A Pitying of Doves (26 page)

L
uisa
Obregón's grey-blue eyes grew slightly wider as she opened the door.

“Sergeant Maik. You have come to tell me these cases are solved, that I and my son are no longer suspects?”

“We believe we know who committed the murders,” said Maik carefully. “There are just a couple of questions … if you don't mind.” He peered behind the woman into the house. He had not seen Gabriel Obregón anywhere around on his approach to the house, and that fact did not fill him with ease.

Luisa Obregón held the door open and invited him in. Filling in the blanks, Jejeune had called it. Now that they had their killer in custody, albeit in a hospital bed, and all the evidence they needed against Jordan Waters, Shepherd would have seen it as just more of Jejeune's pedantry if she had been made aware of Maik's assignment. For that reason, he had let it slip his mind to inform her where he was going today. Danny Maik knew his DCI well enough by now to know that he wouldn't have asked if he was completely satisfied with the way things stood. Something was still bothering Jejeune, and if Maik hadn't figured out what it was yet, that knowledge on its own was enough for him to take his request seriously.

“I hope you have forgiven my son for his earlier behaviour,” she said, leading him through the hallway into the large living room. “He has had no father to show him how a man should behave. His only role models growing up have been movie thugs and Internet game heroes. Perhaps his life would have been different if he had been able to have someone like you to guide him toward manhood.”

Maik had little doubt both of their lives would have been different, but he let Luisa Obregón's observations pass without comment.

“You have questions?” she asked. Whatever they were, she appeared ready to answer them honestly, as if she had nothing to fear from him any longer.

“Your husband's research,” said Maik cautiously, “you mentioned it was to do with doves. He could be surrounded by his work, you said.”

“To do
with
them, yes. But
about
them, no.”

“
Forgive me, but your son's condition, it
's a genetic disorder, I believe?”

Luisa Obregón regarded Maik's face carefully. “Such an intelligent man, Sergeant.”

Not me
, thought Maik.
But the man who wanted me to ask this question, and the one before it? Now there was a clever man
.

She
gestured for Maik to sit, and settled her delicate frame on the big leather couch opposite him
. “
In Urbache Weithe victims, the membrane sheath does not form properly. Something about the DNA codes…. I do not understand
.” She shrugged. “
I know only that it makes my son's life very difficult.” She gave a shake of her long hair, as if to dismiss the thoughts that threatened to engulf her. “
My husband wanted to study the genetic codes of this family of doves. Of course the DNA of birds is quite different from humans, but as part of the superspecies, these doves have only very subtle genetic differences. This is what interested him. He wanted to study closely related gene sequences to see if these differences could be manipulated, repaired somehow. Or controlled.”

Luisa Obregón's everyday English had run hot and cold on a couple of occasions when Maik had interviewed her in the past. But these things, gene sequences, membrane sheaths, superspecies, these she got right. It was the legacy of living with them, he realized, of countless hours of thinking about them, discussing them, reflecting on how they were controlling the lives of her family.

“And originally the Mexican government was happy to fund your husband's work?”

S
he nodded
, her dark hair shimmering in a silken cascade.
“At first, yes.
B
ut then later it became clear that they
wanted to take possession of his research.”

Luisa Obregón sighed slightly, but it was the release of more than just pent-up breath. It was the release, also, of secrets, of lies and deceptions that went back many years. The release of emotions, too, possibly, though there were plenty of those still in her eyes as she continued.

“My husband feared they wanted to use it for their own purposes. Instead of finding a cure for Gabriel's condition, perhaps they would wish to know how to create such a condition in young men. You cannot imagine such evil exists in the world, Sergeant, but it does.”

Maik, who could have probably written a Ph.D. dissertation on the evil that humans were capable of, said nothing. But he did not doubt the truth of Luisa Obregón's words. Armies of young men without the capacity to feel fear was the stuff of science fiction. But anywhere along that scale, any research, for example, that might one day lead to a vaccine to suppress the human fear response, even temporarily, that was something that any military establishment in the world would be interested in. But Maik knew, too, that if the Mexican military had been denied Victor Obregón's research, they would want to make sure no one else was going to get their hands on it either. It explained why Luisa Obregón's telephone conversations were still of interest to them, even after all this time.

“They said if he would not agree to turn over his research, they would end his funding. How could they do this, Sergeant? How could they take away my husband's work, prevent him from looking for a cure for his son's illness? I asked him to agree, to give them what they wanted. But he was such a good man, so decent, so honourable. He said he could not bring himself to do it. I gave him much guilt over this. In the end, too much.”

Maik could see the regret in Luisa Obregón's eyes, and he knew that her black widow's heart was broken in two.

