Alwyn watched as Maik made his notes in his laboriously slow handwriting. “You know, Sergeant, it strikes me that our work is very much the same in some respects. Endless days of sorting through irrelevances in search of that one immutable truth.”
Maik had spent far too long in the army to worry about people insulting his intelligence, but he sensed that his new chief inspector wouldn’t have put up with this nonsense. From what he had seen, Jejeune treated his own obvious intellect with the same casual insouciance he brought to everything else. Nevertheless, Maik suspected that he wouldn’t stand for anybody taking liberties with it, especially condescending twonks like this, trying to change the subject by forging imaginary bonds with a fellow truth seeker. But as far as Maik knew, no crime had ever been solved by encouraging people to keep quiet, so he was quite happy to let Alwyn drivel on all he wanted.
“I expect you’ll keep me informed of developments, Sergeant. Cameron was, as you point out, a former acquaintance of mine. I should like to know the matter has been resolved successfully. I take it you already have some ideas about who might have done this terrible thing.”
But Maik’s bland smile wasn’t saying either way as he put away his notebook and bade the professor good day.
Maik sat in his car, staring at the imposing brick facade of the university, Alwyn’s bastion of truth. His thoughts turned to a young mother, killed in a head-on collision coming home from working late one night. He recalled the utter desolation of her family; her husband’s inconsolable sadness, her little boy’s despair and confusion. The intermingled outpouring of love and grief from everyone who had known her. The perfect wife, so young, so beautiful, so much to live for. Only she wasn’t coming home from work, was she? She was coming from her boyfriend’s flat. And now that the boyfriend had moved on, the only one left with her secret was Danny Maik. How many other secrets did he hold in his heart, how many other deceptions and falsehoods had he kept away from the innocent over the years?
And now, as he thought of Mandy’s Brae’s words — He said he was working at the university — Maik knew this was yet another betrayal to be stored away. Because even if Mandy Brae was still trying to convince herself that her husband was working late, Danny Maik now knew differently. Wherever he was on those nights, Brae certainly wasn’t at the university.
11
By the time Maik straightened up from retrieving his jacket from the back of the Range Rover, Domenic Jejeune was already staring up into the stand of tall beech trees that fringed the sweeping forecourt in front of Peter Largemount’s house.
“Remarkable family, the corvids,” said Jejeune, still staring up as Maik joined him.
Maik had actually started to consider whether he knew anyone called Corvid before he realized that Jejeune was talking about birds. He looked up to see a large gathering of Rooks fidgeting through the branches high above. Jejeune was watching the birds intently, observing their interactions as they jumped from branch to branch, cawing harshly and fluttering their wings.
“Villains of the bird world, of course. You’ve only got to look at the collective nouns. A murder of Crows, an unkindness of Ravens.”
“Coined by farmers, I should imagine,” offered Maik. “Especially in these parts.”
“And yet there’s a complex social system going on up there. The corvids are an extremely intelligent family. Did you know that Crows are considered to have the best-developed brains of all birds?”
“High praise, indeed,” said Maik.
Jejeune offered a wry smile. It was like his own journey to cricket, he thought. You had to let people come to it of their own accord, and only then you could start explaining the nuances, the beauty, the hidden joys. Jejeune was delighted to share his birding knowledge and skills with anyone who was interested. But trying to convince the average non-birder, like, say, a battle-hardened police sergeant, was probably a waste of both people’s time.
“Let’s go and see if Mr. Largemount has any better appreciation for his tenants,” said Jejeune, leading the way across the forecourt to the house.
Peter Largemount’s house was a large three-storey structure topped by a balustrade that circled the roof like a stone tiara. Its pale stone facade was dressed up with red-brick trim and large Italianate windows, articulating the floors into neat rows. It was the house of a family that had known great wealth in the past, not all of it drawn from the rich dark soils of the surrounding lands. Despite the scars earned through two centuries of perching on the edge of a Norfolk sea cliff, the house appeared to be structurally sound, and there was evidence of much new repair work to the windows and the roof.
