Maxwell's Revenge (24 page)

‘Life’s too short to use a coat hanger,’ he said, truculently. ‘But surely, even with our DNA, plus a soupçon of Metternich’s, Nolan’s, two policemen, Jim Astley … all right, point taken.’

Hall preferred older technology. He had more in common with Maxwell than either of them would like to admit. Fingerprints, footprints, things you could see with the naked eye; they were the kind of clues he liked. DNA may well be real, but until he found a bloodstained double helix at a crime scene, he would keep his own counsel.

Jacquie sighed. This whole thing was going pear-shaped. She tried to change tack. ‘Angus said he’d phone. He’s sent the message to a mate of his with voice recognition software.’

‘Chichester has their own voice recognition software,’ Hall said.

‘I think Angus was just trying to speed things up,’ she said.

‘Nonsense,’ Hall said. ‘Angus’s eyes are on his overtime. I always get an email from his line manager asking me to check his work sheet.’

‘And is it wrong?’

Hall had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. ‘No … but you must admit he is mainly overtime led.’

‘Maybe so,’ said Jacquie. ‘But in this instance, I think we all agree that speed is of the essence.’ As if called out of the ether, her phone rang. ‘That will be him now.’ She foraged in her bag and came up with it to her ear. ‘DS Carpenter.’

‘Hello,’ said a harsh voice. ‘How are you, Jacquie?’

Her eyes flew open. ‘It’s him,’ she mouthed.

‘How’s the old man?’ Something about the inflection made it clear that he was using the term literally. ‘Got a headache, has he?’

Jacquie stayed quiet. The best way was to goad him. She pulled Hall’s notebook over and wrote in it. ‘Ring Chichester. Get them to track it.’ Hall went off to use the phone elsewhere. She and Maxwell could hear his urgent tones through the door. She reached out and took her man’s hand.

‘I fetched him one, all right. He saw stars, I’ll bet. Is he there?’

Silence.

‘He is, isn’t he? Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to slip him a little something in his hospital rice pudding. I’ll hit him a bit harder, next time. See how we get on then.’

She squeezed Maxwell’s hand hard, but didn’t speak.

‘You’re not very chatty, are you? I’ll say
bye-bye
, then. Bye-bye.’ And the line went dead.

Hall came back in to the room, shaking his head. ‘Check the number, Jacquie,’ he said.

She punched the relevant key. ‘Oh, shit,’ she said. ‘Another phone.’

‘Criminals today just have money to burn,’ said Maxwell. ‘Did you recognise the voice?’

‘No, it was done through one of those voice changers.’ She stood there, with her phone in her hand, feeling helpless. As if to cheer her up, it rang. ‘DS Carpenter.’

‘Hello.’ The laid-back tones of Angus filled her ear. ‘How y’doing?’

‘Angus, he’s got another phone,’ she exclaimed.

‘Yeah, well, he would have. They’re cheap now, aren’t they? Anyway, my mate’s nearly finished your voice thing. He says it will be done by midday or so.’

‘Angus, that’s great news. Shall we meet you both somewhere?’

‘Yeah, all right. I’m still in Leighford, I was on that shop. Oh, is …?’

‘Yes, he’s fine. Well, let’s say the Vine at one, shall we?’

‘Yeah. That sounds cool. See you there.’ And he rang off.

‘The Vine?’ said Hall, aghast. ‘Why there?’

Jacquie shrugged. ‘It’s Angus,’ she said. No other explanation was needed.

And so the plans were laid. Jacquie and Hall were going to the nick in his car, to check on any progress, ring Leighford General to do a quick victim headcount and also, if time permitted, drop in on the Barlows, currently squatting at Mrs Barlow’s mother’s. Then, off to the dubious charms of the Vine, for something out of a sealed bottle to drink, something out of a sealed packet to eat.

Maxwell was rather mutinous when his morning was mapped out for him. When Ninja woke up, he was to take her and Nolan for a quick shop in town. She could drive the Ka. He was not to mention anything about bent bumpers, scraped side panels or any other
car-related
things. He was not to mention alcohol. They would buy Nolan his prize courtesy of that nice Mr Hall and then come home to await news from Jacquie. They would take drinks in cans,
boxes, bottles, whatever they fancied. What they would not do was accept food or drinks from strange men.

