can’t say anything more about it at the moment.”

  But she had already moved on, to a place that only she could see, somewhere in the space between her chair and the empty fireplace.

  “That deal with Peter Largemount was Cameron all over. Ambition and pragmatism in equal measure. He never could see the risks his aspirations posed to the things he loved. He became so frantic toward the end. It was most unlike him. I suppose he was closing off many of his peripheral projects so he could channel all his energies into saving the marsh.”

  “You appear to be very well informed about your ex—

  husband’s recent activities.”

  She paused for a moment, as if considering the counsel of invisible voices. When she spoke again, a new tone of kindness had come into her voice.

  “And you seem to understand things to a degree quite remarkable in one so young, Inspector.” She smiled and set down her cradled tea cup in its saucer. “You’re quite right, of course. Cameron wanted to share things with her, truly he did. But despite her best efforts, she just wasn’t quite up to the mark
, intellectually, I’m afraid. Cameron felt he simply didn’t have anywhere else to go where he could discuss matters, so he came here.” She gave her head a small shake. “It was so typical of him, to want the best of all worlds. Still, he is not entirely to blame. The users of the world need enablers, don’t they?”

  Jejeune began to stand up. Katherine Brae smiled at him from her seat, but made no move to get up.

  “Thank you for coming, Inspector. I shall not be at your press conference, but I suspect my solicitors will have a representative there.” A softer smile touched her lips as she turned her gaze away from him. “You know, Cameron could be quite irresistible when he set his mind on something. The trouble was, he never seemed entirely sure what it was that he wanted.” She shook her head sadly again. “Poor dear. I shall miss him.”

  47

  There was music coming from the sunroom. Maik went around to the side of the house. The door was open.

  Mandy Brae was sitting at the piano, playing to the empty room. Her slender white arms were poised delicately above the keyboard, her head bowed slightly toward the keys. She was singing softly to herself. Maik recognized the tune. Classical? Not with words. A show tune, perhaps? He couldn’t place it.

  Her pitch was perfect, her timing flawless, holding each note and then releasing it expertly, so that it floated out into the empty room. She played simply, the music an accompaniment to the voice only. It was a spellbinding performance, played out to an audience of none.

  Maik stayed in the doorway for an eternity of small moments. Perhaps the light shifted, sending a shadow across her sightlines. Perhaps she just sensed him there. She stopped playing and twisted sideways on her piano stool. The way the light fell on her face turned her skin to alabaster. A strand of hair had escaped her untidy ponytail and tricked down her neck like the path of a teardrop. She was almost unbearably beautiful. It was all he could do to stop himself from sighing aloud.

  “Danny.”

  “Don’t stop on my account.”

  She smiled, “I know it’s not Marvin Gaye, but there is some other good music out there, you know. Come in. Have a seat. How are you feeling?”

  She swivelled around.

  “I just thought I would come by to see if you had any questions,” he said. “It’s just that sometimes, with suicides, well, the family members, you know, they wonder …”

  “Cameron felt he had caused the death of Great Marsh. Nothing I could have said or done would have changed that. He worshipped that place. I knew that when I married him.”

  “I wanted you to know … we found no evidence that your husband was having an affair.”

  She held a fist to her heart. “Other than in here, you mean? Thanks, Danny. That’s very kind. I’m not sure it really matters, though, now. I lost my husband a long time ago. To what, doesn’t really seem important anymore. It hurt then and it hurts now, but that’s the way it was.” She offered Maik a brave smile that almost broke his heart.

  “Any idea what you will do now? Will you stay on here?”

  Was there hope in his question? She looked up, as if she had heard something behind the words.

  “My agent is in talks over a documentary about the session musicians during the glory days of Motown. I could really get behind a project like that. All those behind-the-scenes stories. Perhaps I might even get to find out why Smokey would never credit his wife Claudette for her contributions on those beautiful a cappella tracks the Miracles laid down.”

  She seemed to be considering the proposal to herself, letting the fingers of her right hand play a little ripple of the keys as she thought.

  “I would have to go over there, of course. Most of the big Motown stars have long since moved to the west coast, I suppose, but the sessioners, the ones with the real stories, I don’t imagine many of them will have strayed very far from home. Ever been to Detroit, Danny? We played there quite a lot. For some reason they seemed to have a thing for a bunch of silly white girls jumping around singing ‘Party Animal.’ I could never really understand it myself, especially considering the musical pedigree of that city, of all places, but they were always very nice to us.”

  Visiting these people, chatting about some of the sessions they had worked on, listening to all those stories about the Funk Brothers, Babbitt, Jamerson, all the greats? Maik couldn’t imagine a world where these sorts of things were possibilities. He felt, more sharply than he ever had, the distance between her world and his. It was a divide that could never be crossed, no matter how much she referred to him as Danny and asked about his health.

