by M. J. Trow
Maxwell stored that piece of information away and tried not to react too much. ‘And the other?’
‘No. I didn’t know him.’
‘Car?’ Maxwell knew nothing about makes of car except the one his wife drove, and only then so he didn’t make embarrassing mistakes when shopping, such as standing patiently beside the wrong vehicle as she and Nolan drove past giggling. But he knew it could be a helpful tool for the police.
‘No. I didn’t see him in a car. He was old, though.’ She looked at Maxwell and reconsidered. ‘Older. Balding. Big chap, a bit stooping, but he had a spring in his step, I’ll give him that. He was wearing very bright clothes, for a bloke his age. He seemed to be on foot. It was funny, though, because he crossed in front of us and then, when I glanced back, he was crossing back over again. That was odd, wasn’t it?’
‘I’m not really that up on the behaviour of men who have just ... been visiting someone, Thingee. But it does sound a bit strange, I agree.’ Another piece of information, on the basis of no bit too small? He stored that away too.
‘So, anyway, Mr Maxwell, I can’t stay much longer because if Mrs Braymarr tries to ring in and I’m not there ...’
‘Oh, she’s off out again, is she?’
‘Yes. Apparently, Thursday afternoons, she is at the Academy Hub, wherever that might be, feeding back.’
‘Sounds lovely. Who’s in charge?’
‘Mr Diamond is in. He isn’t taking calls, though.’
‘No. I can understand that. So, you want to speak to me about Thomas, is it? Or Tommy?’
‘Thomas. I worry about him. Although we’re the ends of the family, you know, eldest and youngest, we were always closest when I was little. I’ve missed him. I’d like him back, if you can manage it, Mr Maxwell. So, can you go and see him? Let him see that we all believe in him. I know he didn’t kill Louise, although he had every reason. So ... please, Mr Maxwell. Can you?’
She didn’t indulge in the storm of weeping that Thingee One, Morning Thingee had done. But the welling eyes were one pair of welling eyes too many for Maxwell that Thursday afternoon and he stood up.
‘Let me get my coat, Thingee. I’ll see what I can do.’
The desk sergeant looked up and his heart fell. He wished he could press his button, but it had been moved out of reach by maintenance; he really missed his button.
‘Mr Maxwell,’ he said, with the usual false bonhomie. ‘Can I help you? Come to see the wife?’ That was a little near the edge of acceptable, but he was still cross about his button. He suspected that DI Carpenter-Maxwell had had more than a small hand in its removal.
‘I would like to see my wife, in the first instance,’ Maxwell said. ‘But in fact, I’m here to visit Mr Thomas Morley.’
‘This isn’t a hospital, Mr Maxwell,’ the desk sergeant pointed out. ‘There aren’t visiting hours, you know. You can't just pop in with grapes and a copy of Hello.’ He still bore a grudge about when he had been in for his boil. He had had just one visitor, who had eaten the grapes and had clearly read the Hello from cover to cover; they had even started the crossword, making a total hash of fourteen down.
‘I’m aware of that,’ Maxwell said, with a polite smile. ‘That’s why I would like to see my wife first. But I am here at the request of a family member who is concerned about his welfare.’
The desk sergeant thought for a moment. It was all too easy these days to end up as a headline in the Daily Mail if you weren’t careful. ‘Man, thirty-three, dies in police custody’. He picked up the phone and snarled into it. ‘Your husband’s here, ma’am.’ He waited while she answered, looking at Maxwell with hostile eyes. ‘He says he’s here to see Morley, ma’am. Says one of the family sent him.’ He looked at Maxwell again and his lip all but curled. ‘Will do.’
‘Shall I go on up?’ Maxwell suggested.
‘That’s what the lady said,’ the sergeant said, and opened the doors without another word.
Fiona Braymarr was feeling unusually stressed that Thursday. The Academy meeting was usually simple; she had never had any problems controlling them before but for some reason, the hold she had over them felt very tenuous. Everyone sat in their usual seats; the sleeping ones were sleeping as per; even the doughnuts were laid out in exactly the expected formation, but there was something in the air. At exactly three o’clock the chairman cleared his throat and sat forward to welcome everyone. So far, so normal. But the tingling in her spine and the slight butterflies in her stomach warned her that this may be a bit more of a challenge than an everyday Thursday update. She blamed Maxwell. She had taken to doing that, ever since she had met him. The man had ‘Nemesis’ written right though him, like a stick of rock.
