“You won’t be able to get out far enough to see back into the cove,” said Maik. “The headland juts out too far.”
With a sigh and a last, longing glance toward the hidden beach, Jejeune turned and scrambled back down the path toward his vehicle. As his boss was looking over his shoulder to reverse, Maik allowed himself the briefest of smiles. For all he knew, that business about the headland might even be true.
12
Jejeune had hardly stepped through the door of the Saltmarsh Hunt Club before the formidable presence of Largemount materialized by his side.
“Taking some terrific abuse from your mob.” said Largemount by way of an introduction. “Birders,” he said testily, in response to Jejeune’s puzzled look. Largemount was holding what appeared to be a hefty gin and tonic in his hand, sloshing it around as he made his point.
“You told me you would only report it to the county recorder. I’m getting phone calls, texts from all over the place. Good God, is that the way Englishmen speak to each other these days? Even had a couple confront me right on my own driveway as I was heading here this evening. All over this rumour about some bloody seagull.”
Jejeune hardly knew where to start. The word rumour, perhaps, or even seagull. His discretion got the better of him at the last moment.
“As a member of the RSPB, I had a duty to report a sighting of a rare species, especially one with a globally ‘near-threatened’ status. I did request that the location be withheld, but I did tell you at the time that it was an especially significant sighting. Somebody somewhere obviously felt the same. Is the bird still there, by the way?”
“How the hell should I know?” asked Largemount tersely. “I want you to find the idiot who leaked the location. And when you do, you may inform them I intend to initiate legal proceedings against them.”
Despite his bombast, Jejeune sensed that Largemount wasn’t entirely uncomfortable in his role of stage villain. He was, in truth, the kind of personality who would revel in it. Still, he seemed determined to play the aggrieved victim to the hilt.
“I can’t see any sense in bothering Colleen with all this,” he continued, “since you’re already involved, in a manner of speaking. So I can take it you’ll deal with it, can I?”
It was the first time Jejeune had heard anyone refer to the DCS by her first name. Message received and understood.
“Frankly, Mr. Largemount, it could have been anyone at a local level, or on the Rarities Committee. If it came from the RSPB, there are fourteen hundred staff and over a million members who could have leaked this. Trying to track down the source would be a waste of time. Still, you are within your rights to restrict access to your land, and you shouldn’t be getting harassed for it. If you still have any of the correspondence, I’ll have my sergeant check into it.”
“Another bird fanatic, is he?”
“I think you can rely on Sergeant Maik to be impartial, at the very least.”
Perhaps it was Jejeune’s unwillingness to be cowed that urged Largemount to ram the point home still further.
“I’m giving you fair warning. I shall take whatever measures I need to for the protection of my privacy and my property. Let me catch just one of these buggers on my land again … Excuse my language, my dear. Peter Largemount, pleasure to meet you.”
It was Largemount’s first acknowledgement of Lindy’s presence at Jejeune’s side, and Domenic felt the tensing of her hand on his arm. He hoped she wasn’t going to do anything contrary. Like curtsying, for example. It was definitely within her repertoire, if she felt she was being patronized. But tonight, she decided a sweet smile would do. Largemount was a man whose own best attempts at a winning smile still came out like a scowl. He offered one to the couple now and melted off into the mass of evening gowns and black tuxedoes.
“How fortunate that you were duty-bound to report that Ivory Gull to the RSPB like that,” said Lindy archly. “Just think, no one might have ever known you’d seen it, otherwise. Now they have the sighting on record, and your name beside it, too.”
She looked pleased with herself, as she always did on the rare occasions she caught Jejeune in a moment of human frailty. He half expected her to start skipping along beside him at any moment.
“Has it been seen again?” she asked.
Jejeune shook his head. “Not as far as I know. But it has a rotting seal carcass to feed on, so the foul weather offshore might keep it here for a short while, providing it can avoid the avian botulism that is running through the gulls just now.”
