“As opening lines go, Mr. Senior, you certainly know how to get a girl’s attention. Would you mind if we had a little chat?” Kate-Lynn placed a gentle hand on Senior’s arm and guided him away. Lindy watched them go. “Promise me you’ll never get into birding, Jen,” she said with a wistful smile. “Tell me you, at least, will stay with me, here in the real world.”
With a start, Jejeune realized Colleen Shepherd had joined him. She was standing shoulder to shoulder with him now, staring out over the assembled partygoers.
“You could get a bit more involved, Domenic,” she said good-naturedly. “After all, it’s not you they’re fawning all over for once. I would have thought you could have enjoyed this a bit, despite your well-known aversion to these things.”
He smiled at his DCS, grateful that, for once, his ill-ease could be misinterpreted. “This was a good idea. Thank you.” And despite the threat he felt throbbing like a physical force from the locked room behind him, he meant it.
Lindy’s boss, Eric, ambled over to chat. Shepherd initially seemed pleased to see him approach, but it quickly became clear that he had come to talk about his new hobby with Jejeune. After two or three references to things she could only assume were birds, Shepherd made a valiant attempt to become engaged. “So you’re enjoying it then?” she asked.
Eric nodded enthusiastically. “Tremendously. Though every time I think I’m making progress, I run into someone who reminds me just how much I still have to learn. That chap in the hide the other day, for example,” he said, turning to Jejeune, “found us a wonderful bird. Terrific skills, even Quentin said as much. Canadian, wasn’t he?”
“American, I think,” said Jejeune. “I can’t quite remember.”
“Can’t remember, Domenic?” Shepherd turned to Eric. “It must have been some rarity to fog the notoriously accurate recall of Domenic Jejeune.”
“Franklin’s Gull,” said Eric with the novice’s earnestness. “A great find for these parts. I’ve been very privileged to see one, so I’m told.”
“Lindy was saying even the local Shakespeare society has complimented her on her article, Eric,” said Jejeune, looking at Shepherd as if to suggest he was easing the conversation away from birding for her sake.
Eric nodded. “Indeed, she seems to have found support for her positions in a number of camps. Have you read the piece yourself, Domenic?”
“I’m hoping to,” he said, “soon.”
“Isn’t there some controversy about whether Shakespeare even wrote King Lear?” asked Shepherd.
“Edward de Vere, you mean? Yes,” said Eric dubiously, “I looked into that once. I’m fairly sure he didn’t write it.”
“I understand there are a lot of people who believe otherwise,” said the DCS. She fixed him with a stare that suggested interest, rather than challenge. “What makes you so sure?”
“Well, mainly because he was already dead.”
Shepherd offered a delighted laugh. “Well, I’d say that certainly introduces what we in our profession like to call an element of doubt.”
Jejeune smiled. He had seen Colleen Shepherd at enough functions where enjoying herself came a distant second to trying to protect her career, or his. It was nice to see her in a genuinely carefree mood for once.
“De Vere died in 1604,” continued Eric, “and it seems King Lear was first performed in 1607.”
“Forgive me, Mr. Chappell, but it could have been written beforehand, surely? My experience,” she indicated Jejeune, “our experience, compels me to point out that timelines can be manipulated in all sorts of ways.”
“True,” conceded Eric, as reasonably as before, “but if King Lear was written earlier, it wasn’t by De Vere. It includes references to an eclipse that happened in 1605. And that, as I believe you people would say, seems to be the clinching argument.”
“That’s lawyers, actually. But it would undoubtedly be enough for me to inform the Crown Prosecutor that Mr. De Vere was no longer a suspect in this case.”
In truth, Maik felt a pang of pity for his DCI. He had barely moved from the spot all evening, looking by turns uneasy and watchful, cradling a glass of red wine that must now be as warm as blood. Although policing could have a nasty effect on your social life, especially at the DCI’s elevated level, surely he could still have formed a few closer friendships in these parts. From what Maik could gather, Jejeune seemed to rely exclusively on his girlfriend’s acquaintances for his social interactions, resulting in nights like this, where she was comfortable with everybody and he was just that half-step removed. It came as something of a shock to Danny to realize he was probably the closest thing to a friend the DCI had in these parts. Even to him, their relationship seemed more akin to an iceberg bouncing off a granite wall every once in a while than to anything approaching genuine camaraderie.
