A Pitying of Doves (28 page)

D
omenic
Jejeune was quiet as they followed the narrow, winding road up into the hills. Up here, away from the tourist facilities that fringed the island's coastline, life in St. Lucia took on a more pragmatic edge. Village after village appeared along the fringes of the road, as if they had sprung up from so much broadcast seed. Each bore the scars of the harsh reality of trying to eke out a living in the hinterland of a tropical paradise.

Lindy knew that, for once, Dom's silence was not because he was thinking about the case. Traz had passed sentence on Dom's dream, and he was coming to terms with it. She had woken in the night and seen him sitting out on the balcony, tipped back in the cane chair with his feet on the railing. He was sitting perfectly still, just staring out over the black sea into the darkness, into nothing. The brave sadness of a man watching something precious disappear. They should discuss it, she knew. It needed to be talked about. She didn't want to spoil their holiday, but not to acknowledge something this big seemed awkward, ridiculous, not at all how serious partners went about handling difficult subjects.

She turned on the radio; the local news channel in English. It was the standard fare of human commerce everywhere — unfairness, inequality, injustice. And behind it all somewhere, a plea for someone to put it all right.

“Can you find any music?” asked Jejeune pleasantly.

So quickly?
she thought.
To put it behind him?
Perhaps he had known all along, in his heart of hearts. Perhaps he just needed to hear it once, from someone he trusted, before he was prepared to let it go. But if he was going to put his disappointment behind him for the moment, to get on with the business of relentlessly enjoying the rest of their holiday, then so would she. They could discuss his broken dreams later, once they returned home, once paradise was no more than a memory.

They found Traz standing on the edge of the car park. “Morning,” he said. “You might want to check that trail down there,” he told Jejeune, pointing. “I heard a couple of interesting things on the way in.”

With a look at Lindy and a smile, Jejeune set off down the track. “Come on,” said Traz. “There's something I want to show you while he's off chasing the avifauna of St. Lucia.”

They climbed a steep path that led up off the main trail, the stones still slick with the early-morning moisture. It required concentration and neither of them spoke until they reached the top. They emerged into a small clearing. It was like a stage, no more than twenty feet in diameter. All around them dense green vegetation crowded in, so much so that Lindy couldn't even see the trailhead they had just stepped off. But out in front of them there was a gap in the foliage and the vista was open. Far below in the distance a tiny blue bay glittered in the sunshine.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” said Traz. “That's St. Francis's Bay down there. The only way in or out is by boat. Hardly anybody knows about it. I try to keep it that way.”

“But you'd share your secret with Dom, of course,” said Lindy, looking out over the landscape. “Just like he'd share his secrets with you.” She realized that if ever there was going to be a window into Domenic's past, it would be here, with his good friend, in this exotic place, with its island rhythms and its tropical cadences so different from the orderly elegance of the north Norfolk coast and its polite restraint and its decorum and its careful observations of other people's privacy. It would be here she would need to push for answers. Here or nowhere.

“I don't know him like I used to,” said Traz guardedly. He turned to look at the trees behind them, or anywhere, it seemed, that wasn't Lindy's eyes. “It's been a long time, you know, a lot has happened to both of us. All I can tell you is, if it was me and I found myself in the middle of something good, I wouldn't want to risk losing it. I mean, I wouldn't want something that happened in the past to be a problem.”

“You mean his brother, don't you? What happened, Traz?”

He looked at her finally. “Look, Lindy. It's not my place. All I can tell you is he got himself into some trouble down here.”

“Here in St. Lucia?”

“Here, Peru, a couple of other places in between.” Traz held up a hand. “Nobody thinks Dom was involved, but the Jejeune name, it doesn't have the greatest pedigree in this part of the world.”

She nodded. It had been there, she recognized now, in that first greeting. She had a good ear for such nuances, honed by years of interviews with subjects, when the truth was evasive, masked by other things. And if she had wondered at the time whether she had just imagined it, she was convinced now that she had not. What the hell are you doing
here
? Traz's question, the emphasis on the last word, not the pronoun. Not a surprise that Domenic had appeared, but that he had come here, to this place of such painful associations for him?
And I brought him here,
she thought.
Why on earth didn't he say anything?

“If he hasn't talked about it to you, I suppose he just wants to be sure he's not going to be judged on the basis of his brother's actions, that's all.”

