Maxwell's Return (3 page)

‘My God!’ Maxwell was aghast. It all sounded like an episode of
Law & Order
. ‘Is he in custody?’

‘No. They questioned him under caution, or so I understand. But they couldn’t arrest him; there was no forensic evidence to connect him with the murder, although of course his DNA was on her clothes and hers was at his house. He’s on gardening leave until … well, I don’t know for how long. I can hardly think that they seriously suspect him, but it was a rather strange story that he had to tell …’

And a voice from behind her added, ‘And worse than that, he has no alibi.’

CHAPTER THREE

High tide on the beach at Willow Bay lapped the roots of the trees which the previous winter’s storms had brought tumbling down the cliffs to make a giant’s log-pile on the sand. Too new to be driftwood, too sodden to be firewood, the branches and roots tangled together just a little more with each incoming wave and made a Gordian knot of huge proportions. Sometimes completely submerged, at Spring tides and in storm conditions, the trunks had not become home to the usual beach-dwelling creatures such as rats and foxes, searching for new habitats as houses took over their normal ones. But something was moving in there, swaying in the water as it ebbed and flowed. It looked at first sight like an exotic flower, an orchid perhaps, as it waved, languid and pale, among the roots. It seemed to be beckoning, then dismissing the crabs that scuttled along the roots and burrowed under the trunks driven deep into the sand by the trees’ fall from the sunshine on the cliff above. One crab, braver perhaps than the rest, approached the white thing and, scenting food, began to carefully pick delicate morsels from it, feeding itself with deft movements of its claws. If no one found it soon, the hand, then the arm, then the whole body of the dead girl would be bone.

‘No alibi?’ Maxwell asked, raising an eyebrow. He turned to Sylvia. ‘Didn’t you say he went out on a long-standing appointment?’

‘Yes,’ Sylvia said. ‘But that’s only what he told me, what I’ve heard since.’ She looked across at Jacquie who had thrown herself down in the chair opposite. ‘You look fresh as a daisy,’ she said. ‘No jetlag?’

‘Yes,’ Jacquie smiled. ‘But I am trying very hard to rise above. How are you Sylv? Thanks for all the little reminders of home while we were away. Did Max tell you how much our neighbour loved the
Leighford Advertiser
?’

‘There certainly is no accounting for taste,’ the school nurse laughed.

‘He must have taken the one about Bernard. I can’t believe it went into detail, even so. Even the
Advertiser
has some scruples, surely.’

‘Not so much scruples as absolutely rubbish reporting,’ Sylvia said. ‘You may have missed it in any case, because they called him Ronald Ryan, but they did say he was a Deputy at Leighford High and so I’m sure, like everyone else, you would have put two and two together. They didn’t say it was in connection with the murder, either. Just said he had been suspended pending investigations into something that they were not allowed to report in detail.’

‘And since that could only be fingers in the till or fingers in the knickers,’ Maxwell continued, with an apologetic shrug at his two favourite women, ‘everyone made their own decisions as to what it might be.’

‘Well, it was a little worse than that,’ Sylvia said. ‘They put it on the same page as the body being found and said that a forty one year old man was helping police with their enquiries. They said she had been to visit her Business Studies tutor before she disappeared. Then in Bernard’s piece, they said he was a forty one year old Business Studies teacher and the damage was done.’

Maxwell looked steadily at his wife. ‘And, dear heart, if I may say so, you seem to have a few extra details yourself. I thought you weren’t going back to work for another three weeks.’

She met his gaze. This may be a case of who blinked first. ‘I’m glad Sylv’s here,’ she said, ‘because she can be my witness when I say that I am not going to tell you anything about this case and I don’t want you involved. Right, Sylv?’

Sylvia Matthews nodded but knew she wouldn’t be called upon to ever stand up in even an unofficial Maxwell family court to swear to it. Max would get involved, of course. Jacquie would end up telling him everything and it might even end up that Bernard Ryan would yet be all right. Sylvia Matthews liked most people, but she didn’t like the deputy head who was often unfair and vengeful. There was no such thing in his
book as water under the bridge and he could hold a grudge for England. But even so, she had seen the look on his face when the police came for him and her maternal instinct had made her want to run to him and hold him close. The little boy he once had been – that even he had once been – looked out from behind his geeky glasses and she could have cried for him. In fact, later, at home and safely in Guy’s arms, she had. But to Jacquie, she just said, ‘Right.’

