A Shimmer of Hummingbirds

by Steve Burrows

  Maik watched closely, but if Laraby’s words were meant to unnerve Oakes, they seemed to have failed. He drew a breath and looked at the detectives. “On Saturday night, the night Erin Dawes was killed, I was here at home, alone. I was going through the photographs I had taken that day,” he said. But his eyes didn’t. They flickered momentarily up and to the right until he was able to bring them under control and turn them on the two men again.

  “So instead of questioning people who have no motive whatsoever for wanting Erin Dawes dead, can I suggest you apply your limited police resources to finding those who might have one.”

  “Thank you for that, sir,” said Laraby. “I’m going to have my sergeant put that down in his notebook right away.” He turned to Maik. “Remember, Sergeant ­— two p’s in apply. You have a nice day, Mr. Oakes. We’ll speak again soon.”

  The two detectives strolled back to the car in silence, their footfalls deadened by the hard, cold earth of the driveway. “Not a very good liar, is he, our Mr. Oakes?” Laraby said without looking up. “You saw the eyes? So I suggest our next step would be to find out what he’s lying about.”

  “Do you have any previous background with him, sir?” asked Maik.

  “That bit of argy-bargy, you mean? Not exactly DCI Jejeune’s soft shoe shuffle?” He stopped and looked at Maik. “I’ve dealt with this lot before, with their condescension and their distain and their smug superiority. You let them get away with thinking they’ve got the upper hand, and by the end of the interview they’ll have you apologizing for disturbing them.”

  Maik had seen plenty of distain in his days in the army. And superiority. But he hadn’t detected much of either in Oakes’s demeanour, at least not until Laraby had provoked him. On the other hand, Oakes’s mention of Domenic Jejeune hadn’t gone down well at all. Given the history between the two detectives, that was understandable enough. Any suggestion that Laraby might somehow be a second choice to DCI Jejeune would certainly touch a nerve. Maik could see how that might be enough for the new man to start putting himself about a bit. He just hoped it wasn’t going to be an ongoing feature of this investigation.

  9

  Jejeune was sitting on the patio of the hotel in the dappled morning sunlight, watching the Rufous-collared Sparrows pilfer crumbs from the breakfast buffet. He mentioned it to Lindy as he waited for the waiter to bring him his coffee.

  “No birds in this restaurant, unless you count these ceramic ducks on the wall,” she replied. “No idea what species, in case you were wondering. They don’t look like Mallards, though.”

  “The ones in Malvern’s? I think they’re meant to be Teal. What are you doing down there, anyway? Gone to check if they’ve solved their punctuation issues?”

  They had initially been drawn to the seafront café because of a couple of eccentric apostrophes on the chalkboard outside. Lindy had a pedant’s eye for such things and drew a tiny glow of private amusement from them, so she had slipped her arm through Domenic’s and steered him inside. The glorious view out over the glittering waters of Saltmarsh harbour had won them over immediately, and while Lindy couldn’t wait to order anything that came with bean’s or mushrooms’, the rest of the food proved enough of a draw to have them stopping in whenever they went for a walk along the waterfront. Still, it was a long way for her to have gone for lunch on her own, especially when the grey November skies would have been showing the harbour in its most unflattering light of the entire year.

  “Just fancied having somebody else serve me a meal for a change,” she said breezily, before changing direction abruptly. “Aidy’s been given the elbow,” she announced. She said it as if Domenic might know who Aidy was. Now was not the time to ask. “Thirty-one years with the same publication, and he goes in last Friday and gets the DCM.”

  “DCM?”

  “Don’t Come Monday.”

  Jejeune nodded his silent thanks as the waiter delivered his coffee. He sipped it cautiously before spooning in a generous amount of coarse raw sugar. He could imagine Lindy’s sad expression as she delivered this news. For all her pragmatism about her profession and its ruthless ways, the cutthroat, bottom-line nature of life still seemed to catch her off guard at times. She suddenly seemed vulnerable, alone there on the far side of the globe, exposed to the world and all its injustices.

  “Seen your tattooed man again?” he asked casually.

