A Shimmer of Hummingbirds

by Steve Burrows

  “A man by the name of Ray Hayes.”

  “A person does not need to give their name to enter the House of God, Inspector.”

  Again there was the whisper of a creaking noise from somewhere, but the priest appeared not to notice. Perhaps you got used to such noises if you spent your days in old buildings like this. Jane still had not descended from the dais. She had even taken a small step back toward the screen behind her when Jejeune had moved forward slightly.

  “Why have you come here, Inspector?”

  “You have a reputation for sheltering those who might have been in trouble with the law. This man is a convicted criminal.”

  “Do the guilty not deserve the chance at redemption? And where are they likely to find that chance, if not in a church?”

  “I don’t think Ray Hayes is interested in redemption, Reverend. I believe he was involved in an attempted murder in Saltmarsh a few days ago.”

  There was another creak, but this time a blur of movement to go with it. From a side chapel a man in a grey hoodie raced toward the altar, vaulting the low railing, heading for the vestry door. The priest raised both of her hands. “Not here!” she shouted. “You will not come up here!”

  The man twisted and ran back to the railing, vaulting it again just as Jejeune reached him. The detective grabbed the man’s hoodie and checked him sideways, driving him back into the railing. The delicate wooden structure gave way and collapsed under the weight of the two men, sending them sprawling to the floor of the altar dais. The other man was first to recover, but Jejeune lunged at him again, his shoulder catching the man in the chest, sending him flailing back into the altar. A silver chalice teetered and fell as the cloth slid off the table, the jangling echo bouncing off the stone walls of the church. The man rallied for one final push and burst past Jejeune, smashing him in the face with his forearm. Jejeune reeled, grasping desperately to get some purchase on the man’s clothing, his hood, anything. His fingers closed on a sleeve, but his grip was weak and he was pulled off balance. His ankle gave way as he twisted around, and he fell, clutching it in agony as he watched the figure sprint along the aisle and disappear into the blaze of sunlight that flooded into the church as he smashed open the front doors.

  “My sergeant. Side door,” shouted Jejeune from the floor. The priest looked around wildly, at her broken church, her violated altar. But she ran to the side door, robes flowing, and dragged it open. Maik was startled, but even from his side-on view he could see his DCS lying on the floor in a sea of broken artifacts and wooden railings. He looked at the gaping doors at the end of the aisle, the white-light beams streaming in, but he knew he was too late. He chose his DCI over the suspect and hurried over to help him to his feet.

  Reverend Jane was seated in a front pew, hunched forward, assessing the damage. She looked distraught, but resolute. “I don’t know the person who attacked you, Inspector,” she said quietly. “I had not seen him before the other day. I only knew he was in trouble. He asked for my help. It was my duty to give it.” She moved toward the altar and retrieved the silver chalice, which was badly dented. She caressed it with her hand and set it back on the altar, even though the cloth was still on the floor. “It is a matter of devotion. Of loyalty. Not to this person, but to my faith. You may not understand this, though I suspect you were once a man of God, if you are not now.”

  Jejeune was leaning against Maik, using his broad shoulder like a crutch as he stood before the priest in the transept of the tiny church. Through the rose window over the altar, a ray of filtered light shone down on the desecrated chancel, its watery pink radiance lighting up the space like hope. The sunlight of the present, filtered through the glories of the past, thought Jejeune. He wondered what future lay in store for them. For him, who faced a move to a new place, a new challenge, a new life. And for Danny Maik, who may have destroyed his own career to support Jejeune in his search for Ray Hayes. He suspected he knew rather more about loyalty and devotion than Reverend Jane could have imagined.

  He smiled with gratitude at the sergeant. Maik was surprised. He did not see the despair he had expected to find in Jejeune’s face. Instead there was a strange contentment. He would not discover its cause until they were in the car driving home. But from the brief glance Domenic Jejeune had managed as he was grappling with the man, the DCI was as sure as he could be that it was not Ray Hayes.

