A Pitying of Doves (27 page)

M
aik
had brought Tony Holland along, not so much for company but because he thought Holland's past connection with the family might come in handy when he spoke with Jordan Waters's mother. As before, he had made no mention to DCS Shepherd of where he was going, and he had been equally forgetful about informing Holland whose errand they were on. They had driven out together in Maik's Mini, chatting amicably enough until the moment when Holland had asked the name of the song that was playing.

“‘Heatwave,'” said Maik.

“I heard my granddad mention this one,” said Holland. “It was one of his favourites. He loved all those old Ethel Merman show tunes.”

With a consummate wind-up artist like Holland, you could never be sure whether he had genuinely confused Martha Reeves's doo-wop classic with the 1930s Irving Berlin song. But to even compare Pistol Allen's driving backbeat and Mike Terry's scintillating sax work with a ditty about a can-can dancer who started a heatwave by letting her seat wave was enough to cause Maik to give Holland one of his special stares. They had completed the rest of the journey in silence.

“Anthony,” Mrs. Waters had said in surprise when she answered the door, “it's good of you to stop by. Come in. Let me get you and your friend a nice cup of tea.”

Which is why Tony Holland and his friend were now sitting side by side on a chintz sofa in a tiny room at the front of the house, waiting for this small, huddled woman to reappear from the kitchen where she had gone,
popped
was her word, to put the kettle on.

Danny Maik was comfortable being the lead at a questioning. Basically, he thought wryly, all you had to do was think about Detective Chief Inspector Domenic Jejeune's technique and do the opposite. Sit still, pay attention, and ask questions. But Maik didn't mind giving Tony Holland a bit of leeway in this interview, either. Holland was, after all, well acquainted with Mrs. Waters, even if he hadn't realized until now quite how well acquainted.

She returned with tea and an assortment of biscuits arranged on a floral plate with a chip in the rim.
Even at times like this,
thought Maik,
even in her grief, such care, such kindness.

“I'm glad you came, Anthony,” she said pouring the tea and handing them their cups. The two policemen cradled them as they looked for a place to set them down. The cups were the same pattern as the plate. Perhaps the saucers had not survived the journey down through the ages.

Mrs. Waters seemed not to notice. She settled back into her worn, overstuffed armchair with its quilted blanket draped over the back, and stared blankly into the empty fireplace. “At a time like this, it's nice to remember the good days.” She turned to Maik. “Thick as thieves, the two of them were, Sergeant, back in the day. Of course, they drifted apart later on, when Anthony joined the police, but for a time, they were a proper couple of cowboys. Just lads being lads, though, I suppose.”

Holland looked uncomfortable. He turned to take in the room, frozen in a time from another era. It would have looked like this back then, guessed Maik; such a comfortable, normal base of operations for two young cowboys to launch two such divergent careers.

“I hear you have arrested the man who took our poor Jordan.” She shook her head and looked at Maik through watery grey eyes from which all anger had long since gone. Now there was only sorrow, and a strange kind of sadness mixed with bewilderment. “How could anybody do it? Will you ask him that for me? This man. Will you look him in the eyes and ask him how he could do something like this?”

She seemed to sense Maik's compassion, his ability to share her loss, however slightly, as someone who, too, had seen young men buried before their time.

“Those questions will be asked as part of the formal arrest and charge process,” said Maik, tempering the formality of the words with just the right amount of personal investment. “We still have a couple of other matters to clear up, if you feel up to it.”

She seemed surprised “About our Jordan? I'm afraid he didn't tell me very much about what was going on in his life, but anything I can do to help.”

“Did your son happen to mention that he might be coming into some money soon, anything like that?”

Mrs. Waters shook her head. “Not in so many words. He did ask me if I still wanted to see Athens before I died. He said he was going to take me. Just me and him, he said, the two of us together.” She paused for a moment. “I would have liked that,” she said, nodding to herself. “We never had a proper holiday together. And now we never shall.” A flicker of sadness crossed her features. She was rocking back and forth in her chair, Maik realized, the movement so slight it was barely noticeable. “But how was he going to manage that on his money? Still, you know Jordan, Anthony, always the dreamer.” Not for the first time, her eyes flickered toward the doorway, watching for a son who would never walk through it again.