  “Relax, Dom, he wasn’t my type,” she said, willfully misinterpreting his interest. “So, where are you off to on your journey?”

  Across the miles, Jejeune imagined Lindy’s impish grin and smiled. The word had found its way onto her radar recently, having cropped up in conversations with her friends rather too often. Everything these days, it seemed, was becoming a journey, from night-school courses to hospital stays to job searches. Lindy had quickly tired of the affectation, and now rarely missed an opportunity to overuse the word, even using it to describe a trip to the shops. Her grocery journey, she called it.

  “I’m off to a place called Casa de Colibries, and then tomorrow we set out for El Paujil. How about you?”

  “Nowhere special. A couple of interviews, local media.” She watched a young couple walking slowly along the edge of the harbour, arms linked, hunched against the biting winds. They were leaning into each other, as if their love alone could shelter them from the elements. “I miss you,” she said suddenly. Outside, she saw a person approaching the café from a parked car. “As nice as all this long-distance love is, I want you home as soon as possible so we can go out on a proper date. You know, one where we sit across from each other in a fancy restaurant while we both text other people.… I’ll call you later. Bye.”

  Perhaps on a different day, Domenic might have reflected on the abruptness of Lindy’s dismissal. But sitting here, with exotic bird calls carrying to him on the warm air and the soft breeze riffling the vegetation, it wasn’t long before the bleak, metallic greyness of Saltmarsh harbour faded from his thoughts and he was drawn once more into the gentle ambience of a sunny Bogota morning.

  “Thanks for finding the time to do this,” said Colleen Shepherd, taking a seat opposite Lindy. She pantomimed an order for tea to the young waiter behind the counter, letting her glance linger over the pastries in the glass display case before eventually deciding against one. Lindy waved a palm toward the waiter to indicate she wouldn’t be tacking anything on to the order.

  “I have to say, you do seem to be in demand,” said Shepherd. “Every time I open a paper or turn on the radio these days, there seems to be something about you.”

  “Big story, small town,” said Lindy easily. “Not that I’m complaining. I’m loving every minute of it, truth be told.” She offered a smile that showed she was.

  Shepherd looked around, taking in the wide vista through the window. The slight tint of the glass made the cloud-laden sky even more ominous. Beneath it, the waters of the harbour rose and fell like mercury. “I haven’t been in here before,” said the DCS. “I imagine it must be beautiful in the summer.”

  “Harder to get a table, though, especially with a view like this.”

  They leaned back slightly as the waiter set a tray on the table. Shepherd reached for the teapot and began to pour. Lindy watched her carefully. It seemed to her that Colleen Shepherd, in a phrase Lindy had recently added to her repertoire, had got her jazz back. The last few times Lindy had seen Shepherd, the DCS’s disillusionment with Domenic had been palpable. There had been an air about her that suggested she felt she was owed something better, perhaps even that she had somehow been the author of her own misfortune by investing so much in her chief inspector. Now, despite having resolved precisely nothing with Dom as far as Lindy was aware, Shepherd seemed to have a new vitality about her. It was good to see, and Lindy wondered if it might augur well for better relations with Domenic when he returned.

  “Have you heard from Domenic?” asked Shepherd, handing Lindy her cup. “I’m happy to report he’s managed to avoid calling us eve
ry five minutes to check in. So many people seem to think their workplace will fall apart at the seams if they take a few days off. I’m sure they don’t realize what an insult it is to the people who are still there at work.” She offered Lindy a smile. “Which is not to say he isn’t being missed, of course.”

  “I’m sure this new man you’ve brought in will be able to take up the slack until he gets back, though.”

  Shepherd took a sip of her tea and nodded. “Marvin Laraby. He seems to have settled in quite nicely. He worked with Domenic at the Met.” She looked at Lindy over the rim of her teacup, eyes wide in query.

  “Dom was at the very end of his time there when we got together,” said Lindy, holding eye contact with Shepherd. “I may have heard of him, but I don’t remember meeting any of the people Dom worked with.”

  Behind Shepherd, the couple had disappeared, gone to seek the warmth that even their love couldn’t provide on a day like today.