And yet, even Lindy seemed a touch guarded tonight. Maik had seen her in full-flight at parties before, a whirlwind of unfettered joy and high spirits. Tonight she seemed apprehensive, reserved, as if the good time she was determined to have might all of a sudden be taken away. Perhaps she was uneasy being the centre of attention, but from what Maik knew of her, he would have thought she’d take this all in stride, have some fun with it.
She smiled uncertainly at Jejeune as she approached him. Maik saw in it some sort of veiled communication, but whatever it was, it was interrupted by Shepherd. “Lindy, Eric’s been promising to tell us a King Lear story, but he was determined to wait until you could hear it, too.”
Eric was at ease in his role of storyteller and took to his task immediately. “It concerns the time Garrick abandoned a performance of King Lear in Act Five, right at the climax of the play.”
“But David Garrick is considered possibly the greatest Shakespearean actor of all time. Why on earth would he do that?”
“Apparently, some exceedingly wealthy patron had brought his dog to the performance — a huge Mastiff — and purchased a seat for it next his own, in the front row,” said Eric. “The dog sat through the entire performance with its paws on the front rail, watching everything with the intensity of a drama critic.”
“I can see how that might be a bit off-putting,” said Lindy, “but surely Garrick had coped with worse. Those eighteenth-century theatres must have had all sorts of distractions. So what, he saw this dog and simply called off the performance?”
“Not at all.” Eric eyed his audience, drawing them in with his skillfully measured pause. Even Maik edged closer. “Garrick manfully battled on, ignoring the beady-eyed stare as much as he could. But remember, those theatres used to get awfully warm, and by midway through the fifth act, the patron was so overheated he had to remove his wig. Having nowhere else to put it, he set it squarely on the dog’s head. Garrick caught one glimpse of the bewigged pooch and he was done for. Rushed offstage and collapsed in a fit of giggles. Couldn’t go back on for love nor money.”
Danny Maik offered a rare, genuine smile. “I’m not much of a Shakespeare fan,” he said, “but I would have paid a lot to see that performance. This King Lear, isn’t that the one where the bodies all pile up at the end?”
Eric nodded. “About ten,” he confirmed. “I don’t think you could class it as one of the comedies.”
Maik shook his head. “Can’t say stories about people getting murdered would be my idea of entertainment. Still, it takes all sorts, I suppose.”
But before anyone could concur, or otherwise, a loud crash at the far end of the hallway stunned the party into an ominous silence.
25
“What the hell was that?” asked Colleen Shepherd.
“Probably just one of Dom’s feeders,” said Lindy, over-casually. “Always getting blown over, aren’t they, Dom? So, Eric, you were saying …”
“But it came from down the hall, surely?” said Shepherd, ignoring Lindy’s efforts to kick-start the party again.
“Outside,” confirmed Domenic. “This place is a bit of an echo chamber at times.” He looked at Li
ndy for confirmation.
“It probably wouldn’t hurt to check it out anyway,” said Shepherd dubiously. “Budget numbers are tied to crime statistics, you know, Domenic. If we can get an attempted burglary collar, I might be able to buy you a new stapler.”
It was pitched perfectly. Insistent enough to show Shepherd was taking it seriously, but with a tone that wouldn’t even send a shimmer through the party atmosphere.
“I’ll go and have a look around,” said Danny Maik, setting his drink down on a side table.
Jejeune seemed to hesitate a moment before offering to accompany him. Maik declined the offer, but it became clear that it wasn’t up for discussion, and with a quick glance back at Lindy, Jejeune joined him at the door.
“Go, we’ll be fine,” said Lindy, waving. “Eric’s an ex-colonial. He knows enough to shoot all us womenfolk if any rampaging hordes burst in and threaten our virtue.”
