‘It’ll be fascinating.’
‘You reckon?’ Ben scoffed, and Max couldn’t in all honesty say he did.
‘Anyway,’ Ben went on, ‘I just thought I’d ring to see if the dogs are OK.’
‘The dogs are fine, yes. I’m OK, too. Thanks so much for asking.’
‘Ha, ha.’ Max could hear the amusement in his voice, could picture the smile on his face.
They chatted for a couple of minutes, then Harry came on the phone. Max wondered why he worried about them so much. They were fine, not a care in the world, other than how they might escape the boredom of a museum, which was as it should be.
Half an hour later, unable to guess what today’s bollocking would focus on, Max finally gave up. He didn’t have a clue. So now he was extremely curious.
He took the stairs to Phil Meredith’s office, knocked on the door and stepped inside.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’ Without waiting for an answer, Meredith spat out, ‘You’ve really blown it this time. You’ve been warned countless times, but you take no notice whatsoever. A law unto yourself. Always bloody have been.’
Max still had no idea what he was talking about. One thing was certain, his boss was furious.
Meredith had recently taken to wearing contact lenses, probably because he thought they looked better for the TV appearances he loved so much, and they had a habit of making his eyes water. His brown hair was thinning on an almost daily basis so Max suspected the next thing would be a wig.
‘Sorry, but you’ll have to give me a clue,’ he said.
‘Don’t you get bloody funny with me!’
‘I’m not,’ Max said patiently. ‘It’s just that I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about. I’m a detective. I work better with clues.’
‘I’ll give you clues all right. Thomas McQueen.’
‘Ah.’ It was two months since he’d been warned—officially—to keep away from McQueen.
‘Ring a bell, does it? I thought it might. I will not have my officers harassing a—’
‘Villain?’ Max supplied helpfully.
‘He’s an innocent man. An innocent man who had dinner with the Chief Constable a fortnight ago.’
‘You’re kidding me?’ Max had to laugh at the absurdity. ‘God, I knew he was conning his way into polite society, but that’s really taking the piss.’
‘It’s not funny. As far as we know, he’s nothing more than a highly respected member of the community.’
‘As far as we can prove,’ Max corrected him. ‘You know as well as I do that he’s the biggest crook in Harrington.’
‘If he was, he’d be behind bars,’ Meredith snapped. ‘You’ve got nothing on him, nothing at all. Khalil rented a property from him, that’s all. Oh, yes, and his car was captured on CCTV in the area at about the right time. And that’s it. Just because you dislike the bloke—’
‘I do, but it’s more than that and you know it, Phil. He’s mixed up in Khalil’s murder. I know he is. And I intend to nail him.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve already had a written warning. I’ve had enough of you taking the law into your own hands. You’re suspended from duty until further notice.’
Max opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Suspended? Hell, this was serious.
‘Take a holiday,’ Meredith suggested grimly. ‘Do whatever it takes to get McQueen out of your head once and for all.’
‘You’re suspending me? Just because I had a five-minute chat with McQueen?’
‘I’m suspending you because I’m damned if I’ll have my officers disobeying orders and harassing—’
‘Friends of your golfing chum, the Chief Constable.’
‘I couldn’t care less if he’s bloody royalty,’ Meredith yelled. ‘I’m not having members of the public harassed by my officers. I won’t stand for it.’
McQueen was guilty of many things, possibly even murder. Having no hard evidence didn’t make him innocent. But there was no point arguing the case. It was time for a spot of grovelling.
‘OK, you’ve made your point. I’ll keep out of his way, but—’
‘Damn right, you will, Max. As from now, you’re suspended. If you’d like to hand over—’
Meredith’s phone rang and he picked it up to bark his name at the unfortunate caller.
Max was glad of the distraction. Obviously, he was out of practice when it came to grovelling. He’d have to try harder.
Meredith couldn’t suspend him. What the hell would he do all day? Walk the dogs? Sort out his CD collection? Wash the car? He’d go mad.
Meredith banged down the phone. ‘Christ, it never bloody rains!’ He glared at Max. ‘A body’s been found in the wood out at Kelton Bridge. Presumably it’s Bradley Johnson.’
