A Shimmer of Hummingbirds

by Steve Burrows

  Traz had pieced together most of what Jejeune suspected, but there were still small gaps, pockets of darkness on to which the DCI had shone no light. It wasn’t as if either of them had the appetite to discuss matters much. Their conversations had dwelled more and more in the past recently; their reminiscences of college days and early birding trips a refuge from what they had experienced together recently.

  “One of the constants in my conversation with the deputy attorney general’s representative was the idea that a foreigner was responsible for this tragedy among the Karijona. Indigenous rights issues are still a delicate topic for the Colombian authorities. They have to be seen to be protecting groups like the Karijona. As far as the Colombian prosecutors are concerned, having a foreigner to indict for the deaths was a big plus, politically.”

  Traz nodded. “Walden’s an American. Maybe a different foreigner would fit the bill just as well if they decided to let Damian off the hook?”

  “I’m sure that’s the way Thea saw it. I’m not convinced they’d be so eager to consider a man with a Colombian wife and daughter a foreigner in that sense, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. Whatever her father knew about the Mas Aves involvement …” The detective’s pause left Traz in no doubt what Jejeune believed, “Walden’s American passport would put him directly in the firing line if the charges against Damian were ever dropped.”

  The same waitress as before brought them coffee, setting the tray down with a demure smile. The men looked around as they sipped from the tiny cups. Sunlight dappled the courtyard just as before, and full sun fell on the banks of fuschia and passiflora against the wall. Despite this, the courtyard seemed devoid of birds. Traz commented on it, and Jejeune pointed up to the sky. “There’s always chulos,” he said.

  “Black Vultures, JJ. They deserve some respect.”

  Jejeune was surprised by the earnestness of his friend’s response. He watched as the large black birds soared effortlessly on the thermals, their extended wingtips gently filtering the winds. “Not many people would agree with you. Vultures are probably the most reviled family of birds in the world.”

  Traz moved his shoulders easily. “All I’m saying is they have their place, just like all the other birds. How’s your coffee?”

  Jejeune had acquired a taste for shade-grown Colombian coffee. He could not imagine himself drinking any other kind now, even when he returned home. Lindy would roll her eyes at the prospect of tracking it down in the Saltmarsh area. But he knew she would find some, and both this country’s economy and its songbirds would benefit, however slightly.

  “It may not work out how you’d like, JJ, but you got what you came for,” said Traz quietly. “You cleared Damian. Maybe not in the eyes of the law, but in yours. And in Damian’s, too. Besides, it’s not over yet.”

  Jejeune was quiet. “They can create enough doubt to acquit, if that’s what they decide they want to do. They can look at the incubation period for bacterial meningococcal meningitis and see it matches up with the dates I gave them.”

  “You didn’t tell them?”

  “They need to come to it themselves. If they need a reason to find Damian not guilty, they won’t want it to be one I brought them. People are always willing to fight harder to validate evidence they discover for themselves.”

  “And if they don’t?”

  Jejeune didn’t answer. Instead, he stared past Traz, over his shoulder. His expression made Traz turn round so quickly he almost tipped over his chair.

  “Your brother is a good man,” said Mariel. “He has kindness in his heart. He cannot be punished for this.”

  She was wearing a red sequined top that flashed with irridescence. Across her brow was an embroidered multicoloured headband. Violet beaded earrings dangled from her tiny ears. As she approached the table, the dazzling sunlight danced across her scarlet top like flames.

  There was a tiny scream from the edge of the courtyard, and the waitress ran across to Mariel, embracing her tightly. They talked animatedly for a moment, the waitress brushing tears from the corners of her eyes. As she left, Mariel sat with the men, smiling at them.

  “This is a place of healing,” she said. “A place of much magic.”

  Jejeune was nodding his agreement even before Traz finished translating.

  The waitress returned with Mariel’s coffee and a plate of dulche de leche muffins. Jejeune eased the plate closer to Mariel and himself. Traz was one of the most well-mannered men he had ever known, but with these treats, the detective knew he could take no chances.

