Lindy let her beautiful eyes rest on Domenic in a long, unblinking stare. “My, what an interesting question, Inspector Jejeune! Santayana said those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Is that what you’re afraid of? Damian hasn’t covered the chapters on your love life back in Canada, in case you were wondering — at least not yet. Or have I got this backward? Should I be worried that you’re going to leave me for a younger and more beautiful version of myself?”
“I’m hardly likely to leave you for an older, uglier version, am I?”
Lindy pressed her forefinger to her lips and then wagged it at Domenic. “There are right answers, Inspector Jejeune, and there are wrong answers,” she said archly “And then, there are wrong answers.” She looked up and saw that something was troubling him. He sat in a chair opposite her. It was what he did when they needed to speak, and Lindy recognized the signs. She deliberately didn’t change her relaxed pose; the less formal she was, the less guarded he was likely to be.
“He’s asked you, hasn’t he? Damian. What he risked coming from Canada to ask, on a boat across the North Atlantic?” She smiled to let him see how pleased she was with herself at having been able to piece so much of this together already.
Jejeune turned to look out the window. The tree where the Nightingale had been was dancing in the breeze, but there was no bird among the leaves today.
“He’s asked. But I can’t help him.”
“You must. Whatever he did, whatever kind of a mistake he made, it shouldn’t be allowed to ruin someone’s life to the point he has to skulk around indoors like this, not even able to let his family know where he is, or even that he’s safe? Whatever it is he’s asking you to do, can it be worse than that?”
She looked at him, torn by what she took to be his turmoil at having to choose between his duty as a policeman and that as a brother. She suspected he had never held anything but the strictly legal point of view and was tormented now by the knowledge that he had to abandon the principles he had held dear for so long. The agony she felt for him was almost like a physical pain. “It’s an awful choice, Dom, I know. No one should ever have to face it. But he’s your brother, and he needs your help. You can’t let him down. I understand, I really do.”
But he knew she didn’t.
“He wants me to broker a deal for him,” he said quietly, staring into the space between them, “to save him from being extradited to Colombia.”
“Extradited?” Lindy unfurled her legs and sat forward intently now. “They don’t do that for bits and pieces, Dom. Extradited on what charge?”
“Manslaughter. He’s wanted in connection with the deaths of four people.”
He reached out for her, but she rushed past him, tears seeming to have come from nowhere. The front door smashed open as she fled. He left it swinging wide, too crushed to go after her, too crushed even to rise.
Jejeune paced in their narrow kitchen and checked his watch again. He glanced out the window, at the blue expanse of the sea, stretching out to infinity. He had determined to give her five minutes before venturing after her, but now that time was up, he decided on two more. He watched the time disappear second by second, refusing to move until the second hand swept past the twelve. It was a tiny, pathetic display of resolve, as if the extra few seconds might make the difference, might bring back the Lindy he may have lost. Forever.
She was on the cliff path looking out to sea, where he knew she would be. It was where she went for solitude, for comfort, perhaps for certainty, too. He came up beside her tentatively. She didn’t turn her head, although he knew she’d sensed his approach. He stood beside her for a moment, silent, uncertain, before reaching down for her hand, fearing the rejection that would burn his skin like acid. But she let him take it and he felt the kind, precious warmth of her fingers as they entwined his own.
“I’m so sorry,” he said.
But for what? For the deceit, or for the callous, cruel revelation of it? For the pain he had caused her? Or for being himself at this moment, when he felt she might have preferred the presence of just about anyone else by her side?
Lindy said nothing. He risked a glance across at her and saw traces of tears still on her cheeks. Was she waiting for the onshore winds to dry them? Or was she waiting for Domenic to make them go away, by telling her that none of it was true, that it was all just some nightmare, and the innocent, blissful life the two of them had built in this windswept hilltop was still intact, as pure and as perfect as before?
“He led a personalized tour into an area designated as off-limits by the Colombian government. The man was sick. Damian’s group made contact with a small band of indigenous people, and four of them died later from contracting the illness.”
Lindy stared out resolutely over the sea, but something in her changed, a slight relaxing in the tension. “You can’t call that manslaughter.”
“It’s what the Colombian government calls it. Foreigners were expressly forbidden from visiting that area. Damian had even applied for a permit and been denied one. He entered the region anyway. And he did it for money. The man died shortly after from his illness, and the local guide is nowhere to be found. Damian was the only target the authorities had left.”
It was getting cold now and Lindy had no jacket on, but neither made a move to go back to the cottage. It was as if they both sensed that they could not return there now, to the life they used to have, until they had discussed this thing that threatened to take it away from them.
Lindy shook her head. “This doesn’t sound right. It’s such a massive overreaction. As heartbreaking as the deaths of these poor people were, surely anybody could see that this was completely innocent.” She shook her head again. “It isn’t manslaughter in any sense that I understand the word.”
“It was just months after the Colombian government had issued a very public apology to the Witoto people, acknowledging their horrific treatment at the hands of the rubber barons in the early days of the rubber industry in that area. The government undoubtedly saw the chance to prosecute an unscrupulous foreigner as a heaven-sent opportunity to prove they were taking Native rights seriously, and actively trying to protect them.”
