Maxwell's Island (10 page)

The echoing silence had a slight ping to it, indicating that she hadn't been cut off, so she waited, until, suddenly, ‘Hello. Newport Police.'

Oh no. Another Welshman. ‘Is this Newport, Isle of Wight?'

‘Yes.'

‘Not Newport, Gwent?'

‘No. I can put you through if you like. We get a lot of this.'

‘No!' Jacquie was immediately contrite. ‘Sorry. I've been on the phone quite a while waiting to get through to you. No, it's you that I want. I'm Detective Sergeant Jacquie Carpenter-Maxwell, from Leighford CID.'

‘Hello, how can I direct your call?'

‘I'm not really sure. I just want to discuss a possible missing person.'

‘May I just take a few basic details? Just to see if we have anything already on The System.'

All police forces had The System, anything that worked for them in the first instance, before they
started to call on HOLMES. In the bad old days, known to Peter Maxwell as the good old days, there had been the shoeboxes, then cross-referenced record cards, then, tentatively, computerisation. Nowadays, there were myriad powerful programmes, run from cooled rooms in basements with tentacles that circled the globe. But before all that, there was The System.

‘You won't have. We are here on holiday.'

‘Is it a child?' asked the clerk.

‘No, an adult. We are here as a school party and she is one of the adult helpers.'

The clerk was embarrassed. ‘She hasn't just, umm, perhaps …?'

‘Sloped off for a rest? No, although I understand the question. No, she seems to have disappeared in the night or very early morning. I understand that her husband sleeps very heavily … Look, to avoid repetition, could you put me through to someone?'

‘May I ask how long she has been missing?'

‘Well,' Jacquie craned round to look at her watch, whilst still holding the phone to her ear, ‘assuming she went around sixish … about three and a half hours.'

The silence thrummed and twanged in her ear. She could picture the gestures the clerk was making to her colleagues in the office. Boiled down, they amounted to ‘we've got a right one here'. Finally, she said, politely, ‘I'm sorry, but we can't consider her missing before …'

‘There are extenuating circumstances which
I think would be simpler told straight to a police officer. Is there one available?'

‘I'm not sure …'

‘Look, I know you think I've gone mad, reporting someone missing so soon. But I
am
a police officer myself, and I
do
understand that it sounds ridiculous. But if you could just put me through to someone, then I can explain. If they think it isn't a case, then I'll just leave it. OK?'

‘Well, the trouble is, we've got the Bestival coming up …'

‘Good for you,' Jacquie tried to keep the acid out of her voice.

‘… so we've a lot of people using up their leave, before then. We're rather short-handed.'

‘I'll just be a minute.' Jacquie was now reduced to wheedling.

‘Oh, all right, then. I'll see who's free.'

The line went dead, and Jacquie could only hope it was the dead of transfer rather than the dead of having to beat your brains out on the wall because you'd been cut off.

‘Hello?' Thank goodness. It had been the dead of transfer; still, not one of George A. Romero's best, Maxwell would have assured her.

‘Hello. Thanks for agreeing to talk to me. I'm Sergeant Jacquie Carpenter-Maxwell. I'd like to chat about someone who may be missing.'

‘How long?'

A man of few words. Jacquie wasn't at all sure how
this was going to pan out. ‘Since early this morning.'

‘Carnelpyew,' the man drawled. ‘Sgorrerbetwennyforours. Sleast.'

‘Yes, yes,' Jacquie said. ‘I understand that. But this is a bit different …'

‘Snot.'

‘I beg your pardon?' Jacquie had learnt bridling from Maxwell.

‘Snot diff'rent. Just cuz y're a p'licewoman.' Jacquie sensed she was making progress. Separate words were beginning to emerge from the sludge. ‘Stoo soon. Ring back tumorrer.'

‘I think that—'

‘Tumorrer.' And the phone went down. Jacquie could have wept. In fact she did, just a little, out there on the landing. Then, she squared her shoulders. She could go back in there and explain to a distraught man – possibly a rather
too
distraught man – that they would have to wait another twenty-four hours at least. Or, she could ring Henry Hall and get some arses kicked. In times like these she asked herself – what would Maxwell do? And the answer was, nose about, irritate people, get half-killed by some maniac, then solve the problem.