‘Does this have anything at all to do with the three week thing?’ Maxwell asked mildly.

‘Not precisely, no,’ Jacquie said, shifting a little in her chair. Sylvia sighed. The DI had blinked first and the rest, very appropriately, would be history.

‘So you’ve spoken to Henry, then?’

‘You’ve spoken to Helen. Sylvia,’ Jacquie made a dramatic gesture with her arm and nearly knocked his mug out of his hand, ‘is actually here.’

‘So, what did Henry have to say?’

‘He’s well.’

‘And?’

‘And the family, of course.’

‘And?’

‘And … well, he did mention that there are a lot of people off sick – summer colds, apparently – and …’

‘So you will be going in on …?’ Maxwell waited politely, his blandest expression firmly pinned on his face.

Jacquie took a deep swig of coffee, muttering something into her mug.

‘Hmm?’ Maxwell leaned forward. ‘I didn’t quite catch that. Sounded like “Chocolate, elephant, pencil” if I may quote Jeremy Hardy at this juncture.’

Jacquie cleared her throat and straightened her back. ‘Monday,’ she enunciated. ‘I said I might pop in.’

‘Monday!’ Maxwell said. ‘Jacquie I really thought we had agreed …’

‘I don’t need a holiday,’ she said. ‘The exchange was a holiday, to all intents and purposes. I learned a lot, of course I did, but they wrapped me in cotton wool.’ She turned to Sylvia to explain. ‘I couldn’t carry a weapon, or, as you still call them over here, a gun, so there were limited options for what I could do. I worked mainly with the special unit assigned to the DA’s office, so we were mainly interviewing. Very different from our methods here.’

‘And sadly, very unlike any
Law & Order
episode I have ever seen,’ Maxwell cut in. ‘They do use those things for smashing down doors, though. I would love to have one of those.’

‘Perhaps for Christmas,’ Jacquie said, patting his knee.

Sylvia looked perplexed. ‘Why would you want one?’ she asked.

‘Why would you
not
?’ Maxwell asked, making vague swinging motions in the air.

‘He’s a funny age,’ Jacquie said. ‘As it was, I had to stop him talking to my temporary colleagues about the – and I quote – “balls up” they made over the Bobby Kennedy shooting.’

‘When was that again?’ Sylvia asked.

‘Before your time,’ Maxwell assured her.

‘So, as I was saying,’ Jacquie brought them back to the here and now,‘I don’t need a holiday, I haven’t been working hard at all. And Henry is pretty desperate, with staff on maternity leave, off with bugs, stress, you name it. So,’ and she raised a pre-emptive finger at Maxwell before he could speak, ‘I am going back on Monday, ad hoc hours, no night calls and the leave will re-accrue. So that’s it. No arguing.’

‘I know better than to even try,’ Maxwell said. ‘I’m surprised you made it Monday. I was expecting you to go back this afternoon.’

‘Don’t be silly. It’s Saturday.’

‘And what does that have to do with the price of fish? However, this does rather open the door for me going in to get the results.’

‘Had you planned not to?’ she said, archly.

Sylvia watched the match with a wry smile. ‘I think that makes it deuce,’ she said. ‘Do you need any help with Nole?’

‘Results day might be a help,’ Maxwell said, ‘but aren’t you normally there to wipe noses?’

‘Noses, tears, the whole lot, yes,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk – I think Guy will be free, or perhaps Mrs Troubridge – how is she, by the way? I kept meaning to look in, but Hector seemed to be on it.’

‘She’s blooming. A little disappointed to see the Count back, I fear, but of course over the moon to get the Boy back. She was asleep in here this morning; I nearly had a heart attack.’

‘I forgot to ask about Metternich – how did he get on in LA?’

‘Racoons were a challenge at first, but he soon got the hang of them. Skunks, he came to an arrangement with. I’m not sure whether there are still mountain lions around, but if so, there are probably fewer now. He had a whale of a time. Has an American accent, of course, but we’re hoping it will pass.’

Sylvia looked confused. ‘Are we still talking about Metternich? Or has Nolan got an American accent.’

‘Of course,’ Maxwell looked quizzical. ‘They both have.’

Jacquie began to relax. The conversation had taken a rather more domestic turn and Bernard Ryan’s lack of alibi, which she should never have allowed to slip out anyway, seemed to have been forgotten.