‘Thank you for coming, everyone,’ the chairman said. For God’s sake, why have a real man at all? Why not just have a recording. ‘Before we begin, I would like to say a very special thank you to you, Geoff, for coming to this meeting, when you have had so sad a bereavement.’
Small murmurs of assent from round the table were countered by a mutter of acceptance from Geoff MacBride. And that was all Denise MacBride was worth, that spring afternoon.
‘I have had some communications this week,’ the chairman continued, ‘some through the post, some as emails. Of course, whenever we start the process of academization,’ Fiona Braymarr was pretty sure that wasn’t a word, but it would do as well as any other, ‘we have letters. No one ever seems to want change these days. But, Mrs Braymarr, I have to say never as many as this. And so vituperative. You really seem to have rattled some cages this time.’ The chairman had called her Fiona once. Just once. He had never ventured to do so again.
‘Cages needed rattling, David,’ she said crisply. ‘When schools are failing, one must prune where necessary, root and branch.’
One of the sleepers roused himself and sat forward so he could look her in the eye. ‘Failing, Fiona?’ he asked. He was too old to care about her frosty looks. And he only sat on boards like this to get him out of the house so if he was kicked out of this one, he would simply find another. Or take up golf. Bowls. Curling. It was all one to him. ‘Define failing, if you would.’
She took a deep breath. Who was this old duffer? He’d never spoken before, as far as she could remember. ‘Perhaps I oversimplified,’ she said, sharing a dazzling smile around the table. ‘By failing, I simply meant a system descending into chaos. Systems need attention to keep them healthy and the schools in Leighford were not getting the attention they needed. They were not improving, they were simply coasting. In my experience, coasting means going downhill.’
The old man at the end of the table smiled at her. Was it just her imagination, or was the smile condescending and not altogether friendly? ‘Fiona,’ he said, ‘have you ever heard of the phrase “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”?’
‘Of course I have,’ she snapped. ‘But why wait until something is broken? Why not just prevent the breakage if you can?’
The old man sat back again and closed his eyes. ‘Like bubble wrap,’ he remarked to his coffee cup. ‘Couldn’t you have just wrapped the schools in cling film for a while and watched what happened? These mass sackings have raised a lot of dust.’
Fiona Braymarr was equal to any challenge, especially from old gits like this. ‘Mass sackings is an oversimplification,’ she said, ‘All I did ...’
A phone rang, further down the table and every head turned. Phones were turned off in Thursday meetings, by Fiona Braymarr’s order. Some hands went surreptitiously to pockets, but the culprit was soon clear. It was Geoff MacBride. He looked at the number and pressed a button. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed.
‘All I did,’ she said, ‘after a very long look at the bottom line of all the institutions under consideration, was remove any staff who, in the final analysis, were giving back less than they were being paid. It was that simple.’
The old man at the end of the table spoke again. ‘But, the High School nurse, Fiona? Draconian, perhaps.’
&n
bsp; ‘There are perfectly good first-aiders in house,’ she said, not looking at him.
The chairman tapped the table gently. ‘I think we should move on,’ he said. ‘I will have a chat with you afterwards, Mrs Braymarr, if that would be convenient, but for now ...’
Again, the phone ringing and this time, Geoff MacBride jumped up and went out of the room, already speaking in urgent tones into the handset.
‘Point of order, Mr Chairman,’ Fiona Braymarr said. ‘Phones are to be switched off in meetings, or so I understood.’
A few heads round the table nodded. Others turned to give their neighbours significant looks. Perhaps there was trouble in Paradise.
‘That is the rule,’ the chairman said. ‘But Geoff did ask if he could be excused that rule on this occasion, because of his ... situation. Police, that kind of thing. I could hardly refuse, in the circumstances. Do you know how things are progressing?’
She drew back her head and looked severely at him. ‘Why should I know?’ she asked, archly. ‘You and he seem to have discussed it. Did he not tell you anything?’