Turning her back to the door, she raised her phone again and pressed one button.

‘Hello. Henry. Is this a good moment? We need to talk.'

‘Yes, it's fine. I was just finishing a meeting.' Henry Hall waved away the last stragglers from the briefing. How gripping could budget estimates be?

‘It's just that … I don't really know where to begin.' Jacquie began to pace back and forth along the landing. She always thought better when she was on the move. ‘As you know, I'm still on this school trip, and one of the staff has gone missing.'

There was a silence, broken eventually by a deep breath from Henry. He assumed from her moderate insouciance that it wasn't Maxwell. Damn. ‘How long?' he asked.

‘Well, that's the thing,' Jacquie admitted. ‘Only since early today, but we thought she was missing on Sunday, and she wasn't. She seemed really sorry and she had left a note, only her husband hadn't found it, and … ooh, guv, I feel as if I've got one hand tied behind my back, not able to do anything.'

‘It's a bugger,' Hall agreed. ‘Do the locals know
you're with a school party? Because that really should make a difference. In a perfect world, there should be a Children & Youth Protection report on every one of the little dears.'

Jacquie shuddered, just thinking of the paperwork. ‘Yes, I know. That's probably why they're trying to put it off. Not that they know, but we're on our way home tomorrow. Twenty-four hours give or take and she'll be missing on her own. We won't be able to postpone; the hotel are booked solid for weeks. They specialise in school trips, at the end of the season.'

‘Well, tell them that, then.' Henry Hall was running out of ideas. ‘It will be a nightmare if she's still missing and you all come home. Think of the paperwork
then
.'

Paperwork. The ultimate threat. Or bribe, depending on the point of view. ‘The thing is, guv, I've pretty much shot my bolt down here. I went through the public number and got nowhere. I went through the direct number, via Frank at Leighford and after a little trip to Gwent, ended up speaking to some jobsworth who seemed to be worrying about a pop festival.'

‘Yes. They still have them there, by all accounts. Part of the time warp that is the Isle of Wight.' There was a puff of air on the speaker and Jacquie could picture her boss blowing out his cheeks and looking a little like a hamster in glasses. ‘OK, Jacquie. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give someone I
know a quick ring; it won't be on the Island, but it will do the trick. Meanwhile, get as much together as you can, interview staff at the hotel, that kind of thing. Did you say she was married?'

‘Yes.' In fact Jacquie could still hear Tom Medlicott's soft weeping through the cracked-open door.

‘Interview him then, obviously. Then the other staff on the trip. Is … umm … is Max …?'

‘I'm fighting him off, guv, and to be fair he's so busy trying to keep the trip together, being three staff down.' Jacquie had felt this question coming for a while. She was surprised he hadn't asked it first.

‘
Three
?'

‘Don't panic. I haven't been breaking it to you gently or anything. I just mean the missing woman, her husband and me. That makes three of us out of action.'

‘Of course. Sorry. I just always expect the worst when Leighford High School is involved. How have the kids been, by the way?' His men had blue-lighted it to Leighford High often enough for him to be wary. It
had
been fairly quiet for the last few days.

‘Do you know, guv, they have been angels. There are one or two you have to watch, of course, mainly Max and Nole, but by and large they've been great; they haven't broken anything, except wind, probably, and everyone has had a whale of a
time.' She was surprised to hear herself say it, but it was true.

‘Except that one of the staff has gone missing. What does she teach?'

‘Oh, she's a wife, if you know what I mean. Her husband is Head of Art at Leighford.' She waited for him to speak, but he didn't say anything. ‘Guv?'

‘Oh, sorry. I just had one of those moments, you know, when something just came into my head. Gone again now, though. Getting old.'

‘Not you, guv. Mind like a razor. Just like Max. I think I'll be old before either of you.'

She suspected he might even be smiling when he replied. He hadn't smiled since March 2003, so one was just about due. ‘I remember you when you were a little thing fresh off traffic. So please don't tell me you're feeling old. It was bad enough when the boys started shaving. Anyway, don't get me started on that,' he cleared his throat. ‘I'll make my call, so you won't be treading on toes. Ask a few questions. If you get anything that we can go with, let me know. And, Jacquie …'

‘Yes, guv?'

‘Don't worry. I'm sure she'll turn up.'