The fields surrounding the house were forested with tall grey pylons, at the top of which large-bladed turbines spun with a relentless determination. In the centre of the pylon crop stood a bare expanse of land, in which Maik could just see the faint reflection of water. Lesser Marsh had no doubt seen a lot of changes in the surrounding vegetation over the centuries, but Maik doubted the marsh had ever witnessed, or ever would again, anything as strange and unnatural as the forest of wind turbines that now surrounded it on all sides.
Peter Largemount stood in the imposing doorway of his home, waiting for the two policemen to approach. He wore an open-necked shirt beneath a sweater with a bold diamond pattern on it. Largemount gave his approaching visitors a wide-open smile, displaying a full set of large white teeth. He looked like the kind of man you might find leaning against the bar at a golf club, thought Maik, telling you all about himself and his latest exploits, in business or otherwise. A bit of a prat, perhaps, but you still found yourself secretly wondering what it would be like to have his kind of money and lifestyle.
“Officers, welcome. Come in, please.”
The men stepped into the large entrance hall. Pastel patterning from a stained glass window on the second-storey landing trickled down the marble staircase and flooded the hallway. Polished wood and veined marble encased them on all sides. It was the kind of ostentatious display of wealth that would not sit well with the locals, and Jejeune could see why Maik had told him Largemount was not well regarded in these parts, despite a family pedigree going back centuries.
The men moved through the house to a large book-lined room at the back that seemed to be doing double duty as a business office. Along the back wall, the large windows were open to the sea air, and the sounds of the waves crashing on the stony beach below pulsed up toward them. A set of smaller mullioned windows along the north wall looked out over fields of windmills.
The officers declined refreshments, and Maik started the proceedings while Jejeune went off for a tour of the bookshelves.
“Can you tell us the last time you spoke to Cameron Brae?”
“No idea. Months ago, I should think. Probably at some function or t’other.”
Largemount spoke with the briskness of someone who had other things to do, other places to be. But for now, he was at least giving the officers the benefit of his full attention. Especially the younger one, wandering around the room trailing his fingernail across the spines of a row of books.
“First editions, mostly, Inspector. Excellent hedge against inflation. Though I must confess, I don’t read as many of them as I would like. Time, you know, the enemy of the busy man.”
He smiled to show how bravely he was enduring the unbearable pressure of making a fortune.
“Your telephone number was the last one Mr. Brae called,” said Maik.
“First I’ve heard of it, but that’s no surprise.” Largemount aimed his explanation toward Jejeune, on the far side of the room. “I’m not often home in the evenings. This line’s been acting up a bit lately, as a matter of fact. Wiped out the memory recently, call display, messages, the lot. Seems to be working all right now, though.”
“So no record of any incoming calls then.”
“No, Sergeant. But you do have my word. I received no call from Cameron Brae.” It was meant to be a smile, but Maik got some sense of the last
sight a swimmer might see when a Great White Shark approached.
“An operation like this,” Jejeune indicated the windmills beyond the window, “I would have thought it was just the sort of thing to attract the attention of Cameron Brae. Did he ever voice any concerns?”
Largemount shook his head. “Not as far as I’m aware. There are many roads to a sustainable planet, Inspector, not all of them compatible. Clean energy is a complex business. There is a delicate balance between energy production and nature conservation. I believe Cameron Brae appreciated this. We are all working toward the same goal, after all. Or rather, we were, poor chap.”
Largemount joined Jejeune at the window and gestured toward the windmills. “I understand the locals didn’t care for ’em much at first, but I’m sure they’ve come around. Clean, quiet, solidly constructed, what’s not to like? I wouldn’t say they’re prettier than a stand of trees, but they’re a damn sight more productive. Each tower can generate over two thousand kilowatt hours per year. Besides, I feel we’ve done what we could to be good neighbours. Chose the light grey paint, least conspicuous under most lighting conditions. Matte finish to reduce reflected glare. That sort of thing.”
