Maxwell's Revenge (7 page)

Hall brightened. ‘But even so, we might still be looking at very severe food poisoning, mightn’t we?’ His eyes were hopeful and Maxwell would have liked nothing better than to have been able to cheer him up. But that just wasn’t possible.

‘Sorry to rain on your parade, Henry, old
thing. My very good friend Sylvia Matthews who is the School Nurse, you may remember, says that it couldn’t possibly hit that hard and that fast, even the kind of horrible things that prawns carry. No, it has to be poison.’

Hall deflated and said, ‘You can’t blame me for hoping, Mr Maxwell. The thought of a deranged random poisoner running around isn’t exactly music to a policeman’s ears.’

‘Or to the ears of anyone who indulges in food from time to time,’ agreed Maxwell. ‘To continue. I came down from my office and helped myself to a jelly. I was talking to Sylvia and weighing up the chances of each candidate. There was the usual background hum of conversation, the click of texting, the sound of healthy food being shoved down behind radiators. And that’s just from the staff. The kids were obviously much noisier.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Henry Hall held up a hand. ‘The students were there? I didn’t know that.’

‘Well, not there as in mixed with the staff. There is a staff section where we can have our lunches, if not in peace then at least without having to watch Nine Zed eat pizzas with their collective mouths open. It’s like watching banks of tumble dryers at the launderette. Anyway, where was I?’

Hall spread his hands. Who knew?

‘Ah, yes. There was just the usual background
noise when suddenly someone shouted out. And then there was the noise of someone falling, you know, bringing plates and stuff down with them.’

‘In that order?’ Hall asked.

Maxwell closed his eyes and waved his hands in front of him, trying to reconstruct the scene. His lids flew open and his dark eyes focused on Hall. ‘I have to admit, Henry, and this is something I don’t have much call to say, but I have to admit I don’t really know. I suppose the nearest I can come is that they were almost simultaneous. Then, everyone seemed to be falling over and being sick. But I can be a little more accurate here, if your stomach is up to it.’

‘Mr Maxwell, just take it as read that my stomach is at least as strong as the next man’s, if not almost certainly stronger.’

‘Of course, how silly of me. You must have seen much worse sights than a load of teachers being sick. Well, it seemed as if there was more than one thing going on. There were some people lying on the ground and being sick. That’s very awkward; I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but to be sick efficiently, you need to be sort of arched over. Think hangover and you’ll see I’m right. These people didn’t seem able to do that, they were all floppy and just being sick as best they could, if you see what I’m trying to convey.’

‘Yes,’ Hall said, scribbling notes on a pad in front of him.

‘Then there were those who were being sick just because others were being sick. Some teachers get their vomit level adjusted on the first day of the job, others never get used to it. No doubt my colleagues in the Infant Sector are more hardened than my oppos, bum-wiping and so on. They were leaning over in the usual way. Added to that, there were a few injuries, people knocked flying by the ones who fell over. My number two, Helen Maitland, is one of those.’

Hall put down his pen. ‘Can you remember who belonged to which of the first two categories?’ he asked.

Maxwell paused for thought again. ‘Oddly enough, Henry, I can. The first group were exclusively the ones now in hospital or dead. The others all recovered after a moment and helped with the kids or the ill and injured.’ He tapped his forefinger on his chin a few times as he checked back in his memory. Then he looked up at Hall again. ‘Yes, I’m absolutely sure I’m right.’

‘And the first group, they all were members of the SLT or candidates?’

‘Not quite. Because I wasn’t there, there was a cocktail left over, possibly a couple if Legs Diamond had been generous enough to slightly overcater. Mel Forman from Business …’

‘… the dead woman?’

‘Yes. She took one for herself and one for her teaching assistant but ate them both because
the girl couldn’t eat prawn. I also noticed that Miss Mackenzie hadn’t eaten her shell-on prawn garnish.’

‘I don’t think that’s too important – she was the first one down.’

‘That’s true,’ agreed Maxwell. ‘But she’s not as seriously ill as most of the others now.’