The chairman looked abashed. ‘No ... I ...’ He shuffled papers desperately until the mood passed. ‘As I was saying, if we could go to any other business? Does anyone have anything to raise from last time?’
And so the meeting continued, as meetings will. The doughnuts were eaten, the coffee was drunk, sleeping was done and by the end, all that was left were some crumbs and a rather sour atmosphere. The chairman, intent on stuffing his briefcase with his paperwork, didn’t see Fiona Braymarr leave and although he needed to speak to her, he wasn’t sorry to have missed her. If he had had a motto emblazoned anywhere, it would have been something along the lines of ‘sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof’. And he knew that Fiona Braymarr probably represented enough evil for a month of Sundays.
Geoff MacBride was out in the car park, leaning against his latest toy, a bright red Lexus with his usual personalised plates. Fiona Braymarr stalked over to him, her knees stiff with tension. He turned to her but didn’t change his position, except to drop and then grind out a cigarette.
‘Smoking, Geoff?’ she said, icily.
‘Wouldn’t you?’
She flicked the Lexus with a fingernail. ‘Not very ... loyal, is it? To the Brand, I mean.’
‘I don’t always drive what I sell,’ he said. ‘Anyway, how can I help you?’
‘By telling me what the hell was going on in there. With the phone. You know I don’t allow ...’
‘You don’t allow? What has that to do with the price of fish? I know that lily-livered chairman is terrified of you, but the rest of us aren’t. You’re a bloody teacher, Fiona. That’s all. A teacher who’s jumped up way above her pay grade to think she’s God. I’ve been thinking a lot since yesterday ...’
‘Come along, now,’ she sneered. ‘You only ever think with your ...’
He leaned over and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. ‘Don’t say it. I’m tired of it. It’s over, Fiona.’
‘It? I’m not sure there was an ‘it’, was there?’ Despite herself, she was feeling quite emotional. She hadn’t shed a tear for many a long year and she wasn’t going to shed one now for a car salesman with ambitions. But the meeting hadn’t gone well; the old git who usually slept his way through Thursday afternoons had got to her. And an unusual number of complaints! That was Maxwell, she just knew it. He went back to the Dark Ages and for some reason, people liked him. They listened to what he had to say. She wouldn’t put it past him to ...
‘So,’ Geoff MacBride interrupted her thoughts. ‘That’s it, Fiona. I’m putting in my resignation to the board today. In fact, I’m putting in resignations to all the boards and committees I sit on today. I’m getting the girls back from my old bat of a mother-in-law and I’m going to rebuild some bridges. It isn’t too late.’
She leaned in very close, so he could smell the coffee on her breath. ‘Oh, yes, Geoff,’ she said. ‘It’s always too late.’ She poked him painfully in the chest with a razor-sharp extended nail. ‘New woman, is it?’
‘Pardon?’ He knew she could be hard, but he was becoming aware of just how much. He and Denise hadn’t exactly been love’s young dream, but most people at least paid lip service to the fact his wife had been murdered only days before.
‘On the phone. New woman?’
‘As a matter of fact, no. An old one, if you must know. The cops are checking up on the husbands of anyone who I ... to tell you the truth, I don’t know how they have compiled the list, but as far as I can tell, they are pretty much on the money. Rumour travels fast in a town like this.’
‘Husbands?’ She licked her lips. She felt panic rising in her throat, and it wasn’t a feeling she liked.
‘It’s embarrassing, actually. And I think it will get worse before it gets better. I don’t know why they’re doing it, but they are contacting all the husbands of anyone I have ever been ... with ... and getting them to give a voice sample.’ He shrugged. ‘Clutching at straws, but there will be a lot of wives having to do a lot of explaining before this is over.’
‘And you have no idea why?’ Her voice sounded odd in her own ears, tight and high.
‘None. I’m going over there now, as a matter of fact. I think they could have at least let me know, then I could have warned them. You know, to have their stories straight.’
She had her mojo back after the initial shock and managed to sound suitably dismissive. ‘Oh, yes,’ she sneered. ‘The police are going to forewarn everyone. That’s really their style. Just how stupid are you, Geoff? Don’t answer that.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Well, if this is goodbye, then, what can I say? I’ll miss you? Please don’t leave me?’
