A Pitying of Doves Read Online Free

than … no, surely he wasn’t suggesting …
    â€œJuan Perez,” announced Salter from the doorway. She pronounced it Ju-an . “Saxon’s description of him is an exact match. I can get a photo over to him, if you like, but it’s definitely our victim. He gave his address as The Pheasant. It’s that hotel just down the road. I told you he wasn’t local.”
    Jejeune was silent. He seemed to be playing his mind over the information Salter had just brought them. “Juan Perez is the equivalent of John Smith in many parts of Latin America. If he has no ID on him, perhaps it’s because he’s trying to hide his real identity.”
    â€œThere are actually people called John Smith, you know,” said Salter testily. She seemed annoyed that her information hadn’t met with the gratitude she expected from Jejeune. “And people do occasionally leave home without their wallets.”
    Maik shot Salter a glance. She was normally among the more circumspect of the constables when confronted with the oblique meanderings of Jejeune’s mind. But today she seemed to have little patience for the inspector’s outside-the-box musings. Or anything else, for that matter.
    â€œWell, I suppose I had better get over to his room and see if he left any ID laying around, fake or otherwise,” said Holland, unable to keep a note of amusement from his voice. Maik watched him leave. A quick smoke, a chat to the housemaids, a casual look around the hotel room to confirm what he had already decided — that the Chief Inspector was completely on the wrong track. It was a job made for Tony Holland. If he played it right, it would be worth an hour away from the crime scene, at least.
    â€œThe rental car,” Jejeune said to Salter, as if returning from another place, “was Mr. Perez the only named driver?”
    â€œYes.” She seemed to hesitate. Falter would have been Maik’s word.
    â€œYour views on the John Smiths of the world notwithstanding, Constable, is there anything else you’d like to share with us?”
    Perhaps it was Holland’s departure, or just Maik’s encouraging tone, but something seemed to free Salter of her burden. “I, I had a call, yesterday. From this woman, Phoebe Hunter. She told me Wild Maggie had been making threatening phone calls. Something about the shelter having Maggie’s doves. She didn’t sound worried, but she said she thought she should report it anyway …”
    â€œWild Maggie?”
    It was unclear to whom Jejeune had directed the question, but it was Maik who supplied the answer. “Margaret Wylde. Local character. She’s a bit off, a serial complainer.” His tone seemed to imply that if he had taken the call himself, he would have taken the investigation no further either. But it didn’t seem to be doing much to relieve Salter’s sense of guilt.
    Jejeune thought for a moment. “Did she work here?”
    â€œI doubt it,” said Maik. “She used to be a nurse, I believe, but she has been unable to hold down a job ever since her husband died a few years back. Serious mental health issues. It takes some that way, I understand, the death of a loved one.”
    â€œI see. Can we find out? Any history of employment at this sanctuary or any other facility like it?” Jejeune turned to Salter. “Phoebe Hunter said this woman was asking about her birds? That the sanctuary had her birds?” There was no admonition in Jejeune’s tone, no hint that Salter should have reacted differently to the phone call, pursued matters, made further inquiries. But then, it was clear from Salter’s expression that there was no need for anyone to try to make her feel any worse than she already did.
    She nodded.
    Wordlessly, Jejeune began a slow walk down the corridor, peering into each of the cages in turn. He appeared to be studying the birds intently. Maik and the constable