Free Maxwell's Chain by M.J. Trow Page B

is extreme, even for you.’
    Maxwell got up and made for the door. ‘You’re right. I was stupid. But he is just so…pathetic, somehow. I just know he didn’t do it. Why should he? He didn’t know her or anything.’
    ‘How do you know he didn’t? I’ve got the stats somewhere of the number of murderers who “find” their victims. They can’t bear the wait for somebody else to happen on it and they try to control the proceedings. You only see Lunt once a year for the annual photo. Just because he is married to an Old Leighford Highena doesn’t make him automatically innocent, you know.’
    ‘No, of course not. I’m sorry. Metternich told me I was doing a stupid thing, but if I didn’t ignore him sometimes, he’d be unbearable.’ He moved onto the landing and started up the stairs. ‘I will get him to leave. I don’t think he’ll mind. The shop certainly does well enough for him to afford a hotel if he can’t bear it at home.’
    She blew him a kiss. ‘Thank you, Max. You know it makes sense.’ She settled down to play aimlessly with Nolan’s toes. She didn’t know whether he liked it or not, but it certainly calmed her down. ‘Piggy,’ he gurgled, which she hoped referred to the game and not his mother’s profession. She had only got as far as the porcine who had roast beef before Maxwell was back.
    ‘Problem solved,’ he said, his brow furrowed.
    ‘Oh?’
    ‘He appears to have gone.’
    ‘Gone? You mean, out? Or gone, as in taken all his things?’
    ‘Gone. Left. Vamoosed.’
    Jacquie immediately felt bad. ‘Oh, Max, do you think he heard us? I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.’ Jacquie’s stomach somersaulted in the way it does for all of us at moments like these. The rational bit – that Bill Lunt had overheard their whispered conversation, taken umbrage and packed his bags, creeping noiselessly past their open door; and all in a few minutes, never entered her head.
    ‘Does a suspect have feelings?’ he asked her, one eyebrow raised. Maxwell was not one of those blokes Julius Caesar would have wanted with him on the Ides of March, that’s for sure.
    ‘Oh, please. I feel awful.’
    He crossed the room and gave her an absentminded hug. ‘Where’s he gone, though?’
    ‘I expect he’s gone home,’ she said. ‘At least, I hope he has. I would imagine when they released him without charge, they asked him not to leave the immediate area.’
    ‘Yes, I expect you’re right, heart,’ he said. ‘He will have gone home. I mean, as you so rightly say, therewas no reason for him not to be at home.’ They sat in silence for a while. ‘I wonder if he’s had time to get back yet?’ Maxwell added.
    ‘It all depends when he left, I suppose,’ Jacquie said, shifting Nolan onto the other arm. She suddenly got up and went to the phone. ‘For goodness’ sake, Max. Why don’t we behave like adults? What’s his number?’
    ‘Battle of Barnet,’ he said.
    ‘Oh,’ Jacquie tapped in 1471. ‘Has no one phoned since him, then?’
    ‘No,’ Maxwell said, fighting down the urge to hug her. He’d make an historian of her yet, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let her know how proud he was. On the other hand, Nolan didn’t seem to have any grasp of dates at all, and he was fifteen months old next Thursday.
    ‘It’s ringing.’ He could hear the tinny sound easing out round the bones in her head. ‘No reply, though.’
    ‘Leave a message.’
    ‘Oh…sssh.’ With no hand free, she flapped Nolan at him. ‘Hello? Mr Lunt, this is Jacquie Carpenter. Um…I was just wondering if you had gone home because…well, Max and I were wondering if you were coming back. You’d be very welcome. Ummm. Well, give us a ring when you get in. See you later. Bye.’ She put the phone down and turned to face Maxwell, who was sitting with arms folded, histrionically drumminghis fingers on his bicep, tapping a foot in time. ‘What? Well, he is welcome. It’s just not…well, not very sensible.