Maik looked around, taking in the night. Beside them, the vast piles of drying Frankenweed looked like dark shrubs.
“Sounds to me like they’ll be needing another niche in that saints’ chapel soon.”
Jejeune smiled, taking Maik’s point. “When a person of faith has nothing, an anonymous benefactor must seem like a gift from Heaven.”
But how much devotion would such an earthy saint command? Would gratitude for a few painted icons and a place to hold Polish folk dances be enough for someone to commit murder on a saint’s behalf? Or even on his orders? Perhaps, if your faith was strong enough, or your humanity weak enough. But even if not, there were other possibilities. A thousand years’ worth of life experience, thought Jejeune. If Jakub Kowalski was as unpopular among the local Polish community as Sikorski said, that also meant a thousand years’ worth of motives. The night had been an enjoyable one, but it hadn’t done much to narrow down the pool of suspects.
23
Jejeune leaned against the Range Rover and watched the dust trail swirl in the morning air in the wake of Lindy’s departure. Maik had left moments before, the little Mini trundling across the berm with such effort Jejeune half-expected Lindy would come across it broken down on the dirt track before she even reached the main road.
The detective drew a breath and slowly took in the view, listening to the sound of no sounds. Beneath a wide, low sky filled with clouds, the estuary lay in silvery silence. All around him, nature awaited the coming of a new day with its eternal patience. Along the narrow channel at the base of the berm, tall reeds nodded gently in mute tribute to a passing breeze, while a solitary Coot drifted through its watery domain without making a sound. Even before the unwelcome reappearance of Ray Hayes on his horizon, there had been a constant background noise in Jejeune’s world: a murder case that was beginning to raise warning flags in his mind, an Empowered Investigator from the Met delving into areas of his past he had long thought buried. But perhaps the peace that had settled over this place would also settle over him.
Beside him, set against the wide open spaces of the flanking marsh, Wawel seemed smaller this morning, diminished by its emptiness. To Jejeune’s fanciful imagination, it seemed almost to be hunching into the landscape, ashamed of its role in last night’s revelries. He smiled at the thought. Nights like the previous one saw Lindy at her vibrant, audacious best, embracing every new experience and hugging it to her soul. She seemed to charge the air around her with her enthusiasm, the life force coursing through her like an inner light. He tracked the dust trail as her car followed the wide, sweeping arc back up onto the road. And now she was off to look the world in the eye for another day, to meet its challenges head on, as fearless and confident as always.
From up here, he could see the coast road, less than a quarter of a mile away across the dark rubble of the unploughed field in front of him. He wondered who had decided the roadway from the berm should follow the route it did. Who had drawn the plans that saw the track sweep down in its massive half-mile loop, marsh on one side, farmland on the other, before linking up with the coast road so far away, instead of simply cutting a much shorter route directly across this field? Like so many of north Norfolk’s secrets, it was a story that had been written into the landscape long before he arrived.
From a nearby shrub, a male Stonechat swooped down to take an insect, returning in a single graceful loop to his perch on the same branch, just as Jejeune had seen those cryptic Empid flycatchers do back in Canada — the Acadian, the Willow, the Alder. He wondered idly if there was a collective noun for flycatchers. A spiderweb, perhaps? How about an outfield? He smiled at his joke, even as he accepted there was likely not a single other person in Saltmarsh who would have understood it. Even Lindy would have to put it under the microscope. Okay, Dom, I get the baseball thing, the outfield, but why are the high balls the fielders catch called flys? He sighed to himself. Maybe he could draw stick men diagrams to accompany the joke. Better still, perhaps he’d simply keep it to himself. There were times when he missed having someone who could pick up on his Canadian references at face value. No matter how long you lived somewhere, he supposed there were always going to be little reminders that a part of you belonged somewhere else.