“It sounds like the trial would have been a foregone conclusion,” said Lindy. “I can’t imagine how terrifying it must have been for Damian to go into a courtroom knowing the verdict had already been decided.”
Domenic shook his head. “There was no trial. Damian got wind of the charges and fled the country. He’s smart, he’s resourceful; he knows the culture and the language in that part of the world. He made it all the way to St. Lucia, but he was found there and arrested. I heard he confessed to his crimes when they picked him up.”
She turned to him, incredulous. “You heard?”
“I hadn’t seen him since this all happened, until a few days ago. But I know he escaped from custody before the St. Lucian government could extradite him to Colombia. There’s been a warrant out for his arrest since then.”
Lindy was quiet for a long time. A blustery wind picked up off the sea and brought its coolness over the clifftop. “He confessed?” she said finally.
Jejeune nodded, but he could find nothing more to say.
“You have to do it, Dom. You have to help him.”
Did he? Jejeune said nothing. His brother had spent a long time running from the knowledge that he was responsible for the deaths of four people. But Domenic was fairly sure that, one way or the other, his days of running were coming to an end.
44
“Sergeant Maik,” said Catherine Weil with undisguised pleasure. “I thought I might be seeing you here, now that you’ve been given you the old red card from the property. Persona non grata these days, I hear.”
She was wearing figure-hugging blue jeans and a loose cotton blouse of dazzling white. With her cascade of red curls draped over her shoulders, she cut a striking figure.
“I think it’s the DCI who’s non grata,” said Maik, “I�
�m what they refer to as ‘collateral damage’.” He gave her a small smile to show he was going to be able to live with the disappointment, and stepped into the hallway as she stood aside for him.
She crossed to the sink and filled the kettle without asking. An ex-army type, of Maik’s age and sensibilities? He could forgive her for being presumptuous. It gave him the chance to look around the flat. It was very small. The sparseness and frugality in which some people lived never ceased to amaze him. The apartment was immaculately clean and tidy. He would have expected no less from a woman with such a meticulously ordered mind and crisp, no-nonsense demeanour. He couldn’t imagine much tolerance for clutter, physical or intellectual, in Catherine Weil’s world. But there was little evidence that any personal investment had been made to turn the tiny living space into a home, no little touches that claimed it from the anonymity of a dwelling space and marked it as Catherine Weil’s own. Maik would be the first to admit that his view of the world could be somewhat dated, at times, but it looked to him like the living quarters of a woman waiting for the man of her dreams to arrive and carry her off to somewhere better.
On a shelf above the built-in washing machine, Maik saw a small pile of neatly folded laundry. Weil turned in time to see him avert his eyes from her underwear. She smiled as she handed him his tea.
“Don’t worry, Sergeant, nothing to get your pulse racing. More like Queen Victoria’s Secret, these days, unfortunately.”
“No time for romance?” Maik had no idea where the question had come from, and it seemed to distress him far more than Weil. She simply rolled her narrow shoulders easily.
“You’ve come to tell me once again that I was mistaken about seeing Philip that night in the woods. That nice Constable Salter of yours has already had a bash.” She took a sip of her tea. “I wasn’t. It was Philip I saw.”
“The other man is very similar,” said Maik reasonably. “In build, general appearance. He was even carrying a similar leather satchel. It does seem likely …”
“It was Philip. I worked closely beside the man for over a year, Sergeant. I identified Philip’s body at the mortuary. It was him I saw entering those woods that night.”
Maik shrugged his shoulders. Jejeune had told him she would insist, and that he shouldn’t push it. In fact, he had the distinct impression he had been told to come here and ask more for form’s sake than anything else.
“We can go out onto the balcony, if you like,” said Weil, without the slightest hint of lingering offence. It was how she was, thought Maik, she dealt with something and brushed it aside, moved on. She stepped out onto the narrow balcony and leaned against its waist-high railing. Even from this modest height, barely one storey above street level, Saltmarsh took on a different perspective. With its trim front gardens and clay-tiled roofs, it looked like a village from a postcard. If you stood beside Maik up here and told him Saltmarsh had never seen a crime, he might almost have believed you. Up on a hill in the distance, he saw a faint glint of light. Concealed as it was behind its bank of dense yew trees at ground level, he hadn’t considered the Old Dairy office building would be visible from other vantage points.
He turned to see Weil looking in the same direction, her hand held up at her brow like a visor against the high sun.
“Forgive me, but, it strikes me you’re not particularly happy up at the Old Dairy.”
“Not particularly, Sergeant. No.”
“Then why do you stay? I mean, Philip Wayland found a way to make the move. Could you not have followed him?”
“To the university?” She let out a delighted laugh. “I have to say, I don’t think Philip’s fiancé would have cared much for that.”
“Is that because of your own previous relationship with Mr. Wayland?”
She snapped her head around, as if to deny it, but then seemed to resign herself to something and simply smiled.
“You had met his parents,” said Maik simply, “you knew them well enough to want to spare them the sight of their son’s body. It was a caring thing to do. A brave one. The sort of act that might go beyond friendship.”