‘Yes,' she said with a confidence she didn't, in the pit of her stomach, feel. ‘I'm sure she will. Before you go, any news on Mrs Troubridge?'

‘Still sleeping, but they've at least ruled out any permanent damage now. She has a broken hip, of course. I'm not sure you're allowed on Lady
Elizabeth Molester without one of those. She looks fine. I've … popped in a few times. Keeping an eye.'

‘But it was just an accident?' Jacquie detected a slight tone in Henry Hall's voice, one which she recognised of old.

‘Ha ha.' It wasn't a laugh. It was Henry Hall saying ‘ha', followed by ‘ha'. ‘Yes, of course. Old ladies fall downstairs. She should be in a bungalow.'

Or a straitjacket. Jacquie suddenly felt quite bereft. She couldn't imagine life without a lurking Mrs Troubridge behind every fence. ‘Thanks, anyway, guv. You know … for visiting. I know she appreciates it, even if she is still asleep.'

‘You're welcome.' Henry Hall's mind was already well on the way to elsewhere.

‘Bye, then. Thanks.'

‘As I said, you're welcome.' Henry Hall rang off and sat back in his chair, tapping his mobile gently against his chin. He closed his eyes and tried to remember his fleeting thought, but it was no good. Never mind. It would come to him in its own good time, he had no doubt.

Jacquie turned back to the door of the Medlicotts' room. She pushed it open, making sure that by the time she was in front of Tom, she was wearing her special woman policeman all-is-well smile, as taught at college and every workshop since.

His head snapped up at the sound of the door brushing on the carpet. ‘Any joy?'

She sat next to him and widened the smile. ‘I didn't get anywhere with the local police,' she said. ‘But my boss from Leighford is going to make a few phone calls and get me cleared so that I can have a bit of a poke around myself. The only reason I hadn't already suggested it is that I know how easy it is to tread on local toes.' She looked up and scanned the room. ‘Look, Tom, it's a bit depressing in here for you, isn't it? Let's go and sit outside, get a bit of a blow of air?'

He shook his head. ‘What if she rings?'

‘She'll have to come through the switchboard, these aren't direct-dial phones. As we go out into the garden, we can tell them where we are.' She patted his hand. ‘Come on. What do you say?'

‘It's not as though we need the sea air,' he said, sulkily. ‘We can get that at home.'

She smiled her agreement, but said, ‘I know. But speaking for myself, I can't remember the last time we were on the beach at Leighford. And you've only just moved there, haven't you? You must have years of no sea air to catch up on.'

He stood up, as though on strings. ‘All right,' he said, in a lacklustre voice. ‘I suppose I could do with some air. We come from Northampton, which isn't known for its miles of golden sand, I'll grant you.' His smile was weak, but it was there. ‘And anyway, I suppose if we are out in the garden, we'll be able to see Izzy. You know, from a distance. When she comes back.'

‘That's the spirit,' Jacquie said, and put her hand on his shoulder. As she fell into step behind him, she squeezed her eyes shut and wished a wish. There were no magpies, no wishbone, no cherry stones, no last bite of pie to wish on, so she wished as hard as she could, instead. She tried to conjure up some of Nolan's blind faith in faeries, both tooth and godmother, as she wished as hard as she could that Izzy Medlicott was all right.

They chose a table that gave an uninterrupted view along the Esplanade in both directions but which was also within calling distance from the hotel door should a phone call come in. Jacquie tucked the notepad down on her lap, under the edge of the table. Tom Medlicott must know that it was there, but she just hoped that, without it being too obvious, he might forget about it and let go a little.

‘Right,' she began, sipping the coffee which he had bought her while she chatted briefly to the girl on Reception, who even she, who knew the names of both Leighford Thingies, and the names of their dogs and husbands, thought of as Thingie Three. ‘Right, now, I know this will probably seem a bit strange, as we have been together almost a week now, but just pretend we're strangers. Tell me all about you and Izzy. How long have you been married, for example?'

‘It was our first anniversary on the fifth of September,' he said, baldly.

She jotted down a note. The next question would be quite a sensitive one. They were both mid-thirties; it was likely that at least one of them had been married before. She didn't have to ask it.