Taking its cue from Lindy, the party picked up steam again as the men left, to the point that no one would have even noticed the worried looks she involuntarily flickered toward the hallway whenever she let her guard down.
Outside, an unnatural stillness seemed to hang in the darkness. From the surrounding fields came the hiss of silence. Apart from the muted sounds of the party in the house behind them, everything was quiet. Not a breath of wind disturbed the still night air. It was all well and good Lindy banging on about Dom’s bird feeders getting blown over, but this night was as tranquil as any that Maik could remember out here on the coast. Whatever it was that had knocked something over out here, it wasn’t the wind.
The sergeant moved stealthily along the side of the cottage, pressed in to the narrow shadow cast by the lights of the party inside. Jejeune followed closely behind, moving with the same silence, even if, it seemed to Maik, not at all the same caution. At the corner of the building, Maik crouched lower and paused, rocking slightly, steadying himself for an entry that was quiet, fast and low. He motioned with a hand for Jejeune to stay back, but by the time he had completed his spin around onto the rear porch of the house, his DCI was already on his way round.
Nothing. Maik looked out over the porch railing. The sea was out there, he knew, just beyond the cliff edge. But there was no moon tonight, and the dull black sky seemed to hunker low, so he could not see any horizon line, or even any light reflected from the dark water. From far below came the faint sound of the sea lapping against the shore. Still, not even the lightest of breezes disturbed the night air. Maik eased himself back from the railing and looked around the porch. Whatever had fractured the silence out here had gone now, leaving just a ringing emptiness.
He slowly let out a breath. “I don’t see that feeder that fell over,” he said. “These all look okay to me.”
“Something else, then. One of Lindy’s plant pots, perhaps. A passing animal …” said Jejeune from behind him. “It’s hard to tell in the dark. I’ll have a look around in the morning.”
“Unless you want to switch the porch light on now,” suggested Maik. In the darkness, he couldn’t see his DCI’s face. But he could hear a voice untroubled by the same tension he had felt. Maik turned to face the cottage, all greyness and shadows, and froze for a moment. Jejeune was behind him and Maik couldn’t tell which direction he was facing, but he had the impression the DCI had half-turned away from the sea, and had been looking back at the house, too, in the same direction he was. Above him, the two square glass eyes of the rear windows, somehow darker than the rest of the house, stared out blindly over the sea. The far one was the kitchen, he knew. This one? He stared at it and waited. Waited.
From the front of the house, faint strains of music drifted toward them, and now and again a voice was raised in laughter. “Time we went back in, I suppose,” said Jejeune. But he seemed to be waiting, too, just that extra heartbeat, until Maik could drag himself away from staring at the window to join him. The two men made their way along the side of the house to the front door, and the party. Neither found anything worth saying on the way back.
“False alarm,” said Jejeune as they came back in to the room, seeking out Lindy’s face in particular to offer his reassuring smile.
“Glad to hear it,” said Eric heartily. “Still, it never hurts to check.”
To Maik’s eye, Lindy’s efforts to enter the party spirit had gone into overdrive while they were away. She was a whirlwind now, circulating, connecting, and pouring her bubbly personality into every corner of the cozy living room.
As the people began to break off from the crowd in small knots again, Shepherd drifted over.
“Everything all right out there?”
No. But yes. “There was nobody prowling around,” said Maik simply. “It looks like the DCI is going to have to wait for that new stapler, after all.”
Shepherd eyed him uncertainly. “Then I suggest you pick up your drink and get back into the party spirit. One senior detective looking ill at ease in social situations is quite enough, thank you very much. We don’t want people thinking it’s a departmental directive, do we?” She offered him a smile and went to rejoin a small group where Eric’s booming laugh suggested he was still holding court.