“What did Jordan do when he wasn't working at the sanctuary, Mrs. W?” asked Holland. “Where did he spend his time?”

“He was mostly down that club the two of you used to hang out at. They've reopened it now, you know. They call it
The Retro
, whatever that means.”

“
Retro
,” said Holland. He shook his head. “My youth, somebody else's nostalgia. Now I know how the sarge must feel when
Downton Abbey
comes on.”

He offered a cheeky grin at Maik, whose own expression suggested that while he wouldn't be wholly opposed to the idea of Holland giving up his day job, he probably shouldn't do it for a career in comedy.

“Don't you pay any attention to him, Sergeant. That's how they are these days. No respect for their elders.” But it was all said with a kindly smile, one which morphed into soft sorrow as a thought visited her briefly. “Jordan was just the same, bless him. But he didn't mean anything by it. He was a good boy at heart, Anthony. You know that. A bit wild, but a good boy at heart.”

Holland shook his blond locks. “No, he wasn't, Mrs. W. We had some good times together in those early days, but if there was ever any trouble around, Jordan would find it. Or vice versa. Jordan was a lot of things, Mrs W., but he was never a good boy.”

A flash of pain crossed her features. “No, you're right. But it wasn't all his fault. He never had much of a father. He was hardly ever around, and when he was, he was not a good influence on young Jordan.”

Holland nodded in agreement. “You know, I never really cared for Mr. Waters.”

“Nor did I, truth be told,” said Mrs. Waters. “He was a bad one, and I suppose the apple never falls far from the tree. But this business the police suspect Jordan of, you know he would never harm a girl, Anthony, you know that.”

Holland was silent, but he couldn't resist a sidelong glance at Danny.

“Jordan never mentioned that he was seeing an older woman, did he?” asked Maik. “He never came home with any presents, carvings, wood sculptures, anything like that?”

Mrs. Waters shook her head, bemused. “No. I don't think he was, well, attracted to older women.”

Maik nodded, mentally checking off the last item on the list Jejeune had given him.

“I think he really liked that girl he worked with, to tell you the truth,” said Mrs. Waters. “I could tell by the way he talked about her. Who knows, if he had met her earlier, instead of running about all over the place…. Well, look who I'm talking to. The two of you were as bad as each other. This should make you think, Anthony, about that lifestyle of yours. It's not healthy, and besides, what kind of a future is there in it, running around from one girl to the next all the time?”

Maik stirred uneasily but Holland made a point of ignoring his sergeant's presence. “I had one mom, thanks, Mrs. W.,” he said with more than a touch of bitterness. “She wasn't much good at it, but one was enough.”

Maik, who had found something in his notebook to occupy his attention during the exchange, decided now might be a good time to give Constable Holland a few moments to recover himself. He thanked Mrs. Waters for her help and left to wait outside.

He was leaning by the Mini, fiddling with a side mirror that didn't need any attention, when Holland emerged from the house. He didn't meet the sergeant's eyes for a moment and Danny waited until Holland had regained his composure. This being Holland, it didn't take long.

“This Jordan Waters, you didn't say you knew him that well, Constable.”

“I did, Sarge,” said Holland simply. “More than once. It's just that nobody was listening.”

“Well enough to think he was incapable of murder.” It wasn't a question, but Holland treated it with his customary wariness just the same. When you didn't know where Danny Maik was going, it was a good idea to leave your options open.

“I would have said
no
. I realize everything points that way: the fingernail, the phone call. I can't just ignore all the evidence. I'd be as bad as…. But murder?” He shook his head. “I know you've heard it all before, Sarge, but I don't see it. It's not in him to murder anybody.”

Not murder, perhaps,
thought Maik.
But killing; now that's a different thing.
To protect someone, to save the one you love, everyone's got that in them, somewhere deep down inside. Anybody could kill, if the motivation was strong enough.

