A Cast of Falcons (29 page)

T
his
time, there wasn't any playfulness in Catherine Weil's ice-blue eyes when she opened the door. And Constable Salter suspected that there wouldn't have been even if Danny had come here on his own.

They stepped inside the small flat and stood before her formally. A woman of Weil's intelligence wouldn't need to have the situation explained to her, but Salter did it anyway. She told her they were conducting the interview as a precursor to obtaining a warrant for a search of these premises: her flat.

“A warrant? What on earth are you looking for?” Weil turned her eyes on Maik, but Danny looked as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world than this tiny, over-neat flat. That was okay. Salter would do what needed to be done.

“We will come to that, Ms. Weil. We are now prepared to accept that the man you saw in the woods that night was Philip Wayland.”

Weil looked to be readying herself for a triumphant response, but at the last moment, seemed to check herself.

“You knew it was Mr. Wayland, because you had arranged to meet him there.”

“No,” she said quickly. She lowered her eyes. It was the first time Maik could ever remember her failing to meet anyone's gaze; the first lie, the crack in the dam. The rest of the deceit, the evasions, would follow now, spilling out before them like blood, filling the room with their rancid odour. How much he hated this job at times. But the old soldier in him was still on duty, reminding him to stand up straight, stare ahead, and show no emotion. And like the good soldier he was, Danny Maik obeyed.

“He had asked you to meet him, and you suspected you knew why,” continued Salter. “But you went along anyway.”

“No!” shouted Weil, so abruptly it made Maik start. “No, I didn't.”

“You did,” insisted Salter. “He was going to ask you to steal his research from the Old Dairy databases. And you were prepared to go along with it.”

“No,” she said again. Weil dropped her eyes and a single tear escaped down her cheek. “Yes,” she said softly. “He was going to ask me to give him his research, so he and his girlfriend could work on it together.
Meet me, Catherine
,”
she recited, “
it's for the greater good
,
Catherine, for the benefit of so many
.
Personal morality and considerations shouldn't come into it. We should be above all that.
As if he was ever going to get anywhere working with Xandria Grey, whether he had the Old Dairy data or not.”

“What happened when you met him?” asked Maik softly.

Weil shook her head. Her red hair was like a veil, cascading down over her, shrouding her. She looked so frail, so broken. Salter was sure it was all Danny Maik could do to stop himself from reaching out a hand to her.

“I didn't. I was on my way to meet him, but at the last moment, I realized I couldn't do what he wanted me to. Philip could be so persuasive. His passion about his project, it overwhelmed you. I knew if I let myself talk to him, I wouldn't be able to say no. I knew I couldn't allow myself to meet him.”

Salter was silent for a moment. Danny had gone walkabout. Nothing on the scale of the grand tours Jejeune undertook, but enough to distance himself from the spectacle of Catherine Weil, shattering like glass before his eyes.

“But you didn't leave, did you, Ms. Weil? You stayed on, and waited. Waited until Philip arrived.”

“I wanted to see him, as he made his way down there, to where we were supposed to be meeting, by the sign. I just wanted to see if there was any hesitation, any contrition, any indication at all that he felt badly about what he intended to ask me to do. Or was it just the same old Philip; project first, everything else nowhere.” She flashed her eyes at Maik, “Collateral damage, isn't that what you called us, Sergeant, the by-product of other people's thoughtlessness. I just wandered around for a while in the woods. I couldn't think properly. And then I left.”

Inspector Jejeune was so measured, so careful in his approach. He constructed his case block by block, allowing the suspects to supply the mortar with their own mistakes, their inconsistencies, until they suddenly realized they had built a wall around themselves from which they could not escape. But this was Lauren Salter, doing the heavy lifting because Danny Maik was standing as far away as he could manage in this small flat, as animated as a tailor's dummy. So Danny and the DCI and the whole bloody lot of them would just have to put up with Lauren Salter making the best fist of things she could.

“You killed him, Ms. Weil. You followed him and you killed him. And you thought you'd left no evidence. But there may be some.”

The statement was so surprising Maik snapped his head round to look at Salter.

Weil looked shocked, puzzled.

“Philip Wayland was carrying a shoulder bag when he died. We have it and we're testing it for your fingerprints.”

