Maik sighed inwardly. For such an elite group, there sometimes seemed to be a birder in every crowd. He realized the longer he left it before bringing the conversation round to the topic at hand, the harder it was going to be to prevent the visit from sliding off into a session of record-swapping. Though it might be easier today than usual since, for once, the DCI seemed to have no particular appetite for pursuing the subject.
“May I ask what it is you’re doing out here?” said Jejeune.
“Controlling invasive species. Sadly, this area has become colonized by one particularly disturbing interloper. Even the scientific researchers are calling it Frankenweed.”
Maik’s stare had a way of conveying many things, impatience with fools among them. Sikorski was the essence of courtesy, however.
“You have heard of Japanese knotweed, of course,” he said, “the invasive weed that has caused such well-publicized problems for unfortunate homeowners.”
They had. The litany of issues was long: catastrophic declines in house prices, buildings abandoned, mortgages being refused; all directly linked to the presence of the species on or near a property. Efforts to remove it were exorbitantly expensive and time-consuming. Some estimates put the total cost to the national economy in the region of two hundred million pounds per year.
“At a place called Haringey, this weed hybridized, naturally as far as anyone can tell, with Russian vine. Imagine, please, the devastating potential of the aggressive spread and root tenacity of Japanese knotweed combined with the rapid growth rate and tensile strength of Russian vine.”
Jejeune’s eyes opened wide. Frankenweed suddenly made a lot more sense.
“It was thought to be restricted only to this one site in the U.K.,” said Sikorski. “Unfortunately, it was recently discovered in Tidewater Marsh. We have no idea how it came to be here. As a restricted area it is not often visited. But the length of some of these vines suggests it must have been growing here for a long time. It does not yet appear to have spread to other areas, but it could be just a matter of time if we allow it to become any further established. The government wishes to ensure its complete eradication. So we must dig it out by the roots.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to pull it out by hand? Presumably such a strong vine wouldn’t give way.”
“Indeed, the vine itself is as robust as rope, but the root base of Japanese knotweed is incredibly well-anchored. Digging it out is the only way of removing it effectively. It is why the cost of clearing the species from one’s property is so expensive.”
“Still,” said Maik, “it looks like backbreaking work. Couldn’t the government just get a mechanical digger in?”
“They could, but this would remove all species.” Sikorski gave another charming smile. “Do no harm, Sergeant; it is an important principle of conservation. We must take care not to destroy the beneficial native species. Sometimes, the hardest work of all is to protect the innocent, is it not?”
As far as Maik was concerned, doing no harm was a handy principle to live by, conservation-related or not. Unfortunately, in his line of work, it wasn’t always possible.
“Did these people work on invasive species control back home, then?” he asked. “Only, I wouldn’t know a Haringey knotweed from a sprig of Saltmarsh samphire.”
“This is my role.” Sikorski gave the smile of a man who’d held positions of authority and was used to the respect they brought. Neither detective sensed any notion of self-importance. “I have expertise in this area. Many invasive species bear a strong resemblance to native ones. For now, identification of the Frankenweed by sight and removal by hand is the only foolproof method.”
Jejeune gazed back at the group of workers, perhaps a dozen or so, who were still standing and looking at the men. Some held bunches of vegetation in their hands, others had shovels. Behind them, the flat sunlight glinted off the water like a mirror.
“Are all these workers Polish?” he asked.
“They are seasonal farm workers. They are awaiting the planting season. Until then, they will do this work.”
“If they work on the farms in the area, I take it your associates all speak English,” said Jejeune. He wondered why they remained so silent, content to let Sikorski act as their spokesman. That said, you could do worse than have such an eloquent and charismatic representative.
Sikorski inclined his magnificent white head once more. “They speak the language well enough, but sometime a little Polish helps. A description here, an explanation there …” Sikorski gave them a frank look. “Perhaps either may help you with what you came here to find today.”
“We are wondering if you know a family named Kowalski?” said Jejeune.
“I know many people with this name. It is a common Polish name, perhaps the most common.”
“The ones we are interested in are a woman and her son: Paulina and Jakub.”
“Again, not unusual names. But yes, I know this family. Are they in difficulties?”
“We would appreciate any background you could give us on them,” said Jejeune. Like all good police officers, he’d mastered the deft deflection of inquiries he didn’t want to answer.
Sikorski bowed his head in thought for a moment. “Sadly, neither is as community-minded as we would wish. The mother, Paulina, does some record keeping for us at our community centre. The large hall at the end of the track from the main road,” he explained. “You would have parked beside it, I imagine. On the edge of the raised berm?”
The men confirmed they had, though neither had known what the building was at the time. They had taken it for a dilapidated old barn.
“She deals with records to do with employment like this?” asked Jejeune.
Sikorski nodded. “She assists with filling out applications for various services. Legal documents, medical files, immigration records. It is valuable work, but her skills are offered grudgingly. To those who are dependent on the help of others, such things are noticed. It is important to them that such assistance is also given willingly.”
“And does the son, Jakub, help at the centre also?”