He shrugged. He hadn’t meant to tell her like this, in a carpark, in the growing dusk and chill of a mad March afternoon. He had seen himself getting at least one more night out of it, a night where he would give it his all and leave her begging for more. But things didn’t always turn out the way you plan. ‘This was always just what it was, Fiona. But let’s stay civil, if we can. I will miss you, as it happens. You’re not the nicest woman in the world, or even the most attractive, if I’m brutally honest. But,’ and he softened his voice, ‘we did have some good times, didn’t we?’
She didn’t speak for a moment, then nodded. ‘Oh, yes, Geoff, some good times.’ Then, with a turn of speed that would make a mongoose gasp, she lashed out and raked his cheek with her perfect nails. ‘Good times.’
He clapped his hand to his face. This was going to look just marvellous in the cop shop. They already had him down for a philandering bastard. This would just put the tin lid on it. ‘You bitch!’
She turned her back and walked back to her car, opening it with the remote as she went. She slid into the driver’s seat and, out of sight of everyone, put her head down on the steering wheel, fighting the dry scream of panic that was sitting, waiting, at the back of her throat.
In the shadow between an SUV and an overhanging hedge, he watched with a wry smile on his face. At least he hadn’t made a mistake; she was seeing that weasel-faced car salesman. Still, it looked as though she had given him his comeuppance well and truly. She was a fragile little thing and so gullible; men just took advantage of her left and right. If he didn’t look out for her, who would? She looked distressed, poor soul. He toyed with going to her that night, to her room, to fondle her, to stroke her hair, to tell her everything would be all right, that he would look after her, just like in the old days. But no. Leave it for now. When she had finished making that crappy school somewhere worthwhile, as only she could; then he would reveal himself to her, show her how he had been guarding her, watching her back. She would love him then. She would have to love him then.
‘Heart.’ Maxwell air kissed his wife as he walked along the landing. ‘Sorry to descend again, usual reassurances etcetera, etcetera. Turns out Thingee Two is Thomas Morley’s sister.’
‘Did you know?’
‘I
didn’t, as it happens. The family are not Highenas and it just never cropped up.’
‘So ...?’
‘So, she tells me he’s had a turn and is now rather low. She thinks I might be able to cheer him up.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ she agreed. Maxwell, in full-on jester mode, could cheer up anyone with a pulse. ‘However, I can see you have something to tell me.’
‘You can see that?’ He was horrified – was he really that easy to read? He would have to work on his poker face.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I admit you can sometimes keep things to yourself, but as a rule, my love, I can read you like a book. And, before you ask, so can Nolan and the cat.’
A door opened behind Jacquie and Henry Hall popped his head out. ‘Hello, Max,’ he said. ‘You look as though you have news.’
Jacquie said nothing, merely smiled and spread her hands. ‘And Henry,’ she said.
‘It isn’t much.’ Maxwell was a little on his dignity. ‘I just had a chat with Thomas Morley’s sister and she just had a few oddments to add. She had seen one of Louise Morley’s punters going in and although she was stuck for a name, she described him well enough for me to know who it was.’
Hall opened the door to his office. ‘Shall we just step in here?’ he suggested.
‘You won't need to take notes,’ Maxwell said. ‘It’s not an easy name to forget. It was Geoff MacBride.’
‘Well, well, well ...’ Hall made a note of it nevertheless. ‘He’s never struck me as a man who needs to pay for it.’
‘Perhaps it was a freebie,’ Jacquie suggested.
‘Possibly,’ Hall mused. ‘Did she just see him?’
‘No, there was someone else,’ Maxwell said, not sitting down because his main aim was to go to see Thomas Morley. He leaned on the back of a chair. ‘She didn’t know him at all. An older man – well, bless her, she said “old” but then adjusted it, in deference to my own advanced years. Older, a bit stooped, wearing bright clothes. I don’t know what constitutes bright to Thingee Two, but I assume not the tweed she expects of old gits of a certain vintage. It could mean anything from a pair of chinos up.’
