A Cast of Falcons (26 page)

T
he
coming evening lay like distant smoke in the sky to the east. Domenic leaned on the Range Rover while he waited for Lindy to get out, drinking in the beauty of the landscape that stretched out before him. Lindy joined him and together they made their way down the steep path and out toward the heathland of Dershingham. A towering stand of pines flanked the path, and above them, Wood Pigeons soared in, joining those already roosting amongst the tall trees, ready to add their voices to the refrain of soft coos. From the undergrowth, the manic, staccato trills of a herd of wrens sounded harsh and out of place.

They walked slowly along the path, hand in hand, pausing only for Domenic to occasionally raise his binoculars and track some flitting shape across the landscape. The woods on each side of them were alive with birdsong, as they always were at this time of day, as if the birds realized this was where they must make their last stand on territory before the coming night poured its darkness into the forest.

As the trees petered out, the path opened onto a wide expense of uneven mounds and tussocks. A pheasant flushed as they passed, rising from the gorse-clad hillside with its customary heart-stopping explosion of wingbeats, leaving Lindy breathless but smiling. They did not speak until they were on the boardwalk that wound its way out over the boggy ground, disappearing into the gloaming that was beginning to settle over the land.

“Bird, small, moving left.” Lindy pointed and Domenic tracked it; a Stonechat, bouncing its flight through the air until it lit upon a grassy stem, showing beautifully, less than five metres away.

“It's ringed,” murmured Domenic. “Too hard to see the colours in this light, though.”

Of long practice here at Dershingham, Lindy had automatically withdrawn a notebook when she saw the bird, ready to record the colour sequence of the rings so Domenic could call them in later to the study group. She even knew the species to look out for; this pretty one, the Stonechat, and the other one that sang so beautifully but looked so drab to her; the Woodlark.

Domenic raised a hand and massaged his throat. He had done it a couple of times recently, when he thought she wasn't looking. Damian, too, had a nasty bruise forming on his forehead, but neither one was saying anything about it. Had they fought, she wondered, physically scrapped, when she left them that day? She thought about the atmosphere when she got back, quiet, subdued, a lingering residue of something, perhaps, but not combat.

She leaned on the railing of the boardwalk and looked out over the land. There was a curious quality to the light tonight, as if the flat, faded green of the landscape was clinging on to it, unwilling to let this place slide into the darkness that would so soon render it featureless and silent. Domenic scanned the grass for birds for a few moments longer, while Lindy stood by, patiently waiting.

“You still haven't read my article, have you?”

“Not yet. Work,” he said lamely. He wouldn't read it. Not until after the judges' decision had been announced. Lindy always wanted him to be scrupulously honest with her about her work, and more to the point, she could always tell when he wasn't. Despite all her affected indifference about the nomination, he knew it would break her heart if he couldn't discover in her article the same magic everyone else seemed to find. For now, it was much better to make excuses, and let her bask in the moment. Life had a way of bringing you back to earth soon enough as it was.

She was silent for a long time, watching as the grey light of evening slipped over the landscape, embracing it into its shadows. A thought seemed to come to her on the night breeze. She turned away from the land, facing Dom across the boardwalk, elbows resting on the railing behind her. “Have you decided?”

They both knew it had been coming, since they first got in the car to drive here. It had been in the studied silence as they walked, side by side, along the pine-lined path out toward the heath, in the unusual patience Lindy had shown as he scoured the landscape for his Stonechats and Woodlarks. But Lindy wanted the discussion before they headed back to the car, and the topic got more difficult to broach with each passing mile that brought them closer to the cottage. And Damian.

“I said I would ask,” she said gently.

Domenic stirred toward anger. “He has no right, using you as a go-between.”

“He's just trying to make it easier for you. He's trying to help you.”

“Really?” said Domenic, still angry. “Because I thought the whole idea of him coming here was for exactly the opposite reason.”

“It always is, isn't it? That's just the point, you never seem to want help, never seem to need it. But what he's asking you is massive. Do you think he doesn't realize that? It will be seen as helping him to evade the justice he deserves. And it will make things difficult for you professionally. Your career may suffer for it. He knows all that, and it's killing him to ask you. But you can't deny him, Domenic.”

Jejeune was less angry now, but still raw from being forced to confront the subject he had been avoiding in such a beautiful place at such a beautiful time. He wondered if this moment would tarnish this place for him forever from now on. “There was a time when you didn't want me to get involved.”

Lindy shifted her elbows on the railing and shook her head to free a strand of wind-blown hair from her face. “It's a woman's prerogative to change her man's mind, haven't you heard?” She tried a smile. They were past arguments, it said. They were friends again, and this thing wouldn't divide them. But it needed to be talked out, completely.

