A Pitying of Doves by Steve Burrows Page B

a sign of the frustration Jejeune was feeling that he failed to recognize this.
    â€œI’m sorry, Domenic, but wise use of resources is a departmental mantra these days, and I’m afraid I just can’t see myself standing before the assistant chief constable trying to justify the use of highly sophisticated police equipment to test bird feathers.” She offered him a placatory smile. “I’m sure you’ll get your results soon enough.”
    She turned to the room in general. “Right, well I’ll leave you to get on with it then, unless there’s anything else I should know. Anything on the fingerprints on the filing cabinet, for example. I assume we have already tested the volunteers to see if they belong to any of them?”
    The assembled crowd looked at one another sheepishly, making it clear that the report wasn’t going to make happy listening for the DCS. It was no surprise to anyone that Tony Holland rushed into the breach. He had a rare skill for reporting events in a way that simultaneously suggested that he had not been involved, and that if he had, things would have turned out immeasurably better.
    â€œThe volunteer system seems to have operated on a drop-in basis, ma’am. They were on first-name terms only, if they ever even saw each other. No insurance clearances required, so no need for any records. Nobody seems really sure of who was there and who wasn’t, let alone how they could be contacted.”
    â€œFor God’s sake,” said Shepherd, barely keeping her temper in check. “Is that what you people expect Guy Trueman to be taking back to the Mexican Consulate as evidence of our progress? Find out who these people were and get them printed. And do it quickly.”
    If this was leaving them to get on with it, Maik couldn’t imagine what it would be like if she decided to take an active interest. But just as she did appear about to leave, finally, Jejeune’s question stopped her in her tracks.
    â€œI wonder,” he said, so quietly Maik could barely hear the words, though he was only a few feet away. “Have we checked the prints against Ramon Santos?”
    The silence was so profound, for a moment it seemed as if Jejeune’s question had taken away the group’s collective powers of speech. Anger darkened Shepherd’s features. Trying to open locked filing cabinets suggested only one thing, and it was very much at odds with a status as an innocent bystander.
    â€œIt’s the rental car,” said Jejeune simply. “Santos tucked it away round the back of the building, even though there were plenty of spaces by the side and even at the front.”
    â€œPerhaps he was just ashamed of it. If I had to drive one of Saxon’s pieces of crap around town, I would be, too,” said Holland. He had noted Shepherd’s expression and clearly decided now might not be a bad time to become her attack dog.
    â€œIt’s quite obvious he didn’t want people to see it, Domenic,” said Shepherd, her voice registering the strain of keeping herself in check. “But there could be any number of reasons. A discrete business meeting. An anonymous donation.” She spread her hands in an appeal for reason.
    â€œThen why bring a car at all? It was a nice night, ten minutes’ walk from the hotel. He was fit and healthy. The only explanation is that he was intending to take something from the sanctuary when he left, something that he couldn’t afford to be seen carrying down the street.”
    Shepherd sighed irritably, as if she found Jejeune’s inclusion of the word only particularly galling. “I thought we were looking at shelter volunteers and former employees,” she said, “this business about re-locking the cage and what-not. And now, all of a sudden, you think Santos was there to steal the birds? You’ll have a reason, of course, why a senior Mexican diplomat would want to break