A Cast of Falcons (25 page)

L
ater
, Maik recalled the steely determination in Jejeune's face. That should have told him something about how the DCI intended to go about matters. A confrontation was his guess, a full-frontal assault on Prince Yousef that might shake something loose. If he failed, this gambit was likely to have diplomatic consequences beyond DCS Shepherd's worst nightmares. A call to her would be Maik's first act when he parked the car at the Old Dairy compound.

“I don't like the look of this,” he announced, as he turned off the road onto the driveway leading up to the Old Dairy's gates. A large crowd of protesters had gathered at the entrance to the facility, but there was no aimless milling around, no sporadic chants, feeding off each other, morphing into an almost festive, party-like atmosphere. Instead a mood of uneasy stillness hung over the crowd, a menacing hush, as if they were marshalled in anticipation of something, like gunpowder packed into a barrel, waiting for a spark. Maik swung the Mini into the car park and nodded at the fence. “I'll call for support. I'll meet you in there.”

Jejeune made his way through the crowd and flashed his badge at the guard manning the small pedestrian gate.

“The Crown Prince is leaving,” the man said. “He returns home today.” Jejeune turned as the crunch of car tires on gravel announced the arrival of the Phantom behind him. As the gates swung open, the crowd surged forward and the wire fence heaved with the crush of bodies. Jejeune was swept along with the movement, but as he passed the car he caught a flash of a second silhouette in the back seat: Yousef. Prince Ibrahim was going to spirit his younger brother out of the country with him, denying Jejeune the chance for an interview. Jejeune spun from the fence and tried to force his way back through the crowd, making for the roadway. He looked above the sea of heads for Danny Maik, and saw him approaching at a jog, but still too far away to hear a call over the noise of the angry crowd.

The protesters began hammering ferociously against the side of the car as it inched through the crowd, rocking it on its suspension. From somewhere, a wooden stake emerged and smashed violently against the roof, splintering on impact. A demonstrator draped herself across the radiator grille, forcing the driver to stop. A team of expensively suited bodyguards moved in to remove her, and the crowd crushed in around them in protest. Jejeune inched his way to the car and pressed his warrant card against the window. To both his and the crowd's astonishment, the door opened and Crown Prince Ibrahim got out. He gazed imperiously around at the gathering, looking not in the least bit intimidated. His bearing stilled the mob to silence and they backed off slightly.

“I need to speak to your brother, Your Excellency.”

Prince Ibrahim's calm was unnerving. Jejeune had known other powerbrokers, but their power lay in their associations, their positions, their possessions. Stripped of these, they were just people, and every one Jejeune had known was still afraid of something, some force or entity greater than themselves. The prince had the same attributes of these other men, but if he had any of their demons, he kept them very well hidden. There was a cold, composed, self-assurance about this man that suggested he knew the full range of his powers, and he would have no hesitation in using them.

“My brother is accompanying me to a business meeting. His legal representatives will contact you in due course.”

“I have questions for him regarding a murder inquiry. He cannot leave this country until I have spoken to him.” Jejeune's tone was urgent, compelling. He realized this was the only chance he was going to get. Everything hinged on these next few moments.

“We have many things of importance to deal with. I can give this matter no more consideration.” He turned to re-enter the car.

But Domenic Jejeune wouldn't allow anyone to treat murder victims as inconveniences. No one had enough power, enough influence, enough wealth, to step over dead bodies and continue on with their life unconcerned.

“Three people are dead, Excellency,” he shouted angrily, loud enough even for people farther away in the crowd to hear, “and you and your brother
will
afford them the dignity of your consideration.”

“Three?” The prince tilted his head to one side slightly. “I know of only two, a woman who did not work at the project and a man who was passing through my property.”

“A man who used to work for you. Your brother has no alibi for the night Philip Wayland died. No one seems able to tell us where he was the night a man who abandoned your project in favour of a rival one was murdered.”

A strange light seemed to flicker for a moment in the prince's dark eyes, a hint of something Jejeune didn't recognize.

