A Shimmer of Hummingbirds

by Steve Burrows

  “I can give you about ten,” said Amendal looking at his phone as he approached them along the perimeter track. “We’ve got some important routes to program today.”

  “I find it helps if we don’t set a time limit on these things,” said Laraby pleasantly. He had been indulgent with Amendal before, willing to make allowances for his youthful zeal. But he wasn’t about to let him take any liberties.

  “We have some questions for you about a series of phone messages you left for Erin Dawes in the days leading up to the investment deadline.”

  Amendal didn’t say anything. He merely swept a lock of his unruly dark hair back from his forehead. Whether this look of calm unconcern was the man’s normal way of reacting to unwelcome news, Maik didn’t know. But he suspected they were about to find out.

  “It wouldn’t be too great a stretch to interpret your messages as threats, Dr. Amendal. Threats to a person who is now dead.”

  “I wouldn’t call them threats,” said Amendal, his eyes flashing behind his large lenses. “I told her to stop faffing about and transfer the money they had agreed to invest, that’s all. And to get me that agreement for the land.”

  “You said every day’s delay set your project back that much further?”

  “With the trees bare and the vegetation dying back, winter is the perfect time for an aerial survey like ours. But it’s a big undertaking and we needed to have the terrain survey complete and the 3-D models all generated before we could plan our spring planting program. So yes, every day was vital.”

  “Mind if I have a look at your phone, sir?” Laraby held out his hand. “I’ll try not to delete any sensitive data.”

  Amendal handed over the phone. “I wouldn’t worry about that. There are three layers of encrypted security on it. It would take an army of hackers weeks to get in. Look,” he said, turning to Maik, “it was a couple of irate calls. Okay, I may have been a bit over the top, but there was a lot at stake. I have a chance to make a real difference here, but that opportunity is not going to last forever. I don’t want to wake up one day and find I’m nearly thirty and no longer relevant. Besides, I was in the middle of a run of very long nights. Sleep deprivation doesn’t do much for your decision-making skills.”

  “What’s its effect on your impulse control?” asked Laraby without looking up from the phone.

  “Oh, come on, behave yourself,” said Amendal, flapping a hand in frustration. “You can’t think I had anything to do with this. It was weeks ago that I made those calls.”

  Laraby handed the phone back and pulled a face. “That’s a lot of security for a phone, sir. Anybody would think you’ve got something to hide on there. Besides records of phone calls to Ms. Dawes, I mean.”

  “Oh, there’s plenty to hide. Intel-raids are the next great crime wave, Inspector. You are aware, I suppose, that the take from cyber-crimes already nets more revenue than the global drug trade. Picaflor is going to be a vastly profitable enterprise when it hits the market. People would be willing to pay a lot of money for the algorithms on that phone.”

  “In your call to Ms. Dawes,” said Maik, “you kept asking her if she was serious, whether she was really interested.”

  Laraby looked up sharply. Sergeant Maik had been studying somebody’s techniques, apparently, listening to the messages behind the words, the hidden cadences. The DI’s expression suggested he wasn’t any more enamoured of this approach now than he had been on the previous occasions he’d come across it.

  “That was the whole problem,” said Amendal, hunching forward intensely, chopping the air in front of him with both hands simultaneously. “I just got the impression that the IV League were stalling, all of a sudden.”

  “Why was this particular piece of land so important?” asked Laraby.

  Amendal drew in a breath and composed himself. “How long have you got? The land between Sylvan Ridge and Moncrieff’s Wood checked just about every box on my criteria for a test site. To knit together existing fragments of forest by replanting the gaps, we need genetically appropriate seed stocks. To preserve the integrity of the ecosystem we are trying to recreate, the seed has to come from plants already on or near the site. The oldest trees will almost certainly have the greatest genetic diversity; ancient woods, say ones mentioned in the Domesday Book, like these, are about as good as it gets.”

