Maxwell's Island (19 page)

‘Come on, duck,' suddenly Mrs B was at her other side. ‘Let the dog see the rabbit. No good staying here, in the way. Go with Mr Maxwell here and I'll stay with your friend. Mrs Troubridge and I go way back, don't we, Mr M? I'll be finished in a minute and Ming Wai won't mind if I stay, will you, love?'

Without turning round, the nurse grabbed her chance. ‘That would be great, Edna, if you would.' Then, mindful of her budget, ‘Off the clock, though?'

‘Of course!' Mrs B was outraged. ‘I'm doing it for a friend.' She met Maxwell's eye around the substantial back of Millie Muswell.

‘Thanks, Mrs B,' he said. ‘Come on, Millie. Mrs B will take care of her.'

A booming noise filled his ears and he shook his head as Metternich did when he had swallowed a fly. He looked around and then realised what it was. Millie Muswell was crying.

Outside the hospital grounds, Maxwell realised he had given himself a bit of a task. He had to get rid of Millie before Jacquie came to fetch him, otherwise he could see them ending up with a house guest. True, the house next door was, by definition, empty, but it seemed rather ghoulish to put her in there. They had just about enough milk in the house for a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal in the morning and something told Maxwell that Millie was probably not a frugal eater.

‘Are you staying here tonight?' he asked her in a casual tone.

‘Here?' She gave an enormous, gulping sob and looked around her. ‘Where?'

‘No, not literally
here
,' he said. ‘I mean in Leighford, in the area in general.'

‘No, no, I have a hotel room in Brighton. I ought to think about getting back. Do you know the train times?' She looked vaguely around again,
as if a departures board might suddenly materialise against the fence.

Maxwell was not a train user by inclination – he'd never really trusted them since that unfortunate incident with Mr Huskisson and the Rocket's pistons – and he had no idea when the last train was. But by listening carefully to the whispered plans in his classes, he had gathered that it was possible to go clubbing in Brighton and get back on the last train, which was at midnight, fooling parents and responsible adults in general that the whole evening had been spent playing Scrabble at a friend's house. So he assumed the last train in the other direction was of that general time. ‘I would imagine eleven-thirty, midnight, that sort of thing. Jacquie is picking me up at the pub at ten. Why don't you wait there with me and I'm sure she would be delighted to give you a lift to the station?'

Millie brayed with pleasure. ‘Would she do that? Oh, you are kind, both of you. I must admit, I did wonder how I was going to get back. The hospital is such a walk from the station.'

‘Well, it was very kind of you to come,' he said. If the conversation got any more trite, he thought, she would be saying thank you for having me.

‘Least I could do,' Millie said. ‘The family seems to be getting smaller and smaller and we have to watch out for each other. Poor Jessica. Do you think she will be all right?'

Maxwell was stuck for an answer. It was true that Mrs Troubridge had come through all manner of alarums and excursions in the time they had been neighbours, what with the Incident and everything, but this was Medical. Other people, professional people, were worried about her and somehow that made the outcome less easy to second-guess. ‘I really don't know, Millie. She certainly seemed to be rather frail.'

The woman looked at him, faintly surprised. ‘Of course she's frail,' she trumpeted. ‘A gust of wind would blow her over. She comes from the slight side of my family. It's my mother who gives me my strong constitution.' She slapped him on the back and nearly broke his shoulder. ‘Strong bones. That's what we have. Wouldn't snap like a twig just falling down the stairs.'

‘That's very fortunate,' Maxwell said. ‘But I meant, frailer than usual. The calling-out, that kind of thing.'

‘That was very upsetting,' Millie conceded. She gave Maxwell a sidelong glance. ‘She seemed rather frightened, I thought. Did you think that?'

‘Yes, she seemed a little nervous,' Maxwell agreed. ‘But people, when they are on painkillers, morphine, things like that, they can say very strange things. I made advances to the dentist once, and I'd only gone in for a filling.'

‘Really? And did that worry you, at all? Make you wonder about anything …' she narrowed her
eyes and lowered her voice, so that it seemed to arrive in his brain not through his ears, but up his legs from the soles of his feet, ‘subliminal?'

‘No,' he said, hurriedly. ‘I was just trying to be funny. A little joke, Millie, that's all.' Suddenly the whole week caught up with him in one hit and he wanted to be home, snuggled up with Jacquie, Nole and the Count, watching something mindless on telly, no one missing, no one ill. Just the usual same ol', same ol'.

‘I see.' She fetched him a sharp one on the arm. ‘Cheer me up. How thoughtful.' The whole speech was delivered in the tones of a sarcophagus lid closing. ‘Thank you. But I think what I meant was, she seemed frightened of you.'

