Maxwell's Revenge

by M. J. Trow

  Nolan screamed with delight. A joke is no good unless people know about it and he had been wondering what the reactions had been to the case of the hidden Coco Pop. Erle Stanley Gardner and the rest of the Aristocracy would be proud of him.

  ‘It’s serious, Nole. I want you to be on your best behaviour.’

  The lad nodded solemnly. ‘Best ’haviour, Dadda.’

  ‘Good.’ Maxwell gave him a kiss and let him slide down to the floor. ‘Let’s have brekker,’ and they swooped into the kitchen, where Jacquie and her mother sat opposite one another, looking like Dorian Grey and his picture.

  Jacquie gave him a bright and brittle smile. ‘Mum and I were just talking about today,’ she said. ‘Mum has a headache.’

  Her mother looked at Maxwell through slitted eyes. ‘I have a bit of a headache,’ she repeated, in a whisper. Behind her back, Jacquie mimed lifting a bottle.

  ‘We’ve been discussing how we don’t really drink much when we are looking after Nole.’

  Her mother buried her head in her hands. ‘It’s that Mrs Troubridge,’ she said. ‘She can really put it away, you know. I didn’t realise how much I’d had until it came to standing up.’

  ‘But, Ninj,’ Maxwell said. ‘Mrs Troubridge only weighs about three stone wringing wet. How can she out-drink you?’

  ‘Are you suggesting I’m fat?’ she asked, waspishly.

  ‘No, just fatter than Mrs Troubridge. Everybody’s fatter than Mrs Troubridge. Nolan’s fatter than Mrs Troubridge.’

  ‘Well, be that as it may,’ said his mother-in-law-to-be, ‘she can drink for England. But before it all became a blur, we discussed bridesmaids’ dresses. We’ve decided on claret with an ecru trim.’

  ‘Lovely,’ said Maxwell. ‘But isn’t the ecru an endangered species? Or was that the thing on which Tony Blair promised us a referendum, but then bottled?’ Before she could reply, Maxwell turned an innocent gaze on Jacquie. ‘Just coffee for me, dear one, and the usual for my friend here.’ He reached down and hoisted Nolan up into a chair. ‘Ow. I’ve just discovered another thing I can’t do, along with mountaineering and astrophysics.’

  ‘And that is …?’ Jacquie asked.

  ‘Bending down,’ he replied.

  Betty Carpenter leant closer and peered at Maxwell’s temple. ‘That looks very nasty. Have you put some arnica on it? I’ve got some in my bag.’

  ‘Is arnica made from plants?’

  ‘I should imagine so, yes.’

  ‘Then, thanks, I’ll pass. Although not, hopefully, out.’ Jacquie put a steaming mug in front of him. ‘Ah, the cup that cheers.’

  ‘That’s tea,’ Ninja said, shortly. Her temper was not improved by her blistering hangover. She had, after all, been there twenty-four hours and her visitor’s manners were starting to slip.

  ‘Actually,’ Maxwell began, ‘it isn’t tea either. It’s tar water, as drunk by teetotallers in the nineteenth century. But let’s not argue.’ The doorbell rang for the end of round one. ‘Henry’s here.’

  ‘Oh,’ Betty shrieked. ‘You didn’t say Henry was coming over. I must look a sight.’

  ‘Must you?’ muttered Jacquie, as her mother leapt to her feet and rushed upstairs for running repairs. Maxwell was on his way to the top of the stairs. ‘I’ll go,’ she said. ‘Watch my toast, will you? The toaster seems to be full of the bottom of a budgie’s cage and it’s liable to burn.’ She trotted downstairs and Maxwell heard Henry’s drone as she opened the door. The man’s tread was heavy as he came up from street level and came into the kitchen. He looked terrible.

  Maxwell pushed out a chair with one foot. ‘Sit down, Henry, for God’s sake, before you fall down,’ he said. ‘Nolan, say good morning to Mr Hall.’

  ‘Yep,’ offered Nolan.

  ‘I apologise,’ Maxwell said. ‘I know he was brighter than this last night. I think the brain fairy must have been. How is Margaret?’

  Hall’s face brightened perceptibly. ‘Much better, thanks to you. I must admit the hospital wasn’t very up on its poisons. It would have been all right if she had drunk bleach; after that they seemed a bit stuck. It clearly wasn’t aconite again, but after that we hadn’t struck lucky.’ His social skills having been stretched to breaking point by this conversational sally, he turned to Jacquie. He was on firmer ground here.

