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features.”
    â€œSo?” Salter was louder now, belligerent, not least because she was aware that she was missing the point, and doing so in front of her DCS and Maik’s old army pal.
    â€œSo how could Maggie have known which ones were hers?” asked Maik reasonably. “You’ve seen those birds, Constable. Could you tell one from the other?”
    â€œSo she just grabbed a couple of birds, any birds.” Salter’s tone was strident, her frustration increasing to the point that it now threatened to get the better of her judgment.
    â€œThen why go all the way to the end of the corridor instead of just taking the pair nearest the door?” asked Jejeune.
    He seemed to be completely unaware of the effect each blithe rebuttal was having on Salter. This is the downside of Jejeune’s detachment, thought Shepherd, his inability to see, no, to appreciate the passion that cases sometimes aroused in others — like detective constables who felt that by ignoring a young girl’s telephone call, they were somehow responsible for her death. To Jejeune, Salter’s objections were just academic problems, to be considered and answered. He didn’t seem to understand that Salter wanted it to be Maggie, needed it to be, so that by bringing her to justice, she could somehow absolve herself of her error and gain her own forgiveness. Most of the people in the room could have told her things didn’t necessarily work like that, but Constable Salter didn’t seem to be in any mood to listen to this, or any other, counsel.
    â€œMaggie Wylde was involved. I know it.”
    Her certainty seemed to cut through the anger, the frustration, so much so that Maik finally stirred.
    â€œAnd how might you know a thing like that, Constable?” he asked calmly.
    She spun the computer monitor on her desk around toward the room. “Because her old man worked for the Obregóns, that’s how.” She stood up and turned on Jejeune. “Unless you want to try to clever us all out of that, too.” she said. “So if nobody minds, perhaps I’ll just get on with the job of finding her.”
    When the eyes in the room returned from watching Salter’s angry exit, they fell universally upon Shepherd. Those used to dealing with the DCS on a regular basis might have noted the slight tensing of her frame and the working of her jaw muscle, but her outward appearance otherwise gave nothing away. Her voice, too, when it came, was as light as a spring breeze, and betrayed no trace of any internal agitation she might have been feeling.
    â€œIt’s a stretch,” she said carefully, “but we can have a look into it. Sergeant, perhaps you can fill the inspector in on the details. In the meantime, we must be getting on. I am taking Guy for a bite to eat at The Boatman’s Arms, but you know what that place is like. If we don’t beat the lunchtime crowd, we’ll be waiting an hour to get a table. Ready, Guy?”
    She ushered Trueman from the room with undisguised haste.
    As soon as they had left, Holland looked around the room. “Blimey, what’s up with her? I’ve whipped suspects off to the cells with more ceremony than that. I half-expected her to put her hand on his collar next.”
    Jejeune, too, had watched the hurried departure with interest, no doubt putting Shepherd’s discomfort down to the fact that all the disharmony had been played out in front of their visitor. But Sergeant Maik knew differently.
    â€œVictor Obregón was a prominent local resident,” he told Jejeune cautiously. “He went missing, be about eight years ago now. Left a wife and a son. No signs of foul play; a walk-off, we think. Among the things he left behind, in addition to his family, was the largest private bird aviary in north Norfolk.”
    â€œI see,” said Jejeune. But Maik knew he didn’t. Not the whole picture, anyway.
    â€œThe thing is,”