A Cast of Falcons (28 page)

T
here
had been many fractious meetings held in the incident room at Saltmarsh station; many times angry words ricocheted around the room like truth-seeking missiles, searching for explanations, of actions, of timelines, of details. But there had never been an atmosphere like this, where facts were jealously coveted, and contributions went through filters to be judged against motives, agendas, and personal interests. It was a dangerous, toxic environment of guarded words and furtive glances.

“It's a matter of the timing,” said Jejeune. “I believe Darla Doherty was involved with a man in a scheme to use falcon passports to transport wild-caught Gyrfalcons to Kazakhstan.”

“Does he have a name, this man?” asked Holland. “It wouldn't be John Damian, would it?”

“He wasn't involved in Darla Doherty's death. In any of this,” said Jejeune with certainty.

“What is it with you and this bloke? Why can't you see how much he's tied up in all this? Is it because he's a Canadian? Of course, if anybody could find him, perhaps we could ask him ourselves about his involvement. Talk about dropping off the face …” Holland looked around the room accusingly. “I told you, we should have pulled him in when we had the chance, but no, you all knew better.”

The discomfort, previously an ambient background noise, ratcheted up to new heights. Maik stirred slightly, as if he might desert his post on the very edges of the discussion to intervene. “The girl's gone, too,” said Holland. “Tamilya Aliyev checked out of her hotel room, and boarded a plane for Almaty Airport via Munich less than twelve hours after she met with Damian.” He turned to Jejeune. “Are you going to tell me that's a coincidence?”

“How does the timing of Wayland's murder come in to all this, Domenic?” asked Shepherd. Her tone assured Holland she had taken note of his comments, but it carried enough authority to move the discussion forward.

“I believe wild birds they stored in the Old Dairy facility infected two of the prince's falcons. A grey Gyrfalcon died, and a white one. The plan was to have Darla Doherty train one of the wild birds as a replacement for the grey one, but the white one was a problem. If anyone went to the facility, they could easily tell it was missing. Yousef had no interest in the birds, so while Doherty was the only one working with them, her partner still had a chance to trap a wild white bird as a replacement. But then Philip Wayland was murdered, and they knew it would bring Ibrahim over. Even if he didn't fly any of his falcons, he would certainly visit the facility. It was only a matter of time before the absence of the white bird was detected. Yousef was responsible for protecting his brother's cast of Gyrfalcons. I think he was shamed by Ibrahim into an act of revenge when he found the white falcon had gone.”

The others in the room turned their eyes to Shepherd for her response. She shifted uncomfortably. “There's evidence that the timeline around Darla Doherty's death was manipulated. It revolves around the fact that some birds were in the vicinity — Lapwings. I must admit, it seems compelling.”

Holland's face twisted with fury. “She asked me to protect her,” he said bitterly. “And I couldn't. And nobody will ever pay for this, because the al-Haladins are gone, and bastards like that are too rich to face justice.”

“Perhaps,” said Jejeune, “But if I'm right, Yousef al-Haladin must have had an accomplice.”

“El-Taleb,” said Salter. “But why would he help Yousef?”

“It is the end of a very long, tangled chain,” said Jejeune. “I think that Wayland did go to them with the biochemical pro­ject, no doubt through el-Taleb, but the Old Dairy had already invested millions in R&D for undersea carbon storage — driven by Weil, I believe — and Yousef couldn't bring himself to face his brother's wrath, knowing that he had wasted all that money on the wrong track, so he rejected Wayland's proposal out of hand. Only, it turns out later he has let Wayland walk away with a potential solution that might lose them the prize money. His only recourse is to claim to Ibrahim that he was never given the chance to consider it.”

“But el-Taleb knows different,” said Salter, nodding, “and unless he becomes project director, so will Ibrahim.” She chose to look at Danny, rather than at Jejeune, for her confirmation.

