Maxwell's Return (29 page)

‘Whanhstiyhsbit?’

‘Pardon? Mr Maxwell, keep your head still. The signal isn’t very good.’ She wanted to scream at the yachtieyobboes to shut up.

‘Sorry, Thingee. I said, what did she do then?’

‘Well, like I told you, she went to see Mr Baines in the gym.’

‘Did you find her there?’

‘No. I was coming back to tell you that they weren’t there when Mr Ryan grabbed me to type some letters. When I got back to reception, you and Mrs Maxwell had gone.’

‘And Mr Baines and Mrs Matthews?’

‘What about them?’

‘Had they signed out? You know, fire regs, all that kind of thing.’

Thingee was pained. ‘
You
never sign out, Mr Maxwell,’ she pointed out. ‘Or in.’

‘No. But that’s me. I’m talking about
Mrs Matthews
, the woman who never met a rule she didn’t like.’

‘Now you come to mention it,’ the girl said, ‘they hadn’t signed out, no. That
is
odd, they’re both usually so good about that kind of thing.’

‘Yes. It is odd,’ Maxwell said, thoughtfully. ‘Well, thanks, Thingee old chap. Give my regards to Bob Skinner, by the way.’

‘Mr Maxwell!’ Sarah looked around, expecting the old bugger to be at the other end of the bar.

He chuckled. ‘It’s not magic, Sarah,’ he said. ‘I know all the
Advertiser
staff have my number. Only the school and my family and very close friends have it apart from them. Of the journalists, only three are men. One is a hundred and specialises in obituaries, which he is careful to check each week in case one of them is his. One is as far as I know is currently undergoing gender reassignment and don’t ask me how I know that. The other is Bob Skinner. Tell him if any of this reaches the paper, we’ll know who to sue. ’Bye, Thingee. Thanks for your help.’ He turned to Guy Morley who was reaching for the ignition. ‘That was Thingee,’ he said, redundantly. ‘I think we need to get round to Andrew Baines’ house asap.’

‘Where is it?’ Morley asked.

‘Sadly, I can only find it from your house. But after that it will be plain sailing. So, off we go.’

‘What was all that?’ Bob Skinner asked.

‘Mr Maxwell says hello,’ was all Sarah could manage.

Skinner looked at her and was similarly lost for words. As if in chorus, they both caught the eye of the barman.

‘Same again.’

April Summers was not hidden in the house, nor that of her repellent grandmother. Her friends had all been visited, courtesy of the numbers on her mobile phone. She wasn’t there either. This was a negative result, it was true, but it meant that the door to door teams could coalesce on areas where she might be instead. Jacquie looked again through the file. She had been held, if that was the word, in an ‘old’ house, not on an estate, in a ‘proper’ road. April had not remembered a garage or much of a garden and it definitely wasn’t part of a conversion, like a flat or maisonette. Some of the older beat coppers had been set to blocking out areas where such houses could be found, within a reasonable distance from where April had reappeared as if by magic on that August day. She had
estimated a ten minute journey with her lift, who had never been traced. Traffic had been analysed for the day in question and soon they were down to only a few thousand houses. Jacquie was kicking herself that they had not made this effort when April had reappeared, but with the girl well and unharmed, it was wasted manpower. And now, Kirsty Hilliard was in the hospital, lucky to be alive. Jacquie, stuck in traffic, punched the steering wheel in frustration. Jason Briggs bent to his map and pretended not to notice.

‘We’ll find her, ma’am,’ he said, keeping it formal. ‘We’re really fine tuning the search now. She can’t be far away.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps she’s on the dunes, perhaps she’s tossed off a cliff, perhaps she’s…’

‘. . . perfectly safe and enjoying giving everyone the runaround. Girls are like that, guv. They don’t always think about how parents worry.’

‘You sound like an expert,’ Jacquie said, smiling at him.

‘Not really. I don’t see my girls as much as I’d like and they’re a bit small yet for that. But I have three sisters – I tell you, Jacquie… I mean, ma’am, you have no idea how lucky you are to just have a boy.’

‘He is more or less according to the order form, I’ll grant you,’ Jacquie said. ‘Just like his father.’

‘I thought he was just like you,’ the sergeant hazarded.

‘Thanks,’ she said. This conversation had wandered into personal
territory and it was time it was brought back on track. ‘So, where are we heading?’

‘We’ve got this block here, look.’ He traced a rough rectangle out towards the east. ‘There are door to door teams canvassing; we’re there for backup or for liaison.’ Jason meant well, but Jacquie could do without a blinding glimpse of the obvious about now.