The horizon had already disappeared into the gathering gloom; a grey smudge of treeline all that was visible now. The bird calls had faded, too. Only the soft murmurings of the roosting Wood Pigeons drifted toward them. Soon, they too would stop, and Domenic and Lindy would be alone in this landscape, in the middle of nothingness, surrounded by shadows and uncertainty, with only each other to remind themselves that anything had ever existed here at all.

“I don't think I can, Lindy.”

“You don't get to choose on this one, Domenic. You have to do what's right. You know you do. You are one of the most principled men I've ever met. But principles are guidelines for the way you should live your life, not laws. What good is integrity if it costs you your humanity?”

Jejeune shook his head. “I can't be a party to putting him in prison, any prison. It would kill him. Even if he survived, physically, there would be nothing left of the man who went in there. You've seen him. The wild coasts of Newfoundland are his idea of heaven. What do you think his idea of hell would be? Even being cooped up in the cottage is too much for him. ‘Captivity,' you called it, and you were right. If he didn't take his daily strolls down to that coffee shop, I think he would go crazy. Literally, I mean. Ten years in a cage would be more than he could bear.”

“He killed people, Domenic, or, at the very least, he was responsible for their deaths. He wants to do what's right, to pay for his crime, so he can get on with his life. You can't expect him to run forever. You can't ask that of any man.”

“It was an accident, arrogance motivated by greed, or more likely defiance, knowing Damian, not wanting to be told where he could go and what he could do. But it wasn't manslaughter, and I can't let them put him in prison for it.” Jejeune shook his head. “I can't.”

She could sense the struggle within him. She knew what it was costing him to even consider this point of view, and she loved him so much for it. She reached out and touched his arm.

To do what's right.
But how could brokering a prison term for his brother be the right thing to do, when it was wrong on just about every level he could think of?

T
he
manicured lawns behind the café sloped gently down to the water's edge, leaving most of the picnic tables arrayed across it tilting slightly, as if poised to tumble into the man-made lake.

Only one other person was outside when Maik stepped out into the sunshine; a man, sitting at the table nearest the water. He was sitting on the table top, his feet resting on the bench. He was leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees. The pose gave him a look of hunched intensity, as if he might be scrutin­izing the ducks that glided across the surface of the still water, studying them for something specific.

“Mind if I join you?” Maik rested his hip against the other end of the picnic table and raised a cardboard cup in salute as the other man looked across. He glanced at the lawns as if to suggest there might be other tables, any other table, Maik could have chosen.

In the end he gave a small shrug. “Sure.”

Maik climbed up and sat on the table; a bookend to the man on the other end. “They tell me this is the best place in town for a decent cup of coffee,” said Maik, indicating the cup cradled between the man's clasped hands. “Is it any good?”

The man looked down into his cup a moment before answering. “Not bad, unless you're a coffee connoisseur.”

“Me?” Maik gave an easy laugh. “No, I'm a tea man. My boss, though, he likes his coffee. He's from Canada.”

If Maik hadn't been looking for it, the slight tensing would have been easy to miss. The two of them sat for a moment in silence, sipping their drinks thoughtfully and staring out as the ducks went about their business, completely unconcerned by the scrutiny of the men perched above them.

“Beautiful colours, those on the right,” said Maik. “Shelducks, aren't they?”

“Shovelers. There are some Shelducks here, though, over on the far bank.”

Maik nodded. “And those with the white stripe on their heads?”

“Eurasian Wigeon.” The man corrected himself. “Wigeon.”

“Some life they've got, pottering about all day, find a bit of food, have a rest now and again. Not a care in the world, I should imagine. Pity we can't all have lives like that, eh? My name's Danny, by the way.” He leaned across the table and extended a hand in a way that left the other man no opportunity to refuse it. He received a hand in return, but no name to go with it, until his own lingering grip made it uncomfortable.

“John,” said the other man. “Nice to meet you, Danny, but I must be going.”

“My boss, this Canadian bloke, he likes to sit like this, up high,” said Maik, as if John hadn't spoken. “I never realized what a perspective it gives you until now.” He turned to look at the man in a way that stilled his move to rise.

“You're Canadian, aren't you?”

“North American. Canadian, yes,” said Damian finally, relenting under the other man's questioning stare. Over Maik's shoulder, Damian eyed the doorway to the café, as if he might be regretting his decision to sit at this table so far away from it, especially now that the formidable frame of Sergeant Danny Maik had settled himself in between.

“Forgive all the questions,” said Danny amicably. “Can't help myself sometimes. It's my job, see. I'm a police officer.”