‘Neither is Miss Smollett.’

‘Indeed, but I’d say Miss Smollett is a much tougher cookie than Miss Mackenzie, who looks like a Botticelli angel who a puff of wind could blow away. Perhaps she was more susceptible to the poison so it took less to affect her.’

‘True,’ pondered Hall. ‘When we find out what the poison is we’ll know, perhaps.’

‘I think I may know what the poison is,’ offered Maxwell.

Hall reached in behind his blank lenses and rubbed his eyes. From behind his hands he said plaintively, ‘Mr Maxwell. Could you outline your credentials as a toxicologist?’

Maxwell gave a rueful smile. ‘Please, Henry. Does no policeman ever learn from history? I either know it or can blag it, as you have found down the long arches of the years. It happens that this is one of those things I know. We teach Crime and Punishment as a GCSE module and poisoners are criminals, as you were doubtless taught at Hendon. William Palmer, Dr Pritchard, Graham Young. I could go on.’

‘OK then,’ said Hall. ‘I’ll go with this for now.’

‘Well, having thought it through, with the falling down, the vomiting, the total collapse and, of course, sadly, the rapid death, I can only conclude aconite.’

‘Aconite? A little old-fashioned, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. But also very easy to get hold of if you don’t mind having poisonous plants in your garden. Wolfsbane is a handsome plant and, incredibly, available from garden centres. We had some in the back of a border until Nolan started walking and we rooted it out. You have to be thorough, because the roots go down to bloody Australia, and of course you have to be careful not to get the sap on your hands just before you eat your restorative ginger nut.’

‘I’d still like to wait for confirmation, if you don’t mind.’

Maxwell bowed, but carefully.

Hall’s phone rang and he snatched it up. ‘Hall. Yes.’ He covered the mouthpiece and quietly said, ‘Lab,’ to Maxwell. Into the receiver he said, ‘That was quick. Uh huh. Uh huh. Thank you.’ He looked up at Maxwell. ‘I mustn’t keep you. I’ll arrange a car to take you home. I expect you’d like to change, wouldn’t you?’

‘Love to,’ said Maxwell, standing up gingerly. ‘What did the lab have to say?’

‘I’m not sure I can tell you that at this stage, Mr Maxwell,’ said Hall, primly.

‘Aconite then,’ said Maxwell.

‘Or a derivative,’ said Hall, flatly. He shuffled some papers and then looked up. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’ He reached for his phone and Maxwell, dismissed, left the room. Once outside he couldn’t resist a small chuckle of triumph as he made his way down to reception. He didn’t lose sight of the large picture: people were ill, people were very possibly dying, one person was dead. But at least he was right.

Jacquie sat quietly behind Maxwell’s new desk and practised some yogic breathing, interspersed with sobs. It had been bad timing for her. Maxwell had inadvertently let out a small intimation of mortality with his flippant talk of retirement, and the jacket over the legs of a dead person had put the tin lid firmly on her fears and given it a twist to keep it in place.

The fact that he hadn’t broken but had, as usual, bounced at this latest crisis had soothed her, but she was still shaken. Like every frightened child at Leighford High, she wanted Maxwell to mend it and make it right. Failing Maxwell, she wanted Sylvia Matthews. There was a gentle tap at the door and the nurse popped her head round.

‘Jacquie?’ she said. ‘Are you ready for me yet?’

With a final sniff, Detective Sergeant Jacqueline
Carpenter replaced frightened Jacquie. ‘Come in, Sylv.’ She beckoned her in and opened her notebook.

Sylvia kicked the door open wider to negotiate through it with the tray she was carrying. ‘I thought you would probably like some coffee.’

Jacquie eyed it dubiously. ‘Er … don’t think I’m ungrateful, but where is it from, exactly?’

Sylvia chuckled. ‘Max’s secret stash,’ she said.

The policewoman breathed a sigh of relief. ‘That’s OK, then. I’d love one. I don’t remember having lunch and I must say I don’t really fancy any now.’

