Maxwell's Crossing

by M. J. Trow

  They waited until they were outside before either spoke.

  ‘Is it me?’ Maxwell asked.

  ‘No, it isn’t. He is a bit of a nutcase. But … you know how these people get. Lives alone. Has an unpleasant job. Lost his dear old mum.’

  ‘I’ve lost my dear old mum, but I’m not strange.’

  They walked on in silence for a few more steps.

  ‘There should be an answer, there, if you don’t mind.’

  She laughed and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘You’re not strange, not really,’ she said. ‘I do wish I’d met your mum, though. What was she like?’

  To answer, he pulled his scarf over his head like a headsquare and tied it tight under his chin. He tucked his sideburns under it and teased a few curls out at the front. ‘Like that, more or less,’ he said. ‘The only bit of my dad I have that’s obvious is that funny knee I get in wet weather and a tendency to drool when I’m asleep.’ He rearranged himself quickly; he had drawn a few odd glances from late shoppers in the Asda car park.

  ‘I’m sure I would have loved her,’ Jacquie said.

  ‘Well, she would have loved you back,’ he said, kissing her nose. ‘Where did that other chap work, the one in the card school?’

  ‘That was sneaky,’ Jacquie said. Maxwell could change tack in a conversation for England. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  He shrugged. He had forgotten that that was another thing he had inherited from his father; expressive shoulders. ‘Just wondered. A bent cop, a silly cop, a teacher, a traffic warden and a … just wondered, that was all. So I can do the old joke in the future. Just wondered.’

  ‘Well, you can wonder away, old-timer,’ she said. ‘As a matter of fact, before the advent of Jeff O’Malley and his ways, the card school was busier by far. A couple of Leighford teachers, in fact. Whatsisface, Science Department – you know him, of course.’

  ‘Whatever would I know a scientist for? But as a matter of fact, he is one of my form tutors in the Sixth Form. Roger Philips. He doesn’t strike me as a high roller.’

  ‘Well, he isn’t. That’s why he dropped out when O’Malley blew into town. Penny a point to five hundred a night was a bit much for him, I think. Don’t let him know I told you, for heaven’s sake.’

  Maxwell smiled. ‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t think he has understood a word I’ve spoken in ten years. It was when they stopped wearing their white coats that the rot set in. So, what about the others? What did they do?’

  She knew she would have no peace until she told him. ‘Two housewives; the landlord of the pub, from time to time; another policeman, who will no doubt have had his collar well and truly felt by Henry by now; a fitness instructor; a landscape gardener and a funeral director. Pick the bones out of that, Mr Clever.’

  For a moment he toyed with inviting them all, Hercule Poirot-style, to a Denouement Meeting, the sort that could never actually happen because nobody would turn up. Didn’t Agatha Christie know some strange people?

  Jacquie was rummaging in her pocket. ‘Where the hell have I put my keys? Did I give them to you? These pockets aren’t very deep.’

  ‘Did you drop them in the pub?’ he asked, patting his clothes instinctively.

  ‘Oh, no, did I? Oh, rats. I’ll go back.’

  ‘No, heart. Look, you pick up something nibbly for supper so we can have it quick. We never have much Nole time on a Tuesday, what with cooking and all. I’ll pop back and see if I can track them down.’

  She was still looking hopefully at her feet. ‘I’m really cross about that. Sorry, petal. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll catch up with you in there. Mwah,’ and he was off at a careful trot. He remembered not to toss the keys triumphantly in the air until he was out of sight.

  He scurried along the road and dived into Gino’s, almost colliding with Mark Chambers in the doorway. Good timing. ‘Mark, I was hoping to bump into you. Jacquie was telling me about that other chap that played cards with you. Mrs Whatmough, Sarah’s boss, you know, wanted to know who you all were. For the funeral. She’s helping arrange it; she’s a wonderful woman.’

  ‘Is she? Sarah never said.’

  ‘Well, she is. So,’ Maxwell was hopping up and down with cold and shortage of time, ‘can you tell me his name? And where he works as well, if you know.’

  ‘Sandra Bolton knows him better than I do.’

  ‘Is she here?’ Maxwell looked around wildly.

  ‘No. But your wife works with her. Why doesn’t she ask her?’

  ‘Sandra is off at the moment,’ Maxwell extemporised. ‘Stress.’