Weil shifted uncomfortably. “This is ridiculous,” she said, but the defiance was gone from her now. She was nervous, afraid. “He's had that bag for years. We worked side by side. Of course my bloody prints could be on it. But it would be from months ago, years.”

“Unfortunately, unless they're overlaid with others, there's no way to tell how long fingerprints have been on an object,” said Salter. “If we found a clean set of your prints on the bag, Ms. Weil, Catherine, it would be up to a jury to decide how long they'd been there. Why don't you tell us what happened?”

“Philip had his bag with him that night?” Weil retreated into silence again, but it was more thoughtful now, more measured. Not at all the sullen defiance of earlier. Maik watched the expression on her face with interest.

“It's not looking particularly good for you,” said Salter. “You have motive, opportunity. You've admitted to being at the scene, seeing Mr. Wayland there, even. Following him.”

“I don't want to tell you your job, Constable.” Weil's sarcasm had an edge to it. From somewhere she had rediscovered her fire. “But unless you have some actual evidence, I don't believe there is any reason I should let you stay.”

Salter looked across at Maik, still staring thoughtfully at Weil. Even he should be sensing the turning of the tide. Weil was no longer on the defensive, no longer cowed, vulnerable. It was time for him to step in. But he didn't move.

“We will return with a warrant to search your flat, your car, your work area. We know what we are looking for and we won't stop until we find it.”

The weapon, perhaps, she meant, or a fragment of blood-stained wood chip from the path that had clung to Weil as she left the scene. Anything.

Weil shrugged easily. “Whatever you find,” she said, boldness fully restored now, “I can assure you, it will not connect me to Philip's murder.”

“Any DNA might be enough for a jury. A long red hair, even, with Mr. Wayland's blood on it. Would you be willing to gamble there would be nothing? If we find anything at all, there'll be no further need for any co-operation.”

“I'll take my chances.” She turned to Maik, who had watched her metamorphosis back to her old assured self with something approaching wonder, and was standing there now wide-eyed and uncertain. “What do you think, Sergeant Maik? On the off-chance the constable's pie-in-the-sky wishes don't pan out, do you think you have enough to charge me?”

“No,” said Danny.”

Salter stirred, half-turning to him in anger. “Sir, it would only take a couple of hours to get a warrant. I could organize the search of this place myself.”

But Maik wouldn't stop staring at Weil.

Salter shook her head in anger and frustration. In the long series of missteps that had dogged the Saltmarsh Police Department in this case, this was the worst of all. And she was unable to stop it.

“Sarge, I believe we have enough reasonable suspicion to hold Ms. Weil, at least for a short time.”

“No, Constable.” Maik shook his head slowly. “Not enough. Not reasonable.”

But there is Danny
, thought Salter, sadly.
If only you dared to see it. If only you wanted there to be.

She said nothing as they left the flat, nor even as they approached the Mini. Without a word, she carried on past the car. Danny watched her leave, feeling more alone than he had felt for a very long time.

T
ony
Holland drove. In the end, that was what it came down to. Holland drove, and Maik sat in the passenger seat. Whether it would have been any different if they had taken the sergeant's Mini, whether there would there have been less suffering, less damage in the end, Maik couldn't have said. But when Shepherd dispatched them to Jejeune's house as fast as possible, it was inevitable that the two men would have chosen Holland's Audi. He had the tires squealing out of the car park before Maik even had his seatbelt on.

Flashes of the north Norfolk countryside hurtled at them through ragged gaps in the hedgerows. Holland drove with a confidence born of long practice on these roads, anticipating the corners and expertly changing down in anticipation of the waiting straight-aways where he could open up the 4.2-litre V8 engine to full effect. Maik sat beside him in silence, eyes resting on the grey blur of the road surface disappearing beneath the car. At this rate they would be there soon. Too soon?

Less than thirty minutes before, Maik had been sitting at his desk, taking in the enormity of what had happened to DCI Jejeune and DCS Shepherd at the Old Dairy, and wondering if it had thrown enough of a shadow over his interview with Catherine Weil to hide his own failings. Just as the acrid aftertaste of smoke and burnt rubber no doubt still clung to Jejeune and Shepherd, the stench of Maik's own error filled his senses. He had let Catherine Weil go free. It had been the wrong thing to do. And he had done it for the wrong reasons.

If he needed any confirmation, Jejeune's panicked tone, when he had informed him, provided it.