“Gabriel was growing more uncontrollable as the illness progressed. I saw in my husband the frustration that he could do nothing to prevent this. At first, he tried to continue the work on his own, spending hours in the aviary every day, trapping the birds and taking samples from them, anaylzing the results himself. But of course, he could never do all the work he needed to alone. He started spending entire days and nights in there, all the time slipping farther and farther away from me … from us. And then, one day, he was gone. So yes, Sergeant, I do believe the Mexican authorities killed my husband. I do think it was them who left me a widow, who left my son without a father.”

Behind Luisa Obregón, Maik thought he detected a faint shadow, a subtle change in the light falling into the aviary, as if someone was up on the roof. She noticed his furtive glance back toward the plate glass window, but misinterpreted it.

“The Socorro Doves are not here, Sergeant. Once I thought I would have given anything, done anything, to possess them once again. Birds my husband knew, had worked with, had held in his hands. But I would not have bought them from that man, not when I knew he had killed to steal them.”

“Do you know where they are?” asked Maik.

She shrugged. “The world is not kind to the weak and timid, even more so in a strange land. And yet, they survived until now, so perhaps … I would like to think they are alive still, somewhere.”

It had taken the better part of three interviews for Danny to be treated to a smile from Luisa Obregón, but the genuine article, when it finally came, was well worth waiting for. It was a thing of such pained beauty it made his heart seem to skip a beat.

Maik started as he heard a noise. He saw another shadow through the glass of the aviary's roof, clearer now, definite. He stood quickly and began to make his way toward the back door.

“Ms. Obregón, where is your son?”

“He is up there, on the roof of the aviary. There was a leak. Rain was getting in. I have asked him to fix it. I do not want the birds to become ill.”

“He's up there, on the glass? That ribbing will never hold a man's weight. What is he tethered to?” There was urgency in Maik's question, and genuine concern.

“My son uses no safety equipment, Sergeant. He simply climbed up using a ladder.”

“That wet glass will be like ice,” said Maik, his voice rising as he looked for a way to alert Gabriel Obregón to come down. “If he goes off into that ravine, it's a forty-foot drop. Worse, he could come crashing through that glass at any moment.” He turned to her earnestly. “You have to get your son to come down from there, Ms.Obregón. He is in real danger.”

Luisa Obregón looked at Maik with sadness in her eyes. “He will not listen to me, Sergeant, or to you. What is danger if you do not have the capacity to fear it? It is like love — a meaningless word only if you cannot experience it for yourself.”

Maik saw that it was hopeless. He could do nothing but leave Gabriel Obregón on the roof, suspended between life and death, supported only by a membrane of thin, transparent glass.
And yet,
he thought,
perhaps margins like these are all that ever separate any of us from the dangers in our lives.

He drew his eyes from the roofline and found Luisa Obregón looking at him. “I do not know how much longer my son will be able to survive,” she said quietly.

“The illness?”

“Possibly. But it is more likely he will find himself in a situation from which there is no escape. I cannot protect him forever. This I know. I try, but one day he will go somewhere dangerous, as fearless as ever, and he will not return. This will happen, I am sure of it. And when it does, the only memory I will have of my family, of my husband, my beautiful son, of the life we used to have together, will be this aviary.”

“Is that why you wanted the birds? These Socorro Doves?”

“My husband has gone. I have no body to bury, no grave to mourn at. All I have of him is his aviary. I want to rebuild his collection, to have it back as it once was, when he … left. As it was before the storm came and took away all of his birds.”

Maik saw tears appear in her blue eyes. Blue, the recessive gene, he remembered, from some long-ago biology class. And here it was, having battled all those generations of dark genes in her native heritage and emerged victorious. The tenacity of Luisa Obregón, the survivor, on display for all to see.

“You are a good man, Sergeant. You care so much about the welfare of others.” Her expression morphed into one of pain and regret. “This man who was killed at the sanctuary, Ramon Santos, he was married?”

Maik nodded.

“His wife will never recover. To lose a husband to divorce or infidelity, somewhere back behind your heart, you know he is still there, maybe there is even a hope he will return. But to have a man you love taken away from you forever …” She faltered, and tears started to her eyes again. “Her life will never be as it was. Although I have never met this woman, my heart is full of sorrow for her. Please tell her this.”

Danny nodded ruefully. “I won't be seeing her myself, but I will make sure it is passed on.”

She knew he would.

T
hough
it was still early morning, the shimmering surface of distant Caribbean glittered in the intense sunlight. They had risen at first light to make the long drive up into the hills again. From the Jeep's passenger seat, Lindy took in the sights and sounds of a country still awakening. She watched the stalls being opened and produce being meticulously arranged, and she caught the smell of coffee and fresh baked goods hanging tantalizingly in the morning air.

The sun had already climbed above the highest of the horizon lines by the time they pulled into the car park and headed out along a trail that led down to a wide inland lake. They found Traz standing at the edge of the water, looking as neat and dapper as the day before. He was bending to peer through a telescope set up on a tripod, but he seemed to sense their approach.

