But almost as soon as Dom had set his bag down in the foyer, the other little things began manifesting themselves. He had sat opposite her in their living room, asking her again and again if she was okay. No ill effects after the explosion. Never mind that it was he whose skin looked like it had been through a blast furnace and who was hobbling around with a pronounced limp. At one point he had even leaned forward and taken her face between his hands, tenderly brushing away her hair so he could peer directly into her eyes. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here. Are you sure you’re okay now?”
“You know that scientific experimentation has largely dispelled that idea,” she told him in a flippant way, to rob the moment of its awkward intensity. “This business about being able to tell if a person is lying by watching which way their eyes move; sound in theory, apparently, but not supported by the research. At all.”
She had drawn her head away gently, unnerved by both his guilt and his concern. And besides, even if she did have the faintest suspicions she wasn’t one hundred percent right yet, there was little point in telling Dom about it. There was nothing he could do about her continued flinching at loud noises and bolting wide-awake from a dead sleep every once in a while. Only time would heal those scars. Time and settling back into a nice steady routine with work and Dom — well, once the madness of the Christmas season had passed, that is.
But Domenic’s concern had continued, even if it had exhibited itself in slightly less hands-on ways. There was the sudden need to have surveillance cameras at the cottage, for example; selected, purchased, and installed in the time it normally took him to get around to considering an idea. And this business of having her drive him everywhere? Fair enough, he was hardly in a position to drive, given his wonky ankle. But didn’t the police have drivers for situations like this? At times, it was almost as if he was trying to find reasons to have her constantly in his orbit, and as lovely as it was that he wanted to spend so much time with her after his long trip, she did have a life of her own to be getting on with.
They walked a bit more, then sat down side by side on a bench near The Serpentine, Dom stretching his leg out gratefully as he sank into the seat. They sipped their coffees in silence for a while, watching the hardy ducks etch wakes like frost patterns on the silvery surface of the water.
“I thought you’d talk about it more,” said Lindy, cupping her hands around the warm coffee cup and lifting it to her lips.
Dom drew his glance away from the ducks.
“Colombia, the trip, the birds. I thought I’d be drowning by now in a sea of ant-blackbirds and warbling trogons and bronzy-fronted sabrebills. But you haven’t said very much about it at all.”
“You’re welcome,” said Domenic. But then, as if acknowledging his attempt at evasion was unlikely to satisfy a Lindy as serious and focused as this, he dropped the smile and turned to look at the water again. “There are a few things going on.”
Lindy sighed in exasperation. “Damian, you mean? Yes, I had noticed.”
“More than that. I don’t think Erin Dawes’s murder has been solved.”
“I’m not sure Saltmarsh Constabulary would agree. They do already have somebody in custody, you know.” The realization hit Lindy like an electric current. “Bloody hell, Dom, you think they’ve got the wrong person? Again? Shepherd will go ballistic. The press wasn’t overly understanding the first time they got it wrong, when they had to release Oakes. I can only imagine how she’s going to take the news that she has to stand in front of them a second time to deliver the same apologetic speech. So who did do it?”
“I’m not sure. If this was an impulse killing, a spur-of-the-moment rage, I might just about be able to accept James, but this murder took a long time to plan. And that means a long time to think about it.” Jejeune shook his head slowly, his eyes still on the water in front of him. “All James had worked for, all the years he had put in, making his high society connections and celebrity contacts. It’s a lot to throw away, especially when you’ve had time to consider your actions.”
“The physical evidence is pretty conclusive, as I understand it.”
“Yes,” said Jejeune, nodding. But somehow he seemed to suggest even that was a problem.
Lindy watched the ducks for a long time, her body still, following the energetic forays of the birds with her eyes only. “I don’t think ‘a person or persons unknown’ is quite going to fill the bill for Colleen Shepherd on this one, Dom. If you expect her to release James, you’d better be able to offer up somebody she can present in his place.”