‘Me?' Maxwell cast his mind back. Taken in one way, he supposed that the old woman's words could be construed that way, but there was no need for Mrs Troubridge to be frightened of him, surely. ‘I think you must have misunderstood, Millie. Apart from anything else, I wasn't even in Leighford when she fell.'

‘As far as we know,' Millie said, darkly. ‘As far as we know.' Then, as if she had not spoken, she said, brightly, ‘Did you take Nolan to the zoo, at all, on the Isle of Wight?'

‘Not the zoo, as such, no. Jacquie isn't wild about snakes and they rather specialise. On our free afternoon, we went to Amazon World. Anteaters, tapirs, sloths, that sort of creature.'

‘How lovely. Even sloths are very endearing as babies, aren't they?'

‘They have their moments,' Maxwell agreed. It was quite difficult to keep up with Millie's thought processes, but fortunately, they had arrived at the door of the Horse & Collar, an unpretentious pub with the cheapest beer and wine and the most expensive food in town, to allow for the habits of the local influx from the medical professions. The ground outside was carpeted with dog-ends, mostly sucked down to the filter. On fine nights, there were more people outside than in. Maxwell pushed open the door and gestured to Millie. ‘Shall we?'

‘I don't usually go in to pubs, Mr Maxwell,' she said, looking furtively in through the door, as if expecting an orgy to be taking place in the public bar.

‘Well, you're with me,' he smiled, giving her a nudge, which did no good. ‘You'll be perfectly safe.'

‘Well, just a tiny drink, then,' she said and edged in, shyly. There was a table right by the door and Maxwell pulled out one of the chairs for her. ‘You are such a gentleman,' she said. ‘Thank you.'

‘What will you have to drink?' he asked, rummaging for his wallet.

‘What are you going to have?' she asked, a little coquettishly. The effect was not attractive and Maxwell was keen to get away for a minute to the bar, where he could recover.

‘My usual drink is Southern Comfort,' he said, ‘but …'

‘I'll have one of those, then,' she said, ‘if I may?'

‘Ice?'

‘No, thank you,' she said. ‘I have sensitive gums.'

‘I'll be back in a moment,' Maxwell said and went up to the bar, leaning on it in the time-honoured tradition, one foot up on the rail, a note between his fingers.

‘Evening, Mr Maxwell,' a voice said in his ear. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. He had
specifically
said ‘No Leighford Highenas' on his way down the stairs, and yet here was one. ‘Not often we see you in here.'

Reluctantly, he turned his head. Praise be – not an Old Leighford Highena, but Donald, the post-mortem technician. Almost unbelievably, he appeared to have put on a few hundredweight. ‘Donald! How the hell are you?' he said, shaking the man's hand. ‘I haven't seen you since Adam was in the Militia.'

‘No,' Donald said ruefully. ‘We're very quiet at the moment. Dr Astley's on his holiday and we've got a locum in.' He ran the sentence back and realised it made little sense. ‘Not that that's why we're quiet, of course. That's two completely different things.'

‘Yes, I do understand, Donald,' Maxwell said. ‘I didn't think that even Dr Astley provided his own
bodies.' He let his eyes swivel sideways and leant closer, ‘Although, I did hear the odd rumour …' and he nudged Donald where he presumed his ribs ought to be. ‘Have you ever given any thought to why things go quiet? There must be a reason.' The barman caught his eye. ‘I'll have two Southern Comforts, no ice and … Donald?'

The big man downed the remains of his pint and slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘I'll have another of these, thanks very much, Mr Maxwell.
Two
Southern Comforts? Is Jacquie … I mean, Mrs Maxwell with you?' Donald and Angus, the forensics supremo, fought over Jacquie's supposed attentions, in a spirit of brotherly competition. Unbeknownst to Maxwell they both had photos of her, head to foot in SOCO whites, in their respective lockers. Donald turned his head without removing his elbows from the bar; a neat trick honed over the years of solitary drinking. ‘Where is she?'

‘I hate to disappoint you, Donald,' Maxwell said, picking up his change, ‘but I'm not with Jacquie. I'm with that lady over there, by the door.'

This time, Donald turned round completely, spilling a fair bit of his pint in the process. ‘Good God, Mr Maxwell. Have you gone nuts?' The technician could scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes. ‘What a moose.'

‘Now, Donald,' Maxwell said, calmly, picking up the Southern Comforts. ‘Millie might not be
to everyone's taste, but I am pretty sure she has a heart of gold.'