Jacquie looked into his eyes and said, from her usual trusting stance of hope over experience, ‘You won’t do anything stupid, Max, will you? You won’t, oh, I don’t know, leave them and go chasing off or anything?’

He would have tossed his head, but he knew he would probably pass out, so he didn’t.

She could tell his intention and put her hands on his chest, palms flat. ‘Please.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘I’ll have Nole with me.’

‘And my mother.’

‘I thought I was just listing reasons to behave,’ he said, reasonably. ‘Off you trot with Henry, now, and let me know as soon as you get anything. I,’ and he drew himself up proudly, ‘will be carrying my mobile.’

‘And what good will that do? It hasn’t been plugged in for weeks to my certain knowledge. No, make sure Mum has hers. I’ll use that.’

‘
Ja wohl, mein Fuhresse
. I will obey.’ It was a first-rate Josef Goebbels.

‘Well, just make sure you do. Henry’s waiting in the car, so I must go.’ She sketched a kiss in his direction. ‘I’ll see you back here, later.’

‘Mwah,’ he called theatrically as she flew down the stairs. He looked thoughtfully after her
for a moment and then turned and went into the lounge where Nolan was watching something multicoloured on the telly. Maxwell threw himself into the chair and Nolan immediately climbed aboard and curled up in his lap. Just a whisker behind, Metternich appeared from nowhere and curled up on Nolan. They both promptly went to sleep.

Trapped, Maxwell let his mind wander and, as his son had so perspicaciously noticed, he did this best in a muttered undertone.

‘Count, are you asleep?’ The great beast shifted a paw and flicked an ear, which was the same as saying that, while to all intents and purposes he was sleeping, he was still awake to his master’s mutter and any passing rodent. ‘Right,’ Maxwell said, ‘pin your ears back, Watson, and see if you can pick the bones out of this one. Here we are, Sunday morning, nine-thirty and all’s not very well. Particularly the Leighford High staff and wannabees in the hospital. I have been bumping into a very strange man indeed since Wednesday lunchtime. You may remember him, Count: Dierdre Lessing’s Uncle Oliver. I have never been his favourite person, but he seems to be ignoring me these days. A bit of eye contact, but that’s all.’

On cue, Metternich opened one eye and glared at the gabbling old fool. Did he never shut up?

‘That’s right,’ Maxwell said, approvingly. ‘That’s the kind of thing. Well, it seems to me that it’s a coincidence too far that he pops up and then someone at Leighford High School dies horribly. And that the occasion of the death is the interview for the replacement of his beloved niece. So, he works that out as a bit obvious, so he nicks the cocktail dishes. Although, of course, there was the one eaten by Freda which was clearly all right, unless she has the constitution of an ox. Which may in fact be the case, since she eats a lot of school dinner leftovers and is probably immune to every poison going. Hmm. But I digress. Unfortunately, he knocks Sylv over on his way out of my beloved institution and then goes home and worries about being recognised. So he starts a lot of other poisonings in the hope that he puts the police and, more importantly,
moi
, off the scent.’ He smiled complacently at the cat. ‘What do you think?’

Metternich squeezed his eyes shut and put a paw over them for good measure.

His owner, as he rather optimistically styled himself, sighed. ‘You’re right. It sounds a bit unlikely, but it’s all I’ve got. Unless …’ he narrowed his eyes, ‘unless we are all overlooking an even more obvious culprit, viz and to wit, not to mention to woo, Mr Sue Bevell. He had motive enough, God knows. If he can get thousands for a dodgy boiled egg in a hotel, how
much more would he get for a dead wife? And someone did try again, didn’t they, only on her?’ He looked sternly at the cat. ‘This is your fault, Count. I would have been quite clear in my mind if it wasn’t for you.’

The door opened at this pivotal point in his thought process and his mother-in-law-to-be stood there, looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He suspected hair of the dog, but wisely held his counsel.