  Amendal paused and looked at the detectives quizzically. Maik half-expected him to ask if he was going too fast, but for once even he could keep up. Laraby also looked like he was having no trouble with anything the young man had covered so far. Perhaps the DI, too, had spent enough time standing here like this, as scientists explained concepts to a certain other detective they both knew.

  “In addition to all that, the Welbourne family has allowed a number of studies of Sylvan Ridge going back decades. We have data on the soil matrix, water supplies, fungi, and microbial life up there. And if that wasn’t enough, the Oakham Manor tract has exactly the kind of topographical challenges we needed to test out our equipment, and, of course, this wonderful four-seasons-a-day Norfolk climate. As I say, all in all, just about the perfect package.”

  “A lot to lose, then,” said Laraby thoughtfully. “It sounds like the land was more important than the money the IV League was going to invest.”

  “Finding investors was no problem. I didn’t need to hire that idiot James for that. There were people lining up to get in on this project. The land was the key. That’s why I particularly needed him to get the IV League investment. And in that, of course, he failed. Spectacularly.”

  Laraby and Maik looked at each other. Based on the way he dealt with Dawes’s failure to meet his expectations, Amendal didn’t strike either of them as the kind of person who would keep that sort of disappointment to himself.

  “But you’ve managed to press on?” Laraby’s inquiry had the air of a man simply trying to clear up a puzzling detail.

  “We had to divide our data gathering into a series of separate experiments.” Amandal waved a slender hand at the vast indoor soil beds behind him. “Then some poor sod had to come up with a set of algorithms to stitch all this disparate data together, while compensating for variances in each category’s data-gathering parameters.”

  “It sounds like a lot of work.”

  “Ya think?” said Amendal sarcastically. “Two weeks of twenty-hour days, Inspector. But eventually, I got it done. Other than a couple of weeks’ worth of caffeine pills, we’re not out anything at all,” he paused, “if that’s where you’re going with all this.”

  “But you didn’t know at the time you were leaving abusive messages on Erin Dawes’s answering machine that you would be able to compensate for the loss of Oakes’s land.”

  “No, I didn’t. Oxford weren’t offering courses in clairvoyance when I was there. Look, losing the Oakham property could have spelled the end of this project. It should have. A lot of people thought it would be impossible to make the adjustments we needed, given the time we had. I have to admit, when I first realized we hadn’t secured that land, I was one of them. To set up an indoor system like this, to write the algorithms,” Amendal shook his head, “I didn’t think it could be done.”

  There was something about the open, unchecked way Amendal was barrelling into motives that Maik found disconcerting. For a bright man, the scientist didn’t seem to appreciate that admitting to additional reasons for wanting to take vengeance on Erin Dawes wasn’t much of a way to convince someone you hadn’t taken it.

  27

  Lindy stared out at the olive-green water, moving like a restless animal in the confines of the harbour walls. In some ways, it seemed like only moments since she had been here with Colleen Shepherd and her ever-so-casual inquiries about Domenic. But in others, it may as well have been a lifetime ago, so much had changed. As for the last time she had been here with Dom, Lindy couldn’t even bring her mind round to the question; it seemed as if it belonged to a different life altogether, some parallel universe; remote, unatta
ched, floating somewhere out there in the cloud-dappled sky.

  There was a loud crash from the café’s kitchen, and Lindy flinched, physically jolting in her seat and twisting toward the door. Angry voices brought her back to this time, this place, the arguing drowning out the echo of the metal pot hitting the tiled floor. When she reached for her tea, she found her hand shaking so much that she had to set the mug down again. She waited, pressing her hands together tightly in her lap.

  She was still in the same pose when Shepherd walked to the table. She slid her hands down casually to her sides and then brought them up again, resting her elbows on the table, setting her chin on her clasped hands, just in case.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Shepherd as she sat. “It will take a few days … at least. You should think about seeing someone. I could give you some names, if you like.”

  Lindy looked out at the dark, uneasy water. No matter how much it churned, how much it roiled and seethed, in the end it always settled again and became calm. With time.