  52

  During quiet hours, the Incident Room was the ideal place for a private chat. It offered good sightlines of approach along the only corridor, and the three other walls backed onto only the emptiness of the surrounding land. Laraby and Salter had spent a fair amount of time in this room together recently. Always the case had been at the centre of their discussions. But there had been time, too, for the occasional quiet word of a more personal nature.

  This time, however, Salter was alone. The constable had been deep in thought when Shepherd wrenched the door open, and she started violently at the sound.

  “Well, thank God somebody’s here at least,” said Shepherd, pacing around agitatedly. “There’s a situation developing at Oakham and I need someone to coordinate with the arrest team.”

  “What kind of situation?” Something stirred in Salter. Laraby had been heading out to the Oakes property this morning.

  “Robin Oakes has set some fallen trees ablaze across the entrance to his estate to prevent anyone from getting in. Fire Services are on their way, and we’re looking at calling in a Tactical Response Unit. But with no one here to coordinate things, all I’m getting are fuzzy pictures and garbled messages. The TRU commander is on the phone every five minutes asking for a situation report. I have no idea whether to deploy them or not.”

  “Is Marvin all right?”

  “Who’s Marvin…? Oh, Laraby.” A flash of comprehension lit the DCSs features for a second. “Yes, yes. He hasn’t gone in yet. He found his way barred when he arrived to arrest him.” Shepherd shook her head. “This could have been handled better. I told him he shouldn’t have released James until after we had Oakes in custody. Letting James go when he did sent Oakes a clear signal that we had someone else in our sights.”

  Salter had stood, ready to leave, but she stepped back now, feeling behind her for a desk to lean against. “He went to arrest Oakes?”

  “For God’s sake, Constable, this is not a comprehension test,” said Shepherd with exasperation. “Laraby now believes Oakes is guilty of Erin Dawes’s murder. He came to me with a plausible theory this morning, and now Oakes’s actions would seem to suggest he may be right. This business with the fire is a deliberate attempt to evade arrest.” She paused to reign in some of her ire. Perhaps her new understanding of Salter’s relationship with Laraby softened her tone. “Oakes is known to have firearms on that property, and I’m not having DI Laraby, or anyone else, going over the wall without at least some idea of what’s going on.”

  “Couldn’t Inspector Jejeune run things from here?”

  “He could,” said Shepherd, emphasizing the word heavily.” Shepherd strode to the window and looked out, unseeing. “Specific instructions,” she said as if to herself. “I gave him specific instructions to be here for just this sort of eventuality, to help out, to coordinate an arrest, if necessary. And instead I find he’s off chasing bloody birds again.” She spun around. “One of those Golden Oriole things. I suppose if Eric wasn’t out of town, he’d be out there with him.” She suddenly seemed to realize she’d spoken aloud and abruptly brought the topic back to business. “As you know, Oakes is well-connected in this community, Constable,” she said, turning to pace across the room again. “He has powerful friends. If we are going to charge him with murder, I want our conduct throughout to have been exemplary. Instead, I’ve got this potential fiasco on my hands and DCI Jejeune is nowhere in sight. Nor is Danny Maik, come to that. Have you seen him? I can’t find him anywhere either.”

  Salter felt alarm rise within her. “He isn’t up at Oakham with Mar — DI Laraby?” It was bad eno
ugh that Laraby was up there at all. Without Danny Maik’s reassuring presence beside him, the situation wasn’t likely to get any safer.

  “Possibly he is, but I’ve heard no mention of him in the reports.” Shepherd raised her hands in frustration. “Who knows what the hell is going on up there?” She looked at Salter. “I need you to get on to Laraby right away. Talk to Fire Services, too — someone at the scene, not a dispatcher. If Tactical are going in, I want them to have the clearest picture possible when they arrive.”

  “A drone,” said Salter suddenly. “That would give them a view inside the estate’s walls.”

  “I’ve no idea if TRU have one, let alone anybody who could use it.”

  “I’ve still got the one James gave to the sergeant. It’s in my car. I know how to use that one … a bit. I’ve been showing it to Max.” She faltered slightly. “It’s not evidence, as I understand it. I didn’t think anybody would mind.”