  Mariel pointed to a small passiflora bush almost at Traz’s elbow. “Ah, your bird comes,” she told him. A Sword-billed Hummingbird danced into view, its bill as long as the glittering green body that shimmered every time it banked and caught the light.

  “Worth the wait,” said Traz, barely breathing the words. He drew his eyes away long enough to see Jejeune watching the bird too. His friend’s shining eyes and soft smile matched his own.

  The garden seemed alive with other birds now, too. Woodstars and Violetears darted from the cover of nearby bushes and snatched drinks from the dangling flowers before retreating to roost once more in amongst the shady branches.

  “You brought the birds with you, Mariel,” Jejeune told her. “Until you came we were reduced to watching these.” He indicated the vultures above. Even without translation, Mariel seemed to understand. She watched the vultures for a moment, speaking to Traz without taking her eyes off them.

  “She says they wait for their prey to cross the line between life and death,” said Traz. “It is the thinnest line of all.”

  Mariel’s eyes were drawn to the scarred hillsides around La Calera. “Life. Death. Birds. Forests. Once, trees covered these hillsides,” she said. “Where can the birds go, if we take away their homes? The forest has a heart, and it is breaking.”

  They sat for a long time, saying nothing, sipping their coffees and eating their muffins. The late-morning sun was inching higher, but it lacked its fire today. It was a warm, benevolent thing, a healer for Jejeune’s red skin, rather than a tormentor. Birds flew around their heads, so close they could hear the faint buzz of the wings and the tiny chips and tics as they passed. Healing. Jejeune doubted he could have found any place on earth so tranquil, so soothing, on this soft tropical morning.

  Mariel finished her coffee and stood up. A flurry of birds departed from the flowers behind her, where they had been feeding. She looked out at the land again, at the huge swaths of denuded hillsides. “The native people believe the forest will one day be saved by hummingbirds,” she told Traz, knowing he would pass on her words. “Colibries con cuatro alas. They will come to replant the forests and restore them to health.” She nodded to herself, sighing, and said something else.

  “She will go to the authorities now. She will tell them what she knows.” Traz said something to her, and she replied. “I told her she was doing a good thing. She said it was you who did the good thing. She wishes you and your brother peace.”

  Mariel reached out and touched Jejeune’s cheek, as she had that night on her porch. Her hand was warm now.

  Jejeune smiled his thanks as she stood up, and the two men watched the tiny form of Mariel Huaqua walk out of their lives.

  “Colibries con cuatro alas, she said. What does that mean?” asked Jejeune.

  “Hummingbirds with four wings.” The Sword-billed Hummingbird approached again, and the two men watched it, holding, hovering, then finally reversing away from the passiflora flower in a masterpiece of precision flying. Traz shrugged. “Who knows? This is a place of much magic, JJ, where birds can fly backward and upside down. Look at this one, a bill longer than its body, perfectly formed to feed off certain flowers. I wouldn’t want to say anything is impossible here.”

  He watched the bird fly away. “My bird, she called it. Did you tell her we’d missed the Sword-billed when we came here before?”

  Jejeune shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. I don�
��t know. We talked about a lot of things that night, Traz. We were both tired. Perhaps one of us said something.”

  He lapsed into thought. Perhaps. But as far as Jejeune was aware, they hadn’t told anyone they were coming here today. Maybe Traz had mentioned it to the hotel receptionist, offering her his special smile, as he was waiting for Jejeune to return from his morning walk. But Jejeune would have imagined his friend had better things to discuss with the girl than their destination for the morning.

  He looked at Traz now, taking in the magical surroundings of Casa de Colibries as it basked in the soft shadows and the warm tropical light. After a moment’s reflection, he decided not to ask.

  41

  The water was as still as Danny Maik could remember seeing it. Reflections of the dry yellow grasses along the bank lay motionless on the silvery sheen of the river’s surface. Over the fields on the far side, a watery sun hung in the sky. Beneath it, nothing moved.

