A Pitying of Doves Read Online Free PDF Page A

banding reports now and again from the Free to Fly Sanctuary, but since one in early February of a Snow Bunting previously banded in the Netherlands, there had been nothing.
    Something in Jejeune’s expression seemed to suggest that the news from the BTO had changed things. It was hard to put into words exactly, but the inspector’s focus seemed to have shifted. Jejeune was now looking in a different direction.
    â€œSergeant, can you make sure SOCO collect feathers from that cage,” he said, as if it had suddenly become important. Maik suppressed a grimace. The DCI had an annoying habit of requesting things in a way that suggested that, without his guidance, other people would forget to perform the most basic of tasks. The SOCO boys were good, and they knew their job. Any blood-stained feathers would be collected, labelled, and recorded without any reminder from him. Or Jejeune.
    â€œI’ll see to it,” said Salter. She disappeared down the stairs hurriedly, as if she was anxious to get away from this flat, this living place of a dead person.
    The men continued to sift through Phoebe’s belongings, the skeleton of a human life about whom they knew nothing, and perhaps would never know anything. If possible, the information that she was a post-graduate, poised on the cusp of recouping some of the investment she had made in her future, seemed only to heighten the sense of loss.
    They looked up simultaneously as Tony Holland appeared on the landing. Some of the bounce appeared to have gone from his demeanour. Maik recognized the signs. It rarely sat well with Holland, having to confirm one of Jejeune’s outlandish theories. You would have thought with all the practice it might have become a bit easier, but the constable was obviously still struggling with it.
    â€œI … er … conducted a search of the victim’s hotel room, sir,” he said formally. “There was documentation that indicated another name. Photo ID, in fact. The victim’s real name was Ramon Santos.”
    â€œI see,” said Jejeune. He seemed utterly unimpressed with his own shrewdness. But what was Jejeune doing with knowledge like this Juan Perez business rattling around in his head anyway? wondered Maik. It wasn’t the sort of thing you picked up on pub trivia night down at The Boatman’s Arms.
    â€œHave a Canadian suspect do a runner down that way one time, did you?” he asked.
    â€œSomething like that,” said Jejeune quietly.
    â€œThe thing is,” continued Holland. He hesitated, “Well, I’m afraid the DCS is not going to like it much.”
    Danny Maik straightened up and raised an eyebrow.
    â€œThat photo ID. It was a diplomatic pass. Apparently, Mr. Santos was a diplomatic attaché with the Mexican Consulate.”
    A flicker passed across Jejeune’s features. Holland was right. DCS Shepherd wasn’t going to like it. Not at all.

4
    I t was still before noon when Jejeune arrived back at the station, but Detective Chief Superintendent Colleen Shepherd was already wearing the expression of someone who had been waiting a long time. And none too patiently.
    Shepherd followed him into his office but left the door open behind her. It was a signal they would both be leaving soon. Jejeune set the well-used birding book on his desk, but did not bother taking a seat. Despite Tony Holland’s dire predictions, Shepherd did not seem particularly distraught that they were going to be dealing with the death of a senior foreign diplomat on her patch. She was unusually animated, perhaps, but there was none of the hand-wringing angst that such an event might have occasioned in a less ambitious DCS.
    â€œI understand Sergeant Maik’s been running background checks on Maggie Wylde. This complaint lodged by one of the victims against her,” said Shepherd, “anything to it?”
    â€œIt’s one lead,” said Jejeune flatly.
    But not one I like , his