Holland took Maik's silence as disapproval. “It does sound like he had a buyer lined up for the birds, though. That trip to Athens and all. Although, let's just say, if Jordan Waters was going to Greece, I doubt he would have left a forwarding address. Take his mother as cover to avoid any suspicion, send her back alone after a couple of weeks and disappear among the Ouzo and bronzed bodies on the local beaches. Now that sounds more like the Jordan Waters I knew.”

Maik stood for a moment beside the car. He had gotten Inspector Jejeune most of his answers, but none of them seemed to have any impact on the overall outcome of the case. Only one more question remained. But the answer to that one, he suspected, might change things a lot.

D
anny
sat across from Lauren Salter in the pub. Even though it was a beautiful spring morning outside, he had chosen this inside table, in a quiet corner, tucked away near a window.

“So,” said Salter brightly. “It looks like it's all wrapped up, then.”

Danny took a slow draw on his beer, “It looks that way.”

“It didn't turn out to be Maggie, after all.” It was a simple statement, obvious, unnecessary. But Salter meant something more by it, and Danny understood. How could they have ever considered a frail little thing like Maggie Wylde as having the strength to shove Phoebe Hunter onto that branch with enough force to impale her? Maggie, now dribbling into her soup in a secure facility, waiting for her court date on a charge of assaulting a police officer, so she could tell the judge how much she loved her babies and wanted them back. It was a sign of how desperate they had been to solve this case in the beginning, all of them, for their different reasons. And now it was over. But if so, why was this unregistered phone burning a hole in Danny's pocket, waiting for Jejeune's call?

Maik reached for his beer glass and spun it slowly. He spoke without raising his eyes. “Constable … Lauren, I've got something to talk to you about.” He paused. Was he waiting for her to say something, encourage him on? Salter's uncertainty kept her silent.

“The thing is, for some of us ex-military types, relationships can be difficult. Some take to it like ducks to water, of course. Great husbands, great dads, but for others it's just not that easy.” He was looking around the pub now, at the comings and goings of the mid-morning traffic. Why was it so difficult for him to look at her? Was it because of what he was leading up to, what he was going to say next? Salter's heart jolted. Her mouth felt dry.

“The thing is, being in the military, it can give you a bit of a different view of things. You learn to see things on more of a day-to-day basis. Grab what you can now in case it gets taken away from you tomorrow. It's the same with relationships.
Carpe femina
, I heard Guy Trueman call it once.” For the first time, Maik looked at her. He tried a grin that didn't quite come off, but Salter met him half way.

Carpe femina
.
Tony Holland would like that,
she thought. Though he'd want it translated into English —
seize the skirt
or something like that. But where was Danny going with this?

She reached for her wine but thought better of it. She would just sit still and wait. Hope. Pray.

“As you can see, I'm not much good at this sort of thing,” said Maik. He took a long time taking a drink of his beer.

“No, Sarge … Danny, you're doing fine.”

Why did she have to wear this ratty old two-piece today? She should have dressed up a bit, a nice blouse and skirt. If only she'd known.

Her heart was pounding as if it might explode out of her chest. She could hardly breathe. Danny was staring at his hands splayed out on the table in front of him. Scarred, battle-hardened hands that had protected him from who knew what horrors. She looked at them, too.
Would they be capable of tenderness?
she wondered.

All at once she was thirteen again, sitting across from Ashley Morgan in the park, spotty, gangly Ashley Morgan, waiting for him to stop faffing about and get to the part where he invited her to go to the dance with him, so she could smile and say yes and set her heart free to sing with joy.

Come on, Danny, get to the part you brought me here for. Ask! We can work out the fine print later.

“As I say, even if we want to get into a relationship, some of us, we might not know how to go about it properly. Things could get messy, even if there was no intent.” He raised his head again but turned to stare out of the window beside them. “Guy Trueman, for example,” said Danny quietly, not looking at her. “I'd trust him with my life, but in a relationship with someone I cared about …” He shook his head.

Guy Trueman? Why were they talking about Guy Trueman?

