The Ghost of Robert Brown: A Mystery Novel

by P. Wish

  “It’ll be my twenty-seventh year this year.”

  “Wow.”

  Dr. Daniels smiled.

  “What kind of serious problems do students usually have?”

  “Usually it’s deep wounds or emergency advice on birth control.”

  “Do teachers consult too?”

  “Sometimes. If it’s an emergency.”

  “Do they usually go down to the NHS?”

  “Yes.”

  “And have you ever seen Mr. Greene during your, umm…time at the hospital?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “What did he come to you for?”

  “I’m sorry. We, as doctors, cannot divulge patient records to third parties.”

  “He’s dead and the police need to know.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll need a signature from his guardian. You know how this works.”

  “Sadly, I do,” Detective Myers said. He leaned in. “This is a strange question, but did you have any reason to believe that Mr. Greene may have been depressed?”

  “Mr. Greene?” Dr. Daniels’s eyes widened. “No. I never thought—”

  “I’m not asking for records. Just an opinion.”

  Dr. Daniels took a deep breath.

  “In this particular case, he’d never spoken to me about it. So, no. What makes you think he…you know?”

  “Nothing in particular. I was considering the possibilities.” Detective Myers wrote something down. “So you think he was fine?”

  “I never thought he’d have any sort of…uh…unhappiness or mental condition. I’d have had to examine him to know that for certain.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “I don’t remember. I’ll have to check,” Dr. Daniels said.

  “Do you think he could’ve consulted a private doctor?”

  “Well, that is always possible,” Dr. Daniels said, stroking his chin. “But there aren’t any psychiatrists here except the ones at the NHS center. Psychiatry is a specialized field.”

  “I see.” Detective Myers wrote that down too. “Did you know Mr. Greene in a personal capacity?”

  “No,” Dr. Daniels said, scratching his mop of white hair. “I can’t say I’ve seen him around much.”

  Detective Myers wrote something down.

  “Have you seen any cases of depression in the school?” Detective Myers said.

  “I’m a general practitioner,” Dr. Daniels said. “I don’t see psychiatric cases—I refer them to the psychiatrist at NHS.”

  “Would the psychiatrist be available for an interview?”

  “I don’t know. You’d have to ask him,” Dr. Daniels said. “But if I could say so, it’s better to talk to Gemma first. She’s the school counselor. She comes down once a week to talk to the students. It’s Fridays, I think.”

  “Thank you for letting me know,” Detective Myers said. “And what is Gemma’s full name?”

  “Dr. Gemma Watson.”

  “She’s a doctor?”

  “A doctor of philosophy. Not a medical one.”

  “Impressive. A counsellor comes to school every Friday.” He wrote that down.

  “Will that be all for today?” Dr. Daniels asked. “I have an appointment in three minutes.”

  “One more question,” Detective Myers said, glancing at his notes. “If I wanted to get Prozac, how could I obtain it?”

  “Are you not feeling well?” he asked.

  “It’s a hypothetical scenario,” he said. “What is Prozac used for, anyway?”

  “Prozac’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor,” he said. “It’s used as an antidepressant. Its use has become more common now. Doctors prescribe it for depression, PMS, PTSD…umm…after a traumatic event or even for anxiety.”

  “Do you need a doctor’s prescription to get it?”

  “Yes.”

  Somebody knocked on the door. “There she is,” Dr. Daniels said, turning to Detective Myers. “Come in.”

  A young female student emerged. When the door opened, Jane met Detective Myers’s eyes. He stood up.

  “I was just leaving,” Detective Myers said. “It’s been an… enlightening afternoon. Thank you, Doctor.” Detective Myers stood up and walked out the door, closing it behind him.

  Chapter 3

  I’ve felt so much pain that the sensation of happiness doesn’t register anymore. When I see people smiling, I wonder how it feels to smile. I stretch my lips with my fingers before the mirror and stare. But I’m not smiling. I’m crying with a stretched mouth.

