A Pitying of Doves (29 page)

G
abriel
Obregón was slumped against the kitchen cabinets when Maik and Holland burst into the farmhouse. From the angle of the boy's shoulder, Maik guessed it was probably a broken collarbone. Luisa Obregón was kneeling beside him, dabbing his bleeding mouth with a towel.

“Is he still here?”

She nodded. “In the aviary. He came in demanding the doves. Gabriel tried to stop him.” She looked down at her son. “He was so brave.”

Holland had known this call was something different, something tricky, when Maik had grabbed his shoulder as he headed out of the station. “With me. Now,” he had said urgently. Holland understood now why Maik had looked so troubled by the call he had received moments earlier.

“Why did he want the doves?” Holland looked at Maik, but it was Luisa Obregón who answered.

“He said the police would hesitate, think twice, about arresting him if he had the birds as a …” she struggled for the phrase.

Her son offered it through swollen lips. “Bargaining chip,” he said weakly.

Why hadn't she called 999, or the station? Why him, on his mobile? Did she know, somehow, the connection between the two men, or had he said something, mentioned Danny, as he was using his dark arts to neutralize Gabriel Obregón?

“Sergeant, my son.” She reached down and tenderly stroked his cheek.

Maik snapped out of his reverie. “Are the birds here?”

“I have already told you this. I have not seen those birds since they disappeared during the storm. Sergeant, my son needs help. He must go to a hospital.”

Maik turned to Holland. “Get an ambulance out here. But tell them no police. We're here, it's under control. No backup required. Got it?” And then to Obregón again. “Was he armed?”

She shook her head. “I did not see a weapon, but perhaps, this man …” She turned again to look at her son. Both Maik and Holland took her meaning.
Perhaps this man did not need weapons.

Maik moved toward the door. “I'm going in to the aviary,” he told Holland. “You stay out here. Under no circumstances come through that door. You wait out here for me to tell you what to do next.”

Holland nodded and reached for his phone as Maik moved off. Listening to the ring, he looked down into the face of the young man lying at his feet. He was the image of his father, the man Holland had seen in the missing person files: the dark hair, the features. And the eyes, dark fluid reflecting pools into which Luisa Obregón could immerse herself, as she was now doing, reliving her past. Holland regarded her carefully. It was as clear as a written statement: Luisa Obregón was still married, faithful to a man who had disappeared from her life and was never coming back. Even an eternal optimist like Tony Holland could see that he would never have stood a chance with her.

D
anny Maik strolled out onto the elevated walkway trying to project a confidence he didn't feel. The afternoon sun was streaming in through the glass panes on the roof of the aviary, and a sticky, cloying heat filled the space. All around him, birds beat the air with their wings as they escaped to the safety of the treetops. But not below. When Maik reached the observation platform and leaned over the rail to tentatively scan the overgrown vegetation below, he could see nothing moving at all.

“You shouldn't have warned Colleen Shepherd off, Danny. A dead giveaway that I was in your sights.” The voice came from off to the right somewhere, indistinct.

“You weren't even a suspect then, Guy. You were just wrong for her. That's all.” As he called out, Maik scoured the dense undergrowth for signs of movement. There were none.

“You ought to open one of those online dating services, Danny. Make a fortune.”

Maik craned his neck to see over the railing. A different location now, farther back, behind him somewhere. He had seen nothing, though, not even the shimmer of a single branch as Trueman had moved through the tangled foliage.

“Those stolen birds aren't here, Guy,” called Danny. “They never were.” The heat was oppressive now. Maik wanted to remove his jacket, but he was concerned about making any unusual movements, at least until he knew where Trueman was. And if he was armed.

“Not about birds anymore, though, is it? We've got other business to sort out now, you and me.”

Over to the left again. Always moving but never giving a sign of it. Trueman hadn't lost any of his skills, by the look of it. But Danny knew he couldn't say the same about himself. Finally, he detected a flicker, a shimmer of movement, almost directly beneath the platform. If Trueman did have a weapon, he had a bead on Danny from here.