“He should bloody well know that already,” said Lindy, anger rising within her.

“Maybe,” said Traz reasonably, “but it's not like it hasn't happened before.”

Lindy looked at Traz, but his eyes were fixed on the landscape again. There would be no more, she knew. He had gone as far as his kind of friendship would allow, perhaps farther. It would be up to her to take it from here. If she wanted to. If she dared to.

They stood for a few moments more, looking out at the view, though neither was really seeing it anymore. Then they began to scramble back down the steep path. Jejeune was waiting for them at the bottom. “Antillean Crested Hummingbird, Grey Trembler, and Pearly-eyed Thrasher,” he announced with a grin. “A grackle, as well. I suspect Carib rather than Greater Antillean.”

“Ya think?” asked Traz with heavy sarcasm.

Jejeune looked perplexed.

“St. Lucia's in the Lesser Antilles. The Greater Antillean Grackle is found in, well, the clue is kind of in the name.”

Lindy loved the way Traz bantered with Domenic. He was the first person she had ever met who was not in awe of his intellect in some way, who didn't seem to revere his intelligence or his knowledge. Domenic Jejeune was, to Traz, just a friend from college, and that seemed to suit them both. Perfectly.

“Are you this good with the birds of north Norfolk?” asked Traz with a smile. “Maybe I should come over and give you a hand.”

“You'd love it,” said Jejeune. “It has some of the widest, emptiest beaches you'll ever see, and the skies can throw you a million different moods. And the bird life, Traz. It's incredible. Tens of thousands of Knots, as many Pink-footed Geese. When they take off against a red sunrise, words can't do it justice. It's as amazing as anything I've ever seen.”

This is a man talking about a home he loves,
thought Lindy
, a place he wants to stay.
Dom was trying so hard to be that person today, to want to be there forever and never go off on research trips to Africa. But even if he couldn't quite sell the sincerity yet, she loved him so much for trying that she thought her heart would burst.

“I talked to my friend last night,” said Traz. “He didn't know much about Socorro Doves, but that island sounds like a pretty interesting place. I guess they're into a pretty heavy eradication program out there.”

“Just as you predicted,” said Lindy, all joy now, despite the heat and the humidity and the troubling shadow of Traz's revelations. “Clever old you.” She turned to Traz. “Dom said they'd try to get rid of the cats and rats to save the other endemics.”

“Not just rats and cats, though. Sheep and goats, too.”

“Farm animals?” asked Lindy, “What's wrong with these people, nothing else left to kill out there?”

But Jejeune was staring at Traz with an intensity that she recognized all too well, and Lindy was aware she had missed something important.

“Sheep and goats?” he confirmed.

Traz nodded. “I could have told them they're probably wasting their time, but strangely, the Mexican conservation authorities didn't think to consult some nobody bird researcher working in the middle of the Caribbean about any of this.” He shrugged. “Their loss.”

Jejeune was quiet for a moment, and Lindy and Traz stood on either side of him on the trail in an awkward, suspended silence. But she knew. Whatever it was that Jejeune had heard in Traz's report, Lindy knew it had made a difference.
The
difference. Dom had put things together and now he would hone in on his target like an arrow. Nothing else would matter — not birds, not St. Lucia, not his brother's past. How could Dom say this was not his calling, when the solution to a case consumed him so completely like this?

Jejeune had taken out his phone and was holding it aloft as he headed for a clearing on the edge of the trail. “Any chance of a signal up here?”

Traz shrugged. “On a good day, with the winds blowing in the right direction and the clouds just so, maybe the faintest signs of life. Otherwise, the only bars you're going to get out here serve cold beer, and the nearest one of them is about a mile away.”

Jejeune returned and turned to Lindy. “We have to go. Come on.” He flapped a hand at Traz as he hurried away down the trail. “Take care, Traz.” A thought seemed to strike him and he stopped so suddenly Lindy almost bumped into him. He returned and extended a hand. “It's been, you know …”

Traz nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

J
ejeune
did not wait to get back to the hotel. He drove with the phone in his hand as he gripped the steering wheel, risking a brief glance whenever the steep, winding road down the mountainside straightened out for a moment. As soon as he saw bars appear, he pulled over into a small siding and dialled.