“Why, Domenic Jejeune,” said Lindy in a faux-Southern accent, “I do declare, all this sweet-talkin’, it’s enough to turn a young girl’s head.”
DCS Shepherd approached them wearing a gown that was surprisingly flattering. “Domenic. And you must be Belinda. So glad you could make it.” She extended a hand. “DCS Shepherd. Normally, that is. Tonight I’m just Colleen. Would you mind if I borrowed Domenic for a moment? There’s an absolute catalogue of people waiting to meet him.”
Lindy was magnanimous enough to imply that Colleen could have him for as long as she needed him, and she wandered off to find the bar on her own.
Shepherd took Jejeune’s elbow and guided him over toward a distinguished-looking couple who were locked in earnest conversation. She presented her new DCI by name, but left the couple to furnish their own introductions. Jejeune, who had never had much trouble with names and faces, stored them away for future reference.
“Canadian, isn’t it?” said Malford, Dean, ex-something in banking. “Well-liked in these parts. Acquitted themselves admirably during the war.” He held up a mottled hand. “Oh, I know, ancient history now. But the past is still important to some of us out here. People in these parts have long memories.”
If it was a message, Jejeune didn’t have time to dwell on its import because the conversation had moved on to another topic: his own success.
“Popular chap these days, I must say,” said Malford. “To be expected, I suppose, given the Home Office connection, as it were. Still, the praise is well-merited, no doubt about that.”
Sensing Jejeune’s discomfort, Malford’s wife, Emily, swooped in. “How are things in Canada?”
“I don’t really know,” said Jejeune simply. “I only really get back for Christmases and the odd holiday. It’s hard to pick up much of substance at family gatherings.”
“I would have thought the dinner table was the perfect place to take the temperature of a country,” said Malford. “Certainly is at our house.”
“You’ll have to forgive my husband,” said Emily. “He’s become quite evangelical since he worked on Beverly Brennan’s campaign. Politics is all he talks about. And since she swept to power, he’s been quite impossible, I’m afraid.”
“Quite right, too. Breath of fresh air, that woman. Talks a lot of sense. I mean, I’m as much in favour of a bit of green space as the next man, but we can’t stifle the local economy because of it.”
“It’s a funny thing, though, Inspector. I never quite remember him having the same fervor for politics when it was a bunch of crusty old men running for office.”
Malford smiled the smile of an older man still thought capable of mischief. “As if the charms of a pretty woman would sway men like us, eh, Inspector,” he said with a wink. “Perish the thought. Besides, you’ve already got quite a catch already. Journalist, isn’t she? National something? Not with that paper anymore, though, the one she covered your
case for?”
Jejeune was impressed. It wasn’t the sort of detail that would have fallen under casual conversation about the new couple. It was one more thing to keep in mind about these parts.
“She has moved on to another publication. They do more in-depth investigative journalism, you know, the story-behind-the-story.”
The couple’s muted response told Jejeune all he needed to know about how Saltmarsh’s upper crust felt about journalists digging into backgrounds for the story behind the story. In these p
ost–phone hacking days, journalists still had some way to go to win back the public’s trust.
“So how did you come to be over here, anyway?” inquired Emily Malford with a kindly smile. “Canada seems like such a lovely place.”
Jejeune smiled blandly, but in his mind he could still see the friendly face of the police commissioner, feel his avuncular arm around his young shoulders. “You’ve such a bright future in policing, Domenic. This business with your brother, sad as it is, it will hold you back. It shouldn’t do, but it will. Go abroad, that’s my advice, put some distance between you and all this. I shall look forward to watching your career soar.”
“New horizons,” said Jejeune. “You know how it is, greener grass.”
“I do hope you can make a go of it here in Saltmarsh. It’s the isolation, you see. Men rather seem to enjoy the solitude. But for the women, well, being so far from one’s circle of friends can be hard. At first, anyway. Please do invite your … young lady to join us at one of our coffee mornings,” she added.