“You have a reputation as an excellent detective, Inspector, but I wonder if you always understand
why
a person acts the way they do. In this case, particularly, I think, you do not.”

“Was Philip Wayland's defection just an act of betrayal? Or was it something more pragmatic. His departure compromised your project, didn't it? Possibly even gave the edge to someone else? I can't imagine the House of al-Haladin taking the potential loss of a billion pound project lightly. Some might even see Philip Wayland's actions as worthy of vengeance.”

The prince's face darkened with anger. “I will listen to no more of your insults.” He spun on his heel and began to make his way back to the car.

F
rom the periphery of the crowd, Maik had watched the exchange warily. There was desperation in Jejeune's face, a recognition that if he allowed these men to leave, it would all be over, his case, his search for justice in Philip Wayland's death. Somebody needed to rein the DCI in, but Danny was too far away, on the far side of the crowd, with thirty bodies between him and Jejeune. Maik noticed a bearded man behind Jejeune beginning to sidle closer to the confrontation, looking more intense than the rest of the protesters, more focused.

Perhaps Jejeune was not the first to move toward the prince. Perhaps there was a slight surge to crowd in around him as he turned to get back in the car, and the detective was simply carried forward by the other bodies. Amongst all the jostling, it was hard to tell. But it was Jejeune's hand that reached out for the prince's shoulder. Maik was sure of that. The action seemed to explode in slow motion. Maik saw the prince's muscular bodyguard reach around the DCI's throat and fasten him in a chokehold. He saw the inspector's knees buckle and watched him sink to the ground.

Maik flailed his arms, pushing bodies frantically out of the way in an effort to reach his DCI, but the crowd was packed so tightly, the people had nowhere to go. He shrugged his arms high to swim through the mass of bodies, but he made no headway and was carried away by the ebb of the swaying crowd until he, too, lost his footing and stumbled back into the people behind him. Maik heard a sharp crack and the sounds of a scuffle. A rush of alarm rose; cries and shouts. A car door slammed and the sound of an engine revving at high speed caused further panic, as people dived away from the moving vehicle. By the time he was upright again, Maik could see the scarlet of blood and hear the gasps of horror. He put his head down, burrowing through the crowd, parting them now with an irresistible force, to get to his DCI.

The blood had forced everyone back a step or two, and there was a small space around the two men. Jejeune was on one knee, holding a hand against his throat. Beside him, the guard who had grabbed him had sunk to the ground. Blood was streaming from his eyebrow and nose. A second bodyguard arrived at the edge of the circle at the same time as Maik. He reached under his armpit and withdrew a pistol. Maik lunged for him, both hands reaching for the gun arm and stretching it into the sky. He stomped a vicious kick into the inside of the man's knee and snapped an elbow back into his jaw, twisting the gun away from the guard's hand as he crumpled to the ground.

The sight of the gun caused panic in the crowd and people recoiled, stumbling as they fell back, spinning off each other in a desperate rush to get away, only to meet the wall of others crushing in.

“Stay where you are. We are police officers. You are not in any danger now.”

Maik's bellow seemed to freeze them all in their tracks. Holding the gun low in one hand, he grabbed Jejeune's arm and helped him to his feet. The two bodyguards lay on the ground. Neither made any move to get up. The Rolls was already out of sight, a faint haze of dust and distant hum of a rapidly retreating engine its only legacy.

“Please move back over to the fence,” said Maik in a tone of authority that brooked no argument. “Do not leave. We will need to speak to all of you as witnesses. Other officers will be here shortly. We will not detain you any longer than necessary.”

But some had sloped off already, and others sidled away now, unwilling to have their names associated with a protest that had gotten so dangerously out of hand. One in particular, Maik noticed, was missing now, the taller man with a dark beard, who had been close to Jejeune, very close indeed, when the inspector and his assailant had gone to ground.