  It was a watching brief; not one of Maik’s favourite activities, but part of the job from time to time. Laraby had understandably wanted to handle the arrest of James himself, and he had taken a couple of uniforms with him. If there was a surprise, it was that DCS Shepherd had gone along with them, leaving Maik and Salter to watch the towpath next to the river. If James spotted the arrest team moving in and decided to make a run for it, this is the way he would come.

  Next to him, in the driver’s seat, Salter sat deep in thought.

  “I don’t believe I ever thanked you,” said Maik. “For shoving me out of the way of that drone.”

  It was obvious that it was difficult for him to revisit the memory, not for the incident, but for what had happened immediately afterwards, when he had struck her.

  Salter touched her top lip reflexively now, though there was no visible wound. She gave him a small smile. “It’s what we do, isn’t it, watch each other’s backs, look out for the ones we care about?” She turned away slightly. “That road widening they’re doing around Fakenham, once it’s done I reckon you could do the drive from here to King’s Lynn in about forty minutes, even in rush hour.”

  Maik nodded. “Likely, though I don’t know why you would want to.”

  “I’ve been thinking about this sergeant’s exam. If I passed, it would mean I’d have to change stations. Unless you’ve got any plans for early retirement?”

  “Not voluntary ones,” said Maik, matching the jokey tone, even if he could detect the other tenor behind it.

  “I wouldn’t want Max to have to change schools, so either King’s Lynn Constabulary or Norwich Central would be my best options.”

  “Sounds like you’ve been considering this for a while.” Maik’s delivery didn’t suggest what he thought about this.

  “I’ve been here more than fifteen years, Sarge. Even killers get shorter sentences than that,” she said. “I think it might be time for a change — personal and professional.”

  The response might have encouraged another person to follow up, but she knew Danny wouldn’t. Even now, Danny, when I’m telling you I’m going. Even now, as I’m telling you I have to try to find my happiness with someone else, a detective inspector who might ask. Who might care about me.

  “Well,” said Maik, inclining his head, “as long as you were sure you were doing it for the right reasons.”

  “Thanks,” she said, more tersely than she intended. She looked at him now, staring out the window at the barren, lifeless fields. She had given him one last chance, and Danny had failed to grasp it. As he always did.

  “Can I ask you something? Do you ever wonder why DI Laraby and Inspector Jejeune fell out?” Even Salter seemed uncertain as to where the question had come from. Was this about Jejeune, or Laraby? Perhaps she wasn’t really sure herself.

  Maik continued to look out at the still, silent water. He thought it might be to do with notions of entitlement and privilege, somehow. The way the establishment rallied around the DCI, held him as one of their own, as Laraby seemed to imagine the aristocratic classes did with each other. But Danny Maik was reluctant enough to share any sort of speculation about superior officers. Casual thoughts like these would never see the light of day.

  “Of all the men you know, who would you say is the least likely to have an affair with a married woman?”

  Maik’s expression suggested it wasn’t a question he had struggled with much recently. But Salter wasn’t one for non sequiturs. A nice steady progression in linear thought was the constable’s forte. Except she couldn’t possibly be connecting this idea to her earlier question, could she?

  Before Maik could come up with an answer himself, or get one from Salter, his phone rang. It was Shepherd. “He’s coming your way, Sergeant. He’ll be appearing in view any second.”

  Maik didn’t think so. Even at a good clip it was going to take James at least a minute to get here. He and Salter would be well prepared by then. But then he saw it, just as Shepherd spoke again: The Big Deal, coming around the bend in the river, gathering speed.

  “He was casting off just as we pulled up,” Shepherd told him, breathing hard into her phone as she ran back to the car. “You need to find a way to stop him, Sergeant. If he gets to open water, he’ll be gone before we can get a search team out here.”

  Maik didn’t bother replying. He was already out of the car, sprinting along the towpath. Salter was right behind him.