“We can head up into the hills in a few minutes,” he said without taking his eye from the scope. “I'm just finishing up some population counts, doing a bit of citizen science in my spare time. It's a good spot here.” He straightened up and indicated the flat expanse of glistening water in front of them, where dark shapes were scattered out as far as the eye could see.

“Anything special?” asked Jejeune.

“Green Heron, Greater Yellowlegs, a few Northern Shovelers.”

“All of which I might see on a stroll around Sam Smith Park in Toronto,” said Jejeune with mock distain.

“But not in such erudite and charming company.”

Lindy laughed and asked Traz about his counting.

“Today will just be estimates. You get an eye for it over time. See that colony of Laughing Gulls resting on the mud over there, for example. How many would you say?”

Lindy took a quick look. “Twenty or so.”

Traz looked at Jejeune.

“Thirty five?”

“Not bad,” Traz conceded. “Probably just over forty.”

Lindy looked surprised. “Really? That many?” She took a moment to count. Forty-two.

“How about that congregation of Black-bellied Plovers coming in now?” he asked. He turned to Domenic. “Or Grey Plovers, as you no doubt refer to them now your British citizenship has come through.”

Lindy shielded her eyes from the glare as she tracked the group of birds speeding in over the water. They flew in an astonishingly tight formation, all but disappearing from view at times as they twisted and swooped almost as one, until the silvery light caught them again as they banked at a new angle.

“I would have said at least sixty,” she pronounced confidently.

“Probably closer to a hundred. The tendency is usually to underestimate, the more so if they are on the wing. I've seen some seasoned birders get numbers spectacularly wrong.” He stopped suddenly. “Wait,” he said dramatically, holding a hand to his head and staring up into the sky, as if communing with some higher power, “I sense that, in a moment, all these birds shall rise as one.”

On cue, the birds lifted from the water and began a slow, lazy spiral around the lake, swirling in the air in a majestic ballet of gently beating wings.

“How on earth could you predict that?” asked Lindy in astonishment.

“Being out here,” said Traz solemnly, “I have acquired the ability to connect spiritually with nature in a way that city folks like you simply cannot comprehend.”

Jejeune rolled his eyes and Traz laughed out loud. “Plus of course, I saw that Peregrine coming in. It landed on that tree over there. C'mon, let's go find some forest birds.”

The foliage around them was alive with birdsong as they hiked up the trail into the forest. Traz looked around and smiled appreciatively. “Plenty of noise,” he said. “Always a good sign. You take point, JJ. The birds often hang over the trail at this time in the morning and I get the feeling Lindy won't be quite as heartbroken if she dips on something you scare back into the undergrowth.”

Lindy smiled. Was her lack of interest really so evident? Was it the way she trudged along the trail, rather than bouncing forward on the front foot like Dom, his body as taut and tense as a golden retriever about to be let off the leash? Or perhaps it was the way she kept her eyes on Traz as she was speaking to him, rather than having them flit all around the skies and trees surrounding them as they conducted their conversation. Either way, Traz's easy smile showed that there was no judgment in the comment, only perhaps a gentle amusement that two such obviously mismatched hikers should be with him here on the path this morning.

Jejeune set off at a leisurely pace, scanning the treetops around him, peering into thickets, immersing himself in his environment. Lindy saw his joy at being out here, birding in this wilderness, with nothing else to care about.
This is who he is,
she thought sadly,
all he will ever be.

“So, this case you're working on,” said Traz, “those birds that were stolen, they were an island species? Endemics?”

Jejeune nodded. “Socorro Doves. They're from an island off the coast of Mexico. Why, do you know of them?”

Traz shook his head. “I've barely even heard of them, but one of the guys I work with down here is an island endemics expert. That's why he's here. I could ask him.”

“Couldn't hurt,” said Jejeune, “especially if he's heard anything unusual about their genetic makeup.” A thought seemed to strike Jejeune, completely out of the blue. “I was wondering, Traz, this research you do yourself, does any of it involve stable isotope studies?”

Lindy didn't know how long it had been since Traz had heard Dom's attempts at casual disinterest, but she was betting even he could pick up that the question wasn't entirely as unimportant as Domenic was trying to make it out to be.

With Traz behind him in the line, Jejeune couldn't see his friend shake his head. “It would take a long time to establish a program like that,” he said. “You could come armed with all the previous data you like, but to do any kind of isotope research effectively you need to know the land, really know it, know which isotopes were accumulating where and under what conditions, what synergies were going on between them, external influences, weather patterns.”

Jejeune was quiet for a few moments, only the sound of his hiking boots crunching over the leaf litter breaking the silence.