  Shepherd waved away the apology dismissively and the suggestion along with it.

  “I can’t let you go out there, Constable. I’ve just told you, I need you here. There is no one else.”

  “But ma’am, it could help,” Salter’s tone was insistent. She was leaning forward, using her hands to enforce her point. “A flight over the property, even a single pass, it could tell us what Oakes is up to, track his location, movements, even.”

  “I’m sorry. I need you here.”

  But Salter wasn’t letting this pass. She knew she was right, for professional reasons, let alone any personal ones that might be churning away at her insides. “Ma’am, Oakes must be desperate if he’s set that fire. If he’s armed, and our people go in there unprepared …”

  An argument that DCS Shepherd’s people could be in danger was always going to win. She nodded. But she still needed something for the record, just in case. “Anything that increases the chances of us bringing in Robin Oakes without further incident is worth the risk. For that reason, I’m prepared to sanction a one-time use of a civilian drone in this situation.” She paused and looked at Salter significantly. “So I suggest you get over there as soon as possible.”

  The high, bare hedges flashed past in a blur as Salter’s car hurtled along the narrow lanes. Okay, she was driving faster than she intended to, but she was in control. There was no need to panic. Marvin was outside Oakham, with orders not to enter. He wouldn’t do anything foolish. He would wait. Once she had sent the drone over, they would have a better idea of what they were facing, and how to deal with it. At the moment, it was just a few burning trees. The word barricade had crackled across the radio waves a couple of times during her drive out here, but she was sure that was just to give TRU some idea of what they would be facing if and when they arrived. Nobody was suggesting this situation was out of hand; any shouting and cursing she could hear in the background was just the result of a few frayed nerves. Danny’s presence would change all that. As soon as they located him and got him out there, he would be able to bring a calming influence to the proceedings. He would know that the best way to deal with a potential gun threat was measured, rational procedure. No need for any heroics.

  So why was her foot pressing down on the accelerator again as if it had a mind of its own? Because Shepherd felt this could have been handled better, that’s why. And more to the point, she had told Laraby so. And DI Marvin Laraby’s response to that opinion was going to be anything but calm or rational or measured. At the very first opportunity, he was going to go onto that property and try to drag Robin Oakes out by the scruff of his neck, gun threat or no gun threat. This time, she didn’t even try to constrain her defiant accelerator foot. In fact, she gave it a little extra nudge of her own.

  By the time she skidded the Toyota to a stop at the stone arch of the Oakham gatehouse, there was enough uncontrolled mayhem to be called panic. An emergency responder standing on the road had trained a pair of binoculars on a tiny fragment of the driveway still visible through the wall of flames rising from the tree trunks across the archway. She had caught sight of a man making his way hurriedly toward the ruins of the manor house. He was carrying a daypack slung over one shoulder, she said, and in his other hand she had seen something that could have been a shotgun.

  “He’s a photographer,” Laraby was saying to the woman as Salter approached. “Could it have been a tripod bag?”

  The woman shook her head firmly. “There was no bag. I saw a glint of metal. My first thought was shotgun, and I didn’t see anything else that changed my mind.”

  “Look,” Laraby leaned forward slightly to read the woman’s name badge, “Karen, all I’m saying is a gun call is not something you want to make unless you’re absolutely certain.”

  In a heartbeat, her conviction seemed to evaporate. “It was only for a second,” she said weakly. “It could have been something else.”

  It was the enormity of what she was reporting, Salter realized: an armed man, fleeing arrest. It meant a full-on response, tactical units, possibly the use of deadly force. It was a lot to roll into action on the maybe of one brief sighting.

  “If you saw a gun, Karen, it’s okay to say so,” said Salter gently. Laraby looked around. He hadn’t realized she had arrived.

  The woman nodded again and drew a breath. “I saw a gun,” she said.

  Salter set down the drone she was carrying and pulled out her phone before Laraby even had time to ask what she was doing. When she explained, he nodded.