“And as we know, Constable, any sort of arrangement based on that sort of quicksand is going to suck both people under eventually. When Yousef needed somebody to help him stage the girl's …” Maik flicked a look at Holland, “…
Darla's
death, el-Taleb was in no position to refuse.”

The room fell silent as everyone digested the information. Simultaneously, Salter and Holland seemed to stir toward the same idea, the idea that appeared to already be resting with the three senior officers in the room. It was Salter's thoughts that found voice first. “Anybody else wondering if this was their first go-round?” she asked cautiously. “That perhaps they both wanted revenge for Wayland's betrayal, as they saw it, and killed him, too?”

Shepherd shook her head. “Not for revenge, Constable. I still don't think that's a strong enough motive.” She glanced at Jejeune. “But if somebody came to me with an idea about getting a rival out of the way in a race for a billion pounds in prize money, I'd be willing to listen to that. We plan to ask Mr. el-Taleb as soon as we bring him in.”

Maik followed the DCS's eyes to Jejeune's face, but the expression he found there wasn't confirmation. Jejeune was quiet, in a way Danny had come to recognize. It didn't fit. Perhaps Shepherd's theory made sense, but something troubled Jejeune about it. Danny believed he knew what it was. Because, for once, he felt like he and Inspector Domenic Jejeune were on the same page about Philip Wayland's death. And neither el-Taleb nor Prince Yousef was on it.

“I can go and pick el-Taleb up now,” said Maik “I assume you'll want to come with me, Constable Holland?”

Shepherd glanced at Jejeune. “No. The inspector and I will go.”

“
Given the connections this family had, still have in this country, this will need to be handled delicately. We'll have uniforms on standby if necessary, but if we can get Mr. el-Taleb to come in with us voluntarily, it will be much better for everyone.”

Shepherd's explanation had been so hollow, it had left a ringing buzz of unease in the room long after she and Jejeune had left.

“Any chance I can have five minutes with Taleb when he comes in, Sarge?” Holland was seething that he wasn't allowed to be part of the arresting team for the man involved in his girlfriend's murder. “If he played any part in Wayland's death, it wouldn't take me long to find out.”

Salter eyed Holland warily. With his emotions teetering on the edge of control, keeping him as far from el-Taleb as possible seemed the sensible course. Maik's look appeared to confirm her thoughts.

“Do you think it was el-Taleb who killed Wayland?” she asked.

Maik shook his head slowly. “I don't think so.” He paused for a long moment. “I think it was Catherine Weil.”

No one moved. Danny Maik's announcement, in the aftermath of all the undercurrents of distrust and evasion, cut through the charged atmosphere of the room like a laser.

“She and Wayland had an affair. She said it ended before he left to go to the university, but let's say it didn't. He's moved on, taking any hope of success in the Old Dairy project with him, and the next thing anybody knows, he's engaged to Xandria Grey, as close to a professional rival as Catherine Weil has.”

“He had been gone a year, though, Sarge,” said Salter. “That's a long time for anybody to wait for payback. Weil has got a temper on her, I'll grant you, but she doesn't strike me as a slow-burner.”

“I agree, and she may have even made her peace with it all. But then he did something else, recently, that sent her over the edge. He asked her to steal data from the Old Dairy compound for him.”

“He was asking her to steal information so he could work on it with the woman he had abandoned her for? As if anybody's ex would ever agree to that.” Lauren Salter looked around the room. She would have searched out Shepherd, another woman, to support her point of view, but she was no longer there. “Just what sort of hold did Wayland imagine he had over Weil? Why would he even ask?”

“Professional differences,” said Holland. “When you asked her the reason she and Wayland split up, that's what she said, wasn't it? But what bigger professional difference is there than you believing in something as much as Wayland did, when the woman who works right beside you every day thinks it's all a bunch of crap.”

“So you're saying Wayland thought it would be easier for Weil to give up something she never really believed in in the first place?” asked Salter skeptically.

