Read Online Maxwell's Crossing by M.J. Trow - Free Book Online

the sitting room. Maxwell was stretched out on the sofa, Metternich lying along him, mirroring his position and both spark out. Taking care not to clink, she poured a gin and tonic even stronger than the earlier aborted one of what must have been the same evening, but felt like years ago. Easing a slice of lime down the edge of the glass so that the splash didn’t wake anyone, she sat down in the chair next tothe fire and gazed into the flames. Metternich flicked an ear, which may have been a greeting or something happening in a dream. Otherwise, the room was still, the only sound the faint hiss of the fake flames. She cradled her drink and sank deeper into the chair.
    â€˜Matthew Hendricks,’ Maxwell suddenly said, not moving. Metternich extended a warning paw, but otherwise didn’t move either.
    Jacquie sat up as if he had screamed in her ear. ‘What?’ she said, sharply. The words had echoed so precisely what she was thinking that it made her feel a little dizzy.
    â€˜Matthew Hendricks,’ Maxwell repeated. ‘Known, inevitably, as Jimi, later shortened to Jim.’ He got up carefully, dislodging Metternich claw by painful claw, and turned, propped on one elbow, to look at her over his shoulder. ‘The dead man, am I right?’
    She gathered herself together. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment,’ she said, but her attempt at an Ian Richardson in House of Cards was woefully short of the mark.
    Maxwell flopped back down and brushed off his front, where Metternich had left his scattered black and white calling cards. ‘Thought so,’ he muttered, smugly, and closed his eyes again. Then, he sat back up and turned to her properly, smiling. ‘Where are my manners? You must be hungry. Turkey and pickles?’
    She nodded, still not speaking.
    â€˜Just a mo, then. Branston or onions?’
    â€˜Both, please.’
    â€˜Pig. Cold roasters?’
    â€˜What, are you nuts? Of course.’
    â€˜Hang on, then.’ He went out and she could hear him across the landing, humming as he assembled their Christmas supper, as if one of his Old Leighford Highenas was not lying dead on Dr Astley’s slab, waiting for his assistant Donald to have a good old rummage in his abdomen and have a go at piecing together his head. Bones had a lot to answer for, one way and another, although a twenty-second-century lab full of beautiful people all flirting with each other and undergoing counselling was as far from Dr Jim Astley’s establishment as you could possibly get. Soon he was back, closing the door behind him with a deft flick of his left bum cheek. He passed her the plate.
    She took a few mouthfuls and then looked across at him. He was sitting on the sofa, spreading piccalilli on a slice of turkey as though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. ‘So, how did you know it was Matthew Hendricks, then?’ she asked him.
    â€˜It wasn’t that hard, as a matter of fact,’ he said, putting down his fork, so he could count off on his fingers, ‘aside from the fact that I am a genius of rare talent. Firstly, I tried thinking of all the boys I have taught in the past million years who would behave the way this one has, and it came to too many. So, secondly, I thought of all of the above, but who would be aged between, say, twenty and thirty.’
    â€˜Why that age range?’
    â€˜Well, you said the children were too young to give evidence, so they are under, shall we say, ten. I assumed that the couple in question would probably have hadtheir first child quite young, so I just chose those ages to cut the numbers down.’
    â€˜OK, go on.’ Jacquie tried not to let it show that she was impressed. Matthew Hendricks had been twenty-seven.
    â€˜That cut the numbers down quite a lot, so that was a helpful device. So then I thought, of all of the ones I was left with, which ones had an abusive parent.’ He held his hand up to stop her speaking.