Maik doubted that sensitivity to local aesthetics was high on Peter Largemount’s list of priorities. More likely, the light grey matte paint was the one on sale that week. Peter Largemount did not strike him as a man to take the opinion of a few local greenies to heart either, despite the fact that, as Maik understood it, power estimates for wind farms were dodgy at best. For one thing, they were based on constant wind speeds, which, as anybody who lived here would appreciate, was something you couldn’t actually count on in north Norfolk. He said as much now.
“Don’t you believe all that twaddle, Sergeant. Wind power is the future in these parts, and in a big way, too. In fact, within a few months we plan on expanding our operations here.”
Jejeune had been staring out the large windows down at the bay below and had begun to turn away when he paused. Froze would have been Maik’s word.
“Do you have any binoculars — a telescope would be even better, actually.” The chief inspector spoke with the suppressed urgency of a man who is afraid that his excitement might break a spell.
Largemount produced a pair of EL Swarovisions from a shelf and handed them to Jejeune. “Something interesting?”
“I can’t … I think that could be an Ivory Gull down there, feeding on that seal carcass.”
Jejeune took a long look through the binoculars, leaving the other two men to raise their eyebrows at each other in silence. The dazzling clarity of the Swarovskis stunned Jejeune for a second. But it made the identification unequivocal.
“It is. This is astonishing. I can’t believe I’m actually looking at an Ivory Gull.” He continued, commentating the features to himself as he tracked the bird through the binoculars. “Plumage, size, behaviour. It’s all spot on for an Ivory. This is an incredible find!”
The others looked at each other, aware that Jejeune’s zeal had taken the moment beyond flippancy, but unsure now what might constitute a meaningful contribution.
“So, it’s an unusual bird, then, is it, sir?” said Maik at last.
“Incredibly. This is a top, top sighting,” announced Jejeune triumphantly, “possibly a first for this area. Unbelievable. Here, take a look.”
Maik took the bins because he had no real option to refuse. He could see the bird clearly enough. Pure white, with coal black eye. And a hint of something at the tip of its slender black beak. Yellow? Orange? The bird was quite small, Maik would have said, compared to some of the gulls around here. It was sitting on the bloated belly of a dead seal, reaching into the carcass to tug out strands of what, Maik didn’t particularly care to know. A pretty enough bird, with its snow-white plumage brilliant in the bright sunshine, but whether it was worth getting this excited about? Certainly not to him.
He handed the binoculars back to Jejeune, who snatched a quick one-handed look again as he flipped out his mobile phone and began scrolling through the numbers. “I need to report this to the rare bird hotline immediately. I take it you’ll be okay with me revealing the location, Mr. Largemount.”
Largemount’s face darkened. “I’d rather you didn’t, Inspector.”
Jejeune stopped dialing.
“As you know, this area is a mecca for birdwatchers, and consequently they have a significant voice in this community. Someone finds a rarity, and the next thing you know, the government will be shutting down my operation here and designating the property as a reserve or some damn thing.”
Jejeune was still stealing one-handed glances at the bird through the binoculars.
“Expropriations of land are extremely rare, Mr. Largemount, and certainly not for a migratory bird like this. I don’t know the local birding community all that well, of course, but I have to tell you, if the news gets out that there is an Ivory Gull on your property, and you are refusing access, I imagine it will create an incredible amount of resentment.”
“Nevertheless, I would still prefer to protect my privacy. I believe that is my right.” He smiled to rob the words of offence, but it was clear there was no room for negotiation. “Now, Inspector, if there is nothing else, I’m afraid I have a rather busy schedule today. You may, of course, stay and observe the bird yourself for as long as you like.”
Jejeune folded away his phone. “As you wish, Mr. Largemount. But I am required to report the sighting of a rarity like this to the county bird recorder, who will undoubtedly refer it to the British Birds Rarities Committee. I will request that they suppress the details of the location.”
