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

fourteen hours to pass overhead. Imagine it, Sergeant, fourteen hours, birds darkening the sky and filling the air with the thunder of their wing beats. One hundred and fifty years ago, the estimated North American population of Passenger Pigeons was three and a half billion. Would you care to hazard a guess at the population today?”
    Even a card-carrying non-birder like Maik knew the answer to that one. For a moment the enormity of the loss seemed to grip all three men. The silence was finally broken by Jejeune.
    â€œWhat will happen to Phoebe Hunter’s research project now?” he asked, with that deceptive casualness that Maik had learned to pay attention to.
    Nyce seemed surprised by the question. “Hard to say. For one thing, she left matters in a right old state — unfinished data sets, half-written papers, notes all over the place.” He nodded at his phone lying on his desk. “That was her mess I was clearing up just now. For the time being, I suppose everything will be put into the deep freeze while we see if we can find someone else to take up the mantle.” Nyce shook his head ruefully. “It’s unlikely, to say the least. Pity really, given how much time we’ve already spent on this project.”
    So at least there is something about this whole affair that he finds regrettable, then, thought Maik with contempt. “Had Phobe Hunter been working on anything in particular since she returned to the U.K.?” he asked.
    â€œTrying to arrange set-asides, mostly. Turtledoves feed mainly on weed seeds, but today’s intensive farming methods don’t leave much room for weeds, so she was asking the local farmers to set-aside portions of farmland as a food source for the doves.”
    â€œWhy unlikely?” Jejeune’s question seemed so impulsive, both Nyce and Maik turned to look at him. “You said it’s unlikely you’ll find someone to take the project on?”
    Nyce leaned back and ran his fingers through his hair, locking them behind his head. “It would require an unusual suite of skills: post-grad in conservation biology, a solid understanding of bird behaviour, plus, of course, the intellectual wherewithal to put it all together.”
    From what Maik could remember, it sounded like Nyce was reading extracts from Jejeune’s CV, but the DCI offered no response beyond a look of interest that had been noticeably absent during the rest of the interview.
    â€œI take it those papers from Phoebe’s flat will be released sooner rather than later?” Nyce challenged Maik with a stare. “I’m just worried some idiot down at the station will file them under D for documents or some such and that’ll be the last we’ll ever see of them.”
    â€œIf they’re important, they usually go under I ,” said Maik.
    Nyce tried a smile, but he was long out of practice, and it looked forced and awkward. He turned to Jejeune. “Beware of this one, Inspector. We come across them at the uni every now and again. No time for us clever clogs with our book-learnin’ and such. Prefer their own brand of home-spun wisdom, born of experience in the real-world. Am I right, Sergeant?” Nyce smiled again to show it was all nice and playful. He rose from behind the desk. “Now, if that’s all …”
    â€œI wonder,” said Jejeune, stepping firmly on Nyce’s attempt to bring the interview to a close, “is there any specific identifier that researchers might use to tell Turtledoves apart? House Sparrows have those black bibs, for example, but I’m not aware of anything like that with Turtledoves.”
    Nyce nodded slowly. “Ah, those black bibs, varying in size according to a sparrow’s rank within the flock, thus making individual birds easily identifiable .” Nyce seemed to be reciting something from memory. “Field observer’s dream, those bibs are. With