Read Online A Pitying of Doves by Steve Burrows - Free Book Online

hug, but even if the group did not yet know Guy Trueman, they were familiar enough with Danny Maik to know it was unlikely, to say the least. Nevertheless, it was clear that the sergeant was genuinely pleased to see Trueman, and the onlookers were treated to the rare sight of a sincere Danny Maik smile as he turned to address them.
    â€œMajor Trueman was my commanding officer,” he said. “I count myself lucky to have served under him.”
    â€œYou know, the first time I saw this man, he was up before me on charges,” announced Trueman to the room at large. “Insubordination, of all things.”
    â€œPlease do go on,” said Shepherd. Like many in the room, she was enjoying this momentary peek into the sergeant’s guarded past. It was rare to find Danny Maik in any kind of revealing situation, and she was keen to exploit the moment.
    â€œAbout that Latin quote, wasn’t it, Danny. Remember?”
    â€œDulce et decorum est, Pro patria mori,” said Maik. “It is a sweet and noble thing to die for one’s homeland.” If he had to be reminiscing about this incident at all, his look seemed to say, about the last place he wanted to do it was in front of his fellow police officers. But Trueman was clearly a man comfortable on the big stage, and Maik had apparently decided, with an effort of will that was almost visible, that the best way to get this over with was to try to enter into the spirit of the thing as much as his dignity would allow.
    Trueman nodded. “It was a favourite of Danny’s old staff sergeant,” he told the audience. “He used to greet all the new recruits with it. Only this time, Danny insisted on adding his own bit — ‘But it is sweeter to live for the homeland, and sweetest to drink for it. Therefore, let us drink to the homeland instead.’”
    Maik shrugged. “It’s from an old drinking toast. I just didn’t want the kids thinking it was okay to go off and get themselves killed just because some Roman poet said so.” He was clearly uncomfortable being reminded that he had ever shown anything approaching disloyalty toward a superior officer, and everyone in the room realized that it would have to be a formidable individual indeed who had earned Maik’s respect to the point where he would allow them to take such liberties as this.
    â€œSo there he is before me,” said Trueman, “and I’m thinking to myself, ‘I’m supposed to discipline the man. Trouble is, they tell me he’s one of the best soldiers in the unit, and what’s more, I agree with him.’”
    â€œSo what did you do?” asked Shepherd. She turned to Maik, but he left Trueman to supply the answer himself.
    â€œIssued a blanket ban on quoting classical literature on base,” announced Trueman, “and as a punishment, I set Sergeant Maik the task of having the men in the unit write their own poems about army life. We read them out loud to each other in my office over a couple of beers. Remember, Danny? Laughed till the tears rolled down our cheeks.”
    The two men drifted to a place of memories from which the others were excluded until Trueman brought them back to the present brightly. “Sergeant Danny Maik,” he said, as if he could not quite believe it. “Still driving everybody mad with that Motown music of yours, I suppose.”
    â€œNight and day,” confirmed Tony Holland from the front row, emboldened by the casual familiarity of the moment to add a theatrical eye roll.
    â€œRight,” said Shepherd in a way that was designed to suggest to one and all that, nice as Danny’s reunion with his old army comrade had been, it was time to get down to business again. “Perhaps you can bring us all up to speed, Sergeant.”
    Jejeune’s wasn’t the only face to express surprise at Shepherd’s willingness to discuss the case in front of their guest. They all