Jejeune thought he might just do that, if only to watch Lindy’s reaction. He followed Mrs. Malford’s eyes across the room to a nearby group, where Lindy seemed to be making quite an impression with her mostly older, mostly male audience. It was understandable, he thought. But it was not just the white dress, showing off her lithe body and tanned, shapely legs to fabulous effect. Lindy was the youngest woman in the room by at least twenty years and her youthfulness and vibrancy seemed to dance off her like the light from a diamond.
“I must say,” offered Dean Malford, “we would have never expected to have so many celebrities living out here. First old Brae gets himself on the telly, and then that singer woman moves out here, and now there’s you. Back in the old days, about the best we could hope for was a member of the royal staff popping into the local sweet shop if HM was up at Sandringham.”
The conversation swayed on around Jejeune, who listened for cues and responded accordingly without ever completely abandoning his survey of the room. Shepherd returned and he was guided around, hand on elbow, to meet various elements of Saltmarsh’s elite and receive their considered wisdom on local culture, society, and police work. He was beginning to worry that the smile muscles in his cheeks would soon fail him.
Across the room, he saw the local MP, Beverly Brennan, laying her hand on Largemount’s pleated barrel chest as they shared a laugh about something. It was a curiously unguarded gesture from a career politician like Brennan. But then, Peter Largemount was the kind of man who evoked strong emotions in people. He had certainly evoked them in Domenic earlier in the evening. Brennan seemed to sense him watching her and she made her way toward him. Jejeune detached himself from his conversation with an apologetic smile and wandered over to meet her.
Beverly Brennan offered her hand. She was a striking woman, with glittering blue-grey eyes and finely sculpted features. She wore her ashy blond hair drawn up loosely behind her neck, but let down, it would be shoulder length. It would complete what was already an impressive package. After the requisite pleasantries, she got down to business.
“Colleen and I discussed your potential appointment a number of times. We wondered what sort of impact it might have on the area, given the amount of media attention you seem to attract. But I know DCS Shepherd thinks very highly of you, and she fought very hard to bring you on board.”
Beverly Brennan took Jejeune’s silence as a rebuke. “Of course, we welcome anyone who has a genuine contribution to make to our community. It’s just that with most celebrities, I find they can be more of a drain on resources than anything else. Police officers, of course, I would exempt from that statement.”
She turned on her energy conservation smile, maximum wattage from minimal input. The policy statement over, she could now turn to other matters. “I understand you are a birder. You’ll not get the best reports of me from certain quarters, I imagine. They seem to think my support for job creation and the economy in this area signals that I have turned my back on environmental concerns. But I understand the environmental issues rather better than some of my opponents might like to admit. Conservation and prosperity don’t have to be an either/or proposition as far as I’m concerned. There are always areas for compromise. I’m just not convinced that the environmentalists in this area try hard enough to find them.”
Jejeune nodded. He wondered if Largemount had decided to bring in reinforcements, since he had not shown himself to be sufficiently contrite over the Ivory Gull. It was certainly a pointed and forthright warning, but then Beverly Brennan didn’t strike him as the type who would agree to be anybody’s attack dog, so perhaps it was just that she delivered all her views like this. Jejeune seemed to remember that she had been something of an environmental activist in her earlier days. Always on the soft side of radical, but robust enough to get mentioned once or twice in the news reports. If Brennan was as self-assured and forthright in those days, it was little wonder she had attracted her own share of the limelight she now disparaged.
If the MP was waiting for a meaningful response from Jejeune, she was disappointed. He offered some platitudes about the value of compromise in all areas and turned the subject to what the economic future of Saltmarsh looked like from her perspective. It was a subject she warmed to, and it gave him the opportunity to listen politely and continue his appraisal of the room. Even though he was only half listening, Jejeune was struck by the number of references to Brennan’s earlier positions on environmental protection. Is she looking for absolution? he wondered. From me? He had only been here five minutes. Why should his opinion have any special significance?