Danny Maik answered on the second ring.

“What do you see when you look around you, Sergeant?”

“The dashboard of my Mini. Cars parked around me. Constable Holland sneaking a quick smoke round a corner. I'm okay to have a quiet conversation, if that's what you're asking.”

There was a heartbeat of hesitation, so rare in Dom that Lindy looked at him, concerned. From their vantage point, Jejeune could see the sparkling turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea far below. North Norfolk seemed a long way off, an impossibly long distance from this spot up here in these mountains to a place where he needed to destroy something that could never be repaired.

“We need to arrest Guy Trueman.”

There was a long silence, but Jejeune didn't need to ask if Maik was still there.

“Charges?” The voice sounded distant, defeated.

“None yet. But he wasn't in that hotel room the morning Waters was murdered. You need to arrange to have him arrested immediately and taken into custody.”

“I don't need to
arrange
it.” Maik sounded angry now, bitter. “I'll take care of it myself.”

It was Jejeune's turn to be silent. Was there something in his sergeant's voice that suggested he had known this, already found the flaw in Trueman's alibi, if only he had been willing to let himself recognize it. Perhaps it was a mistake to let Maik handle this, to let him place this burden on himself. Jejeune's thoughts flickered to Traz. Could anyone set aside their shared past at a moment's notice, place it in a box and put it on a shelf, just like that?

“The thing is, we'll need to offer Efren Hidalgo blanket protection right away. This is very important, from the exact moment Trueman is taken into custody. Even if Hidalgo protests, do not take no for an answer, and make sure whoever is on duty does not let him out of their sight. As soon as you can, I'd like you to get over there and take over his protection detail personally.”

Maik had recovered his composure by the next time he spoke.

“If you could just specify the nature of the threat, sir, or at least which direction we are supposed to be looking …”

“Just stay close, Sergeant, as close as you possibly can. Night and day. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

M
aik cradled the folded mobile phone with exaggerated care, as if afraid of crushing it to dust in his large, powerful hands. He sat in the tiny car, taking in what he had to do, the enormity of it growing by the second now that the initial shock had worn off. He remained still, staring down at the phone, taking a few minutes to regain his composure. Drawing a breath, he got out of the car and looked around him. The car park was empty. Holland had finished his smoke and sloped off back into the station unobserved. Somewhere across two continents, across an ocean and the infinite spaces in between, Danny Maik recognized that there was more than one reason Inspector Jejeune had asked if his sergeant was somewhere quiet when he took the phone call.

T
hey were each subdued as they packed, but there was no anger in their silence. Domenic was a policeman. End of. The job, whether he wanted to do it or not, came first. And Domenic's expression as he drove down through the mountains after his call to Danny Maik told Lindy all she needed to know about the seriousness of the situation back home.

Only once had he broached the subject after he told her they would have to cut the holiday short and return to the U.K. right away. “It's been good,” he told her. “I'm glad we came.” And she could tell that he was. But it had not all been good, and she could see the trace of sadness behind his eyes.

“I'm so sorry, Dom,” she said sadly. “Maybe it's not too late, if it's what you really want to do … work with birds. Maybe there is some other way you could be involved, when we get back home. There are lots of organizations; that citizen science Traz was talking about …” Her arguments petered out as she acknowledged their futility.

Their packing was interrupted by a knock on the door. It would be Lindy's new friend, the desk clerk, with the details of their flight. Five hours from now, thought Lindy, if she remembered her research correctly. George F.L. Charles to London via Bridgetown, Barbados. She had played the Detective Chief Inspector card with the clerk when she stopped by the desk, just to make sure there was room on the flight. So, five hours. Time to do a little shopping on the way to the airport perhaps, eat at one of the roadside cafes, grab a couple of last little bits of St. Lucia to take home with them from this brief, strange, enlightening holiday.

She padded to the door barefoot, readying a smile for the girl she had connected with over the course of their short stay. How strange, she thought, the way people pop into our lives and assume such importance and then are gone again, most likely forever.

But it wasn't the desk clerk. Three policemen stood in the hall, two in the smart white starched shirts and peaked caps of the St. Lucia constabulary, and one behind, smaller, but clearly the power, in his lightweight peacock-blue linen suit and dark wraparound sunglasses.