Maik nodded. “He saw her disaffection, her disillusionment, and he thought that meant she would be willing to help him. A man with morality like Wayland's — flexible, convenient, easily abandoned when the circumstances called for it — I don't think he understood how she could disrespect her employers, consider the work on carbon storage a waste of time, yet still be prepared to protect it, simply because it was the right thing to do. It must take a special kind of integrity to do that —”

He stopped short and was quiet. The rest of the team waited a long time for someone to venture into the space he had left. In the end, it was Holland who broke the silence.

“But why murder him? She could have just refused to help him.”

“It was the fact that he asked her,” said Salter. “Wayland couldn't have told her any more plainly that he had no regard for her — no respect, either personally or professionally — if he'd flown a banner over the Old Dairy from the back of Yousef al-Haladin's helicopter. Catherine Weil is no fool, and she wouldn't stand for being treated like one.”

“So those little tabs things you were going on about, the one he called his DNA markers,” said Holland. “He was getting his material ready so he could just slot the stuff in as soon as Weil gave it to him?” He shook his head. “He was certainly confident enough that he would be able to convince her. Talk about misreading somebody.”

“I think he misjudged Catherine Weil, on a lot of levels,” said Maik. “But then, he's not on his own in that regard.”

T
here
was an aura about Colleen Shepherd that Jejeune had never seen before. She shifted uneasily in the passenger seat of the Range Rover, greeting all attempts at conversation with monosyllabic, distracted responses, until he eventually stopped trying, sensing correctly that she would lapse into silence the moment she could. It might have been nervousness, perhaps, venturing out into the field for the first time in as long as anyone could remember. And certainly, el-Taleb was well-connected enough, even in the absence of his royal protectors, to warrant special care in handling and processing. But nervousness had always manifested itself in Colleen Shepherd as energy, or a constant fretting and fussing over details she had already confirmed a thousand times. Now there was only a dark edginess, as if she was entering a place she didn't want to go, a haunted house that held who-knew-what horrors.

Jejeune spent the rest of the journey on his Bluetooth, confidentially confirming el-Taleb's location, first with the receptionist at the Old Dairy and then with a worker at the helicopter maintenance shed at Cromer. He pulled the Range Rover off the dirt track and bounced up into the ragged, untilled field where the makeshift helicopter pad was located.

“I'll park here,” Jejeune said unnecessarily, for something to say. He put The Beast into reverse and tucked it neatly in beside a bramble hedgerow. “When el-Taleb comes in, we can drive across to pick him up.” Jejeune looked at his phone and then at his watch. “He should be landing soon. He's already on his way, and flying time back here is only about ten minutes.”

“Does he know that we'll be here? Or why?”

Jejeune shook his head. “He'll think he's in the clear now that Yousef has gone. His guard will be down.” He paused and took a moment to look at the surrounding fields, bathed in gentle sunlight. It was a clear day, with faint trails of white clouds high in a pale blue sky. The birdsong came from the skies, too, from Skylarks and Meadow Pipits. Jejeune watched one spiral up, piping its beautiful rolling trill as it descended again.

“You're sure it was the prince who killed Darla Doherty, Domenic? It wasn't el-Taleb?”

Jejeune shook his head. “He couldn't have. He had no gauntlet, no protective gear. No one could control a Gyrfalcon without them. I think Yousef hooded the falcon to subdue it, before dragging its talons across Doherty's neck. A surprise attack, most likely, while she was turned away, distracted. Then el-Taleb flew him to the Palm Court in the helicopter while he changed clothes and got rid of the falconer's equipment. Everybody assumed Yousef had gone there by car because the helicopter was here, but I think el-Taleb flew it back after dropping him off. He had keys with him, in the field. They must have been from the helicopter.”

Shepherd nodded. “And then he reports having witnessed her accident, knowing there is nothing at the scene to tie him to the crime in any way, and he can have an ongoing, unbroken video record to show he couldn't have gotten rid of anything.” She shook her head in what could have been admiration, of a sort.