A sad smile crossed Sikorski’s face. “Unfortunately, Jakub Sikorski wishes no connection with our group at all. A sense of togetherness, of belonging, is so important for a small community like ours. We have all come here from the same place, and we now find ourselves in the same circumstances. People believe it is important to remember that you share your background with everyone else.”
“So, would you say Jakub Kowalski is unpopular with members of the local Polish community?” asked Maik.
Sikorski considered the sergeant’s question, seeming, somehow, to appreciate the importance of it. “I would not use this word. Perhaps his desire to isolate himself is just not well understood.”
The two detectives regarded the group carefully. They had not moved from their stations at the edge of the marshland. They stood still, the afternoon sun at their backs, cutting tools and bundles of vegetation dangling from their lowered hands. Only their eyes moved. Warily. Guardedly.
“Forgive them, gentlemen. Their distrust is not of you, but of life itself. They have suffered many hardships in the past. They are hopeful that you will not bring them more.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Sikorski,” said Jejeune. “We’ll leave you to get on with your important work.”
Maik turned to accompany his DCI back along the track to where they had parked the Mini. Do no harm. If they’d learned nothing else from this visit, at least they could now be fairly sure that Jakub Kowalski’s killer was no conservationist.
12
“Well, that went well,” said Lindy, with the kind of heavy irony that suggested she would want an audience for her grievances. Jejeune shut down the document he was working on and closed his laptop, watching as she crossed the living room. She tossed her bag onto a vacant chair and slumped heavily into another, on the far side of the fireplace. He had not been sure which Lindy would return, one aglow with victory i
n a spirited intellectual battle, or the chastened victim of a coordinated ambush. She had written an article which hearkened back to the previous summer’s Saltmarsh Festival, and made a series of dire predictions about the forthcoming one. A Fête Worse than Death had been intended as little more than tongue-in-cheek filler for the magazine, but it had generated a surprising amount of feedback and public discussion. As so often, Lindy had tapped into an undercurrent of sentiment in the community. But the piece had also caught the attention of the fête’s organizing committee, and Lindy had been invited to defend her criticisms in person. Never one to shy away from the chance to justify her position, Lindy had accepted the invitation and marched out of the cottage earlier with a clear-eyed determination. Whatever she had now returned with, Jejeune sensed it wasn’t the glow of victory.
No matter what he chose as his opening gambit, it was unlikely to change the direction of the conversation. Innocent misinterpretation seemed as safe a route as any. “So it went well, you said?”
“No, Domenic, it did not go well. I have seen the Face of Evil, and its name is Calista Hyde. Have you met her?”
Jejeune shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, if you ever do, beware. She’s one of those devious, manipulative types who can get you to do whatever they want.”
“A woman, you mean?”
Lindy gave him one of her special glances, but there was no real malevolence in it. Nevertheless, Jejeune decided to make amends by going to the kitchen and returning with two glasses of wine. “What did she get you to agree to?” he asked, handing one to Lindy and moving her bag so he could settle into the chair opposite her.
“I’ve been forced to accept a place on the planning committee for this year’s fête. I could hardly refuse, could I?” said Lindy, shifting position in the chair. “Unless you’re prepared to contribute towards putting something right, criticizing it seems like a fairly pointless exercise.”
She looked so frustrated and helpless. The urge to protect her from Ray Hayes welled up inside him like a physical force. But protect her how? At the moment, Hayes was an invisible threat, thousands of miles away. For an undetermined amount of time, it seemed he would remain so. But if they were to continue to enjoy moments like this, shared, intimate evenings over a glass of wine, he would have to act at some point. He didn’t know how yet, or when. All he could be sure of was that the time was coming.
“Danny Maik was asking how you like your new car,” said Jejeune, as if to emphasize to himself the value of such unguarded casual conversation, of all they stood to lose.
Lindy came back from her thoughts. “The Nissan Leaf? It’s fine, great.” She wasn’t a person who fell head over heels in love with material things, as a rule. She saved her overwhelming passions for moments in time, special occasions. Or people. “Why is he asking? The Mini playing up again?”
“It hasn’t been right since that accident last year. I get the feeling it should have been written off, but I’m sure the suggestion didn’t go over well.”
“It’s his sense of loyalty, I suppose,” said Lindy. “He’s very fond of that car, and I’m sure he feels he owes it something. You know Danny.”
“Still, there has to be a time to let go if a thing’s no longer working.”
“Do you think so?” Lindy sat forward earnestly and set her glass of wine beside her. “You don’t think it’s worth trying to put things right if problems occur? Surely, it’s worth having a go at fixing something, rather than just abandoning it.”
Jejeune looked at her with genuine puzzlement. “The suspension is shot,” he said, “and the alignment is off, too. I’m pretty sure the frame got twisted in the crash. One of these days he’s going to get pulled over by Traffic for operating an unsafe vehicle.”
That’s the trouble with writers, thought Lindy, we see metaphors everywhere. But as long as Domenic was going to limit his throwaway attitude to cars, rather than relationships, she would be content to let his comments go without further challenge. “That traffic cop would have to be pretty desperate to meet his quota,” she said. “It would take some courage to walk up to the formidable Danny Maik and hand him a ticket.” She picked up her glass again and seemed surprised to find it empty. “Want another?”