“It's that satchel, sir,” Maik had told him. “It must be the key. We're having it checked again for evidence, in case we missed something first time around.” He shook his head, even though his DCI couldn't see the gesture. “There was something about it. Her attitude changed completely when we mentioned it.”

“You told her about the bag, and then you let her go?” Jejeune had sounded alarmed. “Where is Weil now?”

“At work, I imagine. I can confirm that, and let you know when you get here. Will that be soon, sir? Only DCS Shepherd wants to see you the second you walk through the door. I got the impression earlier would suit her even more.”

But there was no response. And so he had no answer to give DCS Shepherd when she burst into the room moments later.

“Where the hell is Inspector Jejeune going? After we wrapped things up at that terrible scene last night, I specifically told him first thing tomorrow, my office. And now I hear someone has just seen him making a U-turn less than five minutes from here and heading away as fast as he could go.”

“What's he playing at?” asked Holland from the sidelines. “The sarge just told him you wanted to see him as soon as he got in.”

She looked at Maik. “You told him that. Utmost urgency?”

Maik's lowered eyes gave her the answer.

She turned to Holland. “Find out where Jejeune is now. Ping his phone.”

No
Inspector
, no
DCI
. Maik had reached for the phone and dialed a number, half knowing what was unfolding, even as Holland stared blankly at Shepherd, shocked by her tone and her terse use of the DCI's surname.

Shepherd turned to see Maik with the receiver in his hand and her eyes widened with alarm. She made a throat cut gesture with her hand.

“No contact.” She looked at Holland. “You either. Just his location. On second thought, the two of you get to Jejeune's house now. Right away.”

Maik leaned forward to cradle the receiver, brushing a button on the console as he did so, so softly it could have been unintentional.

Holland looked puzzled. “I don't get it, why don't we just wait till he gets back here?”

She looked at him incredulously. Then she turned her eyes on Danny. But all he could do was lower his own eyes and seek refuge for them in the phone console on his desk. And it was then that she knew. Danny Maik already knew.

Shepherd turned back to Holland.

“You're not going to his house for Inspector Jejeune, Constable. You're looking for John Damian.”

For a moment Holland sat in stunned silence. And then he stood and hurried to the door. As Maik stood up to join him, his hand brushed the button on the phone again.

“
Wouldn't it be faster to turn off here and cut down through Winscaston village?”

Holland flashed Maik an incredulous look. “You're joking, right? It's market day. Traffic down there would add another ten minutes. If we stay on here we'll be there in seven, eight minutes, tops.”

The trill of Maik's phone ended any further discussions about the routes to Jejeune's. It was the inspector. “Sergeant, where are you?”

Maik signalled to Holland and the constable slew the powerful roadster to a halt opposite a gateway entrance. Holland drew out his phone and texted Shepherd:
J on line
.

“I need backup immediately,” said Jejeune without waiting for an answer. “Get to the university as quickly as you can. Catherine Weil is not at the Old Dairy or her home. I think she's going to see Xandria Grey.”

Holland waited, engine idling. Maik mouthed “requesting backup,” and Holland texted the words. In his rear-view mirror, he saw a tractor trundling slowly toward them. It filled the lane, brushing the hedgerows on either side with its yellow mass. The university was behind them, down this lane in the other direction. The only turning place for the next two miles was opposite them right now. Holland could manoeuvre the Audi into the narrow space, let the tractor pass, and head back the way they had come. If Maik wanted him to.

“You need to call in and have them dispatch an arrest team, sir,” Maik told Jejeune.

“There's no time. A team will be at least ten minutes behind me. We need to get there before Weil gets to Grey. She's in danger.”

Holland looked at Maik and looked at his phone. Behind them the big tractor was inching closer, filling more and more of Holland's rear-view mirror. The gap beside him was still there.

“Are you still there, Sergeant?” Jejeune's voice was strained, urgent. “You need to head over there now. Right away.”

Holland looked down as a single chime came from his phone and read the reply. Maik looked at him. Holland shook his head.

“I can't do that, sir,” said Maik. “Go there and wait. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

There was a moment of silence, as if perhaps Jejeune realized. “I don't think I can, Sergeant. I don't think there is time to wait. I'll go in. Just get there as soon as you can.”