And yet he really felt he belonged here now. He rarely reflected these days on how much he loved this landscape, with its unpredictable weather and its shifting light and its wide open spaces. But it was here among the coastal marshes, like nowhere else, that Jejeune understood the world. His senses brought the world to him here, what it looked like, felt like, smelled like. They told him of its moods, its promises. The hint of purple in the cloud cover, the dry-dust smell carrying to him on the winds, the uneasy swaying of the reed beds; they all whispered to him of coming rain. How could he say he was not from here, not a part of this place, when he could read it like this? Saltmarsh was in him now. It would be with him always.
On a far mudbank, a dispute between a pair of Mute Swans flared into a noisy squabble. For a moment, their angry hisses and agitated flapping tore the peace asunder, an unwelcome intrusion on this soundless landscape. But the thrusts and parries subsided as quickly as they had begun, and the birds settled again to their tranquil co-existence. Jejeune watched as they smoothed their ruffled feathers around themselves and tucked their heads beneath their wings, nestling once more into the still morning air. Silence. It is the final resting place of all disputes, thought Jejeune, of all conflicts. So much good came from silence. It was where feelings could float to the surface, where we could reach our emotions, where our thoughts found a safe haven. But silence had its dangers, too. It could lead to misunderstandings. And it could destroy relationships. Because silence was the enemy of trust.
There are to be no more secrets between us, Domenic.
No more secrets. And he had agreed. But what of Shepherd’s own secrets? He thought about her word. Us, she’d said. Nothing for us to worry about. Nothing coming back to bite us? As far as Jejeune was concerned, even if there was any fallout from the Carolyn Gresham kidnapping case, it couldn’t possibly compromise Shepherd. She’d had nothing whatsoever to do with the original investigation. Everything had been signed off long before the DCI made his transfer to her jurisdiction. So why was she so concerned that Des Gill’s investigation would reflect badly on her and the Saltmarsh team?
A shaft of sunlight had broken through the cloud cover at a low angle, lighting a patch of reeds on the far side of the water with its ethereal glow. In a heartbeat, the scene had been transformed. But even as he looked out over this new landscape, shot through with silken threads of golden light, Jejeune’s peace refused to come. The approaching threat to Lindy rose up out of the silence and engulfed him. Whatever information Angeren needed about the Kowalski murder, while he still felt there was a chance he could persuade the detectives to provide it, he would keep tabs on Ray Hayes. The danger would come when the developer finally accepted that Jejeune wasn’t going to co-operate. Then there would be the possibility that Hayes could strike without warning. And he would not be able to protect Lindy.
Perhaps they could escape back to London, lose themselves in The Smoke, where Lindy wouldn’t be as exposed, as vulnerable as she seemed out here on this wide-open north Norfolk coast. But their life was here now, in this community, and Lindy wouldn’t want to give that up. Despite the wiles of the formidable Calista, Jejeune knew his partner would have never agreed to work with a group of people she had so recently called some of the finest minds of the nineteenth century unless she wanted to. Lindy was making an emotional investment in Saltmarsh, wanting to contribute, to be part of the community’s beating heart.
Besides, Jejeune would have to tell Lindy why they were leaving. Could she still face the world with the same confident glint in her eye, still greet it head on, knowing she was the target of a killer, a madman Jejeune had yet to come up with a plan for capturing? He knew she could not. But she was innocent in all this. She deserved her peace of mind,
and her joyous, boundless love of life. It was his duty to preserve it. He knew the time was approaching when he would have to confide in Shepherd. Silence had always been a part of his personality, part of what made him so successful in his work. It was his realm, where he developed his theories, where he stalked his prey. But what kind of person would risk the safety of another simply to satisfy his own vanities? In the end, his silence could only put Lindy in more danger. So yes, Colleen Shepherd would have to be told about Hayes at some point. But not yet.
He drew another deep breath and sighed again into the quietness. He knew he should leave, climb in The Beast and head out to confront the day’s challenges. There were many. But troubled thoughts had robbed him of his enjoyment of Blakeney Point. He would not allow them a second victory. He would stay a few moments more, leaning against his Range Rover, drinking in the soft beauty of this place, its iridescent light, its unpeopled wildness. And its silence.