But even now, Lindy wasn’t sure she had entirely uncovered the secrets Domenic Jejeune had been carrying around with him since his return from Colombia. Because hard as she was trying, she couldn’t see why Jejeune’s misgivings about the identity of Erin Dawes’s killer would have him scrutinizing every face that passed by for the fifteen minutes they had been sitting on this bench. Or, even worse, from her perspective, trying to hide from her the fact that he was doing it.
46
“Somebody said you looked the worse for wear. Suntan cream at a premium over there in Colombia, was it?”
Jejeune was standing before Colleen Shepherd’s desk as the DCS cast a critical eye over him. It had taken many days after his rescue for the skin on Jejeune’s face to heal, and there was still a faint redness on his forehead and cheekbones.
“And what’s the matter with your leg?”
“Ankle ligaments. It’ll take a couple of weeks to heal.”
“So that’s the reason your trip ended early? Too difficult to trek over those jungle trails after your injury?”
Jejeune didn’t correct her.
“But it had all gone well up to that point, I take it? You’d found everything you went to find?”
Jejeune shifted his weight slightly. “Most of it.”
Shepherd wasn’t sure whether she’d managed to hide her disappointment from him, but she realized she didn’t care. Despite Jejeune’s legendary caginess, this time she had been hoping for something from him. An acknowledgement of his true motives? Of his feelings? A complete opening of his heart to her? She wasn’t sure, but whatever she had wanted, she realized she would never receive it from her DCI. If he could not confide in her now, as wounded, as damaged, as vulnerable as he must have been, he never would. The thought saddened her immensely, but at the same time, something within her changed. A new resolve slipped into place, a hardening of her feelings.
“I suppose your condition is why it’s taken you so long to come in. I expected to see you the day you arrived, to be honest.” She looked at him frankly, but Jejeune couldn’t decide if there was any message there or not. “I hear you’ve been down in London. Anything I should know about? Not being promoted, are you, whisked away from us to pastures new?” Her eyes suggested she was going to wait for an answer before continuing.
“I went with Lindy,” he said casually. “It was nothing to do with police business.” Jejeune left it at that. As he always did. The facts, bereft of any extraneous details, as if he didn’t dare trust anyone with those.
“So nothing to do with this man Hayes, then? Despite what you seem to think, I’m not a complete fool, Domenic. I note, for example, that you were part of the arrest team. Did the Prison Service inform you he was being released?”
“No.”
But his face showed that he knew about it. His eyes were darting slightly as he tried to bring his expression under control.
Jejeune was torn. For once, he would have been willing to confide in Shepherd. She deserved it. But the way Hayes operated made it impossible. Perhaps if he could resolve the situation quickly it would not be too late to come back, to open up, to chat about things and try to get them back to where they had once been.
Shepherd waited until it was clear that he was not going to say anything more.
“Right, so I have your personal assurance that you and Mr. Hayes have not crossed paths since he got out.” She nodded briefly and pulled
a set of papers toward her. “Well, as a service to that poor long-suffering girl of yours, I suppose I’d better find you something to do around here. Though I’ve no idea where I’m going to put you. After all, you’re still not officially back until Monday.”
Jejeune didn’t point out that there was an office down the hallway with his name on the door. Shepherd hadn’t forgotten.
“How is Lindy, by the way? She looked a bit shaky the last time I saw her. You’ll need to watch her for a few weeks, Domenic. Closely, I mean. She’s been through quite an ordeal.” The contrast between the softness in Shepherd’s tone when she spoke about Lindy and the clipped brusqueness she had been using with him was impossible to miss.
“I plan on staying close for the next little while,” said Jejeune. “You were saying you thought you could find me something here?”
“Possibly. But first we need to discuss why Gerald Moncrieff is calling me to find out exactly who is in charge of the investigation of the Erin Dawes case.”
Fired from the space between her eyebrows and the top of her gold-rimmed glasses, Shepherd’s eyes were like lasers.