  “I’m sure you must be wondering why I asked to meet,” said the DCS, drawing Lindy’s attention back to the table. “What I actually wanted to talk about was Eric.”

  Lindy shifted slightly in her seat. On the long list of things Lindy would have wanted to avoid discussing with DCS Shepherd, the intimate details of her relationship with Lindy’s boss came very near the top.

  “I’m wondering what I can get him as a gift for Christmas. Something to do with birding, obviously, since that seems to be all he ever thinks about these days.” She gazed into her teacup as she stirred it and spoke without looking up. “You know he’s in the Scilly Isles with Quentin Senior at the moment? Some rarity or other dropped in. He did mention the name, but I’m afraid …”

  Lindy smiled her understanding. Both women knew she would have been able to complete the thought. She had voiced it often enough herself. “Welcome to the widowhood,” she said.

  “I imagine you’ve become accustomed to Domenic jetting off to see some bird or other. Colombia, for example,” said Shepherd, “it’s an interesting choice.”

  “It’s one of the top birding destinations at the moment.” Even to Lindy, her answer had the ring of a prepared response.

  “It seemed to come up so suddenly,” said Shepherd. “I think that was what surprised us all most.” She gave Lindy the same stare as before. Pleasant, benign. A conversation topic, it said, nothing more.

  “I think he’d been considering it for a while, to be honest,” said Lindy. Because being honest, or as close to it as you could manage, was always safer around a clever woman like Shepherd. “So … a gift for Eric? Wow, you don’t ask me the easy ones, do you? Well, clothing is out, obviously, since, as far as I can tell, the goal for birders is to try and look as much like vegetation as possible. I can’t say I’d want to be held responsible for the way Dom looks when he goes out. How about equipment? A spotting scope?”

  Shepherd shook her head. “Eric seems to have pretty much all he needs in that department,” she said. “I’ve been looking for ages, but I can’t seem to find anything.”

  Lindy wondered how long “ages” was. She didn’t have Shepherd down as a patient shopper, but then, everybody had layers. Lindy watched the dark, oily waters sluicing around in the harbour. In the flat, overcast light, the sea’s movement seemed ponderous, deliberate. It occurred to her that, for a person with Shepherd’s prodigious responsibilities, dedicating a large slice of your life to such a frivolous concern was odd, to say the least. To say nothing of going to all the trouble of phoning Lindy at work to schedule a meeting way out here. Either Eric’s gift had taken on a significance that eluded her, or Shepherd had another reason for wanting to meet today. What that reason might be, Lindy wouldn’t have liked to say, but a feeling of uneasiness was beginning to build within her.

  “I really will have to bring Eric out here when the weather warms up.” Shepherd, too was staring at the water, as if mesmerized by its motion. “Listen to us,” she said suddenly. “Two bright, accomplished women, and all we can find to talk about is the men in our lives.”

  Unless that had been the purpose of the entire meeting after all, thought Lindy. But men? Or man? Because while Shepherd’s dilemma about Eric had ostensibly been the reason for the meeting, it seemed to her that talk about Domenic could have remained completely outside their purview if Shepherd had wanted it to.

  Lindy lifted her cup and drained it. “I should be going,” she said, reaching for her bag. “Let me give it some thought, and I’ll get back to you.”

  The bill had already been settled, but Shepherd, despite her pressing duties, seemed inclined to linger. When Lindy left, the DCS was deep in thought, staring out over the gunmetal waters of Saltmarsh harbour, as if the slow rolling swells might hold the answer to her dilemma. Perhaps they did.

  10

  Jejeune had not seen Traz at lunch in the rooftop restaurant, but his friend was already waiting in the ground-floor lobby when the detective emerged from the elevator.

  The afternoon sunlight flooded the space, reaching even the far corner, where Traz had positioned himself for a perfect view of both the elevator and the lobby doors. He looked as effortlessly neat as ever, and if his freshly pressed turquoise shirt might have been out of place on the rainforest hikes that were to come, it certainly made a striking impression now as he lounged casually among the lobby’s tropical decor.