Jejeune took another long look at the bird, until it flitted farther into the cove, where he no longer had the angle to see it. He silently handed the binoculars back to Largemount.
Maik took his time returning to the Range Rover, taking a moment to stroll around on the forecourt, enjoying the sunshine. He looked down again on the grey crop of turbines in the fields below him, their reinforced polyester blades spinning hypnotically. The turbines stretched out to the edge of Largemount’s property in every direction. Right in the centre was the marsh, its outline traced by the pylons so definitively it looked almost as if someone had carved it out with a pastry cutter. On the far side of the property, Maik could see the two widened parking areas along the road, where birders could pull in to view the wetland without trespassing. There were no cars parked there today.
When Maik got back in the vehicle, Jejeune was speaking animatedly into his mobile phone. He didn’t need his years of detective experience to guess who Jejeune was talking to.
“Yes, yes, absolutely convinced. Full adult plumage, no spots at all … the Collins guide. I realize that, but nevertheless, I am quite sure.… No, I haven’t got a camera with me.… That’s right, the beach below Peter Largemount’s property. There is a little cove with a beached seal carcass. It was feeding on that …”
Maik waited patiently until Jejeune hung up.
“Got the local birders riled up?”
“It would, if he would permit the bird line to post it. But from what I’ve just heard, it sounds like the locals wouldn’t exactly be shocked to learn that Largemount was refusing access to his property. He has something of a reputation with them already.”
“You can’t understand some people, can you?” said Maik. “I mean, I’m no birder, but what could it have hurt, especially if this bird is as rare as you say it is, to let a few people come onto his land for a quick look.”
“It would be more than a few. Well into the hundreds, I should think, for a bird like this.”
Maik’s head snapped round.
“Conservatively. When a White-crowned Sparrow turned up at Cley in the winter of 2008, over four thousand people came to see it. Now it was sedentary, so people from Finland, for example, could be fairly sure it would stay around for a while, making their journey a bit less of a gamble. An Ivory Gull is classified as an ‘accidental’ species out her
e, and considered extremely transient. If we are lucky this one may stay around for a couple of days, but I would be surprised at anything beyond that. Still, I would have thought it was well worth a trip from anywhere in the U.K., on the off-chance.”
Anywhere in the U.K.? thought Maik. Finland? He wouldn’t travel to Finland to see a Motown reunion concert. Well, he would, but that was different. Surely. Wasn’t it? Maik, who had encountered more than his share of eccentric behaviour in his time, could now add another arrow to that particular quiver.
He was about to point out that they were driving in the wrong direction when he realized they were heading down to the coast. Jejeune was going to see if he could get out to the promontory to see around the point. Where the bird was.
“Any thoughts?” asked Maik, as the Range Rover lurched over a deep rut in the track, slewing them both violently to one side.
“About what? Oh, Largemount? He’s lying. Why, I’m not sure, but if he didn’t speak to Brae on the night of his death, he was at least aware of his call. You said Brae had called him. You never mentioned that it was in the evening. And anyway, the natural assumption would have been that someone calling at night would have called Largemount’s private number. But he latched straight on to the business line, the number Brae actually called.”
It was a subject that, in Maik’s opinion, probably warranted further discussion. But when they bumped up onto the grassy promontory and parked near the edge, Jejeune grabbed his binoculars and scrambled out of the car almost before Maik realized what was happening. He followed his inspector up a steep path nearby, where he was straining around to look back in toward the beach where it ran below Largemount’s property.
Jejeune’s view of the cove was blocked by high boulders. From here it was impossible to see if the Ivory Gull was still there or not. Maik was by now beginning to get the idea that scrambling over the boulders and down toward the beach was definitely not out of the question for Jejeune. And if he went, Maik would be forced to go with him.
A Siege of Bitterns Page 7