“I asked him for permission to visit Moncrieff’s Wood.”
“What on earth for?”
“I wanted to see the land that Picaflor had intended to connect to Oakham. But Moncrieff refused to grant me access.”
“As well he might. You are not a part of this case, Domenic. It has been solved without you. If you’d like a minor role in the wrap-up, I have one for you, but there’s to be no more of this, do you understand?”
Though she was rarely willing to take Jejeune’s silence for acquiescence, there was something in his expression this time that seemed to satisfy her. “I’d like you to review the evidence for anything that may help the CPS make its case against Connor James. Anything you find should go directly to DI Laraby.”
It was the first time the name had come up, and it sat there between them now like an unclaimed package.
“I’m not sure that is going to work,” said Jejeune dubiously.
“If you’re suggesting DI Laraby might have a problem with this arrangement, then I should tell you he’s the one who requested to have you take on this assignment.”
Jejeune was quiet for a moment. “Are we sure there is evidence to prove James’s guilt?”
It took Shepherd a moment before she felt she could trust herself with a measured response. “We have our man, Domenic. I’m aware that you and DI Laraby have had your differences, but he’s fit in quite nicely here during your absence, and I have to say he’s done excellent work on this case. I won’t have you undermining it because of some personal vendetta.”
“There was no reason for him to wait so long before killing Dawes. James would have known his reputation was ruined as soon as the options were not exercised. That’s when he would have been angriest, when he could see it all falling apart. But the thinking is, he didn’t act then. He took all that emotion, that rage, and stored it away.”
Shepherd was furious. How dare he come in here taking apart their case like this?
“Even after his career is in a tailspin, and he’s started selling his possessions to cover his losses, he still doesn’t act. Instead, he takes the time and trouble to make himself feel worse by reading an earnings statement, and only then does he go to kill Erin Dawes? With respect, I don’t see how you can consider Connor James a viable suspect at all.”
No, Chief Inspector Domenic bloody Jejeune. With no respect. With no respect at all.
“We have evidence, physical and circumstantial, that puts him there, that’s why,” she shouted in frustration. What was it Lindy had called him, a carrier? It had all seemed so light and funny back then, in the comfortable confines of that snug little library, with Domenic Jejeune half a world away and absolutely no threat to this investigation. With a start, she realized she had just articulated to herself the feeling that had been floating around her consciousness these last few days. It was an ice-water shock to her system to now be able to recognize her sentiments for what they were. Things had been better at the station when Jejeune was not here.
She found it hard to meet his eyes, as if she was ashamed of her own thoughts. Jejeune’s look did little to ease her discomfort. How dare he? Jejeune was the one coming in here with secrets — about his brother, about Hayes, about Laraby even. How dare he look at her quizzically like that, as if she had betrayed him with these secret thoughts of hers? She gave him one more chance.
“Do you have anything else to you wanted to discuss, Domenic?”
Jejeune hesitated. He knew if he left this office without confiding in her, their relationship would likely never recover. But there was nothing he could do about it.
Shepherd seemed to have reached a point where all her anger, all her frustration had gone. Another tone took over now, one Jejeune didn’t recognize. “It occurs to me that you must have had some time to think in Colombia, all that sitting around in the jungle, with nothing to do but wait for birds to come by. It must have given you a fair bit of time for reflection, a chance to re-evaluate where you are in certain things — your life, your relationship, your career.”
She paused and looked at Domenic to see if he was going to take up the running. But she had never really expected that he would. Even if he had come to conclusions about things in the steamy rainforests of South America, he was hardly the sharing type. The social media sites were not designed for the Domenic Jejeunes of the world. “If I could be of help in any of that,” she said, “I’d be more than willing to give you my thoughts.”