  ‘What did you get last night, on the phone number?’

  ‘It’s a pay as you go,’ Jacquie said. ‘Untraceable as to the buyer, but if he uses it again, we can get a position.’

  ‘Do you think he will use it again?’ Maxwell asked. ‘They are so easy to get and cheap nowadays he might have dozens.’

  ‘That’s a depressing thought,’ said Hall. ‘We will have to accept that that might be the case, though. Anything else?’

  ‘Well, there was the plant,’ Jacquie said. ‘Without it, we might not have ever got to the bottom of Margaret’s poisoning and … well, guv, you know what I mean.’

  He sighed. ‘Yes, I do, thanks. Who left it?’

  ‘Bill doesn’t know. He just found it there.’

  ‘Where was he?’

  ‘Filing, or getting a file, something, I don’t know. Anyway, he says he was only gone for a minute.’

  ‘Well, didn’t he hear the door go? Check the cameras?’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘Well, surely, he would have done if he was at the files. Ask him.’

  ‘He’s gone home by now, guv.’

  ‘So have we. Get his number from the desk and ring him.’ He sat there expectantly.

  ‘Oh, right, guv. I’ll do that now, shall I?’ She went out on to the landing, taking Nolan with her, thoughts of Coco Pops on hold for now. The two men sat in silence for a few heartbeats.

  Maxwell was the first to speak. ‘I think I know who this poisoner is, Henry.’

  Henry looked at him with the air of a man who has been waiting for hours for the other shoe to drop. ‘I have no doubt that you do,’ he said. The silence resumed its hold on the room, broken only by the soft hiss of the coffee maker and the ping of whole grains turning into popcorn in the toaster.

  ‘Would you like to know who I think it is?’ Maxwell asked at last.

  ‘I don’t believe I do, thank you, if it’s all the same,’ Hall said. ‘Is there any chance of some coffee? I really am quite thirsty and I’ve got to take my painkillers with something.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ said public schoolboy Maxwell, P. ‘What am I thinking?’ He got up and went over to the mug rack and chose one with the word ‘God’ on it. His own mug said ‘Genius’. ‘Milk?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Sugar, or are you sweet enough?’ It was a Mrs B’ism but none the worse for that.

  ‘I’m not, but none for me, thank you.’ Maxwell couldn’t believe he had never thought to say that, on the thousands of occasions he could have done, over the long arches of the years.

  The teacher put the mug in front of the policeman and sat down again opposite him. Hall allowed himself a pleased nod at the word on the mug.

  Someone had to say it, so Maxwell put himself in the frame. ‘And how is your ar—?’

  The door opened and Jacquie stood there, phone in hand. ‘He didn’t hear the door,’ she said.

  ‘Was that because he was out of earshot?’ asked Maxwell. ‘Or deaf?’

  ‘I wish that was the reason,’ Jacquie said, ‘but he was adamant that he was just at the files and there is no reason for him to lie. Even if there was a reason, he knows how important it is. He definitely didn’t hear the door. The CCTV recording is remote, as you know, so we’ll have to check the hard drive later. It’s not simply a matter of running the film back these days.’

  ‘No, of course it isn’t. We’ve had progress, I suppose, so that’s why it is far less help than it used to be. So we’ll assume for now that it was someone in the nick,’ Hall said, definitely, throwing two painkillers into his mouth and throwing back his head to swallow them. It was typical of the man that he could tak
e tablets sized to stun a horse with just a small sip of scalding hot coffee.

  ‘There was hardly anyone there,’ Jacquie said. ‘Me, obviously. Max,’ she nodded in his direction, ‘out cold in a cell. The duty guy on the cell corridor. That’s about it. The others were out and about, just checking in at intervals.’

  ‘There were the two who brought me in,’ offered Maxwell.

  ‘Who?’ Hall barked at Jacquie.

  ‘Umm, Jim Edwards and … oh, God, I can never remember the other one’s name. They’re both Christian names. Is it Tom Michaels?’

  ‘No. Mike Thomas. Nice try. Did they go out after they had brought you in?’ Hall asked Maxwell.

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Maxwell protested. ‘I can’t remember most of last night. Actually, Cowdenbeath, talking of the lost weekend, had you better check on your mother? She went up to titivate ages ago. Ray Milland might be up there with her.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes.’ Jacquie jumped up and they heard her urgent footsteps on the stairs.