“This is not us, Guy, shouting at each other through the treetops like this.” Maik eased back from the railing carefully. “I'm going to take my coat off, no sudden movements, nothing up my sleeve. And then I'm coming down.”

No response this time. Silence was unnatural, even in this man-made jungle in the middle of the north Norfolk countryside. But it wasn't comforting. When Guy Trueman was around, silence was your enemy.

Maik removed his jacket and loosened his tie, then began to climb down the ladder, discreetly tucked against one of the supporting pillars. Facing the ladder, he had his sweat-soaked back exposed to the aviary. If Guy Trueman was going to attack him now, Danny would have no defence. Maik reached the ground and spun around. Nothing. Just a wall of green — thick, dark, impenetrable.

Maik began to pick his way through the vegetation, moving slowly, carefully. The heat was even greater down here, and he blinked the sweat from his eyes as he moved through the undergrowth. He felt gravel beneath his feet and found himself in the centre of a small clearing. There were feeding stations and a stone water fountain, long dry and now all but claimed by mosses and climbing vines. On the ground, a few old feeding dishes lay overturned and broken.
It would have been an open space when the doves used to feed here,
thought Maik,
exposed, offering no cover.

Maik heard a rustling behind him and turned to find Guy Trueman standing on the far side of the clearing. He was in a combat-ready stance but his hands were free of weapons. A single shaft of light from above penetrated the overgrowth and fell on the gravel between them.

“Well, this is a situation, isn't it, Danny? Bet there's no Motown tune to cover this one.”

They had been here before, surrounded by foliage in heavy, tropical heat. The clothes were different, though. Civvies, now, Danny in his shirtsleeves and Guy Trueman in a golf shirt and sharp slacks, looking as if he had just stepped off the course at the Saltmarsh Golf Club. And the danger, of course, that was different, too. Before, it had never come from within.

Trueman made a show of taking in their surroundings. He spread his hands before him. “So, what happens now? Mano-a-mano?”

“Be a bit embarrassing, wouldn't it? Two old buggers like us rolling around on the ground.” Maik made it sound light, but both men knew the truth of it. With the skills they possessed, it could be more than embarrassing. For one of them, it could be fatal. “You weren't in your room, Guy. Not when Jordan Waters was killed.”

Trueman looked at Maik with interest, but he said nothing.

“We have a changeable climate out here in north Norfolk. You never know what you're going to get from one day to the next. Especially on a spring morning. We've been getting a bit of sea fog lately. Fret, the old timers call it.”

“Long way to come just to give me a weather report, Danny. You got a point?”

“This fret, it burns off as soon the sun comes up, most of the time. You'd never even know it's been there. But when it rolls in,” Maik shook his head sagely, “sometimes you can't even see your hand in front of your face. Certainly from your hotel room you couldn't see the picturesque seaside village of Saltmarsh come to life, dawn breaking over the boats in the harbour, things like that.”

Trueman stayed silent still, but Maik could see his body squaring, shifting his balance just that little bit, to where it would need to be if he was going to launch an attack.

“There was a lot of fret about at oh six hundred on the morning Jordan Waters died,” Maik said, slowly, evenly, keeping his voice as flat as he could. “I know, I was out in it, recovering Waters's body from a culvert.”

“A bit of fog?” Trueman's laugh had all the anger and contempt he could muster. “That's what this is all about? Come on, Danny, you're embarrassing yourself here.” Trueman tensed slightly as he eased into another stance. It was one Danny recognized. Guy Trueman was tipping forward ever so slightly onto the balls of his feet, readying himself for action. “You always did think you were one up on me, didn't you? The rest of them,” Trueman held up a little finger, “round here, no problem. But not Danny Maik. I never minded that. When you're in charge of a unit, there's always going to be one, somewhere down the ranks, who's smarter than you are. Now a good CO, he might even welcome that, as long as this man knew how to keep it in check. But you've overstretched yourself here, old son.”

“You're going to have to come in with me, Guy,” said Maik evenly. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek.

“And what if I don't want to? What then?”

