Maxwell's Revenge (28 page)

‘Thank God.’

‘Query that, Alph—’

‘For God’s sake,’ she snapped. ‘Just give me the facts.’

The radio operator dropped into gossip mode. ‘It’s your bloke, Jacquie, and a woman.’

‘My mum.’

‘Makes sense. They chased this geezer to his house and he tried to poison them with …’ there were distant mutterings, ‘smoke, it says here. Anyway, they managed to get him out of the premises and called us and ambulance control. The old bloke is OK, they’re bringing him in. So, it looks as if we’ve got our poisoner.’

Jacquie looked over her shoulder. She could see Hall, but not Davies. She could hear his drone as he told Hall all about it. Then, suddenly, she saw Hall half rise from his chair and reach across the table. Before she could work out what was happening there was a crash of breaking crockery and a noise that went down her spine like ice water. It was a cross between a scream and a groan and it was cut off suddenly. The silence was deafening.

‘What the hell was that?’ asked the radio operator. ‘Alpha Charlie Two, are you all right?’

She put the radio back up to her ear. ‘Send paramedics to 29 Hydrangea Crescent,’ she said. ‘Over and out.’ She turned to go through into the kitchen and then into the dirty little lean-to, but before she had taken two steps, Hall came out to meet her.

‘Don’t go in,’ he said. ‘It isn’t very nice.’

‘What did he do?’ Jacquie asked, her eyes wide.

‘He took all the poisons he had left, all mixed up in his dinner. He had had them for years, pinched from an evidence box when he was working in Birmingham. God knows why he kept them. As well as that, his “spinach” was hydrangea leaves, for good measure. His “mint sauce” was thorn apple. He really meant it, Jacquie. He would have done it, anyway. It’s just our good luck that we got here while he could still tell us a few missing details.’

‘Like, why?’

‘Because he hated us.’

Jacquie went white. She had never had herself down as a person who other people hated. Hall put his arm round her shoulder and pulled her close. She folded into his shoulder and was still there, crying softly, when the driver put his head cautiously round the door. Hall waved him away.

‘Nothing to see here,’ he said, quietly. ‘Nothing to see.’ And he rested his cheek on the top of Jacquie’s head. If she felt the single tear that dampened her hair, she said nothing, and never would.

Monday morning was on its way, but Chez Maxwell & Carpenter, Crimes Solved While You Wait, Patent Pending, Website Under Construction, Sunday was still the topic of conversation. The afternoon had been exciting on so many levels. Jacquie had explained to her mother that her car had been trashed by an angry mob and knew from the sparkle in her eye that she would dine out on it for weeks.

‘So, when did you first suspect Lessing?’ Jacquie asked. She and Maxwell were curled up on the sofa, her mother had taken over Maxwell’s chair and, wonder of wonders, Metternich was on her lap. Maxwell gave him the occasional glance which the cat rightly interpreted as saying ‘Quisling’. Nolan, safely returned by an agog Miranda, was in bed.

‘Well,’ her mother piped up, although it was Maxwell’s mouth that had opened first. ‘When
Nolan recognised him, really. Wasn’t it?’ she appealed to Maxwell, but not much.

‘I had been suspicious of him for a while,’ Maxwell said. ‘I met him at school on the first day of term. He said he was delivering as a volunteer, so I later wondered if he had also delivered the cocktails. But the one Freda had had been all right. A deliberate ploy, as we now realise, and quite clever, really.’

‘Plus, of course,’ Betty piped up, ‘the attempt on … you know, the great fat one you told me about …’

‘Mrs Bevell,’ said Jacquie, for no reason other than to stop her mouth healing up.

‘So I thought then that it might be her husband, some insane litigation/insurance job. And, heaven knows, we’d all like it to be. The Leighford High incident might be a bit tricky to explain, but not impossible. Then,’ he went on, ‘the other poisonings began and I really didn’t see Bevell having the local knowledge, although they are only from Littlehampton, so he could have sussed the ground.’

‘But wasn’t he at the hospital almost all the time?’ Jacquie asked.

‘That was the snag,’ said Maxwell. ‘The staff all hated him doing it, but I saw an article on the news tonight about him. Apparently, while guarding his wife, he fell asleep and, in doing so, a banana slipped off his lap. Someone trod on it
and broke his arm. He’s suing Bevell for loss of earnings. I really can’t explain that one. I
know
I put the peel in the bin.’ He smiled at the women, as innocent as the day.

‘Oh, damn,’ Jacquie laughed. ‘That will be a drop in the ocean compared to what he has fleeced other people for.’