  “Thanks. I hear you’ve been asking a lot of questions of the other reporters. Is it my turn now?” The question was as clear a signal as possible that Lindy wanted to move on from the subject of her mental health.

  Shepherd pursed her lips. “Our investigations lead us to believe this is exactly what it appears to be; an accident caused by flammable chemicals ignited by a chance spark. However, we put a bit more into it because it was the offices of a news magazine, home of a high-profile journo, as a matter of fact.” Shepherd allowed herself a small smile. “So what about it, Lindy? You haven’t written anything to upset anyone lately, have you? No editorials espousing the claims of the Canada Goose as Canada’s national bird, for example?”

  “If I had, I think we both know who’d be number one on your suspect list. What about you? Have you made a decision yet?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Eric’s gift.”

  “Oh. I ended up buying him a stuffed duck online. A Lesser Scaup. Apparently, a lot of the birders out here believe it’s the rarity most likely to show up next in Norfolk. Eric desperately wants to be the first to see one, so I’ve made his wishes come true.” She shook her head. “Honestly, I think I’m becoming as mad as he is.”

  “He’ll love it,” said Lindy, genuinely. “But you do realize he’ll take it to work and put it on his desk? We’ll all have to stare into the thing’s beady little eyes every time he calls us into his office to tell us what a crap job we’re doing.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Shepherd, smiling again. But the banter was never going to last very long, as strained and as forced as it was. It was Shepherd’s turn to look out the window for a moment. “I was a bit surprised he didn’t come back,” she said to the glass. “Everything all right out there?”

  “I asked him not to. Told him, actually. He’s been looking forward to this trip, and he needed a break.”

  “Lindy,” Shepherd said softly, “Colombia, it’s where his brother ran into all that trouble.”

  “Maybe. Yes.” She found herself unable to deny it, the fight gone from her. She felt weak, hollow, as if the blast had blown away her insides and left only a shell — fragile, brittle, unable to withstand any scrutiny at all.

  “If he’s there to offer assistance his brother, Lindy, it’s a criminal offence. I won’t be able to help him.”

  Lindy shook her head. She felt dizzy, her thoughts blurring into a mist of uncertainty and confusion. “No, he doesn’t know where his brother is. Not anymore. He went there to see it for himself, to come to terms with it all. We didn’t discuss it much. He spent most of the last week studying the birds he might see. So many double-barrelled names. Shrike-vireos, chat-tyrants, nightingale-thrushes. And so many that seem to like ants. Antpittas, antwrens, antbirds. I mean, are there really that many ants in Colombia? I’m surprised they have any room for the people.” She was rambling, but Shepherd was sitting still, not intervening, just listening.

  “The thing is, Lindy, if he does manage to reconcile himself to it, the terrible thing that happened out there, do you think it will make any difference to how he feels about being here in north Norfolk?”

  Lindy had recovered, and was distressed at having found herself so far out of control. But she stared at Shepherd now, wide-eyed, uncomprehending.

  “The trouble with his brother was what brought him to the U.K. in the first place. In fact, drove him here might be a better way of putting it. If that issue is no longer hanging over him, I wonder if his need to be here would disappear, too. Of course, we’ve loved having Domenic, but nothing lasts forever in a policing career. We must all prepare for the day when somebody moves up. Or on.”

  “What? No, Dom loves it here. The birds, the wind, the seas … the birds. No, Colleen, DCS Shepherd, no, he’d never dream of leaving. He loves it here. The police work,” she added lamely.

  Shepherd looked at Lindy for a long time. “I feel so sorry for him sometimes,” she said. “He’s so talented, so successful, but it never seems to be enough for him, somehow.” The DCS weighed her thoughts for a moment. “I suppose the truth is, success doesn’t really test you. Only failures can show you where your limits lie. And he has experienced so few failures in his career. Except the one, of course. Do you think that’s what this is about, Lindy? In part? Do you think trying to help his brother is an attempt at redemption for what happened to that boy? When he rescued the Home Secretary’s daughter?”

