Maxwell's Revenge

by M. J. Trow

  ‘I believe it means that she has a damaged chest in some way. Air is leaking in and so the lungs can’t inflate properly.’

  Hall looked up from his bit of paper and adjusted his glasses. ‘Mr Maxwell,’ he said flatly, ‘will you ever cease to amaze me?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not, Henry. I just happen to know because I tested Jacquie on her first aid and that happened to crop up. But the question remains, however did she get one of those from being poisoned?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I think I’ll ask.’ Hall reached behind him and pulled a dog-eared phone number list off the wall, sending a drawing pin pinging into oblivion. He leafed through it and finally found the number he needed and punched it in to the phone. He looked vaguely through Maxwell as he waited for an answer. ‘Hello? Yes, may I speak to the senior nurse, please? Oh, is she? Well, perhaps you can help me. It’s DCI Hall here, Leighford CID. I am enquiring about injuries sustained by a …’ He shuffled his papers and found the name, ‘Mrs Bevell.’ He listened for a moment, then said, ‘Yes, but we don’t know how that happened, when it seems to be a case of poisoning. Oh, how unfortunate. Yes, thank you.’ He put the phone down and almost smiled. But then again, no. Henry Hall never did that.

  ‘What caused it, then?’ Maxwell was agog. ‘Was it an additional attempt? Should we be looking at the people in the dining hall?’

  ‘No,’ Hall said. ‘Apparently, Mrs Bevell needed CPR and when the paramedic tried, he found that it was beyond him.’

  ‘That’s dreadful. Wasn’t he trained or something?’ Maxwell’s high horse was whinnying close at hand.

  ‘No. Her breath was so bad that he just couldn’t do it. Following guidelines, he did chest compression and broke two ribs. One turned inwards and caused the pneumothorax. She hasn’t said much, the poison is still in her system and also, of course, she has assisted breathing, but she has mentioned that she will be suing.’

  Maxwell nodded. ‘I have met the lady. I’ll be a witness. For the paramedic.’

  ‘That bad?’

  ‘At least. What about the others?’

  ‘Miss Mackenzie and Miss Smollett are in recovery, but expected to be in for some time. Mrs Maitland has a broken leg – she’s going down to theatre shortly. A couple of bumped heads going home soon …’ He tapped the papers and looked up. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Maxwell was appalled. ‘I’m appalled, Henry, that you can say that. People hospitalised, unconscious, one person dead. Surely, you don’t usually deal with these sorts of numbers. It’s like the Blitz all over again.’

  Hall had the grace to look shamefaced, if only slightly. The war was something his mother had told him about. ‘It seems major, Mr Maxwell,’ Hall still found that any other form of address stuck in his throat, ‘but we still don’t know whether this is deliberate or accidental.’

  ‘I don’t see how it can be accidental,’ Maxwell said. ‘They went down like ninepins.’

  ‘That’s why we need to speak to you,’ Hall said. ‘As an experienced, if you don’t mind the term, observer of wrongdoing, we thought … that is, I thought, that you might be able to give us some insight.’

  Remembering Bob Davies’s expression on the landing, Maxwell hazarded a guess. ‘I assume Sergeant Davies doesn’t think I can help.’

  ‘Sergeant Davies thinks you did it, Mr Maxwell,’ Hall said, cutting to the chase. ‘He always thinks you did it. That’s why he is suspended from now until his review board.’

  Maxwell rocked back in his chair and was immediately sorry as his tracksuit bottoms bit deeper. ‘That’s rather draconian of you, isn’t it, Henry?’

  Hall steepled his fingers and looked at the man before him. In his motley, he hardly seemed someone in which to confide. But Hall knew that the mind was razor-sharp, the intuition honed on the same stone, and that his compassion was sometimes his only weakness. He decided to confide in him. ‘He has a bit of a problem with you, Mr Maxwell,’ he said, then paused. ‘Before I go on, I need hardly say that this is confidential?’

  Maxwell waved him on with the flap of a sleeve, some ten inches beyond the end of his fingers. As Acting Headmaster, it was body language he would have to employ more often from now on.

  ‘He has been a problem for some time and has had counselling for his attitude to women. Jacquie in particular seems to get under his skin, and the fact that you and she are a couple seems only to make it worse. He came into my office straight from Leighford High, ranting about Jacquie and unprofessional behaviour, which I knew at once was not likely to be true. He sent the police driver to get you, inadequately briefed, so that you were treated like a suspect. He arranged for you to be left in an Interview Room. But basically, he is a loose cannon, so intent on promotion that he has made it impossible by his behaviour. So please don’t worry about him in this investigation.’

  ‘Henry,’ Maxwell said, ‘I have to think of Jacquie here. If it makes a problem for her …’

  ‘Mr Maxwell,’ Hall said patiently, ‘If I had a pound for every time you have brought Jacquie to the edge of suspension I would be a rich man, so don’t let’s say things we clearly don’t mean. This subject is closed. Now, please tell me what your impressions were in the dining hall when the collapses began.’

  ‘Well, firstly, I didn’t eat there,’ Maxwell said. ‘Not really. I had a jelly thing with what they claim to be fruit in it. My main lunch was sandwiches from home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I like sandwiches from home. Egg, as it happens.’

  ‘No, I mean, why, when senior staff seemed to be involved, were you not included?’

  How long had Hall got, Maxwell wondered, when both of them had a murder on their hands, to even begin to understand the subtle knifings of staffroom politics? Maxwell was a maverick, a misfit. He stepped aside for no man and made no concessions. The Powers That Be never invited such people willingly to their junkets. ‘I was,’ was all he settled for, ‘although I am not part of the SLT.’

  ‘But I understand from Leighford High that you are Acting Headteacher.’

  ‘News travels fast. I am, but only, like Bruce Willis, because I am the oldest man standing.’

  ‘So why did you not join the others for the buffet?’

  ‘So I am a suspect?’ Maxwell leant back and regretted it all over again.

  ‘No, but I just want to get the picture straight.’

  ‘Well, firstly, I hate these pseudo-elegant things at school. They use outside caterers who are average at best, frankly deranged at their worst. If I tell you that the sandwiches were cranberry and Brie, heavy on the cranberry, I think you will get the general gist.’

  Hall, who, like Maxwell, preferred his sandwiches to be the kind that evoked nursery school memories, shuddered slightly.

  ‘Secondly, I had, as it happens, seen the prawn cocktail jobbies laid out on a counter in the kitchen the day before, when I failed to have my Roast Lunch. I’m not much of a stickler for food hygiene, Henry. If I find a faded M&M down the sofa, that M&M is mine, believe me. I put it down to having parents who had known rationing. But even I am none too keen on the thought of seafood lurking around at room temperature for all of twenty-four hours. At least. That can’t be right. Plus, they were being delivered by a man who I believe to be a raving maniac. He is Oliver Lessing, uncle of Dierdre; you probably have a file on him this thick.’ He held up his hands, about two feet apart. Hall shook his head, but made a note. ‘And, I believe that the redoubtable Freda, dinner person of this parish, had one of the cocktails and is living yet.’

  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 ho
rrible 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.

  Chapter Eight

  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 wh
ere 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.