‘You’d think so,’ Maxwell said. ‘Unfortunately for the Bevells, the man who slipped was a consultant surgeon visiting a patient. We’re talking big,
big
money.’ He sighed happily. ‘I love a happy ending, don’t you?’

‘He couldn’t stay there at night, though,’ Ninja pointed out, bringing them back to the sleuthing. She had never met Mr and Mrs Sue Bevell and didn’t get the joke. ‘He would have had time then.’

‘True. But he wasn’t free to give Nolan the lolly,’ Jacquie said.

‘I meant to tell you about that,’ Maxwell said, ruffling her hair. ‘The lolly wasn’t poisoned.’

‘What?’ She sat up sharply, fetching Maxwell a nice one under the chin.

‘You may me bye my tug,’ he said, clutching his mouth.

‘Never mind,’ Betty continued. ‘The silly old fool gave him an aniseed lolly. No wonder he cried. No child likes those.’

Jacquie laughed. ‘So, he was just being finicky?’

‘Well, yes. But, in a way, that solved the case. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have chased him and we wouldn’t have got him under guard at Leighford General as we speak.’

‘True. Go on.’

‘Well,’ Maxwell came back into the conversation, but speaking carefully around his swollen tongue. ‘That’s it, really. We followed him home and he lit a fire of oleander.’

‘The smoke of which is poisonous,’ said Betty.

‘And he tried to get us to inhale it.’

‘But we’re not that stupid.’

‘So he stood in it himself.’

‘And Max rescued him. It was terribly exciting, Jacquie. He came out through the smoke like Kurt Russell in
Backdraft
. I was so proud!’

So, there we are, thought Maxwell. It’s easy to get on with your mother-in-law. Just dive through poisonous smoke to rescue a murderer and everything will be peachy.

‘But, wasn’t that horribly dangerous?’ Jacquie asked, playing to the gallery.

‘Jacquie,’ her mother said, ‘he was just wonderful. He soaked his scarf in the bottled water we were carrying and wrapped it round his mouth. So resourceful.’

Maxwell nodded modestly. ‘I went to a good school. They taught us to be very resourceful,’ he said.

Jacquie looked into his eyes. ‘And tired,’ she said.

‘That, too.’

‘And you’ve got to be a Headmaster in the morning.’

‘So that wasn’t a dream, then?’ he asked, innocently.

‘No.’ She kissed him on the nose. ‘I’ll put the cocoa on. Mum?’

‘May I have Horlicks?’

‘You can have what you like,’ her daughter said, squeezing her shoulder as she walked past.

‘Horlicks?’ Maxwell asked.

She winked at him. ‘It goes better with the brandy,’ she said, getting up and going over to the cupboard. ‘Anything for yourself?’

‘I’ll have a small Southern Comfort, since you ask,’ he said. ‘I find it goes with anything.’

She handed him the glass. ‘Cheers, Max.’

‘Cheers, Ninj, and many of them.’

Acting Headmaster Peter Maxwell stood in the doorway of Leighford High School on Monday morning, Acting master of all he surveyed. The only slight snag in all this was that there wasn’t a child to be seen and only very few staff, ostentatiously carrying packed lunches.

‘They caught him, you know,’ he remarked to Thingee One, who was loitering in the foyer, hoping to be given the day off.

‘Yes, but, Mr Maxwell, your w … your … the police sergeant said on the telly yesterday – she did look lovely, by the way, I really like the way she does her hair – she said that they don’t know how many shops and other places the Leighford Ripper had struck.’

‘Ripper? Ripper, Thingee? Why do you call him the Ripper? He was a poisoner.’

‘It’s what the Leighford Advertiser are calling him on their web page, Mr Maxwell.’

‘Ripper it is, then,’ Maxwell sighed. ‘But I still don’t see why every single child has opted to stay at home today.’

‘Mr Maxwell!’ Thingee was surprised at him. ‘He might have poisoned the water or anything. You can’t be too careful.’

He looked down at her, all big eyes and willing manner. She seemed to want something else. ‘Did you want something else, Thingee, old thing?’

‘Umm, not really, Mr Maxwell,’ she said, turning away in disappointment.

‘In that case, you might as well have the day off.’ He smiled at her. ‘Off you bugger, now, there’s a good admin person.’ He smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll let the workmen in.’ Wearing an expression that could only be described as beatifically evil, he paced his school and waited for the real fun to begin.