  “I may get back into music, too,” she said, tinkering with the piano keys again. “I really did like it at one time, in the early days. Before the madness. It might be nice to do some writing. Soundtracks perhaps.”

  Not performing, she didn’t say. She didn’t have to. It was harder each time Maik met her to imagine this delicate, private person performing for thousands, bustled and bundled around by the animal called fame.

  “It’s important to be happy in what you do,” he said.

  “You should tell that to your boss. He hates his job, doesn’t he? He wants to be somewhere else, not asking widows if they know why their husbands are dead.”

  “It’s a hard job to like sometimes.”

  And it never seemed to give you a satisfactory ending. Maik looked out the window at the garden, and the marsh beyond, still and quiet with the sunlight upon it. Motown songs were better. Three minutes, problem to solution, and everybody goes away, if not happy, at least knowing the answers.

  “Still,” said Maik, “he’s good at what he does. Apparently, even the media get things right sometimes.”

  “You should know better than to trust the hype, Danny. Heroes will disappoint you every time. Even Marvin didn’t turn out to be quite who we thought he was, did he?”

  She offered a sad smile and Maik repaid her in kind.

  “That reminds me, I’ve got your records.”

  She got up and went over to a desk and came back with a pile of singles and albums, each stacked neatly and arranged by release date, just as her father’s collection was.

  “I’ve pinched all the ones I wanted, uploaded them onto my iPod. It seems only fair, given the amount my accountant tells me I’ve lost through illegal downloads.”

  She didn’t really seem to care. Perhaps for some people there really was such a thing as enough money.

  “I’d better be going.” Maik nodded toward the piano. “Leave you to your music. It was nice to have met you,” he said awkwardly.

  “You make it sound as if we’ll never see each other again. You meet a lot of people twice in life, Danny. Once when you’re not ready, and then again when you are. Thank you for your kindness. You’ve been a big help through a very difficult time. I won’t forget it. Or you.”

  She turned back to the piano, but she was not singing as Maik left, just playing. Was it a different tune, he wondered. Or did it just sound different without the words?

  48

  DCS Shepherd parked her car some distance from the mayhem and walked through the stand of beech trees to a spot on the far side of the forecourt, where Maik was standing with his hands in his pockets, watching the TV camera crews set up for their broadcasts.

  “They had better get somebody to rope off those cables, or there’s going to be a lawsuit,” he said by way of a greeting.

  “Just what the hell is he playing at, Sergeant? Why has he chosen this location for the press conference?”

  “Developments, ma’am. He said he tried to get a hold of you, but he couldn’t reach you. He said if you wanted the announcement in time for the evening news, this was where it had to take place.”

  “Developments? What developments? He is still going to announce the arrest, I take it. Where is he, anyway?”

  “Just over there, by the podium.” Maik saw Jejeune watching them as they spoke. In fact, Jejeune’s eyes hadn’t left the DCS since she had arrived on the scene. “As I
understand it, ma’am, he’s going to announce the arrest of Archie Christian just now. Christian is over there, with a couple of uniforms keeping an eye on him.”

  “He’s having Christian attend the public announcement of his own arrest? Where does he think he is, for God’s sake? Hollywood? The CPS will have a bloody fit, parading him out here in front of the media like this. We’ll be lucky if Christian doesn’t sue us all.”

  She saw Jejeune, making his way now through the media throng toward the front of Peter Largemount’s house. He paused for a moment and looked up into the beech trees. She could hardly believe her eyes. At a time like this, he was watching bloody birds.

  “I understand Inspector Jejeune asked Christian if he wanted to be present and he agreed. He has signed a release, ma’am.”

  “How on earth did he get him to do that? What is going on here, Sergeant? Is he going to announce the arrest of Malcolm Brae or not?”

  But before Maik could give an answer, or avoid one, Jejeune mounted the front steps of Peter Largemount’s ancestral home and turned to face the media.

  The DCS stirred uneasily by Maik’s side. On the back of the suicide announcement, the arrest of Archie Christian would be a sideline at best. The people gathered here were expecting an announcement in the murder case — Peter’s murder. Had Jejeune really orchestrated this big production simply to disguise the weakness of their case against Malcolm Brae?

  But Maik was calm. He wasn’t sure of all the details yet, but he could see that Jejeune was. The DCI looked utterly composed behind the bank of microphones, with a look that took on all comers, frank and calm and confident. Whatever he was about to tell them, it was his show now. And it would stay that way until he decided otherwise.

  “Yesterday evening, police arrested a fifty-two-year-old male on suspicion of the illegal transportation of hazardous materials. Today, Archibald Reginald Christian has been formally charged with a number of offences relating to the unlawful storage, transport, and disposal of organotin tributyltin, otherwise known as TBT. Inquiries are ongoing, and further charges are anticipated in this case.”