‘Any news yet?’ she asked, taking a left at a T junction.

‘I’ll check in,’ he said. ‘Hang on.’ He dialled a number on his phone and listened carefully, marking areas on the map. He rang off. ‘There have been a few what might have been sightings, but they have all been checked and didn’t come to anything. The girls have all been spoken to and crossed off the list. Some of the teams haven’t got very far – that’s these…’ he pointed to an area where the houses were subdivided into flats in the main, ‘but some are almost done. Do you want to try a bit of door knocking yourself? I’m up for it – it’s ages since I had any hands on.’

Jacquie looked at him and saw the enthusiasm shining in his face. The hunt was up, the game was afoot. Why not – it would be good to be at the sharp end for a change. ‘Why not? Call in and tell them where we’ll be working. If we go towards a team from the edge of a block, we won’t double up.’

‘Okay guv… ma’am. Will do.’ And he took out his phone again, hot to trot.

‘There are an awful lot of policemen about,’ Guy Morley observed as they drove through town towards the hospital, watching his speed carefully.

‘I think my lovely wife may be the cause of that,’ Maxwell said, and filled Guy in on the April Summers saga, as far as he knew it.

‘That’s dreadful, Max,’ the man exploded. ‘How could he keep a girl captive like that without anyone knowing? And grooming the others – how did he do that?’

‘The first two aren’t telling, being dead,’ Maxwell said, perhaps a little more shortly than he had meant to sound. ‘April isn’t very coherent at the best of times, according to her mother, lying, changing her story and whatnot. But this is one clever psycho, Guy. He seems to have some kind of… well, I don’t know, Svengali like charm that they all fall for. We don’t even know if he always targets youngsters. The smart money, apparently, is that he is just out to control. All they know is that he’s a good looking bloke, indeterminate age, bright… that’s it. It could be you, for all the description they have.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Morley said and drove on in silence for a while.

‘I didn’t mean to imply…’ Maxwell said, into the awkward quiet
of the car.

Morley looked surprised. ‘God, no. Max, sorry, I hadn’t taken offence. I’m just worried about Sylv. Oh, God! Should we have called the hospital? The police? In case there’s been an accident.’

‘Well… let’s go into casualty when we finally get through this traffic and ask. You’ll get more information in person than on the phone, at any rate.’

‘True,’ the man conceded. ‘And, we’re actually here, so that’s good.’ He turned in to the car park and then the search began for a space. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, why are things so difficult all the while?’

Maxwell put a calm hand on his arm. ‘Look, Guy, pull up here and I’ll just run in, yes? Yes. I won’t be a minute.’ Anyway, he thought as he trotted up the slight incline to the entrance, there was bound to be an Old LeighfordHighena somewhere in the building who would help. And there was – there on the reception desk, sat Angela Cannon, of blessed memory. Four As at A level and working reception at Leighford General, for heaven’s sake.

‘Angela!’

‘Don’t panic, Mr Maxwell.’ The girl held up a restraining hand. ‘I’m only here until I go back to start my MSc at Imperial in October.’ Then, she remembered herself. ‘How can I help you?’

‘Angela – congratulations, by the way. Imperial, well done. Has Mrs Matthews been in today? I mean, as a casualty.’

‘Mr Maxwell! Is everything all right?’

Now he came to think of it, Angela could panic for England. Not the perfect appointment, perhaps. ‘Everything’s fine, Angela. We’ve just mislaid Mrs Matthews, that’s all.’

‘If she comes in… er, that is…’

‘No, no message, Angela. Thanks so much.’ And he was gone, jacket flapping in the breeze of his passing.

‘Not there,’ he said to Guy, settling back into the passenger seat. ‘So, it’s on to Andrew Baines’ place now, I think. See what he has to say for himself as the last person to see Sylv as far as we know.’

‘God, Max. Do you have to put it like that?’

‘Sorry. You know what I mean. You’ll have to go out of that exit… no, that one, over there. Yes, that’s right. And don’t you think you ought to put some lights on.’

Guy Morley felt as though he was in a computer game, with his car being driven by a remote control.

‘Don’t interrupt me or we’ll go wrong. Now, you need to go along here to the lights.’ Maxwell sat, drumming his fingers irritatingly on his leg. ‘Guy, is that all right?’

‘You said not to interrupt.’

‘You can say “yes”, helpful things of that nature.’

‘Sorry. Yes.’

‘Now then… there should be a row of shops along here in a
minute. When we get to them, we need to go round the next roundabout and go off at one o’clock.’