  Mark Chambers looked at Maxwell for a couple of heartbeats. ‘Tim Moreton,’ he said. ‘He works for the council, but I’m not sure in what actual capacity. Something to do with health, I think.’

  ‘Excellent. I’m sure I can track him down,’ Maxwell said. ‘Not that I have ever looked on it, but apparently there is some kind of database, and as a council employee myself, I’m sure I can find him. Moreton, you say?’

  ‘That’s right. Tim.’ The traffic warden was looking as though Maxwell had been parked in a loading bay for just a tad too long. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting along.’

  ‘Of course.’ Maxwell let him by. ‘And good luck for tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow? Oh, yes, thank you. You can only do your best.’

  ‘How true. Goodnight, then.’ And Maxwell hotfooted it back to Asda; with luck he would be in time to add a few illicit treats to the trolley, for later.

  As they pushed open the door of 38 Columbine, the Maxwells held their combined breaths, wondering why there was no noise of thundering feet. Nolan was not a difficult kid, taken by and large, but after a Troubridge Tuesday he was usually pretty hyper, partly from the E-number-laden sweets she plied him with, partly from the muscular effort it took not to knock over her many knick-knacks. But all was quiet. Maxwell felt Jacquie stiffen at his side and her wariness was catching. They prowled up the stairs with every sense alert.

  The kitchen and sitting room were empty and there was no sign that either Nolan or Hector Gold had been back in the house since that morning. Metternich’s bowl was as empty as it had been when Jacquie had left the house; usually, there were a few random biscuity things lying in and around the bowl, where Nolan had been a little too generous filling it, but there was nothing, just a thread of morning tuna.

  Staying together, glued by a nameless fear, they toured the house, and when they reached the attic with still no sign, it was Maxwell who spoke for them both. It was more of a croak than speech.

  ‘O’Malley?’

  ‘There must be an explanation,’ Jacquie said.

  ‘It’s too cold out to have gone for a walk,’ Maxwell said.

  ‘The car’s not there. Perhaps they went into town for pizza or chips. Perhaps they went to get a DVD from Blockbuster or something.’

  Maxwell let out a rather unconvincing laugh. ‘I bet they’re next door.’ He was more of an ointment man, whereas Jacquie always noticed the fly first.

  ‘They would have heard us come in. And where’s the car?’ That missing car was what bothered her most. And where was the note? Where were the signs that they had come back here at all? Where was her son?

  Recognising the rising note that was all mother, the detective-inspector part of her having been beaten to the tape, he pulled at her sleeve. ‘Come on. Let’s go and check next door. I bet they’re there.’ She didn’t move. ‘Come on. Jacquie. You’re overreacting.’

  ‘You wouldn’t say that if you knew what he’d done,’ she flashed angrily. ‘I had his full rap sheet this morning in an email. He’s violent when he thinks he has been wronged and who has wronged him more than us? As far as he can see, we’ve taken his family and he’s not having that. He’s in a strange country, away from his dodgy friends, with no one to protect him. What better way to pay me back than—Sshhh!’ She suddenly covered Maxwell’s mouth, as though it had been him talking and not her. �
�What was that?’

  Down at street level, a door slammed and feet were thundering up the stairs. A distant voice was calling. ‘Mums! Dads! Where are you?’

  ‘Oh, God!’ she breathed. ‘Nolan!’

  To prevent a Carry On moment at the head of the stairs, Maxwell let her go first. Not only did it mean no one fell down and broke a limb, but also he got a few precious seconds to dry his eyes on his sleeve.

  ‘Up here, sweetie,’ Jacquie called and met her son on the first landing. He leapt into her arms from a standing start and wrapped his legs around her and squeezed his face into her neck.

  ‘Are you all right, darling?’ she muttered into his hair. ‘Where have you been?’ She looked up and saw Hector Gold standing diffidently, still at the head of the stairs, as if too shy to come in further. In a film, he would have been wringing a cap in his hands and polishing the toecaps of his boots on the back of his trousers. ‘Hector. What’s going on?’

  ‘Sorry, Jacquie. We didn’t mean to scare you. It was Jeff. He was … Look, can we sort out Nolan first? He’s had a fright. I’ll tell you later.’ He dropped his voice so it was hardly audible and mouthed, ‘He doesn’t know it all.’