  —Robert Brown

  April 11, 2002

  At 9:00 a.m. on Thursday morning, Jane stood outside an empty corridor, trying to find the biology lab. It was her first lab session at St. Anne’s. After a department meeting that morning, Jane had drunk some coffee before beginning her search for the laboratory. “Coffee and donuts are the detective’s oxygen,” she remembered with a smile. That was what Gary said. She heard soft voices from all around.

  “Jane?” a feminine voice said, echoing in the long corridor. Jane turned. Mrs. Maeda stood before her, dressed in a beige skirt suit. The beige suit reminded her of the school uniform. If Jane didn’t know her, she would’ve mistaken her for a student. Mrs. Maeda’s straight black hair was pulled back into a small ponytail.

  “Good morning,” Jane said. She balanced her heavy bag in one hand and smiled at Mrs. Maeda, who held a thick plastic binder.

  “Are you going to class?” Mrs. Maeda asked in a soft voice.

  “Uh…yes. I have a lab session today.”

  “That sounds interesting,” she said. “Mrs. Wolverhampton said you wanted me to get the window fixed.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jane said. “The window in my bedroom isn’t opening.”

  “You should call Mr. McEwan. He handles all the repairs in this building. Do you have his number?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “I’ll send it to you.”

  “In the future, you can register all housing-related complaints on the school’s online portal,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful,” Jane said.

  “My pleasure. If you have any other issues, let me know.”

  “Thanks. I will,” Jane said. She looked around at the noisy corridor. “Ummm…I was wondering if you know where the biology lab is. I’m lost.”

  Mrs. Maeda smiled.

  “It’s down the corridor,” she said. “Walk straight to the end and turn left. The biology lab is the first room on the right. Why don’t you follow me?”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Jane said with a smile.

  Mrs. Maeda began walking. Jane followed her, maintaining a distance.

  “Are those lesson plans?” she asked, pointing to the folder Mrs. Maeda was holding.

  “No, it’s…” Mrs. Maeda distanced the blue binder from her body. “I’ve been looking for someone to substitute for Mr. Greene this evening. He signed up for dining hall duty before the break, but…well, he isn’t here, so I need someone.”

  “Mr. Greene signed up for dining hall duty for today?” Jane asked.

  “He did,” she said. “This might be a stretch, but is there any chance you’d be willing to substitute?”

  Jen balanced her bag and pulled a paper out. Mrs. Maeda slowed down. Jane read through the piece of paper she clutched.

  “Sure,” Jane said. “I finish classes by four. I’m free after that.”

  “Really?” Mrs. Maeda’s eyes lit up. She pulled a pencil from the end of the binder and filled in Jane’s name on the sheet of paper. “That’s great. Thank you so much, Jane.”

  “No problem,” Jane said. “But I’ve never done it before.”

  “It’s simple. You just have to go to the dining hall at five and stay until eight thirty. If there are any accidents, call one of us.”

  “That sounds easy,” Jane said.

  Mrs. Maeda turned at the end of the corridor.

  “How was your Easter break
?” Jane asked out of the blue.

  “All right, I guess,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  “Did you visit your family this year?”

  “I was supposed to, but my daughter decided to take off to Argentina at the last moment and not go to Paris with me,” Mrs. Maeda said. “Teenage girls are so fickle. I had to cancel the tickets.”

  “Oh,” Jane said.

  “You won’t believe I went all the way to Heathrow and came back. I gave her a piece of my mind.”

  Mrs. Maeda’s serene, graceful face was etched with harsh lines. A sense of calm returned to her as they approached the biology lab.

  “Here we are,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  “Thank you,” Jane said.

  “No problem. Ask me if you need anything.”

  Mrs. Maeda scribbled something in her diary. The door to the biology lab was open. The lab assistant stood at one end of the room. The students clustered among the tables.