Brennan finally excused herself and Jejeune went over to where Lindy was holding court, motioning for her to detach herself from her covey of admirers and join him in a corner.
“Having fun?” he asked.
“Terrific, yes, it’s like being trapped in a sixties time warp. Most of these men seem astonished that I actually have a career all of my own. I suppose they think I should be spending my days at home in the kitchen.”
“They’ve obviously not tasted your cooking.”
“What about you, Chief Inspector Jejeune? Where do you think I should be spending my time?”
“Right here by my side,” said Jejeune, who felt it was never too early to start digging out from under a remark like that.
“You spent a long time talking to that MP. I didn’t know you had political aspirations, darling. Or was it just that cute colonial accent that got her meter running?”
“I doubt we have much in common. She’s heavily behind development in these parts. Her idea of compromise seems to involve having the local environmentalists meekly accept whatever mitigation measures are proposed by the developers.”
“Oh dear, and you such a greenie, too. Let that be a lesson to you, young Domenic. People’s politics are not always as attractive as they are. And she is quite a looker, isn’t she? Speaking of which, who’s your dolled-up boss got her eye on?”
“No one, as far as I know. This is supposed to be just a PR thing for her, I think.”
Lindy sighed. “Oh Domenic, you are so thick when it comes to women sometimes. Look at her. Do you really think a woman would go to that much trouble just to shake hands with a few society high-lifes? It must have taken her over an hour to do her makeup alone. She really wants to impress somebody. Not you, is it? You need to be careful, Inspector Jejeune. From what I hear, they’re all at it, this lot. They’re like a bunch of ferrets. It’s a proper little hotbed of hot beds we seem to have landed ourselves in.”
“Business,” said Jejeune. “It’s a business of ferrets.”
He was hardly surprised by Lindy’s revelations. It had always seemed to him that adults fell broadly into one of two categories: those who slept with their own partner, and those who slept with someone else’s. “Bedrooms and boardrooms,” Lindy had once told him, “the nerve centres of our society. But bedrooms most of all.”
“How are you doing, a
nyway?” she asked.
When she had had a drink or two, Lindy had a way of leaning dangerously close. She was doing it now, stroking the silk lapel of Jejeune’s jacket with the palm of her hand in a way that made it very difficult for him to concentrate on what she was saying.
“Well,” he said with a smile frozen on his face for the benefit of passersby. “I’ve spent most of the night listening to people who want me to use my influence with the government for one thing or another. Most of them seem to think I’ve got the PM on speed dial.”
“The Home Secretary did acknowledge a personal debt of gratitude to you, darling. On national TV. That sort of thing hardly goes unnoticed.” Lindy surveyed the room. “You know, if these sorts of events are going to be part of the package from now on, I suppose we’d better get used to it. By the way, I had a nice chat with a lady who writes the local gossip column. She wants to do a piece about our hobbies, but I thought birdwatching and organic cookery seemed a trifle dull for a couple of transplanted urbanites. She’s obviously going to be looking for something a bit spicier. I thought leather porn and crack cocaine. Sound all right to you?”
“Fine.”
This was more like the old Lindy, with her dangerous, buccaneering wildness. It was something Jejeune had seen a lot of in the early days of their relationship, but it had been noticeably absent these last few months. He hoped its resurfacing tonight was a sign of things to come.
13
Domenic Jejeune drove without haste beneath a sky the colour of sorrow. Between the high hedgerows to his left, he could see tantalizing glimpses of the rolling north Norfolk landscape, with its clear, unbroken views to the horizon ‘promising forever’ as Lindy put it. To his right, swollen rainclouds hung low over the sea. The freshening breeze coming in through the Range Rover’s open windows suggested that the storm wouldn’t be long in coming.
A Siege of Bitterns Page 8