‘We'd both been married before,' he said. ‘My marriage had been over for years when we met. I have two children, eight and ten, but … well, let's just say we thought it would be easier if the break was clean.' He looked into her eyes, challenging her to speak. She had been called out to enough domestic incidents involving custody to know that sometimes ‘clean' was the best way, if you had the balls for it.

‘I see,' she said, looking right back at him. ‘And what about Izzy?'

‘Yes, well, it wasn't quite like that for her. She … well, she and her husband were still together when we met. He was a … colleague.'

‘A teacher?'

‘Yes. My Head of Department, in fact. He was a few years older than Izzy. We … well, I don't really want to go into details, but it wasn't easy. I got another job –
this
job – as soon as I could, but it was a difficult year, as I'm sure you can imagine.' Medlicott looked down at his hands, fingers interlaced, thumbs whirring, as if he had never seen them before. ‘He started drinking, rather a lot. Coming in drunk, that kind of thing. He was suspended, for a bit …'

Jacquie could think of nothing she could
usefully say, except, ‘I see.' It seemed to be all he needed, because he was soon back in full flow.

‘Izzy is a freelance motivational psychologist, as I'm sure you know.'

Jacquie didn't know. She had had her down for a PA, something like that. Perhaps motivational psychologists were less likely to go missing than secretaries – she didn't know, having never knowingly met one before. ‘Yes, of course, she did mention it. Had she had much work since you got to Leighford?'

‘She's having a career break. She had a family bereavement and was left a little money. Well, a reasonable amount, actually. She was an only child and her parents had divorced, so she's been busy, selling the house, that sort of thing. Getting things straightened out.'

‘Oh, I see. So, no money worries?'

‘None. She had quite a good settlement from her ex, as well, so …' His voice trailed away. She felt as if he could read her mind; no money worries, easy to run away. She did it once, she could have done it again. She tried to make her face more blank. ‘It's in a joint account and in the house. I had been renting, so we had to start from scratch. We don't have much cash, if that's what you're thinking.'

Jacquie shook her head. ‘No, no, Tom. I'm not here to judge you. I just need to know some background. Anything might be the clue we need.
Now, you say she had a bereavement. Does she still have family?'

‘I'm not sure. We had such a quiet wedding, well, what with me not seeing the children and having no parents myself, I think she just thought it would be nicer with just the two of us, so we went to the Seychelles, got married on the beach.' He gave a small laugh and a shrug of one shoulder. ‘Bit of a cliché, perhaps, but it suited us. We only really needed … I mean,
need
each other to be happy. We had a few cards, a few small presents, toaster, that kind of thing. But I never really asked who they were from. Izzy dealt with all that at the time. But now,' his face crumpled and he began to cry quietly, ‘now I realise I don't know anything about her.' He leant forward and nearly knocked over the table, their coffees slopping into the saucers. ‘What was I thinking? I was so selfish.'

‘No,' Jacquie said, gently. ‘Sometimes, there's no need to know everything.'

He looked up at her again. ‘You and Max seem to be able to read each other's minds,' he said. ‘You start a sentence, he finishes it, or the other way round. Even Nolan does it. You're like one person with three heads.'

‘Hmm, I'm not sure I like that analogy,' she said, with a smile to take the sting out. ‘We're actually very different. We both have jobs that take up every thought in our heads, for hours at a time. Poor old Nole gets shifted around from pillar to
post; I don't think there's a child in the county with more minders than he's got.'

‘Even so,' Medlicott said. ‘When Team Maxwell swings into action, I don't suppose much can stand in its way.'

Jacquie smiled at him, but in her head, drowning out the here and now, was Henry Hall, telling her that if Maxwell so much as went near a murder, no, not even murder, if he was in the High Street when someone was caught shoplifting a jelly baby, then her promotion was a dream. She shook herself slightly to bring Tom Medlicott back into focus. Was being inspector worth breaking up Team Maxwell? She would have to think this one over. ‘That's true,' she said. ‘We're a bit like a juggernaut.' And it suddenly occurred to her that she wasn't thinking of the lorry, but of the procession to celebrate the god Krishna; could she be turning into Maxwell? ‘Anyway,' she tried to get this conversation back on track, ‘what I'm hearing, Tom, is about a happy couple, with any problems behind them. Don't overthink this one; hindsight is notoriously twenty-twenty.'