“You have to realize,” said Traz, “not everywhere is like Canada or the U.K., where things are open and on record and government legislation is for the most part observed without question. People in other places aren't always keen on foreigners coming in and prying into their business. Maybe they don't want to tell you what fertilizers they are using these days, maybe the local government doesn't even want you to be taking soil samples, in case you find something nobody wants to talk about.” Traz shrugged. “It takes time to build those relationships on the ground — a long time. Okay, this is a good spot,” he said, stopping suddenly at a space with a view over the densely forested hills below. He peeled off his day pack and sat down on the edge of the trail, letting his legs dangle over the side. Lindy followed suit. There was not a breath of wind, just silence, a peace in which Lindy fancied she could hear the beating of her own heart.

“I'm going on up ahead a little way, see what I can find,” said Jejeune.

“Knock yourself out,” Traz called after him. “I'll shout if anything interesting drops in back here.”

They watched him until he had disappeared around a bend in the trail and off into the thick curtain of green.

“So, is he the same as you remember him?” asked Lindy.

Traz considered the question seriously. “A little more subdued maybe. That boy who died, when he found that politician's daughter, that sort of thing would stay with the Domenic Jejeune I knew.”

“He doesn't say much,” said Lindy, “but he still thinks about it. It was getting better, I think …”

“Until this new kid, Waters?” Traz saw Lindy's expression of surprise. “I try to follow his cases as much as I can. Whatever you do, don't tell him, though,” he said with a lopsided grin.

Lindy nodded. “Waters was about the same age. Dom's not conflicted over his death, particularly, but it brought back, you know, memories … I think.… I don't know,” she said uncertainly. “He doesn't talk about it much.”

“That sounds like our boy.”

“But something else has been bothering him since he's been here. He seems on edge sometimes, uneasy. He even seemed a bit reluctant to come here in the first place, and he's had me book everything — the hotel, the car — in my name.”

From up on the trail, they heard the sound of Dom's footfalls returning. Traz turned as he came into sight. “Maybe he's just worried about the media following him around if they find out he's here. He's a pretty well-known guy these days. YouTube, the Net. It could be that.”

Lindy didn't know if Traz had a girlfriend, but if he did, she certainly hoped he didn't try to deceive her very often. He was even worse at it than Dom. Well, as bad anyway.

“Oh, hey,” said Traz suddenly. “Looks like Dom's on something up there.”

He got to his feet and quickly crossed to the far side of the trail, where he joined Domenic near the edge of a steep drop-off. The two men began staring intently across the valley through their binoculars. Possibly Dom had found something of note. But Traz spent his days in these forests, and had undoubtedly seen most things here a hundred times. So he must have thought Domenic was on something pretty spectacular indeed. Unless there was another reason he had found it necessary to interrupt his conversation so abruptly and put some distance between him and Lindy.

J
ejeune was quiet on the drive back. Though they had enjoyed a good day of birding — productive, Dom called it — they had not seen the St. Lucia Parrot, or St. Lucia Amazon, as Traz corrected them. He had heard one calling far off, deep in the forest, and Traz had pointed it out to them. Dom had sportingly pretended it was enough. But he had fooled no one. Looking at the studious intensity on his face as he negotiated the winding mountain roads, Lindy wondered if there might be something else on his mind, though.

As she began to shrug off her hiking things in the cool comfort of the air-conditioned room, Jejeune walked out onto the balcony and stood staring out at the sea. Lindy joined him and handed him a cold beer from the bar fridge. They sat on their cane chairs, cradling beers and listening to the warm evening breeze stirring the fronds of the palm trees below. Lindy put her bare feet up on the balcony rail.

“So, what do you think of Traz?” asked Jejeune.

It was his way of saying he didn't want to talk about anything else, and Lindy didn't push it. There was no point in spoiling a beautiful Caribbean evening. “I like him,” she said. “He's fun. Plus, of course, he's so clean. I don't think I've ever seen anyone who managed to stay so neat and tidy.”

Jejeune laughed. “Yeah, he's always been like that, even in college. He's just one of those people that dirt never seems to stick to.”

“It's good to see you two together,” she said simply.

Jejeune swigged on his beer and nodded. “Yeah, it's nice to see him doing so well down here.”

He fell silent, staring out over the sea again. On the horizon, the sky was turning a spectacular shade of orange as the sun bade the island goodbye for another day. But Domenic's gaze seemed to rest far short of the sunset, somewhere in the middle distance. He was thinking about what Traz had said, she knew, about the knowledge of the
place
, for which all the research and learning and studying could not substitute. It would take a long time to acquire that knowledge — time Domenic no longer had.

Lindy took his hand and squeezed it gently. “Is everything okay?”

He smiled at her. “A cold beer and a sunset like this?”

“And me,” added Lindy.

“And you,” agreed Jejeune. “Apart from a St. Lucia Amazon sighting, what else could a man possibly ask for?”