‘Have you got loads of pictures?’ Sylvia asked.

‘I’m making an online album,’ Jacquie said. ‘We managed to get out and about quite a bit.’

‘So, what’s this about Bernard having no alibi, then?’ Maxwell asked, with his sunniest smile.

Later that evening, with Nolan away on a sleepover and Metternich sprawled over all three cushions of the sofa, his front legs stretched over his head and his back legs turned to the side in a Yoga position of his own devising, Maxwell returned to the question he had been dropping into the conversation all afternoon and through a takeaway dinner. Jacquie turned to face him, chin cupped in her hand, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. Her hair was a cloud of chestnut and the low light from the table lamp on the table between them made her eyes glow. She looked across at Maxwell, one of the two loves of her life – Metternich stirred in his sleep and half opened a steely eye – make that three loves of her life and she knew that she would give in soon. But the rules of the game stated quite clearly in para 4 subsection iiia that there had to be at least one more attempt. Her months with the LA DA (inevitably christened by Maxwell La-di-da) had not been wasted. She could now slow any investigation for weeks, by invoking laws and precedents without number; and that was before she reached for her motion to suppress. She blinked slowly twice and spoke.

‘I’m sorry,’ she drawled, just a hint of California in her voice. ‘What was that?’

He narrowed his eyes at her and she was yet again reminded of his
similarity to Metternich. ‘I said, so Bernard Ryan has no alibi, then?’

‘Does he not?’ She feigned innocence. ‘I did not know that!’

‘Jacquie!’ he shouted, making Metternich jump in his sleep. ‘Sorry, Count,’ he said, ‘but really. A man has to jump through hoops here just to get some basic information. You said that he had no alibi. I said …’

She flapped a hand at him and fell back against the cushions of her chair. ‘Yes, yes, all right. I give in. Bernard Ryan has no alibi.’ She picked up a magazine from her lap and started to read, skimming the pages with unseeing eyes until she heard him take in another breath, prior to asking again. With a smile, she turned back to him. ‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t know. It’s not as if he is really a suspect. If Diamond has any sense, he will have him reinstated by the time term starts.’

‘But… he told Sylvia he was out on a long-standing arrangement or some such thing. That’s an alibi, isn’t it?’

‘It’s an excuse,’ she corrected him. ‘A ruse. A story. A reason. Any number of things. But unless we can get corroborating evidence from anyone who saw him at this so-called long standing arrangement, there is one thing it isn’t.’ She watched him, waiting for a response. ‘What isn’t it?’ she prompted.

‘An alibi.’ He was frowning. ‘But…’

‘No buts. He hasn’t got an alibi. I haven’t seen the case notes, but I imagine that he probably just wanted to get away from a potentially dodgy situation with a fourteen year old girl. The worst he is is a heartless
bastard, but surely you knew that already.’

Maxwell took a deep breath and then let it out again without speaking. Then he tried again. ‘He is a heartless bastard, yes, of course he is,’ he agreed. ‘But only with staff. He would sell us all down the river without a moment’s thought. He lives by rule books and lists and government guidelines. He has never met a health and safety initiative he doesn’t like. I would imagine that he sleeps with Mr Gove’s latest edict under his pillow every night. But… but…’

‘But?’

‘But this was a child. She needed him and he went out and left her. That doesn’t sound like the Bernard Ryan I know. He should have called someone, social services, God forbid or at least Legs. He knew he had done wrong, or why would he have gone to Sylv the next morning? I just don’t think he would have abandoned a child. That’s all.’

Jacquie gave him a long, hard look. She had lived with this man for years now and loved him for longer than that. She knew that he would never leave a child in distress alone and she knew that most people wouldn’t. There were teachers who were in it for the money, but heaven knew why; there were surely easier ways of earning a crust. There were teachers who didn’t have the brains God gave sheep when it came to doing the right thing. Maxwell’s heart was on his sleeve and she loved him for it. Bernard Ryan’s heart was made of stone, but his head was not and so she reluctantly had to agree with her husband. If Bernard Ryan
couldn’t come up with an alibi, there was something wrong somewhere. She raised an eyebrow at him and reached for the phone. After a moment’s pause, he nodded and she dialled.

After only one or two rings, Henry Hall was on the line.

‘Jacquie. You really don’t need to come in until Monday, you know,’ he said, raising a finger at the sergeant hovering in the doorway.