Holland had not moved. He sat, the car still in neutral, the big engine thrumming idly. The tractor was right up behind them now, waiting patiently. Waiting, while an eternity of small moments ticked by. There was silence on Maik's phone now, and on Holland's. Maik knew all it would take was a word from him. One word, and Holland, however much he disliked the idea, would make his manoeuvres, would turn around into the gateway, facing toward Jejeune, away from Damian. Maik stared out the window, while the breeze tousled the grasses in the fields beside them, and the easy thrum of the tractor's engine filled the air. And then Tony Holland put the car in gear and drove on.

F
or once, Holland paid no attention to the pitted, pot-holed driveway as he drove up to Inspector Jejeune's cottage. He gave the Audi full throttle until he pulled up at the front door, the tires skidding on the gravel.

He was out of the car and had knocked on the door by the time Maik made his way around to stand at his shoulder.

It took a long time for Lindy to open the door, longer than it should have taken. She leaned against the jamb, cradling a mug of tea against her chest. As a gesture it wasn't exactly defensive, but it occurred to Maik that a student of body language, somebody like Lauren Salter, say, might find something significant in the way it seemed to block the doorway.

“Danny, Constable Holland,” said Lindy. It could have been surprise in her voice, or perhaps something else. “Domenic's not here, I'm afraid. Isn't he at the station?”

“Not at the moment,” said Maik warily. “We were actually …”

“We're looking for a man by the name of John Damian,” said Holland brusquely. “Ring any bells?”

Lindy shook her head uncertainly. “No, I don't think so.” She looked past Holland to Maik. “What's this about, Danny?”

“Inquiries,” he said simply. It occurred to him that in all the many times he had visited this cottage, he had never been on the doorstep this long without being invited in. But then, he had never timed his visit to coincide exactly with the DCI's absence before. Lindy seemed to register the awkwardness of their situation. “I was just about to have a cup of tea on the back porch. You can go on around if you like, and I'll bring you one out.”

“No thanks, ma'am,” said Holland. “Would you mind if we came in and had a look around?”

“Of course I would,” said Lindy reasonably, albeit with a note of steel that Maik had long suspected existed. “What's this all about? Should I ring Domenic? Does he know you're here?” She turned to Maik. “Can you tell me what it is you're looking for, Danny? Perhaps I can help you find it?” She was still keeping things light, but there was an edge to her now, an uncertainty. Maik looked at her carefully, but he couldn't tell if she was hiding anything in the cottage … or anyone.

“We were wondering if you knew anybody named John Damian,” he said, watching her eyes for a reaction, as he knew Holland would be. But there was no flicker of recognition in them, and if they widened slightly, it could have been anything; puzzlement, surprise, even delayed outrage at this investigation so obviously being carried out behind the DCI's back. Lindy, though, wasn't about to give anything away. Maik would have expected no less.

“I have to say, I don't. Nice name though. Are you sure you don't want to come round the back?” The message was clear.
I've done nothing wrong; I have no idea what this is all about
. Danny had always known Lindy was a bright woman, but she was reaching new heights in his estimation today.

“Why are you looking for this man, can I ask?”

She was free to ask, but Tony Holland, for one, wouldn't be giving her any answers.

“And no one by that name has ever stayed here, as far as you're aware?”

“As far as I'm aware,
Detective? It's Tony, isn't it? I live here, Tony, and as you can see it's not exactly a palace. I'm pretty sure I would be
aware
if anybody named John Damian had ever even crossed the threshold, let alone kipped down here.”

“And you don't know anybody by that name?”

“You've already asked me that question, Constable.”

“Do you think I'd ask the same question twice if I was happy with the first answer?” asked Holland, riled by Lindy's refusal to answer directly.

“That'll do, Detective.”

“A North American, fairly tall, beard …”

“Asked and answered, Constable,” said Maik. He had let this go on long enough. “Sorry to have bothered you, Ms. Hey. I'll make sure the DCI is aware that we came by, and why. We won't be troubling you any further.”

Holland looked through the rear-view as the Audi made its way slowly down the driveway. “Not buying it, Sarge,” he said. “She knows something.”

In the passenger-side mirror, Maik looked at the door. Lindy was still leaning on the door jamb, tea mug cradled against her blue sweater. He had no doubt she would watch them every inch of the way until they disappeared from view.