Eventually there came, as all things do to those who wait, peace and normality to Leighford High, its staff, students and, beyond the gates, the town. Every last piece of perishable food had been landfilled. Every bottle of milk, of orange juice, of wine had gone its diluted way far out to sea. Every lettuce, every tea bag, every egg had composted itself into a brown and indistinguishable mush. Davies had gone to his horrible end with a secret and that was how much poison he had spread through the town, and the final decision by police and council had been that you couldn’t be too careful. The town’s food supply had been like an unexploded bomb and it had been treated as such, the systematic clearing of the shelves of shop and house alike being carried out with military precision. Taking into account that statistics show that thirty per cent of all food bought is likely to be wasted, there was therefore a one in three chance that the packet of jelly babies with a small needle hole in it, stashed at the back of the drawer in Maxwell’s temporary office, might never be eaten. Only time would tell.

Meanwhile, everything slowly maintained its equilibrium. Leighford High flourished and blossomed under Maxwell’s somewhat loose rein. Paperwork happened, but not always in the right order. Uniforms were or were not worn as the fit took the individual child (although Maxwell
had toyed briefly with introducing stable dress, walking-out dress and levee dress, just to add to parental expense), but nobody died. Absences fell to an all-time low. Helen Maitland, learning to love her plaster, took over as temporary Assistant Headteacher for Girls’ Welfare. Bernard Ryan, with a show of enthusiasm foreign to him, defied science by regaining control of his organs and James Diamond started his convalescence. Life at Leighford High was good. The workmen had been and gone. Late summer became early autumn and half-term arrived.

Maxwell was sitting quietly in his office on the first day of the holiday when the door opened and a small cough announced the presence of a visitor. He looked up and there, outlined against the light, was Legs Diamond, back to claim his school. Maxwell leapt to his feet.

‘Headmaster! How lovely to see you. Sit down, do.’ He ushered him round to the chair side of the desk. ‘Are you back? I mean, for good? That’s excellent.’

Diamond looked round slowly. Nothing seemed to have changed. He had been prepared to find changes – you could never tell with Maxwell – but everything seemed in order. There had been an odd smell in the foyer, that was all. He couldn’t quite place it, it was nagging at his memory. It brought back thoughts of his first years of teaching, when he was fancy-free. It was
a Proustian madeleine of a smell. He sat there, smoothing his desk, smiling at Maxwell.

‘You seem to have done a good job, Max. Thank you. I’ve heard … good things. Yes, very good things. Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me, Headmaster. It was a pleasure. It really, really was.’

‘Shall we walk round the school?’

Maxwell clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I would only be in the way,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get back for Nole, anyway. Enjoy your tour.’

Diamond got up slowly from behind his desk and walked into the foyer with Maxwell. He sniffed. ‘What
is
that smell? It takes me back, but I can’t place it.’

Maxwell breathed in through his nose, extravagantly. ‘Can’t say I’ve noticed it, Headmaster.’ He turned for the door. ‘Bye, now. See you next week.’ And he was off, down the steps and round to the bike shed with a good turn of speed.

Diamond still stood there, sniffing. His brain cells were finally catching on and they sent him a message. Chalk! He could smell chalk! By the time he reached the first classroom along the corridor and beheld the blackboard, in all its dusty glory, where once an interactive white board had hung, Maxwell was almost too far away to hear the scream.

The weather on that Balaclava Day was perfect. In a clear blue sky, fluffy clouds scudded high and fast. The leaves were beginning to turn and, once in a while, one slowly spiralled to the ground to add its gold to the worn stones and smooth green of the country churchyard. From inside the church, a quiet, lone voice could be heard.

‘… I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.’

Henry Hall looked fondly as the groom did just that. He had been delighted to accept when Maxwell had asked him to be his Best Man, during the mad weekend of the Leighford Ripper, as he had got used to calling him. He looked around the church and caught the eye of the other witness, Sylvia Matthews, fighting the lump in her throat. They fell into step behind the happy couple as they walked down the aisle and
were ready with the confetti, strictly forbidden in a notice in the porch.

Sylvia nudged Henry and he shrugged. ‘So, sue me,’ he said. ‘I’m a policeman. I say what goes.’ And he threw handfuls of horseshoes and hearts over the couple.

‘What do you think Jacquie’s mother will say when she finds out about this?’ Henry asked, as he took Sylvia’s arm gallantly as they walked down the path away from the porch, where the vicar stood in the doorway, his back to the empty building, a tear in his eye. It had been a lovely service and they seemed such a nice couple. You’d have thought they would have more friends.

‘I dread to think,’ she said. ‘But bags I’m the one to tell her!’