… well, I thought … the police?’
‘Have they been here?’
She blew smoke down her nose, ‘Have they fuck!’
‘Ah.’ Maxwell smiled. It was nice to know our children were in such genteel hands. But then, with five-year-olds wielding knives these days, it was probably the woman’s only salvation. ‘What about Alice’s parents?’
‘Her dad’s dead. She hasn’t spoken to her mother since she was a student.’
‘Does the mother know? About her disappearance, I mean?’
Jean Hagger blew smoke to the ceiling. ‘Don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘Not from me, she doesn’t. I’ve no idea where the woman lives.’
‘So nobody’s been through her things, then?’
‘Things?’ Jean frowned.
‘Yes,’ explained Maxwell, ‘you know, her room …’
‘Look,’ the junior school teacher laughed that uneasy laugh that people do when they feel uncomfortable, ‘I’m not going to let you rummage through my flatmate’s underwear. Are you some sort of pervert?’ For the first time, Jean felt genuine alarm. Peter Maxwell was just the age when weirdnesses start.
Cosmopolitan
had told her so. He was also a thick-set bugger. The phone, in the entrance lobby, suddenly seemed a long way away.
‘I just want to know what’s happened to her,’ Maxwell said. ‘Where she’s gone.’
‘Well,’ Jean blinked defiantly, determined that the smoke wouldn’t defeat her, ‘that’s Alice’s business, isn’t it?’
Maxwell’s smile vanished. ‘I’m not sure it is, Mrs Hagger,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘What’s the first thing that goes through your mind when a girl goes missing?’ he asked her. ‘You hear it on the news all the time. On
Crimewatch
, on those sad little posters outside police stations. What do you think?’
‘That she’s been abducted … or …’
‘Or …’ nodded Maxwell. ‘I can’t believe the police haven’t been here.’
‘A student went missing too, didn’t he?’ Jean asked.
‘Ronnie Parsons in my sixth form, yes.’
‘Well, there you are.’ Her face was bitter, hard.
‘Am I?’ Maxwell smiled.
‘Look,’ her cigarette had gone out. Irritated, she relit it with a plastic lighter. ‘It happens, doesn’t it? It doesn’t always make the
Sun
or the
Daily Sport
.’
‘“Sexy Siren Seduces Schoolboy”?’ Maxwell said. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. Was she the type, your Alice?’
Peter Maxwell had never seen a woman change so fast. It wasn’t just her face, the vicious stubbing out of her cigarette, her body was like a toasting fork, rigid, hard, standing over him.
‘I think you’d better go.’ She sounded like Mercedes McCambridge dubbing for little Linda Blair in The Exorcist – all dark, all demon.
‘Er … I was hoping for a look at her room,’ he ventured.
‘Well, hope on, you fucking creep. Alice wouldn’t want an old pervert like you handling her personal things. Go on, get out! Or do I have to call the police?’
Maxwell stood up, towering over her. ‘No,’ he said softly, ‘no, I don’t think you’ll have to do that.’
And he didn’t hear Jean Hagger collapse into hysterical sobs as he saddled White Surrey in the street below.
He pedalled past Leighford High late that night, the tower block square and dark against the pinkish purple of the April sky. Through the trees he saw the low silhouette of the Technology Block and Smokers’ Corner beyond it. Then he put his head down and cycled like a thing possessed along Wellington Street, across the park, following the signs to ‘Town Centre’ and ‘The Sea’.
The police station at Leighford, by contrast with the school, was lit like a Christmas tree. He pushed the recalcitrant door, where posters reminded him that there was a thief about. Even here, he tutted to himself. Who could you trust nowadays, uh?
A silver-haired sergeant appeared before he could ring the bell. He had the years, but not the heart of George Dixon and there was a sneer in his voice which dear
‘Have they been here?’
She blew smoke down her nose, ‘Have they fuck!’
‘Ah.’ Maxwell smiled. It was nice to know our children were in such genteel hands. But then, with five-year-olds wielding knives these days, it was probably the woman’s only salvation. ‘What about Alice’s parents?’
‘Her dad’s dead. She hasn’t spoken to her mother since she was a student.’
‘Does the mother know? About her disappearance, I mean?’
Jean Hagger blew smoke to the ceiling. ‘Don’t know,’ she shrugged. ‘Not from me, she doesn’t. I’ve no idea where the woman lives.’
‘So nobody’s been through her things, then?’
‘Things?’ Jean frowned.
‘Yes,’ explained Maxwell, ‘you know, her room …’
‘Look,’ the junior school teacher laughed that uneasy laugh that people do when they feel uncomfortable, ‘I’m not going to let you rummage through my flatmate’s underwear. Are you some sort of pervert?’ For the first time, Jean felt genuine alarm. Peter Maxwell was just the age when weirdnesses start.
Cosmopolitan
had told her so. He was also a thick-set bugger. The phone, in the entrance lobby, suddenly seemed a long way away.
‘I just want to know what’s happened to her,’ Maxwell said. ‘Where she’s gone.’
‘Well,’ Jean blinked defiantly, determined that the smoke wouldn’t defeat her, ‘that’s Alice’s business, isn’t it?’
Maxwell’s smile vanished. ‘I’m not sure it is, Mrs Hagger,’ he said.
‘What does that mean?’
‘What’s the first thing that goes through your mind when a girl goes missing?’ he asked her. ‘You hear it on the news all the time. On
Crimewatch
, on those sad little posters outside police stations. What do you think?’
‘That she’s been abducted … or …’
‘Or …’ nodded Maxwell. ‘I can’t believe the police haven’t been here.’
‘A student went missing too, didn’t he?’ Jean asked.
‘Ronnie Parsons in my sixth form, yes.’
‘Well, there you are.’ Her face was bitter, hard.
‘Am I?’ Maxwell smiled.
‘Look,’ her cigarette had gone out. Irritated, she relit it with a plastic lighter. ‘It happens, doesn’t it? It doesn’t always make the
Sun
or the
Daily Sport
.’
‘“Sexy Siren Seduces Schoolboy”?’ Maxwell said. ‘Yes, I suppose it does. Was she the type, your Alice?’
Peter Maxwell had never seen a woman change so fast. It wasn’t just her face, the vicious stubbing out of her cigarette, her body was like a toasting fork, rigid, hard, standing over him.
‘I think you’d better go.’ She sounded like Mercedes McCambridge dubbing for little Linda Blair in The Exorcist – all dark, all demon.
‘Er … I was hoping for a look at her room,’ he ventured.
‘Well, hope on, you fucking creep. Alice wouldn’t want an old pervert like you handling her personal things. Go on, get out! Or do I have to call the police?’
Maxwell stood up, towering over her. ‘No,’ he said softly, ‘no, I don’t think you’ll have to do that.’
And he didn’t hear Jean Hagger collapse into hysterical sobs as he saddled White Surrey in the street below.
He pedalled past Leighford High late that night, the tower block square and dark against the pinkish purple of the April sky. Through the trees he saw the low silhouette of the Technology Block and Smokers’ Corner beyond it. Then he put his head down and cycled like a thing possessed along Wellington Street, across the park, following the signs to ‘Town Centre’ and ‘The Sea’.
The police station at Leighford, by contrast with the school, was lit like a Christmas tree. He pushed the recalcitrant door, where posters reminded him that there was a thief about. Even here, he tutted to himself. Who could you trust nowadays, uh?
A silver-haired sergeant appeared before he could ring the bell. He had the years, but not the heart of George Dixon and there was a sneer in his voice which dear
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