  “All right, time to get to work,” Jane said, clapping her hands. “We’re going to examine cheek cells under the microscope today.”

  At 5:20 that evening, Jane stood outside the dining hall. The doors were locked. In the distance, she saw Chef Kalra arranging napkins on the tables. Jane knocked, and he turned to the tall door with glass panels and waved to Jane. Setting the napkins aside, he moved towards the door.

  “You’re on duty tonight?” he asked, opening the door. The smell of food suddenly burst into Jane’s nostrils.

  “Yes,” Jane said.

  “Come in. It’s cold outside,” he said. Jane walked in, marinating in the smell and warmth of the food.

  “Are you done cooking?” Jane asked.

  “Almost,” he said. He moved towards the fresh fruit counter. Apples lay inside a cardboard carton. Chef Kalra began to stack them in the basket. The aroma of food made Jane’s belly rumble.

  “You hungry?” he asked. Jane was silent.

  “Uh, no…I’m all right,” she said.

  “Go to the kitchen. Irene will get you something to drink,” Chef Kalra offered.

  Jane smiled weakly and walked to the hot food counter, which led to the closed kitchen. The door opened. A young blonde woman emerged dressed in an apron and chef’s hat.

  “Good evening,” Jane said. “I’m Jane Grey, the new biology teacher.”

  “Oh, nice to meet you. I’m Irene, the kitchen assistant,” she said. Her clear blue eyes gazed at Jane.

  “I was wondering if I could get something to drink.”

  “Drink…drink…how about some hot chocolate?”

  “I’d love that,” Jane said, following her into the kitchen. The kitchen was warm. Steel utensils lined the counter. A man was busy washing porcelain plates and stacking them on a plate stand. Hazy orange light emanated from two large ovens. Steam rose from a pot next to the oven.

  “Here you go,” Irene said, approaching Jane from the back.

  “I usually—”

  “It’s been a long day,” Irene said. She turned to the green bell pepper on the counter and began chopping it. Jane turned to the young man with the cropped blond hair who was washing the plates. “Tom, did you see the other knife?”

  “Nope,” the guy said.

  “I don’t know where it went,” Irene muttered. “I haven’t seen it since…since Easter, really.”

  The door opened. Chef Kalra entered with an empty carton. The apples were gone.

  “Do you know where the kitchen knife is? The larger one,” Irene asked.

  “I’ve been looking for it since Monday,” Chef Kalra said. “I can’t seem to find it.”

  “Do you think one of the students took it?”

  “I don’t think so, Irene. Students are not allowed into the kitchen,” Tom said.

  “They shouldn’t be playing with knives,” Chef Kalra said, worry lines filling his forehead.

  Irene and Chef Kalra turned to Tom, whose eyes were fixed on them.

  “Did you see something?” Irene asked.

  “That knife the detectives found—” Tom began. He exhaled. “Do you think that’s…where our kitchen knife went?”

  Irene’s cold blue eyes turned to Chef Kalra. Jane met Tom’s still gaze.

  “Good Lord,” Irene said, her eyes wide. “This is serious.”

  “I wonder who stole it. Did any of you see anything?” Chef Kalra asked, turning to Tom.

  “I didn’t,” Irene and Tom replied in unison.

  “Someone must’ve seen it,” Chef Kalra asked.

  “I don’t think someone would be stupid enough to steal a knife while we’re all looking.”

  “It’s stupid to steal a kitchen knife in the first place!” Tom said.

  “Since when has the knife been missing?” Chef Kalra said.

  “Now that I think about it…it’s been gone for some time,” Irene said.

  “I didn’t see it before Easter, either,” Chef Kalra said.

  “So it disappeared in March?” Tom asked.

  “Yes. It’s been gone since before the Easter break.”

  Jane, Chef Kalra, Tom and Irene looked at each other.

  Tom turned the tap off. “Does that mean somebody from the school stole it?”

  “Who else has access to this room?”

  “Only I have the keys,” Chef Kalra said. “And Mr. McEwan.”