24
Tuesday November 23rd, 9:28 a.m. Call duration: 2 minutes 44 seconds
Caller: You got the prints? They wouldn’t sell me two one-hundred-milligram containers. Only fifties. But the other stuff, cleaning the surfaces with rubbing alcohol, wiping them down with a lint-free cloth, that was all done just like you said.
Jejeune: We received the containers. The fingerprints have already been verified.
Caller: The thing I can’t work out, Domenic, is how a fingerprint is proof of life?
Jejeune: By agreeing to meet the conditions, you’ve shown you want this to work. It’s unlikely you’d let them come to any harm now you’ve come this far.
Caller: I’m not following your logic here, Domenic. And that’s not good for either of us. (Five-second pause)
Jejeune: It’s also proof you still had access to both people very recently. I doubt you’d have wanted to stay that close if any harm had already come to them.
(Eight-second pause)
Caller: Okay, for now, you get the benefit of the doubt. But just so we’re clear, no more proof, no more anything. From this point on, I say, you do. Anything happens that I don’t like, and things fall apart fast.
Jejeune: Nobody wants that. We’re ready to work with you to make sure everybody gets what they want.
Caller: That’s good to know. You know the fee. The girl gets released on delivery. Then, when it’s clear there’s nobody coming after the money, the boy follows. A day later, tops.
Jejeune: Monte. That’s the boy’s name. The girl is Carolyn. They have to be released together. Caller: Perhaps you weren’t listening, Domenic. I tell you what’s going to happen. I hang up now, you don’t hear from me again. You understand what I’m saying?
(Muffled sounds)
Jejeune: Wait, no, don’t hang up. You’re in control. Everybody knows that. But you’re going to need to make decisions based on what’s possible. I know you want these people returned safely. I know you want that. But there can’t be any deal just for one of them. It has to be both.
Caller: You tell them, Domenic. They’ll listen to you. You tell them this is the way it’s going to be. This is the arrangement and they have to take it.
Jejeune: I can’t do that.
Caller: That’s not what I need to hear. I need to hear it’s going to happen or I walk away.
Jejeune: It won’t happen. Both must get released at the same time. It’s the only way …
Call ends
Gill expelled a long, low breath and peeled off her headphones. There was sweat at her temples and around her hairline. She found she was trembling slightly. But she’d heard what she knew she would.
There’s no way you’d have sacrificed that boy to get Carolyn Gresham back, was there, Sergeant Jejeune? It was only ever going to be a package deal. The two of them. No negotiation. And you knew he’d agree, didn’t you? Something you heard in his voice, perhaps in his words; I have no idea what it was, but it told you he’d come around to the terms you asked for in the end. So how do we go from that to the part where Carolyn Gresham gets reunited with her family and the boy never gets to see his parents again? What’s the missing piece, Sergeant Jejeune?
She folded away her concerns as she had on the previous occasion, and dug deep for another untroubled expression. It didn’t fool the watching Danny Maik, but Tony Holland was distracted, and only the breezy, carefree Des was waiting for him when he looked up at the sound of his name.
“Tony, I was just wondering if you had any plans this weekend.”
Holland gave her a broad grin. “Always. But I’m known for my flexibility. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, there’s this conference on herbal remedies for female hormonal imbalances that sounds really fab.”
From his desk on the sidelines, Maik watched with interest as Holland’s legendary flexibility twisted in midair like a hanging corpse “Uh, yeah, sure … we could go …” His conviction tailed off feebly as he reached the end of the sentence.
Gill laughed. “What I really fancy is a trip to the coast, if you’re up for it.”
“The coast?” said Holland, the relief evident in his voice. “That I can do. Hunstanton and Cromer can get a bit mad on the weekends, but I know one or two secluded spots where we can find a bit of privacy.”
If she read anything into the way Holland let the comment hang in the air, Des wasn’t letting on. “Actually, the particular bit of coast I want to see is in Essex. So if you’re flexible enough to pick me up at my B&B tomorrow morning at about eight, that would be terrif.”