“It was something that happened,” she said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes a physical attraction is the first link in the chain of intimacy, sometimes it’s the reverse. Shared interests, experiences, hopes can lead you there.”
Maik nodded. Though Jejeune had suggested she wouldn’t deny it when he told his sergeant to ask, Danny had been quietly hoping that for once, his DCI might have been wrong.
“Had it ended by the time Mr. Wayland left?”
She nodded. “God, yes. Long before. Months. Professional differences, I suppose you could call it, but in reality, we had just drifted apart. After he moved on, Philip just thought it was better if we kept it quiet. He was getting engaged.” She shrugged. “It didn’t really matter to me one way or the other.”
“But if not the university, then surely you could still find a job somewhere else. I mean, you’re a bright woman … person,” he said awkwardly. If this was how he was going to conduct himself at interviews from now on, he thought, it might have been better if Salter hadn’t dragged him back aboard the boat after all. “I’m just wondering why you would stay there if you’re so unhappy.”
She met the question head on, frank and seemingly not offended. “The simple answer, Sergeant? Money. Filthy lucre. I’m not under any illusion that the project can ever be successful, not within the parameters they have set, but if someone is willing to pay me to prove it, then I may as well get as much as I can for wasting my time. We’ll get there with the capture, eventually, but we’re still miles away with the storage challenges. Abrar el-Taleb is no Philip Wayland, and it’s his expertise that would be needed to make any undersea carbon storage plan work.” She leaned her elbow on the balcony rail as she turned to look at Maik directly. “Just in case you’re wondering, though, I’m not completely mercenary. I have voiced this opinion a number of times.”
“And they weren’t willing to listen?”
She turned away from him. “It was politely pointed out to me that my opinions are exactly that, and while they graciously acknowledged that I was perfectly entitled to have them, the Old Dairy board of directors sees no reason to share them.”
Maik leaned on the railing and drank in the scene before him. There were so many things he found to dislike about his job at times, and the obvious deception and evasiveness of a DCI he had come to trust and respect was high amongst them these days. But a sunny morning tea break with a woman like Catherine Weil could do a lot to restore you enjoyment of your job. She was such easy company, so open and honest, with a disarming frankness that took on a much more appealing quality when she wasn’t bristling under the slights, perceived or otherwise, of the Old Dairy executive or DCI Jejeune.
“Niall Doherty thinks the al-Haladins will walk away at some point?” said Maik, still looking at the glass building. “Do you think he’s right?”
Weil shook her head. “Prince Ibrahim has a personal stake in this.”
Maik looked confused. “Forgive me, but how exactly does a ruler from an inland desert kingdom have a personal stake in global temperature increases?”
“With the warming in the Arctic and the melting of the polar ice caps, which creatures do you think are going to be most vulnerable?”
“Those which live there,” said Maik. He nodded, understanding. “Like Gyrfalcons.”
“Men like the prince need a project big enough to fit their egos, important enough to be worthy of their resources, and the animals of the polar regions are under the greatest threat of any creatures on Earth from the direct effects of climate change. But when you have the resources to put your support behind just about any cause you want to, I think there has to be some spark, some glimmer of personal interest. Prince Ibrahim could have any hunting birds he wanted, even eagles. And yet he chose Gyrfalcons, exclusively. I think he truly loves those birds, Sergeant. Perhaps they represent a freedom, a spirit that even he, with
his vast fortune, still can’t control.” She shrugged. “So no, I don’t see him walking away.”
In the cobbled street below, people passed by utterly unaware they were being observed from on high. They continued with their tics, their traits, their unturned collars and hitched up skirts. So much of humanity’s foibles were there to see, thought Maik, if a person wasn’t aware they were being observed. He finished his tea and looked around for somewhere to set the empty mug. “Best be off,” he said. Weil held out her hand and he passed the mug to her.
“Sergeant,” she said, as he turned to go, “this brilliant DCI of yours. Is he going to catch Philip’s killer, do you think?”
“Any day now, we expect,” he said, returning her smile. “Well, hope, anyway.” But there was something in the way he said it that made Catherine Weil think that hope wasn’t a commodity Danny Maik had in particularly strong supply these days.
45
The music, so often a balm on their drives together, seemed to miss the mark today. Whatever Maik had managed to dig out of the Motown archives, it was setting Jejeune’s teeth on edge. With evenings at home now a steady diet of tunes from his darkest past, the DCI was rapidly tiring of musical nostalgia. And now Maik was apparently intent on subjecting him to more dreck from half a century ago.
“For God’s sake, doesn’t anybody listen to music by people who can still chew their own food?”
Despite the music, the silence in Maik’s Mini was deafening, and Jejeune regretted his outburst immediately. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. Bad day at the office. Several bad days, as a matter of fact.” He rubbed his forehead and tried an ingratiating smile. It didn’t really come off, but Maik was in an indulgent mood.
“I’m sure Mary Wells has heard worse.” said Maik evenly. “Eddie Holland would have approved, though. He always had an ear for a good line.” He leaned forward to turn down the volume, but Jejeune held up a hand.
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