  Maxwell, standing behind Jacquie and stroking his son’s curly head, nodded agreement. He leant in and kissed his son. ‘Come on, mate. Let go of Mums for a minute and let’s get you a bit cleaned up. You’re a bit teary. Come on, poppet. Let’s have you for a minute. Poor Mums, you’re strangling her.’

  With an extra squeeze for luck, the little boy allowed himself to be transferred to his father and he nestled there with his face hidden, but calmer now.

  ‘It was Mr O’Malley,’ he said. ‘He was at Mrs Troubridge’s when I got home.’ His voice dropped even lower, so Maxwell could hardly hear it. ‘He isn’t a very nice man.’

  Jacquie’s inner detective inspector rose back up and pushed the mother to one side. ‘Did he touch you?’

  Hector put a hand on her arm. ‘Don’t put him through all that, Jacquie,’ he counselled. ‘There’s no need for him to know all that stuff. Jeff didn’t hurt him. He’s a bastard, but he’s not that kind of bastard. It was Alana he was after. And me, for causing all this.’

  ‘You? Why you?’ Maxwell thought he knew, but wanted to be sure.

  ‘I brought them all here, so it’s my fault, by Jeff’s reckoning. But anyway, Nolan’s just frightened, that’s all. He hasn’t been hurt or even touched. Don’t worry, Jacquie. Just get him cleaned up and into bed.’ He swayed a little. ‘Can I sit down? I don’t feel too good,’ and he slumped against the wall, one arm around his waist.

  ‘Hec?’ Jacquie said, holding him up. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’

  ‘Just a little of the O’Malley medicine,’ he said. ‘He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Alana or me. Even Jeff O’Malley baulked at a child and an old woman, and I baulked at seeing my mother-in-law beaten to a pulp. So I let him have a go at me. I’m just bruised. I’ll be fine. Don’t fuss; I just want to sit down for a spell.’

  Jacquie was torn. She had a small child to soothe, she had an injured man to help, she had two women to question about a crime. Maxwell could recognise agony of indecision in anyone, but in his wife his senses were even more honed. He slid Nolan down to the floor and put his little hand in hers.

  ‘Take Mums upstairs, mate,’ he said, ‘and let her put you to bed. Have a read and a cuddle and then send her back down when you’re ready. But not a moment before you’re ready. Is that a deal?’

  Nolan nodded but put up his arms again to be carried. Babyhood was still nearer to the surface than any of them realised in normal circumstances and it was breaking through tonight.

  Maxwell watched until the two were on the stairs and then he turned to Hector Gold. ‘Mrs Troubridge and Alana? Are they all right?’

  ‘Shocked. Mrs Troubridge was like a tiger. She came near to being hit, but O’Malley had me and it is better for his macho self-image to hit a man rather than a woman.’

  ‘But … he hits Alana?’ Maxwell was in no doubt that O’Malley was a wife beater. He could see it in Alana’s eyes.

  ‘Yes. But Alana is just a commodity. Tonight, though, he was apportioning blame, and so I got the lion’s share. Nolan didn’t see it, by the way. I got this when I helped Jeff to load the car.’

  ‘What with?’

  ‘Food, from Mrs Troubridge’s. Bedding, lots of quilts and blankets. Torches; I never knew a woman with as many torches and batteries as Jessica.’

  ‘She likes to be prepared,’ agreed Maxwell. ‘Founder member of the Girl Guides or League of German Maidens; I can’t remember which.’

  ‘He’s not going back to the house, that’s clear,’ Gold said. ‘He’ll be holed up somewhere. Jeff’s a master at disappearing.’

  ‘But he doesn’t know the area. He can’t even find a particular house for certain. How will he know where to hide?’

  ‘He’ll find somewhere. Meanwhile, can I please sit down?’

  ‘My dear chap,’ Maxwell remembered his duties as host, ‘come into the sitting room and we’ll make you comfy. Do you want a drink? Painkiller? Or should we wait in case you need surgery or something.’

  ‘This isn’t an episode of Diagnosis Murder, Max,’ Gold reminded him. ‘It was just a few punches to the solar plexus. I’ll live. I’m a lot tougher than I look.’ He flopped down onto the sofa and lay back and closed his eyes. ‘Which is probably just as well, you may well be thinking.’ He shifted awkwardly and finally found a comfortable position.