“It was all planned in advance,” said Jejeune. “It was why we were granted our audience with Yousef at the Palm Court. What better alibi could he have? Not only was he in another place, he was with two senior police detectives at the time.”

Shepherd looked across at Jejeune. She seemed sad, tired. “Domenic, I need you to tell me about John Damian.”

Jejeune gripped the steering wheel in both hands and stared out through the screen in front of him. This was why she was here. Shepherd, out on a field operation, with Maik and the others, Holland, Salter, left behind to do … what? Anything. Nothing. Just something that would keep them away from Domenic Jejeune as his world collapsed around him, as the dust and rubble of the lies and half-truths and evasions finally poured in, ready to bury him, suffocate him, swallow him whole.

“I know …”

The noise from blades sounded so close, they both flinched. The helicopter skimmed the top of the hedgerow, barely missing the Range Rover. It was the cavalier flying of someone who had done this many times, someone free of controls and constraints. The flight of a man with nothing to fear.

Until he saw the vehicle.

“What the hell's he doing?” shouted Shepherd as the helicopter lurched wildly to the left.

“He's seen us. He's trying to get away.” Jejeune fired up the Range Rover and slammed it into gear. The helicopter, still low to the ground, was close to righting itself as it sped away across the field.

“I thought you said he wouldn't know why we were here.”

The only reason I would need to come onto this property again, Mr.
el-Taleb
, would be to make an arrest
, thought Jejeune, burning at the memory of his own bravado. “We have to stop him before he gets over the treeline. If he stays low, air traffic won't be able to track him and we'll lose him.”

Shepherd reached for Jejeune's radio as the Range Rover shuddered over the uneven terrain. “I'll have uniforms get cars along the coast road.”

The helicopter was closing in on the far stand of trees. Jejeune sped along beneath him, looking up, watching every dip and swerve as el-Taleb fought for altitude. The trees were approaching fast, hurtling toward them both. The helicopter seemed to falter, and then with a final heaving effort, rose almost vertically and crested the treeline. It had made it to safety, to freedom. But at the last moment, it tilted. The left-hand runner clipped the top of a giant beech, the tallest tree in the stand. For a moment the giant metal bird seemed to stall in the sky. Then it eased over on its axis, driven by the rear rotor into a cartwheeling spin that drove it down on the far side of the trees. From behind the screen of foliage came an earth-shaking explosion and an orange fireball that swelled and heaved into a cloud of thick black smoke.

Jejeune slewed the Range Rover to a halt and sprinted to the boundary hedge, hurtling through it, oblivious to the scratches and snags as he passed. But he was driven back, forearm raised to his face, by the intensity of the heat and the flames arcing out as the sizzling metal cracked and spat in front of him.

Somewhere through the roaring of the flames, he heard his name being called. He backed away from the wreckage, unable to drag his eyes away from the carnage of the burning helicopter until he reached the hedgerow. He turned to see Shepherd through the tangle of branches. She was searching his eyes, for hope, for a miracle. He offered her nothing, but his sloping shoulders told her what she already knew. There would be no miracles today.

The acrid smoke was making his eyes water as it drifted toward him. He could hear the first sounds of the sirens racing along the coast road. Shepherd, from his car phone, he thought dimly. He looked at his DCS, standing forlornly in the field behind the hedgerow, the one that he had so easily crashed his way through just a few moments before. Now it seemed such an impenetrable barrier, barring his way back to the other place, to where his life had been before he crossed over to this side. His thoughts were coming irrationally, and one of them was whether he would ever be able to cross this barrier again, ever go back to where he used to be. He turned away from Shepherd and wandered back toward the wreckage, standing for a long time, watching as the orange-yellow flames continued to reach up, licking the carcass of the helicopter like a hungry animal. He was sitting down on the grass now, he realized, unable to remember when he had done so. The heat from the flames was less intense here, but still reaching him. He stared at the burning wreckage, unable to move, unable to help. He was still there when the first of the fire engines pulled up and two fire officers came over to escort him to safety.