“Essex?”
“If it’s a problem …”
“No, not at all,” said Holland eagerly. “It’s just that we’ve got lots of great coastline up here. But,” he spread his arms and gave her one of his best smiles, “if that’s what you want to do, I’ll clear my schedule. Probably just as well anyway. Save the girls in Traffic having to fight over who gets to spend time with me.”
Gill nodded approvingly. “Actch, Tony, I think you dating a lot of woman at the same time is a great idea. Really. Single women spend so much time sorting out the decent blokes from the dross. The more women who get to cross you off their list at the same time, the more can get on with finding somebody suitable. It’s like speed-dating, only more useful.” She packed her laptop into her bag and headed to the door. “See you tomorrow, then. And you on Monday, Sergeant. Bye.”
Holland watched her disappear from sight before turning to Maik. “She was joking, right?” he asked uncertainly.
“I don’t think so,” said Maik. “I believe she really does want to go to Essex.”
*
Tony Holland had paid careful attention to Des Gill’s driving when they first set off. The weekend traffic was light and didn’t really require any great skill to negotiate, but Gill was clearly comfortable handling the MGB, and it wasn’t long before Holland found himself able to relax and enjoy the unusual sensation of being chauffeured around.
Taking the MGB was the second surprise she’d sprung on him so far. As he’d arrived, she met him at the door with a change of itinerary. “We’ll still go out to Lonely Oak Point, but I need to stop in at the Met first.” Gill took a quick look at her watch. The face looked massive on her tiny arm. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
Traffic had built up at a roundabout ahead and she came down through the gears impressively, managing to slow the car to a crawl without touching the brakes.
Once through the slowdown, she eased the car out into the passing lane and opened it up again. Holland had to raise his voice slightly above the buffeting wind. “I’ve sussed out why you wanted to come all the way down here today,” he said. “It’s this nesting instinct in women that I’ve been hearing about.”
Des took her eyes from the road long enough to shoot him a look filled with interest.
“If we went to one of the beaches back in Norfolk, you’d be worried that I’d already been there with some other woman. It’d be like trespassing on her nest. You want to think of this place w
e’re going today as your own nest, not shared with anybody else.” Holland tapped his temple with a finger. “Female psychology. Not such a mystery if you use the old noggin.”
Des fixed her gaze on the road again and gave a deep sigh. “Honestly, Tony, sometimes it’s as if you can see right into a woman’s soul. I feel almost naked around you at times. But while it’s really unnerving, I have to say, at the same time, it’s a hugely sexy feeling.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah.” She nodded and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “It’s all I can do to keep my hands off you just now. Lucky for me I need to get to the Met in a hurry, or I don’t know how I’d be able to control myself.”
She opened the MGB up and leaned back, hardly needing to touch the brakes again until they reached the outskirts of London.
In the city, Gill’s deft handling of the small car came to the fore, exploiting gaps even Holland’s Audi would have had trouble fitting through. She weaved skillfully through a trail of backstreets and eventually pulled into a heavily secured underground car park.
“We’re here,” she announced as she parked the car. She swivelled the overlarge watch around her arm like a bracelet and reached for the door handle.
“This is it, then? The Met? You know, you never did say why you wanted to come here.”
“Didn’t I?” She got out and came around to the passenger side. Holland expected her to reach in for her purse, or her computer bag, both of which were tucked behind the seats. Instead she leaned her forearms on the window opening and smiled at him. “I’d invite you to come in, but you’d need to get your security clearance first, and I’m only going to be a couple of minutes. I can get you a transfer application form while I’m here, though, if you’d like. You could try for the profiling department; tell them you specialize in female psychology. I’d back you up.”
She eased herself up and began walking towards the building, leaving Holland with a look so ambiguous, he couldn’t tell if she had been serious or not. With Desdemona Gill it was always hard to say.
A Tiding of Magpies Page 15