Max, knowing it showed exceptionally bad taste when someone had died, bit back on the silent prayer of thanks. He was the duty Senior Investigating Officer and, although normally Meredith could turn to others, this week he was snookered. Don Cornwall had been rushed into hospital with appendicitis and Jerry was enjoying a well-earned rest in Mauritius.
‘A suspicious death,’ Meredith added. ‘Wound to his head.’
Correction. Someone had been murdered.
‘I see,’ Max murmured. ‘In that case, I won’t take up any more of your time. You’ll be busy. Shortage of officers and all that.’ He turned to the door. ‘Actually, this suspension couldn’t have come at a better time. You know I’m staying at Jill’s for a couple of weeks while my boys are in France? Yes, of course you do. The grapevine might take its time getting this far but—’
‘You and Jill?’ Meredith cut him off. ‘Again? Bloody hell, Max, when you two were together last time, you treated her like shit and she walked out on you and the force. I’m damned if I’ll have that happening again.’
Max winced. ‘It won’t.’
‘It better hadn’t.’
‘Right.’ Max had the door open, not sure if he was suspended or if Meredith wanted him to find Johnson’s killer. ‘I’ll go and book a week in the sun then. Or perhaps I’ll sort out my CD collection.’
‘Max, I’m warning you, get bloody funny with me, and I’ll have you back on the beat by lunchtime.’
‘You mean …?’ He assumed an expression of innocence, but the relief flooded through him.
‘If it were up to me,’ Meredith assured him, voice dangerously low, ‘you
would
be back on the bloody beat by lunchtime. But with all this bad press we’re getting …’ He left the sentence unfinished. ‘Get out to Kelton Bridge. The last thing we need right now is another unsolved murder.’
‘What? You mean my suspension’s over? That must be the shortest on record.’
Meredith looked on the verge of a coronary so Max decided against milking it too much.
‘Every damn day,’ Meredith reminded him, ‘the press have a bloody field day with us. The public are up in arms. People are convinced we haven’t bothered to find Khalil’s killer because we’re racist.’
Max nodded. ‘I do read the papers, you know.’
‘My force? Racist? How dare they?’
Khalil had been murdered back in January, ten months ago, and they still had no suspects. Other than McQueen, that is.
‘We’ll find his killer,’ Max said.
‘Bloody right we will. Meanwhile, you’d better see what’s been happening in Kelton Bridge.’ He scowled at Max. ‘It’s handy you spending time with Jill as it turns out. This will be right on her doorstep. It shouldn’t take you long to apprehend our man.’
‘Indeed.’
Max didn’t like to point out that, if they had Bradley Johnson’s killer banged up before the day was over, there would be yet more accusations of the force not bothering to find the person responsible for Muhammed Khalil’s death.
Ironically, the only people not crying racism were Khalil’s family. A nicer bunch of people it would be difficult to meet and, for their sakes, Max was determined that Khalil’s killer would be brought to justice.
Racism. God, that infuriated Max as much as it did his boss. Max didn’t have a racist bone in his body. He hated all scum the same, regardless of colour, creed or any other damn thing.
‘I’ll keep you informed,’ he promised.
‘You will, Max. And keep away from McQueen!’
He would; he had better things to do with his time. For now.
When Jill let herself into her cottage that afternoon, the Rolling Stones were complaining that they couldn’t get any satisfaction. Loudly.
Why was it that Max couldn’t do
anything
without background noise? And why was it so difficult for him to switch the radio off before he left?
She silenced the radio and shivered. The central heating should have come on an hour ago. Damn it, she really would have to get in touch with a reliable plumber.
Even her cats were feeling the cold. Sam, the laziest of the three, was curled up on top of the boiler, and no doubt wondering why it wasn’t the warmest place in the cottage. Rabble, old and stiff, strode up to her and demanded food. Tojo, more inventive, had made herself a comfortable bed on Max’s sweater. Served him right for tossing it on the sofa.
She hadn’t had time to decide if inviting Max to her cottage had been a good idea as he’d only arrived last night. He’d come in useful when Sam had ambled inside and deposited a dead mouse on the sitting-room carpet, but she remained wary.
