MAXWELL’S REUNION a thrilling murder mystery with plenty of twists (Schoolmaster Murder Mysteries Book 7) by M.J. Trow

Author:M.J. Trow [Trow, M.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JOFFE BOOKS crime thrillers and mysteries
Published: 2024-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Where the hell do you park in London? Jacquie Carpenter hadn’t often had to face the question, but now she did. It was all of half an hour before an obliging Renault swung out into the traffic and she was in. It hadn’t been very convenient, DCI Hall had told her, for her to take a couple of days now. Yes, it was her right and, yes, the leave was overdue, but they were in the middle of a murder enquiry and nothing was breaking. Jacquie knew all that. And ordinarily Jacquie would not have dreamed of asking, but something odd had happened. Peter Maxwell had disappeared.

This was Friday, the day of a teacher’s half-term when he realises that the blessed week has all but gone. But the sun was still shining on the multicoloured bark of the plane trees as DC Carpenter went in search of the man in her life.

‘Yeah.’ The crone who ran the hotel in Sussex Gardens had suddenly cooled when she saw the warrant card. ‘He was here all right. Bit of a weirdo, if you ask me.’

‘I didn’t ask you,’ Jacquie reminded her. ‘Did Mr Maxwell have any visitors?’

‘Dunno. I don’t bother my guests, they don’t bother me. Better all round.’ The crone sucked feverishly on a ciggie as if her life depended on it. ‘What is he? Child molester, I’ll bet. One of them paedophiles. I knew it as soon as I clapped eyes on him. That’s why I told him, I said, we had no Net facilities. I won’t have no downloading of that filth in my place. No electronic how’s your father here.’

‘Glad to hear it,’ Jacquie told her. ‘When did Mr Maxwell leave?’

The crone padded in her fluffy mules to the desk and flicked through a ledger. ‘Wednesday,’ she said. ‘Quite early. He had toast.’

‘Did he say where he was going?’

The crone became confidential. ‘Look, dearie, if he’s not a child molester, you’ll have to admit he’s off his rocker. I didn’t understand most of what he was talking about. I’ll tell you what, though, I was within half an ace of getting Alf to check his bags, wasn’t I, Alf?’

Jacquie hadn’t seen Alf before. He was like a chameleon, blending in with the ghastly wallpaper and the lurid carpet. Only when he moved did Alf show signs of life at all. With half a mile of fag ash dangling from his chin, he grunted something incomprehensible to the crone, his wife.

‘I thought you didn’t bother your guests,’ Jacquie said.

‘Not unless they bother me,’ the crone countered. ‘And this one was beginning to bother me. ’Ere, he’s not an international terrorist, is he? Working for that Saddam Hussein or them Arab Filamentalists?’

‘No.’ Jacquie couldn’t help but smile. ‘Nothing like that. Did he say he intended to come back here?’

‘I wouldn’t have had him,’ the crone ranted. ‘I’d have got my Alf to chuck him out, wouldn’t I, Alf?’

Alf grunted again, passing back the way he had come. Bearing in

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