  Maxwell moved the chair so that he was in the man’s eyeline. ‘We’ll have to ring the police, you know,’ he said. ‘Mrs Troubridge and Alana need protection, if nothing else.’

  ‘No, please don’t. It’ll only rile him. And they’re safe next door. It’s like Fort Knox with all those bolts. They let him in last time because he took them by surprise. That won’t happen again.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Hec! This isn’t the Old West. He is a dangerous man on the loose with a bee in his bonnet. He could … I hesitate to use the word “pounce” but it fits the bill so well, so I will. He could pounce at any moment. On any one of us. Or a member of the public.’ A sudden thought struck him. ‘Is he armed?’

  Hector Gold still had his eyes shut but Maxwell knew his ears were still working.

  ‘Hec? Is he armed?’

  ‘He left his guns back in LA. Stashed them somewhere; said he didn’t want to leave them where the Limeys would find them.’

  ‘So he isn’t armed? I want to hear you say it, Hector. I know you wouldn’t lie to me.’

  ‘Then I won’t. Yes, he’s armed. He’s got a .44 Magnum from somewhere. And ammunition. He showed me it tonight. If you count having it rammed into your stomach with the safety catch off as being shown something.’

  ‘A Magnum?’ The word seemed to be haunting Maxwell. ‘Who does he think he is? Dirty Harry?’

  ‘I think he thinks he is the man who taught Harry to be dirty, Max. I’m not sure Leighford Police are ready for Jeff O’Malley. Can I just rest my eyes a minute? When Jacquie comes down, we’ll talk some more.’

  He suited the action to the words and relaxed so suddenly Maxwell was afraid he had collapsed. He had forgotten most of his first-aiding. Was it only concussion that made you sleepy? Did he have some kind of internal bleeding that had led to collapse? He watched the American’s chest rise and fall, evenly. He looked for swelling around his middle, but he was as skinny as ever. He watched the pulse beat in his neck and matched it to the sound of the blood in his own ears. If anything, Hector Gold was in better shape. He tiptoed from the room and made his way to the stairs to the bedrooms. Halfway up, he met Jacquie coming down. It was bad luck to pass on the stairs, so he backed downwards and they crept along the landing and sat in the kitchen.

  At first they spoke in hushed voices, which returned to normal and grew louder very quickly when Maxwell told her about the gun.

  ‘He’s got a what?’

 
; ‘A .44 Magnum. He didn’t bring it in with him; I don’t think he thinks much of us as a nation, but he has at least enough respect to not try to get a damn great gun through customs. He has got it somewhere since.’

  ‘Do we know when?’ Jacquie was assembling facts ready for the inevitable phone call to the station.

  ‘I didn’t ask. Hector is being cagey. I don’t think it is because blood is thicker than water. I think it’s because he feels guilty for bringing him here.’

  ‘I should let Harry Schmidt know.’

  ‘Why ever does he need to know? He’s thousands of miles away and up to his doodads in his own troubles, I should imagine.’

  ‘I should let him know, nonetheless. What if he goes back?’

  ‘Can’t you do the thing they talk about on the news?’ he asked. ‘You know, put a watch on ports and airports. All points bulletins, that sort of stuff.’

  ‘I’m not sure how good they are, if I’m honest. I’ll get a call out for Paul’s car. Do you know the number?’

  Maxwell sat back. Sometimes he wondered if she knew him at all. ‘I know it’s blue. I know it’s high up. I know it has that ding in the back where Paul reversed into Pansy Donaldson that time.’

  ‘Reversed into her car, you mean, I hope.’

  ‘No, just into Pansy. You can almost see her shape in the rear panel. Quite a work of art in a neo-Impressionist Dada sort of way. She was fine. It would take more than a car to dent Pansy. But in my mind’s eye I can’t see a number. Sorry.’

  ‘School would have it?’

  ‘Yes, somewhere I suppose. Or Hector might know it. He’s asleep but I’m sure we could wake him.’

  Jacquie stood and was halfway to the door. ‘Should we let him sleep? Is he unconscious?’

  ‘Sit down,’ he told her. ‘He seems just asleep to me. Breathing normally. Pulse normal. We’ll let him have a nap and then wake him up.’ He looked at her, standing there on high alert. ‘Look, Woman Policeman. Make your phone call. Speak to Magnum PI. Let’s get an APB out on this sucker, or whatever the appropriate expression might be.’