Danny would do what he could. But looking at them now, both Jejeune and Lindy seemed to carry a kind of guarded relief that told him he may not have been wrong. In the darkened window of that room from the porch, that guest bedroom, Maik fancied he had seen, just for the briefest of moments, a faint flash of light. He had waited, but it hadn’t reappeared, and in the darkness and shadows at the back of the house, there was no way to be certain. Besides, Maik was all but sure Inspector Jejeune had been looking directly at the window at the time, too. And if one of the most observant men Maik had ever known chose not to comment on anything he might have seen, then Danny Maik wouldn’t either — not tonight, anyway.
26
Lindy and Domenic stood together in the doorway of the cottage, silhouetted against the lights of the living room. They watched as the last of the cars departed, the tail lights disappearing down the lane until they were finally swallowed up by the night. She turned to him and linked her hands behind his neck, stretching up to give him a kiss. “We can’t do this again. I feel like I have been through a tumble dryer.” She looked at him seriously. “I mean it, Dom. No more visitors while he’s still here. I don’t think my nerves could take it.”
She seemed to be expecting opposition from Jejeune, though he couldn’t imagine why. Surely she knew he had been every bit as much on edge throughout the evening. Lindy closed the door with her foot and started to move toward the kitchen. “Well, I suppose we’d better let the cat out of the bag,” she said.
“You go on to bed,” said Domenic. “You must be exhausted. I’ll tell Damian you’ll see him in the morning.”
Lindy didn’t argue, and padded away down the hall to their bedroom. Domenic took the guest room key from the kitchen shelf and went along the hallway. When he opened the door, Damian was sitting on the bed, propped up against the headboard with his knees drawn up to his chest. They were supporting a book, which he was reading by penlight.
“What did Mom tell you about that?” said Domenic, flicking on the light. “You’ll ruin your eyesight.”
Damian set aside the book: King Lear. He noticed his brother’s look. “It was on the desk,” he said. “It’s been a while, so I thought I’d give it another go.” He pulled a face and got off the bed. He headed for a whisky bottle on a nearby table, holding it by the neck and waving it at his brother. Domenic nodded, and Damian grabbed a second glass from a shelf and blew the dust from it before pouring two healthy shots.
Domenic picked up the book and set it on the top of an untidy pile teetering on the desk.
“I was going to ask you about that,” said Damian. “Are you building a tower?”
“Lindy stacks them up like this to encourage me to re-shelve them, even though half the time I haven’t finished with them. She thinks if she piles them up on the desk like this, ev
entually I’ll get tired of the mess and cave in.”
“It’s obvious you haven’t told her about your bedroom when you were a kid,” said Damian. “Don’t worry; I’ll put them away in the morning for you.”
“Don’t do that, whatever you do,” said Domenic in mock alarm. “I think she’s only a couple of books away from her own breaking point. Any day now she’s going to come in here and do it herself because she can’t stand it any longer.”
Damian handed his brother a glass and sat back down on the bed. “I never did get these head games that partners play,” he said. “Maybe that’s why I’ve never been in a long-term relationship myself.”
“Could be,” agreed Domenic. “Then again, it could just be because you’re ugly and not very bright.” He gave his brother a wan smile and settled in the room’s only armchair.
“Good party?” asked Damian.
“Tiring. I had to take a walk outside at one point, too.” He looked at his brother through the amber liquid in his glass.
“Yeah, I reached for the bottle and knocked the table over in the dark. Saved the English single malt though,” he said with a grin. “I haven’t had this before. It’s pretty good.”
And there, in a nutshell, was his relationship with Damian, thought Domenic. No inquiry as to whether his actions had caused a problem for his younger brother, because it simply didn’t matter to Damian. Something had happened, Domenic had cleared it up, and Damian was ready to move on. Ever it was, and ever more will it be, thought Domenic wearily.
“That guy Eric sounded like he was enjoying himself. That’s some laugh he has on him.”
Domenic nodded his agreement. “Can you imagine what it must be like to be him just now, getting into birding for the first time? To see all those new birds, to get that feeling, that rush,” he said.
“That’s the thing, Dom. For me, that’s how it is, still. Every time I see something special — a Painted Bunting, a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher — I get that same buzz I felt the first time I saw one.”
A Cast of Falcons Page 15