  Lindy had never considered this. Another great big flashing sign that she had quite simply failed to see. Where had she been for so long? On the circuit, yukking it up with her friends, that’s where, while Domenic was wrestling with his twin demons all on his own. She felt embarrassed, humiliated, that someone else had to point it out to her that there might be another reason, perhaps one Dom didn’t even recognize himself, that was driving him on to solve the unsolvable, to acquit his brother of a crime even he had confessed to.

  Shepherd gathered her bag suddenly and stood up. “I should be going. Take care of yourself, Lindy. I mean it, you look tired. You should get some rest. And please do call me if you want those names.” She changed her tone to signal another topic, a lighter one this time. “Oh, did I mention that Eric wants me to go up to Strumpshaw Fen to see the murmuration of Starlings?”

  “It really is a magnificent sight,” said Lindy, summoning every last vestige of energy she possessed to rally back to the world of normal. “Dom says there are upwards of eight thousand birds there some nights, though I’m not sure how he knows. I can’t imagine anybody being barmy enough to count them all. Well, I suppose a birder might,” she added with a weak smile that seemed to drain her of all her remaining strength.

  Shepherd waved goodbye and Lindy stared after her, unblinking, until she had seen the DCS get in her car, fasten her seat belt, and drive away. Only then did she allow herself to drag her eyes away. She stared around the empty interior of the Malvern Tea Rooms. Outside, the waves continued their tortured ballet, writhing and churning, crashing and falling. Except one. In her imagination, it didn’t crest, didn’t break. It kept coming, a spume-flecked, brown-white wall of water that grew until it filled the entire plate glass window, smashing through it and sending glittering fragments of glass hurtling toward her.

  She took a deep breath. Her heart was racing and her skin was damp with sweat.

  Normal. How long before she was normal again? Did she even know what normal was anymore? Lindy looked out, taking in the stark, bleak beauty of the coastline beyond the harbour. She loved it here. Tears started to her eyes at the thought of ever leaving. She raised her hand angrily and brushed the palm against her cheek. She gathered her bag. Lindy was determined not to weep in public, but if she was going to break down, it certainly wasn’t going to be in some poxy little café where they couldn’t even get their apostrophes right.

  28

  This was wilder country than any they had been in so far. Ahead of them profusions of ferns and wi
ld ginger spilled over the edge of the narrow, muddy path. On either side, deep tangles of bracken and palm leaves formed screens, behind which ranks of densely packed trees receded into darkness. Epiphytes dripped from the tree limbs, every pocket of light, every space, it seemed, had been exploited, taken up by some form of vegetation. And over it all, the humidity clung to the air, sapping the energy of the two men as they made their slow progress along the path.

  The tour had entered a stage where the initial enthusiasm of seeing new species had worn off, and people were choosing to expend their energy carefully in the draining tropical heat. Many had chosen to spend the afternoon lazily engaged in activities around the lodge, writing journals or performing running repairs on equipment and clothing. Others lounged around flipping through guidebooks, correlating lists, checking and rechecking identification marks in the field guides. Armando had offered to lead a walk for anyone who was interested, and a few had taken him up on his offer. Others, like Jejeune and Traz, had gone on leisurely hikes of their own along the trails surrounding the lodge. But they would all be encountering the same thing, a sultry stillness settling over the forest; the torpor of an ecosystem dealing with a tropical day in Titi National Park.

  “You ever wonder how we ended up where we are, JJ?” asked Traz as they trudged along the path. “You some big-time police detective half a world away, and me the one who ended up making a living from birding? I don’t think either of us saw that coming.”

  Jejeune said nothing.

  “It’s a gift, isn’t it, this detective thing of yours?”

  Jejeune turned to search Traz’s face for sarcasm, but found none.

  “You wouldn’t come all the way to Colombia just to reconcile yourself to what had happened. There’s a reason for the things you do. You were always like that. You knew from the start that there was something not quite right about all of this.”