Damian Jejeune must have spent large parts of his recent life controlling his reactions to uncomfortable situations. “A detective?”

“On my good days,” said Maik with an easy smile. “You know a lot about birds. You wouldn't be the one who found that rare bird they're all talking about — the Franklin's Seagull?”

“Gull.” Damian shrugged uncomfortably. “Sometimes you get lucky.”

“I'm sure you do.” Maik nodded, as if recalling some dim memory in his past when he had been lucky himself. “It certainly seems to have caused a flap.” Comedy wasn't Maik's forte and his apologetic smile seemed to acknowledge as much. The other man, though, seemed to have little time for humour anyway. He looked wary, guarded, ill at ease. Maik recognized the signs. It was the look of a hunted man.

A silence fell between them, but Maik was relaxed. This man wasn't going to run. If he took a stand, he might be a handful. He had a nasty bruise on his forehead that suggested he had seen a bit of action recently. And Danny knew exactly where. But his years of experience told him the man wasn't going anywhere. He was too clever, too experienced. He would be looking for another way out instead of making a run for it.

“This boss of mine I told you about, this Canadian, he's a detective, too. Chief Inspector, as a matter of fact. He's a good man. I've got a lot of time for him.”

Danny waited, but the other man seemed unable to find anything to say. He continued staring straight ahead, at the water, and the ducks, and the idyllic man-made landscape.

“I'll tell you the kind of man he is,” said Danny. “Not all that long after he came here, I was taken ill on the job. Fine now, thanks,” he said with a terse smile. “The thing is, at the time, it was touch and go whether I would be able to keep my job. I knew I was still up to it, but the brass don't always see things the way you'd like them to, do they? Certainly not in my line of work.”

Perhaps Danny was asking what the man's occupation was, perhaps he wasn't. The Shovelers drifted off nearer the far shore and the man's eyes tracked them. But Danny was fairly sure he still had his attention.

“In the end, it all came down to the inspector's word. And he made it his business to see things worked out all right for me. Now why would he do that, I wondered? As I said, we'd only just met. But that's the way he is, see? When push comes to shove, he'll put himself on the line for you. Loyalty. It doesn't seem as easy to find as it used to be. Certainly not like that. I'm from an army background, myself. You learn to value the people you can rely on in that way.”

Something in Damian's expression had changed. The concern was still there, but the alarm, the look of panic, had gone, replaced by something else. Sadness? Regret? Danny wasn't sure. But he knew it was time to close in.

“So, as I say, I've got a lot of time for this Chief Inspector of mine. And if he wants to tell me he doesn't know any other Canadians who happen to be visiting, other birders, I've got no reason to think otherwise. The thing is, he's not been his normal self lately. I think something is bothering him, and I don't think it's his work. I wouldn't like to think it was because somebody he knew was putting him in a difficult situation. The thing about loyalty like his is, it would be easy to take advantage of it, if you know what I mean.”

Damian was silent so long Maik thought he had resolved not to speak at all, that he was waiting until he was sure Danny had said his piece before deciding what his next move would be. But Damian finally swivelled around and looked at him directly.

Maik realized this was not Domenic Jejeune's face he was looking into. This man had been down a long, hard road. Not as long and hard as Maik's own, perhaps, but enough of one that it had left its scars. The man facing him now wouldn't be inclined to take anybody's advice. Not unless he wanted to. For a long moment, the uncertainty hung between the two men like a physical force.

“This boss of yours,” said Damian quietly. “I guess he has no family over here?”

Maik eyed Damian warily. “None that I'm aware of, sir.”

Damian nodded slowly. “The world can come at you from a lot of different directions, Danny. It must be difficult for his family, I imagine, him being so far away. I'm sure they care about him, too, and they'd want to watch out for him if they could. But maybe they can't, for whatever reason.” He looked out over the water again and then back to Danny. “If that was the case, if they couldn't be around for him themselves, I'm guessing they would be very grateful to know there was somebody like you out here, looking out for his best interests. It would make them feel, you know, better about things.”

Danny Maik sat in silence for a long time. He was looking at the water, at the ducks gliding over its surface in what seemed to him to be such aimless pursuits, but were, surely, full of purpose for the birds themselves. He drained his now-cold tea and crushed the cup in his powerful hand. “I'd better be going,” he announced, climbing off the table. “Enjoy the rest of your time in the U.K., John. Going to be a long stay, is it?”

Damian shook his head regretfully. “I'll be moving on soon.” He looked out over the lake and the soft green lawns surrounding it, dappled by the faintest pockets of shadow from the high, wispy clouds. “Pity though. If things were different, I'm pretty sure I could get to like it here.”