  ‘Cowdenbeath?’ Hall didn’t usually pry into the private lives of his staff, but sometimes, he just had to know.

  ‘From the football results, you know. Forfar, three, Berwick, one. Hearts, two, Cowdenbeath, seven.’

  ‘Oh,’ Hall said, still puzzled. ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ Maxwell was amazed. ‘Anyway, as I say, I can hardly remember last night. I know I was socked on the head and I am getting flashes of what happened afterwards. I remember going into the Vine and planning what shops he might target. And, of course, I got it right, because … oh, hold on. It’s coming back.’

  Henry Hall grabbed a pen out of his inside pocket and had his notepad in his hand with lightning speed. There was a thorn stuck in it, which he plucked out and placed carefully on the table. A souvenir. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I was waiting outside the shop. I saw a torch beam inside and I knew I had the right place. He came out …’

  ‘Did you see his face?’ Hall paused eagerly, pen aloft.

  ‘Umm, no. He was wearing a dark thing on his head. A … well, if I had to describe it …’

  ‘… and you do,’ responded Hall.

  ‘… I would say he was dressed as a ninja. Which is a bit of a family joke at the moment, but nevertheless. Yes, that’s what he looked like. All in black. I grabbed his shoulder …’

  ‘What did it feel like?’

  Maxwell was confused. ‘A shoulder,’ he said. Had those thorns done more damage than he thought? What painkillers was he on?

  Hall put down his pen. ‘Please, Max,’ he said, sweet reason itself. ‘I know you like to joke, have a laugh. I have no argument with that. We all like a laugh.’ He bared his teeth to show he understood. ‘But you know exactly what I mean. Did he feel fat, thin, young, old? Was he taller than you? Was he, in fact, a she? Did you smell anything? Hear anything, wheezy breathing, chewing gum, that kind of thing?’ He picked up his pen again. ‘Right, let’s go from “What did it feel like?”’

  Maxwell closed his eyes, but that made the world spin, so he opened them again. ‘He was definitely a he, I think. The bones of the shoulder were quite chunky, and a woman’s is usually quite fragile to hold, even a strong woman.’

  ‘I agree. Go on.’

  ‘He was shorter than me, shorter than average, even. Umm, he felt … I can’t describe it, really, he felt a bit out of condition. Like someone who used to be fit, but has let himself go. Which isn’t to say fat, just a bit loose, if you know what I mean. Not tightly muscled.’

  Hall nodded and waved him on.

  ‘It was pretty smelly around there, just by a bin and all sorts of old chewing gum and stuff on the floor. Plus, I’d been in the Vine.’

  Hall pulled a sympathetic face.

  ‘But I think I smelt tobacco on him. Not a fresh cigarette, just ingrained smoke. Not anything untoward, you understand. Not a Barlichway crop. But I would say roll-ups.’

  Hall looked up at him. ‘I didn’t think you smoked,’ he observed.

  ‘I don’t. But I work with around about twelve hundred children on a daily basis, don’t forget. And all but twelve of them smoke. And the twelve who say they don’t are lying. I can tell Gold Flake from Dingo Droppings at a thousand yards.’

  ‘Very Holmesian,’ Jacquie remarked, coming back into the room.

  ‘How is she?’ Maxwell asked.

  ‘Spark out,’ she said. ‘Mrs Troubridge really gave her a run for her money.’

  Hall was puzzled again. ‘Anything I should know about?’ he asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Maxwell said. ‘Essentially, two secret drinkers tried to drink each other under the table last night. Mrs Troubridge won.’

  ‘You mean Mrs Troubridge, your next door neighbour?’

  ‘The very same,’ said Maxwell, proudly.

  Hall leant back. ‘I’m impressed.’

  ‘I’m thinking of taking her out in the evenings,’ said Maxwell. ‘I think I could win serious money, betting on her.’

  ‘There’s probably a law against it,’ said Hall.

  ‘It would be fun, though,’ mused Maxwell, wistfully.

  ‘So, who else have you got on the list?’ said Jacquie, sitting down at the table and leaning forward enthusiastically.

  The men looked at her. That was so ten minutes ago.

  ‘We’ve moved on,’ Maxwell said.

  ‘He’s remembered something,’ said Hall.

  ‘Have you written it down?’ she asked Hall, rather peremptorily.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, shortly. It might be her house he was in, her coffee he was drinking, but he was her boss, when all was said and done.