‘Are we ready, then?’ she said, rather superfluously, since she could clearly see that Maxwell and Son were still in pyjamas and Coco Pops. ‘Before I went upstairs, Jacquie mentioned a shopping trip.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Maxwell said, politely. ‘If you could just dislodge the cat, I’ll get us both ready. We won’t be more than about three hours, if memory serves. Nolan is a bit of a snappy dresser, as you know, and the right outfit can take a while.’

She reached forward to pick up Metternich.

‘Take care,’ Maxwell began. ‘He has his claws in my … aarghh.’ He screamed quietly, but with fervour, as the steel needles of Metternich’s left front paw dug like lightning into the top of his thigh. Nolan stirred on his lap and the morning was underway.

Shooing his son ahead of him up the stairs and only limping a little, he tried to marshal his
thoughts of ten minutes before. In essence, it was Lessing or Bevell. Bevell or Lessing. It was no good trying to guess. He would take Nole and Ninja for a quick shop down on the Sea Front where the gift shops were still sopping up the last of the summer trade before closing tight for the winter. He would buy Nolan something that would prove to be just the first of a long and expensive set. He would send them back home for a nice lunch of tinned food from the cupboard. He would then wind up this case and be sitting, casually polishing his nails, when the police arrived to make an arrest. Then, on Monday morning, he would be all set to go back to Leighford High to complete his Plan, begun on Friday, to transform the school before Diamond’s return. And all this
with
concussion.

‘Your Daddy is a genius,’ he remarked to Nolan, dunking him in the bath. At this rate, the child would be washed into oblivion, but there was no other way half so effective at removing errant cereal.

‘Yep,’ the boy agreed.

This monosyllabic lark could be quite pleasant, thought Maxwell, squeezing the shampoo lavishly on the lad’s curls. Good for the ego.

Finally, they were leaving the house. Nolan was washed and brushed. Maxwell was washed
but
not
brushed, as the bruise on his temple made even the thought untenable. He had used to think that hair could not feel pain; he knew differently now. Ninja was looking remarkably chipper, except for possibly a little strain around the eyes. She and Nolan waited patiently while Maxwell locked the front door. As he turned to walk down the path, he was startled into an involuntary cry of alarm by Mrs Troubridge springing up from behind the hedge. He couldn’t believe she could still scare him, but she managed it every time. Before he could draw breath, Ninja was in there like a ninja.

‘Mrs Troubridge,’ she said, airily. ‘How are you this morning?’

‘Marvellous, Betty,’ she carolled in reply. ‘And you?’

‘Wonderful. We’re off shopping.’

‘Oh,’ Mrs Troubridge feigned amazement. ‘Are the off-licences open already?’

Maxwell was transfixed, but knew that this exchange could go on and on. ‘Ladies, excuse me. We have a bit of a busy day ahead of us. Shall we?’ And he shooed Nolan and his Ninja down the path, waggling a farewell to Mrs Troubridge with his spare hand.

At the kerb, the little procession stalled suddenly. ‘Where’s my car?’ Betty Carpenter might have had a huge hangover, but even she
could tell the difference between this tiny thing and her pride and joy.

‘Oh, did Jacquie not say?’ Maxwell passed the buck adroitly. ‘She was a little stressed last night and just felt she would be happier driving home in her own car. Here are the keys.’ He jangled them in front of her. She felt as though the bells of St Mary’s were going off in her head. But there was no Bing to sing to her.

‘Well, all right,’ she said, snatching them to silence the noise. She walked round to the driver’s side. ‘It’s such a nuisance you can’t drive, Max,’ she said.

‘Don’t,’ he said.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t drive. Not can’t.’

‘Oh, I see. Isn’t that rather selfish?’

He saw no reason to argue this particular toss. ‘Not really.’ He got into the back with his son. ‘I’ll be back here with Nole. The baby seat is still in your car.’

Jacquie’s mother was not the most sensitive of women, but even she could tell a door shut in her face and, after some minutes of disgruntled tutting, she got the seat adjusted to her dumpy legs and off they went, in a series of
kangaroo-like
jerks. Maxwell wisely kept silent. He had no idea that she didn’t drive either. While they made their way to the Sea Front, he kept quiet. She was clearly not much of a multitasker where
driving was concerned and he just spoke when a turn was necessary. He was planning where to park; somewhere easy was obviously the order of the day.