B
y
the time DCS Shepherd arrived on the scene, most of the witnesses' names and addresses had been gathered. Maik had taken those closest to him at the time, and Jejeune had assured him he had recovered enough to handle the rest. Only a small knot of people remained, standing around uncertainly, waiting to be dismissed, or directed, or merely hanging around watching the wrap-up of the operations.

Jejeune sat in the open doorway of an ambulance; the rear doors swung wide to reveal the racks of supplies and equipment. A young paramedic was gently running her fingers along the sides of his Adam's apple, murmuring questions only Jejeune could hear. He answered them all with a small shake of his head.

“Right,” said Shepherd briskly, “in an effort to make sure we all still have jobs in the morning, I'm going to find out what happened here before someone higher up asks me. Danny?”

Maik looked first at Jejeune and then back at the DCS. “It's hard to say.”

“Then I suggest you rise to the challenge, Sergeant.”

Maik told her what he had seen of the altercation and of the ensuing melee, making it clear, without actually pointing it out, that it was more difficult to have an objective view of such situations when you were in the middle of them, trying to restore order.

Shepherd nodded her head as she listened, like a person processing the information with a view to fitting it all into a report. She nodded shortly again now, at the end of Maik's report, though neither man was under any illusion it was in approval of what she had heard.

“And you got all the witnesses' contact information.”

“All that stayed. I know one in particular who didn't though. A tall bloke with a beard who was standing fairly close to you, sir. You didn't notice him?”

Jejeune shook his head dumbly.

She turned to Jejeune. “You're not hurt?”

Jejeune apparently felt disinclined to answer. Maik looked at his watch. The prince's private jet would be airborne from Norwich any moment, if it wasn't already. He knew they needed to have DCS Shepherd order it back before it left U.K. airspace, if they were to have any hope of ever speaking to either of the princes again. But at the moment, with his DCI sitting in the back of an ambulance massaging a sore windpipe and Danny himself doing his best to tap-dance his way around Shepherd's withering interrogation, the prospect of even raising the subject with her seemed remote, to say the least.

“And the injured parties? They're both at the hospital now, I take it?”

Maik nodded. “The one has a nasty cut above his eye and I think his nose is broken. My guess is he'll get patched up and be out again soon. The other one.” Maik shrugged. “Knee ligaments, the medic said, and a suspected broken jaw.” There was no contrition in Maik's voice, no hint of remorse, or a wish that things had happened differently. For a flickering moment, Shepherd had a glimpse of the man who had seen so much action on the field of battle, when any damage you could inflict on your opponent simply meant there was less chance he could harm you in return.

“This business with the gun?” she asked.

“He was pointing it up in the air. I don't think he intended to use it. Just wanted to show people he had it, I suppose. I'm sure he has a concealed weapon carry permit.”

“Not so he can wave it around in my bloody jurisdiction. Where the hell did he think he was, the OK Corral? Thank God you didn't let him actually discharge it, Sergeant. We would have been up to our necks in paperwork for the next six months. I'll advise him we won't be pressing charges for withdrawing a loaded weapon in a public place, and that should be that. As for the first one, I daresay he's going to be looking for answers. No one got a good look at the person who assaulted him?”

Maik left Jejeune to field that one, but again the DCI seemed disinclined to answer.

“I assume you've impounded all the cameras and mobile phones?”

“I asked, but no one was filming, so …”

Shepherd looked at Jejeune dubiously. “You didn't get a good look at him yourself?”

The DCI shook his head, causing Maik to give him a long stare.

Shepherd gave another brief nod of her head, as if deciding on a course of action. “Okay, Constable Salter will go to the hospital and have a word with the victim. She will tell him we will pursue it of course, if he wants us to, but our initial investigation suggests it was an unidentified citizen, just some member of the general public, that assaulted him,
overpowered
him, let's use that word. And we'll see whether a top-flight personal security guard really wants us to take it any further and put it on the record.”