  ‘Good. So, who else could have been in the nick?’

  ‘We could find out from fingerprints, couldn’t we?’ Maxwell suddenly asked.

  ‘Fingerprints?’ said Hall. ‘What on?’

  ‘The flowerpot or the cellophane it was in. That must take prints really well.’

  Hall was on his feet. ‘The lilies were in a pot? In cellophane? Why did no one say?’

  Jacquie looked surprised. ‘I thought you’d know. They sell them in the supermarket like that.’

  Henry Hall could hardly contain himself. ‘Do I look like someone who does the shopping?’ he shouted. ‘As far as I am concerned, food just arrives on my plate, toothpaste on my brush. I don’t know how they sell plants.’ He let his head fall into his hands. From there, he made a Hall-style apology. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been rather stressful.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, which was immediately tidy again. Maxwell looked at him with the jealousy a curly-haired man has for the straight. He would look as if he had been attacked had he done the same. ‘Jacquie, I’m sorry to use you as a gofer. Can you ring the nick and get them to fingerprint the plant, pot and all the rest?’

  ‘They can put it together with the DNA samples they took from me last night,’ said Maxwell, excitedly.

  Hall’s eyes behind his lenses lit up with a new enthusiasm. Now this was police work. Bugger the paperwork. ‘DNA! Excellent.’ He turned to Jacquie. ‘Did it get sent to Chichester? Is Angus on to it?’

  Jacquie looked puzzled. ‘DNA? I don’t remember any DNA being taken.’ She looked from one man to the other, her own private Wimbledon.

  ‘But I’m sure I remembered the policemen mentioning DNA,’ said Maxwell. ‘Or … that might have been me. Surely, they take DNA from a scene of violence, don’t they?’

  ‘It is procedure, certainly,’ said Hall tightly. He made a terse little note in his book. ‘Is it any good trying now?’

  ‘Not really,’ Jacquie said. ‘He hasn’t had time for a shower, but Dr Astley wiped the wound and I expect his clothes from last night are hung up on the big shelf as usual.’ She sent a querying glance at Maxwell.

  ‘Life’s too short to use a coat hanger,’ he said, truculently. ‘But surely, even with our DNA, plus a soupçon of Metternich’s, Nolan’s, two policemen, Jim Astley … all right, point taken.’

  Hall preferred older techno
logy. He had more in common with Maxwell than either of them would like to admit. Fingerprints, footprints, things you could see with the naked eye; they were the kind of clues he liked. DNA may well be real, but until he found a bloodstained double helix at a crime scene, he would keep his own counsel.

  Jacquie sighed. This whole thing was going pear-shaped. She tried to change tack. ‘Angus said he’d phone. He’s sent the message to a mate of his with voice recognition software.’

  ‘Chichester has their own voice recognition software,’ Hall said.

  ‘I think Angus was just trying to speed things up,’ she said.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Hall said. ‘Angus’s eyes are on his overtime. I always get an email from his line manager asking me to check his work sheet.’

  ‘And is it wrong?’

  Hall had the grace to look slightly shamefaced. ‘No … but you must admit he is mainly overtime led.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ said Jacquie. ‘But in this instance, I think we all agree that speed is of the essence.’ As if called out of the ether, her phone rang. ‘That will be him now.’ She foraged in her bag and came up with it to her ear. ‘DS Carpenter.’

  ‘Hello,’ said a harsh voice. ‘How are you, Jacquie?’

  Her eyes flew open. ‘It’s him,’ she mouthed.

  ‘How’s the old man?’ Something about the inflection made it clear that he was using the term literally. ‘Got a headache, has he?’

  Jacquie stayed quiet. The best way was to goad him. She pulled Hall’s notebook over and wrote in it. ‘Ring Chichester. Get them to track it.’ Hall went off to use the phone elsewhere. She and Maxwell could hear his urgent tones through the door. She reached out and took her man’s hand.

  ‘I fetched him one, all right. He saw stars, I’ll bet. Is he there?’

  Silence.

  ‘He is, isn’t he? Well, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to slip him a little something in his hospital rice pudding. I’ll hit him a bit harder, next time. See how we get on then.’

  She squeezed Maxwell’s hand hard, but didn’t speak.

  ‘You’re not very chatty, are you? I’ll say bye-bye, then. Bye-bye.’ And the line went dead.