“The kids today,” said Danny quietly, “they have a saying —
I don't think it would end well.
”

“How d'you mean, me doing time for assaulting a police officer and you in a hospital bed somewhere? Not well like that, you mean?” Trueman raised his voice angrily, but he didn't move.

They stood in their arena of green, two aging gladiators separated by a shaft of sunlight, the heat like a physical force around them. Trueman seemed to be considering things, weighing his options.
He hasn't decided yet,
thought Danny.
He hasn't made his mind up which way this is going to go.
But it would be up to Trueman. It would be his decision. Danny would be content to let him make the first move. It was the last move Danny was more concerned about. He just hoped he would be making that one.

“What is it now? Forty-eight hours you can hold me?” said Trueman conversationally, so suddenly it made Maik flinch slightly. “So I'll just sit it out, shall I? And on hour forty-nine I'll pick up my gear and skate off into the sunset. And then where are we, eh? Hard feelings all round, and nobody's really any farther ahead. Come on, Danny, it's not too late to put this right. This is not even reasonable suspicion you've got here. You couldn't hold your worst enemy on this. I know it, you know it, and your flirty DCS knows it, too. All I see here is a bit of doubt, some desperation, and a handful of jealousy thrown in for good measure.”

Maik had his own anger now. So far he had been prepared to defend himself only. But Trueman's attitude, the careless disconnection he was showing to the death of Jordan Waters changed all that. Now it was Danny who was poised to attack.

“He was just a kid, Guy,” shouted Maik, barely able to control his rage, “barely older than some of those squaddies who used to look up to you.”

Trueman saw the anger, the same raw, primal fire that he had seen in Danny Maik when other young men had died. He knew that something had changed, that Danny would fight him now, if necessary, with all the strength and courage he had shown beside Trueman on the field of battle.

“I'm sorry the boy died, truly I am. But you've got this all wrong.”

The sun had crept ever so slightly around the clearing, closer to Trueman. But Danny was prepared to wait until it had completed a full rotation in the sky, if necessary. There was no rush. Now that he had come this far, time didn't matter anymore. In truth, not much of anything seemed to matter anymore.

Trueman gazed around the clearing. Looking for what? A means of escape? The only way was through Danny Maik. And Guy Trueman wasn't prepared to take that route today. He fixed Maik with a resigned look.

“Do what you have to.”

H
olland led Trueman away unresisting, past the ambulance with its silently flashing lights, past the staring ambulance drivers loading Gabriel Obregón solicitously into the back, past the watching Luisa Obregón.

Maik watched Holland ease Trueman into the back of his car. Neither man gave Danny a backward glance. He turned away, and headed to his car, ready to obey the second and final part of Jejeune's directive.

L
indy
hadn't expected chapter and verse from Dom, not right away. She had known him too long for that. Even a closed book like Domenic Jejeune had predictable ways of responding to situations, and Lindy had come to learn them. He would think about it first, assess the situation, then explore the possible outcomes from this point on. He wouldn't dwell on what had happened; that wasn't his style at all. So, analysis first, and then, perhaps, an explanation, of sorts. Lindy could wait. She had done so before, on other less serious matters, so if it took him a little bit longer this time, took a little more analysis before he got to the point where he could talk to her about it, that was okay. Because he would talk about it eventually. Though how much, in this case, she didn't know. Domenic would never lie to her. She knew that with the certainty that all women have about the honesty of the men they love. But that didn't mean he would tell her everything, either.

They were in economy class, cramped in tiny seats somewhere near the back of the plane, even these secured for them only through the influence of the Royal St. Lucia Police Force. They had missed the flight they had planned on taking, just as Blue Suit had seemed to know they would; missed it by more than fifteen hours, in fact. But as a tiny, feeble act of apology for all their inconvenience, a police car had picked Lindy and the luggage up at the hotel and driven her to the airport, where Domenic was waiting for her at the gate so they could scramble onto this flight: Hewanorra to Gatwick. Eight and half hours, direct. But it promised to be a long eight and a half hours, with Domenic brooding thoughtfully beside her and the same in-flight films she had seen on the way over.