“Royal St. Lucia Police Force.” The man in the blue suit offered a name, but in her shock she missed it. The three men entered the hotel room without asking for permission. Blue Suit removed his sunglasses before he spoke.

“Domenic Jejeune?”

“Inspector Domenic Jejeune actually,” Lindy answered for him. “Chief Inspector.” She looked at Domenic, who had stopped packing but was still hovering over his case, making no move at all.

Blue Suit was impassive. He showed no signs of discomfort despite the tropical heat in the room, where Lindy had turned off the air conditioning and opened the windows wide to allow the St. Lucia climate free rein one last time before they left.

“You will need to accompany us to the station.” His delivery was dispassionate. It didn't seem to leave much room for argument, but Dom seemed to be accepting it particularly meekly. Professional courtesy was one thing, but Lindy didn't owe a thing to these men who had pushed themselves into her hotel room at the end of her vacation.

“We have a plane to catch,” she said bluntly, looking away from the men and making a show of resuming her packing.

Neither Blue Suit nor the other officers reacted. They just stood there, waiting for Domenic Jejeune, Chief Inspector Domenic Jejeune, actually, to decide what he was going to do next. There was no hostility in their demeanor, but no reassurance either; not a single smile or softening of an expression to reduce the tension. The other two were still young; perhaps friendliness might be construed as a sign of weakness out on the mean streets of Castries. But Blue Suit was a veteran, his hard face lined with the experiences of a lifetime of imposing law and order on this tropical island. He could have afforded a slight smile and gotten away with it, a small gesture of mollification. He offered nothing. Lindy had caught Domenic's act a few times and she had always thought he had the professional detachment thing down pretty well, but he could take a few lessons from this one. There weren't many cold things on this island, but this man's demeanor out-cooled anything else by some distance.

“Flights leave the island daily for the U.K. If you miss this flight, arrangements can be made to take a later one,” he said in the same neutral tone as before.

Arrangements can be made
. But not by him. Lindy had been around power often enough to recognize it when she saw it. You wouldn't find this one rounding up the tourists who had committed crimes after a few too many Piton beers and shipping them back home. That would be the purview of these happy chappies in the white shirts. Blue Suit would be back in a well-appointed office somewhere, planning schedules for visiting dignitaries, not playing travel agent for a visiting copper.

“May I have a couple of minutes?” Domenic sounded polite, but not contrite.

“You can take a few moments, but you may not be alone.”

“Just what the hell is going on?” Whether Lindy's fire came from the fact that she didn't know, or that Domenic seemed to, wasn't clear. She turned to him in frustration. “Is this about the case?”

“It could be. I'm not sure.” Jejeune paused, sighed almost. “No,” he said finally, “I don't think it is.”

Realization fell from the sky and landed on Lindy with a crushing force.

“It's about your …”

Jejeune's look stopped her cold. There were a thousand messages in his gaze.
You need to not know
.
You need to be able to say you don't know, that I have never told you anything. It needs to be true.

Lindy reached for her bag. “I'm coming with you.”

The two uniformed officers looked at their commander uncertainly. He gave a disinterested shrug.

“No,” said Jejeune urgently. “Stay here and wait for me. Finish packing. I'm sure we will work all this out and I'll be back in no time.” He looked toward the commander as if seeking some reassurance, but the man's face remained impassive.

Lindy reached for the room telephone. “Then I'm calling the British High Commission, right now.”

“Don't call anybody,” said Jejeune. “Please. Just wait. I'll be back. Check into other flights, the next one. Just in case …” he added weakly. “It's okay, Lindy, honestly. Everything is going to be all right.”

And when I get back I'll explain everything,
he didn't say.
We'll have a laugh about all this over a couple of drinks, about how it was all a mistake, just some crazy, typical police cock-up.
He didn't say any of it, because it was clear that it was no mistake. It was about the only thing about this entire mad, frightening business that was clear to Lindy. Blue Suit hadn't built a career of policing on this island by barging into the hotel rooms of visiting police officers and hauling them off to the station by mistake. Whatever was going on, it was Domenic Jejeune they had come for. And it was Domenic Jejeune who, with one last lingering backward glance that was meant to be reassuring but fell short on so many levels, was going with them now, leaving Lindy with nothing to do but sit on the bed and let all her anger and frustration and concern well up inside her and release itself as tears.