‘I know what you mean,’ said Sylvia, deftly being mother. She handed a mug over the desk. ‘Careful where you put it down. Max doesn’t want rings on his furniture.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I wish it wasn’t like this, Jacquie, but I think we have the right Head at last.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Sylv, but I don’t think it’s really Max’s thing, you know, this kind of admin post. He likes to get in amongst stuff, not just chair meetings and make phone calls. What he’d really like to do is lead a cavalry charge, but there would be bound to be health and safety implications.’

Sylvia chuckled. ‘I totally agree,’ she said, sipping her coffee. ‘That’s why he’s the right man. Whoever said being a Head meant not getting in amongst stuff? He might make it hands on again,
even if only briefly. These kids will be lucky to see a real leader for once. Who knows, even if he’s only Head for a while, he might make a lasting difference to Leighford High.’

‘That would be nice,’ Jacquie said, with the air of someone putting a full stop to a conversation. ‘Now, Sylv, I’m afraid I’m going to have to interview you about the events of this lunchtime.’ She clicked her pen open and looked hopefully at the woman opposite. When nothing happened, she tried again. ‘What if you start from the beginning of the lunch break?’ she said, helpfully.

‘Jacquie,’ Sylvia eventually said. ‘I’m not used to this. I just can’t do it.’

‘What’s the problem?’ she said. ‘Do you want me to ask you questions, to prompt you or something? Or do you find it distressing?’

‘It was distressing, yes,’ she replied. ‘But it isn’t that. I found I went onto autopilot, really. The training just kicked in. I know I didn’t do anything wrong, because that would have broken the flow, but as to what order things happened in, or anything like that, I’m afraid I won’t be a help. And I don’t want to give you my version as I have reconstructed it. It is bound to be hopelessly inaccurate.’

Jacquie put down her pen and rubbed her eyes. This was all she needed. She looked up. ‘What can you remember?’

‘Eating a jelly with Max. You coming in. Between, just a lot of vomit and crying. Sorry. Ask any medical person and if they’re honest they’ll say the same.’

‘Sylv, there’s no need to shield anyone.’

‘I’m not. Please, Jacquie, it’s what I remember. Nothing.’

‘Well,’ the policewoman pushed herself back from the desk. ‘That’s it, then. Thanks for coming in.’ She moved towards the door, shepherding Sylvia Matthews ahead of her. ‘Are you off home now?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When I’ve checked the loos and things; I sometimes find the occasional lost soul in the girls’ changing room.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ offered Jacquie.

‘Really,’ smiled Sylvia. ‘There’s no need. I just do it to satisfy myself all is well.’

‘I like to do that too,’ said Jacquie, and fell into step alongside the nurse.

The first stop was the boys’ cloakroom, off the main foyer. At first, Jacquie thought that something horrendous had happened in there. The smell was a bizarre compound of the warm fudgey smell given off by socks worn too long on sweaty adolescent feet, armpit, cheap deodorant, baked beans
after
digestion, and ammonia. This was undercut by the rather unexpected smell of mock leather and wood, from the brand new, granny-bought school bags and newly
scraped-down
floors. It would be all of a week before the bags became Tesco bags or the anonymous grey holdalls sold in sports shops throughout the known universe. The whole was enough to make anyone’s eyes water and Jacquie wiped hers with her sleeve. She glanced at Sylvia who had not reacted.

As they backed into the foyer again, Jacquie still trying not to breathe, Sylvia remarked casually, ‘How they can still find cleaners with the olfactory functions of a gnat, I can’t imagine. I really only go in there in the first week of term. After that, the smell is too bad.’ Although Sylvia Matthews had been close to Maxwell for many years, Jacquie had still to learn her expressions. Did that face mean what the words did, or was it some ironic comment? Jacquie just couldn’t be sure.

‘Right,’ Sylvia said, ‘the girls’ cloakroom. Abandon hope all ye who enter here.’ Jacquie held her breath in readiness, but there was no need. It smelt of talcum powder and shampoo. But it was so untidy that it was totally impossible to see the floor. Lockers spewed their contents everywhere and for some reason a blouse was hanging from a light fitting.