‘Where can I park, Max?’ she asked, rather spookily reading his mind. ‘Somewhere nice and easy. I’m not at all happy driving this car.’

Maxwell couldn’t help himself. ‘It must be two feet shorter than yours and only half as wide.’

‘Exactly,’ she said, mysteriously. ‘Look, here’s a car park. Is this one all right for the shops?’

Not only was it all right for the shops, it was also empty. Maxwell looked at his watch; the place should be heaving with people by now. ‘This is fine, yes, great. We can either go to the High Street or the Sea Front from here.’

‘Lovely,’ she said, driving in and stopping randomly. This was a case not so much of parking as abandoning the car. ‘Do we have to pay on a Sunday?’

Maxwell chuckled. ‘Leighford Council would charge for parking on the Day of Judgement,’ he said. ‘Yawning graves and rivers of blood would not stop the wardens around here. You get Nole’s coat on for him and I will go and get the ticket.’ He strolled across to the machine and had to take a sizeable detour to avoid a gaggle of small, intense women with maps and binoculars round their necks who had just alighted from a
minibus. They sounded like a flock of starlings in a roost and then, as if to complete the analogy, they suddenly wheeled in a body and headed off for the Sea Front.

Back at the car, he stuck the ticket in the windscreen and they were off, in a curious tacking route dictated by Nolan’s insatiable curiosity.

‘He’s just like the Elephant’s Child,’ Betty Carpenter remarked.

‘As long as he doesn’t fall into the great green greasy Limpopo,’ said Maxwell. ‘It’s a devil to get out of his clothes.’

She looked amazed. ‘You know that story?’ she said.

‘Kipling? I should say so. You wonder how he got it all done, don’t you? All those books and then the cakes. A marvel.’

She looked at him closely. If only she could tell when he was being serious, she thought, she would feel much more comfortable in his company. They walked on for a while, with the sea to their left on the other side of the coastal defences, chunks of concrete which were beginning to weather but would only ever look like chunks of concrete. To their right, the wide pavement of the Sea Front was a playground to Nolan, who ran ahead, chasing seagulls and dodging round the legs of the map-hung women.

‘What a lovely child,’ Maxwell heard one
of them say. Then, his hackles rose and his adrenalin had him running. Her next sentence was the inevitable. ‘Would you like a sweetie?’

‘No!’ Maxwell yelled and was among them, scooping up his astonished son in his arms. Then, remembering his manners, he yelled, ‘Thank you.’ He skidded to a halt and turned to face the women, now clustering together and staring at him with big eyes. One or two on the edge of the group were trying to edge further in.

The woman who had spoken turned to her friend. ‘I was only going to give him a sweetie,’ she said, drumming up support.

‘Yes,’ twittered the women, in out-of-kilter Greek chorus. ‘Just a sweetie.’

‘Do you watch the news?’ he asked of the crowd.

‘Oh, yes,’ they chorused. ‘That lovely Huw Edwards. Sir Trevor. Oh, yes.’

‘Local news?’

They shook their collective head.

‘So you don’t know about our little poisoning scare, then?’

They drew one breath. ‘Poison?’ they whispered.

‘Yes,’ he said, brutally. ‘A random poisoner is at large in Leighford, ladies. So offers of food are a bit off-limits at the moment, as I am sure you understand. This little chap has already had a close shave.’

‘Ooh,’ they cooed, increasing their bird-like appearance. Thirty hands reached out to tousle his curls. ‘Poor little mite.’

Maxwell doffed his hat. ‘Don’t let me keep you,’ he said. ‘And I hope I haven’t alarmed you at all.’

The sweet-offerer was pushed forward. She seemed to have become their unofficial spokesperson. ‘We were going to have a fish-
and-chip
lunch before our walk,’ she said.

‘Well, ladies, that’s totally up to you,’ he smiled. ‘But I personally wouldn’t touch it with a barge pole. This man is random, as I said. You can’t second-guess him at all.’

They got into a huddle. Some had brought sandwiches, it appeared, and the Tottingleigh Townswomen’s Twitchers always shared everything; it was in their Constitution.