She looked at them both, daring them to smirk. “The bigger challenge is going to be squaring this with the Professional Standards bunch. I seriously doubt the al-Haladins themselves took the time to lodge a formal complaint before they left, but you can rest assured the idea of foreign citizens getting hospitalized after brawling with senior officers of the North Norfolk Constabulary is going to capture someone's attention.”

Maik was quietly impressed by the deft, professional way Shepherd was going about all this. With other superior officers he had known, a temper tantrum wasn't beyond the realm of possibility. Nor was hanging the men out to dry. But Shepherd's own efforts at protecting herself and her division seemed first and foremost to include bringing Maik and Jejeune under her umbrella. He knew that the DCI wouldn't have missed this either, and he had no doubt Jejeune appreciated it as much as he did.

A low chirrup signalled an incoming text message. Shepherd withdrew her phone and a look of frustration crossed her features as she read the screen. “And right on cue …” she said. “Investigators from the Professional Standards Department would like to know whether you two would be free to join them in my office in an hour.” She looked from Maik to Jejeune and back again. “I assume you have somewhere you need to be? Pursuing a lead, an extremely promising lead, shall we say? Somewhere far away, possibly even out of phone contact, while I sort all this out.”

Maik knew of a pub in Brancaster that had rubbish phone reception in the back room. It seemed as good a place as any to keep their heads down. He knew he would get no argument from Jejeune. The adrenalin had started to drain away, but a settler or two in a quiet place where they might be able to gather their thoughts definitely wouldn't go amiss. The sound of a light aircraft passing overhead caused them all to look up. It was clear that the same thought was visiting them all. Their only real lead, extremely promising or otherwise, would be heading out over the North Sea by now. And flying away right along with it was just about the only chance they had of bringing anyone to justice for Philip Wayland's murder.

M
aik returned from the bar with two pints of Greene King. He set one in front of Jejeune and took a seat opposite him. They were tucked in a corner at the back of a dimly lit room, where the stale smell of beer seemed to linger. As promised, no one was chatting on a phone. Instead, the low hum of discreet conversation hung in the room like smoke.

Maik took a drink and followed it with a slow survey of the room. It was likely Jejeune had been on the opposite side of a pub table from him enough times now to recognize the signs. The sergeant was about to give him a theory. Jejeune seemed to shift a little in his seat.

“The split eyebrow, the broken nose — it looked like a head butt to me.”

Jejeune took a drink, wincing a little as he swallowed. He wasn't going to offer any alternative theory, then, thought Maik. He turned his glass quietly in his hands, staring down into the dark liquid.

“Being held round the throat from behind like that, with both of you facing the same way, I'd have thought anyone approaching to head butt that guard would have been right in your line of sight.” He picked up his pint. “Still, if you didn't see anything, you didn't.” He took a long, slow drink, the kind designed to give his DCI the time to think. Or speak, if he wanted to. He didn't.

Maik accepted the silence. “You think the DCS will get this sorted?” he asked conversationally, to show the other topic was behind them now.

“I'm sure she will. I don't see anyone wanting this to go any farther.”

Maik nodded. “The third person you told the prince about, that would be this De Laet, up in Scotland? Was he also murdered? Is he a part of this?” He eyed his DCI, careful to keep any look of disapproval from his expression. It was information he wanted from Jejeune, not defensiveness.

“I think his death was an accident, but he is connected to all this in some way. I'm sure of it.”

“The prince didn't bite, though.”

“No,” said Jejeune, “he didn't. He said he knew of only two deaths.”

“To deny something that quickly. That's either somebody who's telling the truth, or somebody who's very good at doing the opposite.”

Jejeune nodded. “But which is it, I wonder?”

He lifted his glass and took a drink, wincing once again.

“You should probably get that checked out,” said Maik, nodding toward the DCI's neck. “It could be a bruised windpipe.”

Jejeune offered his sergeant a smile. “Thanks for the concern, but I'm sure I'm going to be fine.”

Danny Maik took a long drink of his beer, deep in thought. Not for the first time recently, he wasn't entirely sure he could agree with his DCI.