She took Jejeune’s glass and padded past him into the kitchen. “Anyway,” she called over her shoulder, “tell him if he’d like to take my Leaf out for a test drive, he’s welcome.”
From the kitchen, Jejeune could hear the resonating gurgle of the wine tumbling into the glasses. They had recently agreed to cut down on their drinking at home, but the resolve had softened to apply only indoors, because their patio was such a glorious place to watch the sunsets and look out over the sea, and a glass of wine just seemed like the perfect complement to that. And exceptions could obviously be made for significant moments indoors, too — times of celebration, or consolation, or of undefined but agreeably apt momentousness. The parameters seemed to shift on any given day, but a gruelling encounter with the manipulative Face of Evil surely qualified. Still, though, it made Jejeune begin to wonder if they shouldn’t just limit their new resolution to not drinking at home on dull days when nothing really happened. Except those were exactly the kinds of days they felt most like a drink. In all honesty, he couldn’t see this resolution lasting much longer than those Lindy made so faithfully every New Year’s Day and abandoned so brazenly a few days later.
She returned and handed Domenic his wine, sliding back into her own chair and snuggling in luxuriously. She swirled the wine around in her glass and peered through it into the fireplace. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she said. “I need to get going on some notes for the next meeting of the Fête Committee. I get the feeling Calista’s the kind of taskmaster who’s going to make Eric look reasonable by comparison. She’s a pretty formidable character, that one.”
“It is a pity Danny prefers to be alone,” said Jejeune, smiling, “or you could try hooking the formidable twosome up.”
“I’m not sure anyone prefers being alone, Dom.” Lindy leaned towards him, forearms resting on her knees, the wine glass cradled between her hands. “They might prefer being on their own to being with the person they’re currently with, but I’m not at all sure that’s the same thing. Love can break your heart, but only loneliness can ache like it does.”
Domenic looked slightly dubious, as if he thought perhaps she’d already had enough wine, and she wondered whether she’d overplayed her hand. But she had seen too many relationships flounder on the rocks of apathy, too many people wait too long, assuming something would always be there, until one day it wasn’t anymore and it was too late to do anything about it. She wasn’t thrilled she’d taken the conversation down this road, but she didn’t entirely regret it, either. Nevertheless, it was probably time to give them both some breathing space. Besides, she had other tricky waters to navigate tonight.
“Well, I suppose I’d better get to work,” she announced. She stood up, but made no effort to walk towards their office. Instead she lingered, looking around her. Jejeune sensed it was going to be an awkward topic by the way Lindy seemed to be working up to it. He stood up, facing her.
“Erm, I think I forgot to tell you, Eric said to tell you there’d been a report of a possible sighting of a Ruddy Duck.”
“Ah. Did he say which one?”
“No, but it was a male. He started to tell me about the lovely blue beak.”
“Started to?”
Lindy gave him a guilty look. “I couldn’t keep him in the dark any longer, Dom. It didn’t seem right.”
“You told him about the female we saw, too?”
She looked crestfallen. “He says a pair together at this time of the year might mean they’re setting up a breeding site. That’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it, Dom? That they’ll be on territory, easy to find, if you report them.”
Jejeune gave her a sad smile. “What does Eric say?” “He thinks you have a re
sponsibility to report them, but he’s agreed to leave the decision up to you.”
“He’s correct,” said Jejeune quietly. “It’s the right thing to do. The fate of a species shouldn’t be put in jeopardy because of concerns about a couple of individual birds.”
“Well, yes, obviously, in theory,” said Lindy, waving her wine glass slightly. “It seems a perfectly reasonable position when you’re talking about ducks in the abstract. But Donald and Daisy are individuals. I know them. It’s personal with those two now.”
“And you weren’t able to sway Eric with that logic?” asked Jejeune with an ironic smile.
“He says naming them was a mistake. But it’s not really anthropomorphism, is it? I mean, I’m not assigning human traits to them, just cartoon names. At worst, it’s only a halfway step.”
“You discussed all this at work?”
“Oh, don’t worry. There was only the two of us left by that point. It’s amazing how quickly you can clear a room just by turning the talk to birding.”
It’s probably just as well, thought Jejeune. A discussion about giving cartoon names to real birds might just have lacked the intellectual cut and thrust the staff had come to expect from Lindy’s exchanges with her boss.
“Couldn’t you report these ducks to the relevant authorities, but say you needed them to be kept alive? Imply they were important to your investigation, perhaps?” Lindy tilted her head in a way that had sometimes proved to be the clincher in past requests.
“Claim they were ducks of interest, you mean?” Jejeune paused a moment, looking into Lindy’s innocently wide eyes, pretending to consider the idea. “Possibly, but I’d still have to let them go as soon as I’d interviewed them.”
Lindy tilted her head back to an upright position, mission unaccomplished. “I thought you liked birds,” she said tartly. “Why do they have to be killed, anyway? Can’t they just be captured and sent to a sanctuary somewhere, even if they’re kept in separate facilities? No, I suppose not,” she admitted sadly. “It would be an awful life for them. Wings clipped, no mating, facing the same boring existence every day.”
A Tiding of Magpies Page 8