‘Where?' Donald asked. ‘How would you know? Blimey, Mr Maxwell, I'm glad I don't have to get that one in one of my fridges.'

‘Your sensitivity does you credit, Donald. Anyway, nice seeing you. Give my regards to Dr Astley when he returns. Gone anywhere nice, has he?'

‘Huh.' This was clearly a sore point. ‘He's come into some money. Somebody died. He and the lush are cruising round the Greek Islands, apparently. For a month.'

Maxwell knew that Marjorie Astley drank a bit. Or rather more than a bit, in fact. Obviously Donald knew as well. Perhaps a month on ouzo and retsina might be a good way of getting her out of the habit. ‘Nice. I hope Jacquie doesn't get to hear of it. We were supposed to be going abroad for our holidays this autumn, but something came up.'

‘Something nice?' Donald asked politely.

‘Not ever so, no. It was a school trip to the Isle of Wight.'

‘Oooh,' Donald said. ‘I didn't know that was
you
. Was it the one where that woman was butchered in the hotel shower?'

‘No, Donald,' Maxwell said, with a sigh. Did gossip know no bounds? ‘That was Janet Leigh in the Bates Motel and it was
Psycho
. Anyway, as I think I said, nice to see you. I must rejoin my guest.'
Donald launched himself off the bar, with the clear intention of following Maxwell to the table. An evening of Donald and Millie, no matter how little time remained, was quite a picture and he knew he must get out of it, if only he could work out how. A small noise worked its way into his brain. ‘Is that your bum making that noise?' he asked, pointing.

Donald slapped his pocket and then drew out a pager. ‘Oh, bugger. I'm needed. Never mind.' He drained his pint in one and slammed the glass down again. ‘My fault for saying we were quiet.'

‘You're on duty?' Maxwell asked, surprised. He had always thought that post-mortems tended to be done in the day, to a timetable, strictly nine to five and usually two days after the event.

‘Overtime,' he said. ‘We have an on-call system for the SOCO and they are a bit short-handed. Also, this locum they've got in for Astley, well, she's a bit green, so I said I would be on when she was, help out, know what I mean?'

‘She?' The light was dawning. Donald was a sucker for a pretty face.

‘Strictly professional.' The fat man bridled, setting his chins wobbling. ‘I don't know if it is SOCO yet, though. It might just be somebody croaked in theatre, something like that.'

Maxwell dropped his voice and Donald leant in to listen. ‘My … companion and I have just come from visiting a very sick friend in the General. So, perhaps …'

‘Sorry, Mr Maxwell. Lips are sealed.' And Donald swept through the doors with a jaunty wave at Millie, to his date with Death.

‘A friend of yours?' Millie asked, when Maxwell sat down.

‘Not as such,' he told her. ‘Just someone I have met while … enjoying my hobby.'

Her eyes shone. ‘Hobbies. Yes. Marvellous things. I, for instance, derive so much pleasure from my genealogy. I could tell you some tales! Oh, yes.' And she proceeded to do so until, like an angel of mercy, Jacquie's head popped round the door of the pub.

‘Millie!' she cried, somehow adding subliminally to Maxwell, ‘What the hell is going on?'

‘Darling!' he replied, adding in body language, ‘Don't worry. She just needs a lift to the station.' To make things clearer he added, out loud, ‘Millie needs a lift to the station, heart, if that is possible.'

‘Of course,' Jacquie said, holding the door open for them both. ‘Not a problem at all. Oh,' she glanced at the table, ‘finish your drinks first. No hurry.'

Millie picked up her glass and chugged back the drink. For a stranger to liquor, she had a hell of a swallow on her. The drunk in the corner all but applauded.

‘I won't bother, thanks, honeybunch,' Maxwell said, eyes wide.

‘That is very pleasant,' Millie boomed. ‘What did you say it was called?'

‘Southern Comfort,' Maxwell said, stealing a sidelong glance at Jacquie.

‘Lovely,' Millie said, licking her top lip to get the last drop. ‘I must get some in for Christmas.'

‘Right,' said Jacquie, herding her charges towards the car. ‘The station it is.' The first mad bars of ‘Flight of the Bumblebee' rang out. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘I should take this.' She wandered off away from the car, head inclined and one finger in her ear. Maxwell chased her, ostensibly to get the keys, but also to listen in if possible. Unfortunately, his timing was way off and she was receiving rather than transmitting. He went back towards Millie, swinging the keys around one finger. There was some unseemly struggling with the complexities of the immobiliser and the door had only just sprung open when Jacquie returned and slid into the driving seat without speaking.