  Traz rose and walked toward Jejeune, but continued past him to greet Thea Walden as she came in through the lobby doors. Her father followed. Both were wearing motorcycle helmets and carrying a spare. Carl lifted his visor as he handed a helmet to Jejeune. “Bikes will be the best way to get through the Bogota traffic at this time of day,” he said. “I hope that’s not a problem for either of you.”

  They walked outside where twin Kawasaki KLRs sat beside the front doors of the hotel. “The rules of the road are a little different out here,” said Carl to the two men, “so just hang on tight and leave the rest to us.”

  Having recently denied their years of friendship, Jejeune realized that it would be but a small matter for Traz to trample him into dust if he made any move for the pillion of Thea’s bike. As he climbed aboard Carl Walden’s, he wondered briefly if the breadth of Traz’s grin might cause wind drag.

  Progress through the sprawling arteries of Bogota consisted of sporadic acceleration and sudden braking for yellow cabs, delivery vans, and municipal trucks. But once they were clear of the central commercial district, Walden and his daughter opened up the machines, the 650cc engines roaring with the strain as they began a steady climb up the side of the caldera. They flashed past an unbroken frieze of low breeze-block structures, houses, and shopfronts, shuttered now against the midday heat. Washing lines hung like colourful bunting from the corners of awnings that teetered unsteadily on spindly legs. Yet even these modest properties protected their facades behind elaborate iron grilles. How closely we protect our possessions, thought Jejeune, no matter how little we have.

  As they crested the rise, Carl Walden lifted a hand and pointed ahead. Jejeune patted his shoulder to let him know he could see the Cezanne-esque blocks of colour sprawling up the hillsides. La Calera — their destination.

  Bright sunlight painted the wall of Casa de Colibries, shining on an elaborate latticework frame filled with flowering plants and bushes. One or two looked vaguely familiar to Jejeune, but none were in his limited plant vocabulary.

  The four of them were sitting at a wrought iron table in a large courtyard, beneath the mottled shade of a cypress tree. If the building itself was a jarring mix of architectural styles and materials, there was a pleasing harmony about the courtyard. Low stone benches and adobe walls blended perfectly with the well-kept gravel paths and neat gardens of cacti and succulents.

  “I can see why you like it here,” said Traz.

  Thea nodded. She was sitting with her feet on the edge of her chair, resting her arms on her tanned thighs. She cupped a glass of guava juice in her hands. “Much of this property was constructed wit
h materials rescued from old, derelict buildings,” she said. “I think it is so important to preserve your country’s heritage. How else can you understand where you have come from?” Like the building itself, Thea’s speech displayed influences from different sources. Her formal sentence structure clashed with her easy use of idioms; a person who had learned English from a native-speaker, but spent most of her time restructuring it for Colombian ears.

  “So how’s your coffee?” Traz asked Jejeune. His friend had forgotten to add the qualifier Americano when ordering, and Traz was enjoying Jejeune’s struggles with a drink the colour and consistency of engine oil. He had already added half a jug of cream and now he reached for two packages of sugar. He took a sip and made a face. Traz saw the Waldens watching with amusement.

  “You want me to ask if they’ve got any maple syrup?” he inquired unsympathetically.

  Jejeune’s response was interrupted by the appearance of a spectacular hummingbird at a flower just behind them. Its small green form trailed a long black tail at least the length of its body. Jejeune stared in wide-eyed amazement. It was hovering so close by, he could hear the faint buzz of its wings.

  “Black-tailed Trainbearer,” said Carl Walden casually. “One of the easier ones to identify here. There’s a Green-tailed, too, though they’re not as common.”

  Common. The word served to remind Jejeune once again that he was in a place where such astonishing sightings were the norm. He watched other hummingbirds zipping around the air space, streaks of jewelled lightning, darting in to feed at the flowers before spinning away to the safety of the surrounding trees.

  Traz made a show of looking around, taking in the sun-dappled courtyard and the carefully landscaped garden, with its bank of flowering shrubs and its low walls. The shadows of the tall trees behind them created bands of shade that lay across the courtyard like dark streams. “This is some place,” he said to Thea. “Do you spend a lot of time here?”