its box. It happened, itâs over, letâs get back to normal. Still, as a piece of performance art, it was impressive, and Colleen Shepherd, in particular, seemed to look at Trueman with new eyes as he resumed his seat at Maikâs desk.
âWell, I suppose this answers the question of whether Maggie Wylde could have killed someone,â she said.
Maik was fairly sure that if Inspector Jejeune was here he would have pointed out that the question was not whether Maggie could have killed the two people in the sanctuary, but whether she did.
âAll this over a couple of doves,â said Holland to nobody in particular.
Trueman rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He wasnât saying anything. But such was the bond between himself and Danny Maik, he didnât need to.
11
S ir Michael Hillier attended to his constituency matters from a suite of lavishly appointed offices overlooking the main square of Saltmarsh. Though Jejeune doubted that many of Hillierâs constituents knew the extent of this luxury, he suspected few would have begrudged the MP his comforts. He was popular with the local voters, and an enthusiastic supporter of all things Saltmarsh and north Norfolk. This included its police force.
Hillier was standing at the window, seemingly absorbed by the Saltmarsh skyline, when Jejeune entered. He turned to greet the detective. Though Jejeune could not imagine the number of people Hillier would see on any given day, the MP had mastered that upper class affectation of implying that his guestâs arrival was of singular importance.
âInspector, thank you so much for coming,â he said in a deep voice, rich with breeding. He had a long, distinguished face, framed by white hair, cut to a shaggy length just the right side of unruly. Exuberant grey eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own sprouted from behind a pair of heavy, black-rimmed glasses that were perched on the end of Hillierâs nose, as if to emphasize the idea that he didnât normally wear such contraptions. Hillier was wearing a navy blue suit with a broad white pinstripe that merely served to further define his thin, over-tall frame. As he approached in greeting, Jejeune noted the politicianâs slight stoop, seeming to begin around the shoulder blades. The early onset of scoliosis, he suspected.
âWould you care for coffee?â
In eschewing the traditional offering of tea, the MP was no doubt trying to accommodate what he imagined to be Jejeuneâs Canadian tastes. But in the detectiveâs experience, institutional coffee in Britain was always an adventure, and at its frequent worst it could be a deeply regrettable experience. If Hillier had any thoughts about Jejeuneâs refusal, he gave no sign.
âI have been asked to convey personal greetings from the Home Secretary, and his daughter. Sheâs doing wonderfully well, these days, I understand. Thankfully, she seems to have been able to put the whole terrible business behind her. Engaged now, as you may have heard.â
Jejeune had, through the dailies, though he wasnât expecting an invitation to the wedding. Reminding everybody on her wedding day of the debt the bride owed to another man hardly seemed like the ideal way to start a happy marriage.
Hillier seemed to read the thought in Jejeuneâs face. âI can assure you, Inspector, no one in the government is likely to forget your efforts in bringing about that young ladyâs safe return. Believe it or not, politicians see themselves as something of a family. A bit like the police, in a way, I suppose. A little more self-absorbed, perhaps, and a damn sight pettier, I shouldnât wonder. But in the end, when itâs one of our own, we all rally round. Her ordeal affected us all greatly.â
Jejeune acknowledged the comments about the case that had first brought him national recognition, but said nothing further. He was still trying to
âWell, I suppose this answers the question of whether Maggie Wylde could have killed someone,â she said.
Maik was fairly sure that if Inspector Jejeune was here he would have pointed out that the question was not whether Maggie could have killed the two people in the sanctuary, but whether she did.
âAll this over a couple of doves,â said Holland to nobody in particular.
Trueman rolled his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. He wasnât saying anything. But such was the bond between himself and Danny Maik, he didnât need to.
11
S ir Michael Hillier attended to his constituency matters from a suite of lavishly appointed offices overlooking the main square of Saltmarsh. Though Jejeune doubted that many of Hillierâs constituents knew the extent of this luxury, he suspected few would have begrudged the MP his comforts. He was popular with the local voters, and an enthusiastic supporter of all things Saltmarsh and north Norfolk. This included its police force.
Hillier was standing at the window, seemingly absorbed by the Saltmarsh skyline, when Jejeune entered. He turned to greet the detective. Though Jejeune could not imagine the number of people Hillier would see on any given day, the MP had mastered that upper class affectation of implying that his guestâs arrival was of singular importance.
âInspector, thank you so much for coming,â he said in a deep voice, rich with breeding. He had a long, distinguished face, framed by white hair, cut to a shaggy length just the right side of unruly. Exuberant grey eyebrows that seemed to have a life of their own sprouted from behind a pair of heavy, black-rimmed glasses that were perched on the end of Hillierâs nose, as if to emphasize the idea that he didnât normally wear such contraptions. Hillier was wearing a navy blue suit with a broad white pinstripe that merely served to further define his thin, over-tall frame. As he approached in greeting, Jejeune noted the politicianâs slight stoop, seeming to begin around the shoulder blades. The early onset of scoliosis, he suspected.
âWould you care for coffee?â
In eschewing the traditional offering of tea, the MP was no doubt trying to accommodate what he imagined to be Jejeuneâs Canadian tastes. But in the detectiveâs experience, institutional coffee in Britain was always an adventure, and at its frequent worst it could be a deeply regrettable experience. If Hillier had any thoughts about Jejeuneâs refusal, he gave no sign.
âI have been asked to convey personal greetings from the Home Secretary, and his daughter. Sheâs doing wonderfully well, these days, I understand. Thankfully, she seems to have been able to put the whole terrible business behind her. Engaged now, as you may have heard.â
Jejeune had, through the dailies, though he wasnât expecting an invitation to the wedding. Reminding everybody on her wedding day of the debt the bride owed to another man hardly seemed like the ideal way to start a happy marriage.
Hillier seemed to read the thought in Jejeuneâs face. âI can assure you, Inspector, no one in the government is likely to forget your efforts in bringing about that young ladyâs safe return. Believe it or not, politicians see themselves as something of a family. A bit like the police, in a way, I suppose. A little more self-absorbed, perhaps, and a damn sight pettier, I shouldnât wonder. But in the end, when itâs one of our own, we all rally round. Her ordeal affected us all greatly.â
Jejeune acknowledged the comments about the case that had first brought him national recognition, but said nothing further. He was still trying to
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