The brisk, businesslike approach from the earlier part of their meeting returned, informing her actions, her looks, her words. “Right, then your remit is clear. You can work on this case until it is resolved. After that, we’ll see where the land lies with regards to future duties. In the meantime, you are to have no further contact with any of the principals in this case. That’s a direct order, Domenic, I’d be grateful if you’d take it as such. Please close the door on your way out.”
47
Normally, it was Jejeune proffering an arm to Lindy when they picked their way across any uneven terrain his birding ventures took them on. But he said he was concerned about going over on his weak ankle again on the rock-hard ruts of the field. It had happened a couple of times since his return from Colombia, and apart from the excruciating pain, they were both aware each new impact on his damaged ligaments put the healing process back that much further. So Domenic had already accepted Lindy’s forearm on a couple of occasions. To her credit, she went for neither comedy nor the studied solicitousness of sympathy, but rather extended her arm wordlessly as the more rugged patches of land appeared in front of them.
Which was not to say she was necessarily happy about the arrangement; already she’d cancelled two interviews because they conflicted with Dom’s needs for transportation. Okay, she pretended to herself that the interviews were becoming a nuisance now, and she really was genuinely uncomfortable talking about her own success. But that was hardly the point. They were part of her life at the moment, and they were being put on hold, it was being put on hold, because Dom insisted on having her drive him everywhere. No, she decided, she wasn’t having it. If Domenic wanted to go somewhere from now on, he would have to ask the Saltmarsh Constabulary to supply a driver. And if he was reluctant to do that, as he so clearly seemed to be, then he could just bloody well stay at home. She had things to do.
They paused for a moment as the rolling fields of Robin Oakes’s land opened out before them; a beige expanse of emptiness that stretched down to the ruined walls of the manor house. Lindy and Domenic stood together looking at the sweep of the barren, desolate land between the patches of trees on either side, Moncrieff’s Wood and Sylvan Ridge. The bare branches of the trees reached to the sky like a congregation of the penitent. But their prayers did nothing to still the punishing winds that strafed the ridge.
The sound of a chainsaw ripped through the sile
nce, startling them both. They saw a shape moving between the dark trunks of Sylvan Ridge and they heard the deceptive soft crush of a falling tree. Amelia Welbourne noticed them and began walking in their direction, swinging the chainsaw at her side. She had curiously broad shoulders for her slender build, and it struck Jejeune that, from a distance, or perhaps in low light, it would be easy to mistake her for a man.
“It’s tragic,” she said, shaking her head sadly as she approached. “First the elms, and now those old things.” She pointed a gloved hand in the direction of the fallen tree. “It makes you wonder what’s going to be left of the English forest as we once knew it in a few years. Did you know it’s said a squirrel could have once crossed this island from the west coast of Wales to the Wash without ever touching the ground. To look at our forest cover now …” She shook her head again. “It’s heartbreaking.”
“That stand looks pretty healthy to me,” said Lindy.
“Felling them is preventative, but I can assure you, it is necessary. Chalara ash dieback is a fungus that will kill them all if it’s allowed to spread. Sadly, you have to be ruthless now and again for the greater good.” She looked at Lindy carefully. “You’re that journalist, aren’t you? I’ve read your articles.”
Lindy waited uncomfortably to see if Welbourne intended to add anything. Perhaps this was as close as the landed gentry came to a compliment. Or criticism. Welbourne turned toward Jejeune.
“Come to view the scene of the crime, have you?” she asked him.
Lindy looked puzzled, but the man standing at her side understood. “This was the site earmarked for Picaflor’s reforestation experiments,” he explained to Lindy.
“Experiments which are proving remarkably successful,” said Welbourne, tossing her head slightly as if in defiance of the winds that swirled around her. “The entire area could have been one forest again, the two ancient fragments reunited for the first time in centuries. It would have been a magnificent thing to witness. Instead, that dream was sacrificed for one person’s greed. That’s the real crime here, Inspector, the opportunity that has been stolen from us all. That’s the tragedy.”
A Shimmer of Hummingbirds Page 28