  “Just a quick sweep, Lauren,” he said. “See if we can pick him up. I’ll take it from there.”

  “You can’t go in,” said Salter. “Not now the weapon has been confirmed. You have to let the TRU handle it. You have to.”

  “Just get this thing in the air. Once we know the score, we can make the calls we need to.”

  The drone lifted uncertainly, teetering as Salter fought with the controls on her phone for a moment. It lurched toward the stone wall, seeming destined to make contact, until it lifted suddenly and spun back in a short circle. It moved so slowly and deliberately in flight, Laraby wondered how one of these things could ever have done so much damage to Maik’s windscreen.

  One more lurching, stilted, hesitant test run saw Salter announce she was ready to go.

  Laraby leaned over her shoulder, having trouble at first making out the grainy grey images. Salter tilted the screen of the phone to avoid the light, and the drone went with it, sailing left in a careening, uncontrolled dive. “Sorry,” she breathed, recovering the drone and holding a steady course, concentrating on the screen, gripping the phone tightly in both hands, hugging it in to her slightly.

  “There. Movement.” If Laraby was pointing, gesturing either at the phone or the land itself, Salter made no move to look up. Her eyes were locked on the screen. But she had seen it, too. Movement across the field, heading toward the grey stone walls of the manor ruins. And she had seen, too, the long object in the man’s hand, carried in that low-slung, respectful way no one ever carries anything but a firearm.

  “He’s going in to the higher walls. He must be looking for a place to hide.”

  Salter heard a shout, but she wasn’t inclined to look up, not until the urgency of the voices ratcheted up a notch. She looked at the archway, where one side of the burning trees had been damped down just enough for someone to squeeze through, if they were foolhardy enough to try. She was about to look over her shoulder to see what Laraby thought when her eyes fell on the screen again. A shard of ice pierced her heart. Running across her screen, toward the manor ruins, was Laraby.

  Salter was sick with fear, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the phone. Now, more than ever, she had to keep watching.

  Karen approached. She had a phone in her hand. “It’s DI Laraby,” she said. “He wants you to talk him toward Oakes.”

  Salter positioned the drone slightly in front of Laraby as he ran, and she could see he had his phone cupped to one ear. “Where, Lauren? Left or right? I can see a big piece of wall coming up in front of
me. Which side is Oakes on?”

  She had no time to argue with him, or tell him he shouldn’t be there, that he needed to turn around and come back. And the presence of Karen next to her stopped her saying other things, too, things her heart would have wanted her to say. She gave the drone a forward boost, over the buttress Laraby was describing. She saw Oakes furtively making his way along a low wall about twenty metres farther into the ruins. “Right,” she said. “Stay low as you go around. He won’t have a shot. There’s a large mound of rubble in the way.”

  Laraby slowed to a walk and made his way around the buttress, pressing himself tightly against the huge stone structure. Salter watched him ease his way around the corner and pause, looking for cover, looking for Oakes.

  Karen leaned in. “TRU have arrived,” she whispered.

  Salter nodded at the phone, still not taking her eyes off the screen. “Tell him,” she hissed.

  Karen passed the update to Laraby.

  Salter watched as he paused for a second at the news. “Which way, Lauren?”

  Salter moved the drone back over the spot she had seen Oakes before. He was nowhere in sight. Panicking, she elevated the drone for a wider look. But there were overhangs and niches everywhere. If Oakes had been unaware he was being tracked by drone to start with, he would have certainly known the last time Salter took the machine in for a low pass. Now he had taken cover.

  “I’ve lost him,” she shouted in alarm. “Get out of there, Marvin. I can’t see him anymore.”

  She saw Laraby press the phone in more closely to his ear, even look up at the drone.

  “You have to come out. Now!”

  It was like blindness. The loss of the visual signal was so sudden, so complete, it filled Salter’s senses. She could think of nothing else, see nothing else. Her entire world existed only in that black four-inch void, her own ghostly reflection its only image now. “I’ve lost the view.” The panic transcended the message. If Laraby heard her voice, he would know she was falling apart. Would it be enough to bring him back out to her?