‘Don’t touch anything,’ she hissed to Sylvia. ‘I’ll see if SOCO are still in the building.’

Sylvia looked at her in surprise. ‘Whatever for?’ she asked, mildly.

‘Well, look around you, Sylv,’ Jacquie said. ‘The place has clearly been ransacked.’

Sylvia laughed and patted Jacquie on the arm. ‘No, no, Jacquie,’ she smiled. ‘This is the
girls
’ cloakroom. It always looks like this. Except for about thirty seconds on the first day of term, and in the holidays when the little dears aren’t here.’

‘But, it’s … it’s disgusting.’ Jacquie was almost lost for words. ‘How can they leave it like this?’

Sylvia surprised Jacquie by giving her a hug. ‘Welcome to Leighford High,’ she smiled. ‘The skull beneath the skin, as Max calls it.’

‘Yes,’ said Jacquie. ‘I expect he does. But that’s because he doesn’t do the cleaning.’

‘He does occasionally offer to use a broom in a rather unconventional way,’ Sylvia said, ‘but I don’t expect he means it. Anyway, nothing to see here, as your American counterparts say. I’m for home, I think. Are you done here?’ She pulled open one half of the double doors leading out into the foyer and stepped through. Jacquie turned to take one last look at the chaos that lay behind, so she didn’t see in detail what happened next. Sylvia Matthews just crashed back into the cloakroom and sent them both flying. Jacquie’s head hit the floor and bounced. If it hadn’t been for a pile of discarded gym kit, she would have been knocked cold. As it was, she was merely winded and was on her feet almost as soon as she
hit the ground. Sylvia, burdened with more years than Jacquie, clambered up in a rather less gainly fashion but was out in the foyer only seconds behind her, to see the doors to the outside still swinging behind a running figure.

Jacquie gave chase but hadn’t a hope of catching up. She settled for standing still on the top step and trying to commit to memory a detailed picture of the man, if man it was. The person was small, wiry and was wearing a hooded anorak in a dirty green. It appeared to be wearing trousers rather than jeans and shoes rather than trainers. Trying to avoid jumping to conclusions, Jacquie nonetheless concluded that this was not a youngster. But who else would behave that way? She decided to call the runner ‘he’ simply because that was the impression she got; the run was neat and methodical, but the strides weren’t very long. He wasn’t particularly fit, she thought, but didn’t seem to be running out of steam, so averagely active. He was carrying a bag which chinked as he ran. He turned out of the drive and was gone. Jacquie ran into the dining hall and grabbed a walkie-talkie from a startled SOCO and patched herself through to Henry Hall.

‘Guv,’ she said. ‘I think we need more bodies here. Mrs Matthews has just been attacked, although I think by accident. I think the man who did it has made away with some evidence.’

The SOCO men looked up as one. Then, one broke ranks and rushed to the serving counter. He looked round at the others. ‘Oh, bugger,’ he said. ‘She’s fucking right as well. Some wanker has stolen the cocktail dishes off of the side.’

Jacquie addressed the walkie-talkie. ‘Did you hear that, guv?’

Hall’s sigh echoed round the cavernous room. ‘Yes, Jacquie. I’m on my way – if only to remind my team of the need for modified language in a public place.’

She broke the connection and looked around the assembled white suits. They were uncharacteristically silent. The pounding hearts and dry throats thudded and scraped in the quietness. A devil took hold of Jacquie. ‘Now, sit down at the tables, boys,’ she said. ‘Backs straight. No talking. You’re all in detention.’ She turned on her heel and was almost through the door before the first expletive hurtled after her.

Sylvia was sitting on a bench outside, rubbing her elbow and ruefully examining a gash on her leg. She had not been as lucky as Jacquie, with her handy gym kit pillow to land on. She had landed half on a bench and was battered and bruised. Also, Jacquie’s knee had caught her in the small of the back and she could feel it stiffening up as she sat there.

‘Are you all right, Sylvia?’ Jacquie said, sitting beside her. ‘Do you want to go to the hospital?’