‘For a non-driver, you’re very good at directions,’ Guy observed.

‘I’ve had this conversation with Sylv,’ Maxwell said. ‘She says I’m not allowed to mimic the satnav.’

‘That sounds like a good rule,’ Guy said, smiling at the deliberate use of the present tense regarding the school nurse. ‘Here we are. One o’clock, is that right?’

‘Yes. Then, along here it gets a bit more hazy. It’s one of these roads, but I’m buggered if I can remember which… go slower. Let me see… No, it isn’t these. These are battles in the Boer War; I’d remember if it was one of these. I wonder whose idea it was to name a blameless suburban road Spion Kop Close?’

‘Can you remember anything about the address?’

‘No… hang on, it’s something to do with trees. Or birds. Nature, anyway.’

‘There are loads of police about. Perhaps we could ask one of them what roads are round here.’

‘If you had a proper map, Guy…’

Morley decided not to answer. His heart was beating so hard that he was afraid that if he opened his mouth, Maxwell would be able to hear it thump.

‘There!’ Maxwell’s shout filled the car and Guy braked hard.

‘God, Max. I nearly shat myself. Don’t
do
that!’

‘Sorry.’ He shook the man by the arm. ‘That’s it, though. There.’

‘A bird or a tree?’

‘Or a range of mountains. Nature, that’s what I said.’

‘Dolomite Road.’

‘That’s the one. But I don’t know the number. Let’s park here and walk up. Then we have the element of surprise.’

Guy grabbed Maxwell’s sleeve. ‘You’ve done this sort of thing before,’ he said, his voice husky with fear. ‘What are you expecting, Max? Has he hurt Sylvia?’

‘No, of course he hasn’t,’ Maxwell said. ‘But he is a smarmy bastard and it would give him a lot of pleasure not to tell us what he knows, just to see us squirm. He didn’t like us turning up here last night – he’s the sort to bear a grudge. We need to catch him unawares. Then he will probably just tell us what you’ve forgotten, that Sylv has started Pilates, is having her nails done.’ He shook him off and patted his shoulder. ‘Do you see? Guy,’ he looked into his face, ‘do you see? We have to stay calm. For Sylv.’

The man nodded and they got out of the car. Down the road ahead of them, pairs of police were ringing doorbells, rapping knockers. They were coming their way in a slow but inexorable tide. Maxwell hoped they had not already visited Baines. That wouldn’t please him at all and all their courtesy would probably be no good. He pulled Morley around the
corner and they walked off down Dolomite Road, Maxwell looking for clues. It was an obvious one in the end – Baines’ car parked on the hard standing just under the bow window.

‘That’s the one,’ Maxwell said, pulling on Morley’s sleeve. ‘There. Now, I’ll do the talking and please, Guy, no rough stuff.’

‘I take that as an insult, Max,’ the man said. ‘I don’t have a hot temper.’

‘Perhaps not. But this is not one to mess with,’ Maxwell said. ‘He’s not tall but he’s wiry and don’t forget, he has a good few years on you, no offence. Add to that the fact that he’s a PE teacher and I wouldn’t take any bets on you winning. So, leave it to me, please.’

Morley nodded and dropped a few paces behind as they approached the front door.

Jacquie parked the car and reached into the back for her bag. ‘Hang on a minute, Jason, would you?’ she said. ‘I just want to ring home, see how things are going.’

Politely, he got out and waited on the pavement. It was at times like these he wished he still smoked; it would have given him something to do with his hands.

She chose ‘Home’ in contacts and waited while it rang. After a
moment, it was picked up.

‘The Maxwell residence,’ said a voice that sounded as though it was squeezing its way through a mouthful of marbles.

‘Mrs Troubridge?’ Jacquie’s heart contracted. ‘Is everyone all right?’

‘Nolan is all right,’ Mrs Troubridge answered, ‘as am I. I can’t speak for Mr Maxwell, because he isn’t here.’

Jacquie heaved a sigh. She knew he
had
been there, because he had sorted out Nolan with Plocker’s mother and Mrs Troubridge, but where the devil was he now? ‘Has he left a message, Mrs Troubridge?’ she asked. ‘He will have left it on the whiteboard in the kitchen.’

‘I’ll go and check,’ she wheezed. ‘Nolan, talk to Mummy while I go and check.’

‘Hello Mummy.’ Jacquie could just picture Nolan, sitting on the arm of the chair, phone in both hands. ‘We’ve come round to get my jamas.’