She sighed and looked around for a flight attendant. She would be giving the in-flight bar service some serious attention on the way back. If she could disembark without assistance, Lindy would be greatly disappointed with her efforts.

They had been in the air about twenty minutes when Domenic turned to her with a weak smile. It was one of his special ones, sadness and regret and apology. You could get a lot of mileage out of a smile like that. Yes, Lindy would wait.

“Do you have my charger in your purse? I need to make a call and my phone is dead.”

Lindy looked puzzled. “You can't use your mobile phone on a plane.”

“I'll use the plane's phone to call. I just need the number of Danny Maik's new phone. I didn't bother to memorize it, but it's in the phone.”

“I don't have the charger.”

“Where is it? In the other bag?' He made to get up and reach for the overhead storage compartment.

“No Dom,” said Lindy. “I don't have it. When the police came to pick me up at the hotel, I just piled all the bags in the back of their car. I put your charger in your computer bag, but they whisked me right through security and took the bags to check them through for me. Your computer bag was with them. It's in the hold.”

She had only seen the expression a couple of times before. Deep, genuine alarm. And something else: panic.

Jejeune got up slowly and spoke to one of the flight attendants, quietly, urgently. Then he strode to the front of the plane, disappearing from Lindy's view. When he eventually returned, he was working the rows, stopping methodically at each, talking to everyone, waking them, even, if they were sleeping, explaining his situation, polite but not smiling, showing them his phone and his warrant card, asking if they had a compatible charger, the same model phone, even, so he might, on official police business, take out their memory card and insert his, even for one brief, flickering instant, to recover the number of Danny Maik's unregistered phone. But head after head swayed regretfully from side to side, and he returned to his seat desolate.

“Can't you just call him at the consulate?” asked Lindy. It didn't seem likely Jejeune had overlooked this possibility, but perhaps now, if he was desperate enough, out of all other options, he would consider it again. “Even if he's not there, they'll know where he is if he's on protection detail for Hidalgo.”

But Jejeune shook his head. “I can't do that.” There was resignation in his voice now. He asked for Lindy's phone, to compose a text on it. It would be faster, he said, to just plug his phone in when they landed, and dial Maik's number from Lindy's phone, sending the already-composed text.
Surely,
she thought,
this is just Domenic finding something to do, some activity to make him feel less helpless, less trapped in his situation. Surely, things couldn't be so desperate that the few seconds this preparation would save would really make a difference. Could they?

Lindy looked at him, alarmed at how seriously he was taking this. “Jeez, Dom. We'll be landing in about eight hours; you'll have the phone in your hand in nine. Whatever it is you need to talk to Danny Maik about, surely it can wait that long. Can't it?”

“No,” said Jejeune simply. “It's already been almost a full day. An additional nine hours is too long. It could be the difference.”

“Between life and death?” She was trying flippancy to snap him out of it, but then she registered the look on his face.

Perhaps it was the trauma of being held at the station for so long. She had checked him out as closely as she was able without him noticing and she hadn't seen any signs of rough treatment. But the psychological scars wouldn't show. She didn't know what they had asked him about his brother, or perhaps even what new information they had told him. But she did know that Domenic never went for the melodramatic. Ever. So only one of two things was true: either what had happened at the station had left him with a sudden flair for the theatrical, or this situation at home, this event he was powerless to stop for the next few hours, really might end up in more death.

Lindy didn't touch a drop of alcohol on the flight. She just watched Domenic, sitting, staring silently at the phone in his hands, as if urging it to spring to life by sheer force of will. As the plane finally started its descent, a new obsession seized him, checking his watch every two minutes, every one minute now. For only the second time since she had known him, she saw in Domenic's face the look of someone dealing with catastrophic human error. His own. She reached over and squeezed is hand. “Soon, Dom, soon.”

But it was not until the next day that he would eventually get his phone charger. And by then, Domenic Jejeune had long since come to the realization that even had he been able to send his message from the plane, he would have been too late.