Sylvia shuddered. ‘God, no,’ she said and tried a small smile. ‘I hate those places. MRSA. C. difficile. E. coli. I’ll be all right. I just need a nice hot bath and a lie-down and I’ll be right as rain.’ She turned. ‘Are you all right? I landed on you, didn’t I?’

‘A bit,’ Jacquie said. ‘I think I must have hurt you with my knee. But I bounced on the piles of crap those girls had kindly left on the floor, so don’t worry. Henry Hall’s on his way.’

‘Why?’ Sylvia was wide-eyed. ‘Just because some bloody kid gave me a shove?’

‘That was no kid,’ Jacquie said. ‘That was a man, and not a youngster at that. He was wearing quite expensive clothes and didn’t run like a young person. He was over fifty, I’d say, or if not, then not used to running. He was carrying a bag.’

Sylvia waited for the punchline.

‘It had the prawn cocktail dishes in it. The SOCO guys had left them lined up on the counter. He must have crept in and just taken them.’

‘Why would he do that?’ Sylvia asked.

‘Because, Nurse Matthews, you were just knocked over by our murderer, unless I seriously miss my guess.’

And, with no fuss or preamble, Sylvia Matthews, SRN, slid gracefully off the bench and onto the ground in her first faint in living memory. What would Miss Nightingale have said?

‘So I didn’t really know what to do,’ said Jacquie, snuggling up to Maxwell when the day was finally done. ‘The designated First Aider was lying at my feet in a heap. So I put her in the recovery position and yelled for help. Then one of the SOCOs came out in all his white stuff and leant over her. She woke up, saw him, passed out again. She’s not really cut out for crime.’

‘I think you’re right there,’ Maxwell agreed. ‘Blood, gore, various body bits, which I hope never to have more than a passing acquaintance with, being presented to her day in and day out. But a little brush with a murderer and she goes to pieces. Tcha.’

‘Tcha?’ Jacquie rose up on an elbow and looked at him. ‘Nobody says “Tcha”.’

‘I do and I’m proud of it. I’ll say it again. Tcha! It’s a sort of Wodehousian, Thirties thing, but I sense it’s making a comeback.’

She prodded him in the ribs and wriggled down into the pillows to prepare for sleep. ‘Sleep, now,’ she said, gave a huge sigh and went off, just like that. Maxwell lay there amazed, as he always did. Was it a police thing? A female thing? How on earth did she do that? He rolled over and tried to put the day’s events out of his mind. He counted, in his head, the squadrons in the Light Brigade at Balaclava. He listed their commanding officers. He began to list their …

Someone was pulling his hair. It really hurt,
but not as much as the exploratory finger up his nose. A bright light was shining in his eyes.

‘God,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve been abducted by aliens.’

He forced open one eye and found that he was face-to-face with Nolan. ‘Dada? Brekkie.’

Maxwell tried to ungum his mouth. To make time, he gently disentangled his son’s fingers from his hair and unplugged his finger from his right nostril. He planted a kiss on the boy’s nose and struggled upright. He glanced behind him. Jacquie’s side of the bed was empty. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ he asked the boy.

‘Mummy ha gone,’ Nolan said. He sounded so precise that Maxwell half expected him to produce a Post-it note with the details.

‘When?’ he asked and then stopped. This lovely boy, bright as a button and twice as cute, was pretty good on where the biscuits were, how far he could push Metternich before the animal moved out and which Hoob was which, if indeed anyone knew. But time was something that happened to other people. For some bizarre spatial reason, Maxwell had been twelve before he could tell the time and he quite understood. He picked the child up and they went into the kitchen to get breakfast. The cooker clock, a tad more forthcoming than his son, told Maxwell that it was seven-thirty. So Jacquie had gone out earlier than usual. He hadn’t heard the
phone, but that was no guide; he often didn’t. He stepped deftly over a lurking Metternich and perched Nolan on the worktop. He raised an interrogative eyebrow at him.

‘Pops!’ the little one shouted.