It was only a temporary arrangement while Max’s sons, Harry and Ben, were away. They’d left for France yesterday for a fortnight’s trip arranged by the school. The main appeal for Ben was the thought of a fortnight without lessons, and both boys imagined they would be spending their days skiing at Val d’Isère. Harry, especially, was spending hours at Rossendale Ski Centre and even Ben was becoming an accomplished snow boarder. Yet the trip wouldn’t be all fun on the slopes. Far from it. They would be improving their French and learning about the country. At least, that was the plan.
Max was making the most of their absence by getting the decorators in. He’d given Jill a sob story and she, probably foolishly, had said he could have the spare bedroom for a fortnight.
She hit the reset button on the gas boiler and, very reluctantly, it groaned into life. She’d phoned a plumber last week, and he’d promised faithfully to take a look at her boiler on Wednesday. And then Thursday. A week later, there was still no sign of him.
And it was bitterly cold.
It was the last week of November, yet Lancashire had been threatened with heavy snowfalls before the month was out. So far, all they’d had were hard frosts and, yesterday, the temperature hadn’t risen above freezing all day. So why were mice wandering into the jaws of cats? Or perhaps they were dying of cold and Sam was bringing in dead meat.
The sun was slowly sinking now and, as she gazed out at her garden, she thought it couldn’t look more beautiful. Everything was dressed in white frost. Grass, shrubs, the shed, the bench—all white. A robin landed on the bench, his red breast the only splash of colour visible. She wished her camera was handy.
Her home was straight off a Christmas card. People had scoffed when she’d first decided to move to the small Lancashire village of Kelton Bridge, and they had seriously questioned her sanity when she’d told them that her new home, the quaintly named Lilac Cottage, was right at the end of a narrow, unlit lane. Yet Jill loved everything about it. The village was a world away from the rough Liverpool council estate on which she’d been raised and that suited her just fine.
The light on her answer machine was flashing and she hit the Play button.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ Max’s voice greeted her. ‘Something’s cropped up so we’ll have to forget dinner. Better get yourself a takeaway, kiddo.’
Damn. She’d been promised a meal out. Max was right; she’d have to order a takeaway. There was no point looking in her cupboards and, from memory, her fridge contained nothing more than a carton of milk, a bottle of white wine, some orange juice and a lettuce that needed throwing out.
She went to her bedroom and undressed. She’d had a new shower installed, her toy of the moment, and she hit the button above the bed. The tiny light began flashing. She loved her shower. Every morning, she could stay in bed until the light stopped flashing, at which point the water would be at the right temperature.
Except it seemed to be taking a while this afternoon. She could hear the water running, but the light continued to flash.
Cursing to herself, she pulled on a dressing gown that Max reckoned Captain Oates would have killed for, and went to the bathroom. There was no hint of steam coming from the shower cubicle.
She padded downstairs in her bare feet, ignoring all thoughts of treading on a dead mouse, and went to the boiler. Sure enough, the red light was on. Again. She hit the reset button and vowed that, come the morning, she wouldn’t leave home until she’d extracted a promise from a plumber.
By the time she got back to the bathroom, there was steam, and she stepped beneath the deliciously hot jet and closed her eyes to allow the water to cleanse and soothe. When she finally stepped out and wrapped a thick towel around herself, she felt more or less human again. That was the thing about Styal; it stripped you of your humanity.
When she was dressed in jeans and a sweater, she went downstairs, touching radiators to check for warmth as she did so.
She put coffee on, and looked around her cottage. It would probably be OK having Max staying, and it was only for a fortnight anyway, but it was so long since they’d lived together that she had forgotten how untidy he was. He was incapable of returning things to their rightful place and she knew from experience that he didn’t even notice the trail of clutter he always left in his wake. He’d obviously made himself a cup of tea before he left that morning. The milk hadn’t been returned to the fridge, the empty cup sat on top of the dishwasher, a spoon and, worst of all, a tea bag had been abandoned in the sink.
The jacket he’d worn last night was slung over the back of a chair and a pile of loose change sat on top of the television.
She took her coffee into the sitting room and made a fuss of her cats. Max’s dogs would be frequent visitors during the next couple of weeks and her cats wouldn’t approve. Who could blame them?
Fortunately, Max’s mother-in-law was looking after the dogs at the moment. After the death of her daughter, Kate had moved into the self-contained flat at Max’s place and was always on hand to look after her grandchildren, three dogs, the house or anything else. She was a true gem. And a good friend.