Salter searched her memory for any hint she may have given that she was interested in Trueman. She was staring at Danny now, unable to unlock her gaze from him. But he didn't notice, couldn't notice. He was still staring out the window.

“Guy and the DCS are starting to see a lot of each other.” Maik held up a hand as if to ward off an objection. “I'm not saying there's anything in it, or that it will lead anywhere, but, well, she's not had the best of luck with her leading men in the past.”

Finally, he looked at her, a wan smile on his face. Salter continued to stare at him, smiling back, showing nothing of an internal landscape turning to dust as empires of dreams collapsed in on themselves.

“I was wondering if you could have a quiet word with her, just to put her on guard a bit. I wouldn't normally go anywhere near anything like this, as you know, but … I just wouldn't want to see anybody get hurt.”

Too late for that, Danny, much too late for that.

But Constable Lauren Salter just sipped on her drink and smiled easily at this clumsy ex-military type who had just casually carpet-bombed her emotions.

“Relationship counselling, Sargeant Maik? Bit of a new line for you, isn't it?” It sounded like the voice of another person, distant, frail. “Sure, Sarge, leave it with me.” She drank her wine again, drained it. “I'd better be getting back.”

She left hurriedly, taking her crushed hopes and her trampled dreams with her, to a place where even an Extra Super Power Hug from Max might not be enough to mend a broken heart tonight. And if Davy Salter walked past her bedroom later that evening and noticed her sadness, how was he to know that it wasn't the flashbacks of her attack now, or her accident with the van? How was he to know that his little girl's anguish was coming from a completely different cause this time?

Maik was sipping his beer thoughtfully, musing about Salter's sudden need to depart in such a hurry, when his phone rang. It was Jejeune. The men didn't waste much time on pleasantries. Maik started slowly. He knew what he had found, but he didn't know what it meant. Not yet, though he suspected he soon would.

“No record of any car rental at all, not even as far out as Norwich. And Nyce didn't borrow one from any of his friends, either. I checked. So what now?”

There was a silence for a moment from Jejeune's end. “We need to stop DCS Shepherd from bringing a charge of murder against Nyce,” he said finally.

Maik's own silence suggested that it might be a touch difficult. “She has his confession,” he said eventually. “With respect, sir, she's going to need something more than just your say so before she's willing to give that up. Especially in this case.”

“David Nyce's car was already in our pound when Waters was murdered. He had no way of getting all the way out to the Obregón property, and certainly no way to have driven away after, thinking about how he had just murdered somebody. Nyce was never at the scene of Waters's murder. It was Constable Salter he saw, at Carter's Bridge. It was
that
scene he was watching, probably from that hill to the west. He must have seen Salter being loaded into an ambulance and thought it was Waters. With the fret, the fog around, he couldn't have had a clear view from any great distance, so he just pieced together what he thought had happened.”

Across the miles, Maik nodded to himself. And after, Nyce had retired to his cottage, gone dark, as they said in the military these days, off the grid. He would not have heard any news updates about the incident at Carter's Bridge. Or Waters's murder. His only truth would be that which he thought he already knew.

“Remember his question to us? ‘Will the charge be murder?' He thought whoever had been taken away in that ambulance had died later, of his injuries. And he thought it was Jordan Waters.”

Maik did remember that question, the strange cadence of it, and the unusual syntax. Now, isolated like this, it seemed so bloody obvious. But at the time, it had been just a few more words in a miasma of others. Only Jejeune could have picked them out of that jumble and found their significance.

“There's something else, too. Nyce told me that he hadn't planned to kill Waters, but the killer took a large knife.”

“Nyce has a pretty powerful motive for lying, sir. He was trying to duck a charge of premeditated murder.”

“Not when he was on the ledge,” said Jejeune. “He was expecting to die. He was dictating his suicide note to me. I just can't see why anybody would lie under circumstances like that.”

There was another long pause. “Shepherd might buy it,” conceded Maik carefully. “But she won't be happy. Not unless you have someone else in mind to offer her in exchange?”

Jejeune was silent for a long time. “Not yet,” he said finally. “But I believe I will have soon.”