  It was the only chance he would have. The high iron bridge spanning the river just beyond the next curve. James was already manoeuvring the boat to the centre of the waterway, where clearance beneath the bridge would be highest. Even as Maik began mounting the steps up to the bridge, he could see the water moving, the silky surface lifting over ripples pushed out from the bow of the boat as it carved its way through the water. At the base of the steps, Salter waited, uncertain. Was he intending to call out to James from the bridge? What good would that do? Danny had a fairly good line in intimidation, but she could hardly see a fleeing murder suspect being cowed enough to heave to because of it.

  Farther along the bank, she saw two cars bounce out of a narrow laneway and spin onto the towpath. They were heading toward them at high speed, Laraby’s Jag in the lead, the uniforms following in their patrol car. Salter looked back out to the water. The Big Deal was almost at the bridge; Danny was still a few metres from the apex. She heard him bellow to James. She could see the faint smudge of a human in the wheelhouse. And she could see he was not going to stop. The boat ploughed on, the waves from its wake like white furrows on the metallic surface of the water. The uniforms piled out of the car as soon as it stopped and took the bridge steps two at a time, the pounding of their boots on the metal ringing through the air. The bow of the boat disappeared beneath the bridge just as Danny got to the top. He swivelled to watch for it appearing behind him, and in one motion vaulted onto the guardrail.

  “Danny, no!” yelled Salter in horror.

  Shepherd appeared beside her. “He can’t be…. Sergeant, stop!”

  But he didn’t.

  A second later and Maik would have hit the rear rail of the boat, but he had timed his jump perfectly, landing squarely on the rear deck, and even softening the landing with bent knees, just as he’d been taught on those courses all those years ago. James spun around at the sound, letting go of the wheel in his shock. Maik was taking a second to recover, breathing heavily. He started forward, steadily, purposefully, and James ran from the wheelhouse and edged along the side of the cabin. When Maik arrived on the bow deck, he found James facing him, his back pressed against the polished chrome of the rail. The unmanned boat was continuing its relentless path, a grey-brown chevron of water churning from its bow. James looked at Maik and half turned; his hands on the rail.

  “If I had to go in there after anybody,” said Danny evenly, “I wouldn’t be best pleased. I’d make sure I’d let them know that, too, after I caught them.” His breathing had returned to normal now, but his adrenalin was still high and it gave his tone an unmistakable ed
ge. “So what you’re going to do now is get back behind the wheel of this boat and take us in to where those police officers are waiting for us on the bank.”

  Maik had acquired that perfect pitch over the years that left no room for debate.

  DCS Colleen Shepherd, too, had a way of making her true feelings known even when she was forced to obscure them in official-speak. On an operational level, the department’s response was obviously to strongly disapprove of such dangerous approaches as Maik’s. But as she stood in the little huddle that had gathered to meet the returning boat, Shepherd wasn’t going to let that get in the way of her appreciation for his efforts.

  “It hardly bears thinking about how much it would have cost to get a helicopter and a team of pursuit boats out along these waterways, not to mention the extra manpower.” She looked at Maik over the top of her glasses. “Any way you look at it, you’ve undoubtedly saved the police department a few thousand pounds, so on that score at least, I suppose it’s job well done.”

  Maik nodded his thanks. After the flurry of excitement, calm had returned to the riverbank. There were still no signs of life in the surrounding fields, but weak sunshine had broken through and a soft golden light covered the landscape. The officers that had gathered around Maik knew better than to make a fuss, and instead turned their attentions to discussing the next steps now that James had been placed under arrest. The broker had made a point of declaring his innocence as soon as Laraby had finished reading him his rights.

  “Other than that, I’m saying nothing to you lot. No offence, but I’ll let my lawyer talk for me.” But he had offered no resistance as he was eased into the back of the patrol car.

  Laraby rejoined the group now with a broad smile. “Nice job by everybody,” he said. “But especially you.” He placed a hand on Maik’s shoulder, rocking him gently a couple of times. “I’m sure the DCS has already told you it’s not the way we’d encourage senior investigators go about doing things,” he slid a sidelong glance at Shepherd, “but, let’s face it, Danny. You were bloody magnificent. The way you went over the top of that bridge, it was like watching one of those actions heroes.”