  “Do you think someone broke into the kitchen?”

  “We’d have noticed if the dishes were out of place.”

  “Did you leave the knife outside, by any chance?”

  “Now that you mention it…we had a roast dinner before the Easter break, didn’t we?”

  “You think someone took it during the dinner?”

  “I put the knife in the dining room, just to help with the carving,” Irene said.

  “Hmmm…let’s keep this between us for now,” Chef Kalra said.

  “Good idea.”

  “I’m done with the dishes. It’s time for dinner,” Tom announced, wiping his wet hands on his apron.

  Chef Kalra glanced at the clock. “Let’s get cracking.”

  Jane finished her dining hall duty by 8:30 p.m. She thanked the chef and his assistants and made her way back to her room. She swiped the key card, and the light beeped and the door opened.

  She took a moment to admire the dormitory. Much like the other buildings, it was a historical Gothic Revival building. The arches were tall. Though the corridors weren’t as mysterious as in the main hall, they were long and filled with dark wooden doors. The dark green carpet stretched under her feet like moss. The staircase curved from the base of the corridor. A solitary painting of the school’s founder hung on the wall.

  Jane ascended the stairs, the dampness of the closed building seeping into her skin. The long windows looked out onto the main building, and she saw its spires in the distance.

  She walked to her corridor. It was one of the four corridors on the second floor. Her breaths ricocheted against the high ceiling and echoed in the empty corridor. She had no neighbors. The room beside hers was Mr. Greene’s and since he wasn’t around anymore, she was the only one on the third floor.

  Jane passed by a locked brown door on her way to her room. “Do not cross” was written on the yellow tape that sealed the door. Jane’s gaze lingered over Mr. Greene’s room as she turned her key in her door. The smell of parchment, dust and wood mingled with the air. Jane stepped into her room and turned on the lights. The sink was already full. She sighed and threw her bag on the table. She got on with the dishes. She watched some television and then read a book.

  At 11:00 p.m., she began to read through her lesson plans in a desperate attempt to fall asleep. She lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She shut her eyes and turned the lights off. Thirty minutes later, she was still tossing and turning on the bed. Jane counted sheep. One sheep, two sheep—wait, was the plural sheeps? No, stupid, it’s sheep. Sheep, sheep, sheep…it’s always sheep. All right. Let’s start again. One sheep, two sheep…see, it sounds right
…where was I? Oh yes, one sheep, two sheep, three sheep, four sheep, five sheep…

  The sheep turned into animated clay figures that played on the television screen. Jane saw Charlie’s bright blue eyes sparkle with mirth. He clapped when the sheep jumped over the fence. Jane wasn’t looking at the sheep. She was looking at her chubby three-year-old son, who sat on the couch, clapping with newly sprouted blond hair.

  “Mummy, it’s funny,” he said. Jane nodded, wearily.

  “Do you like sheep, Charlie?” she asked.

  “I love them,” he said, gurgling.

  The phone rang. Jane stood up.

  “Charlie, Mummy has to go,” she said, pulling away from her son. She hurried to the bedroom and pulled out a set of keys.

  “So soon? Can’t you stay? Pleeeaasse, Mummy…stay with me,” Charlie whined. Jane exhaled, exasperated.

  “Not today,” she said. “I’ve got to go to work.”

  His innocent eyes looked at her. Her guilt burgeoned.

  “I’m sorry, darling. Next time,” Jane said, picking up her coat from the sofa. “Daddy will be home in an hour. I called Nancy.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “That must be her.”

  Charlie’s face fell. He turned back to the sheep cartoon and watched it silently. Jane remembered his expression. And now, more than ever, she regretting going that day.

  Jane’s eyes hit the dark ceiling. She sat up. She couldn’t even count sheep now. Jane turned on the bedside lamp and pulled out a book. She read through it. The musty room was suffocating. Jane walked to the window and pulled the curtains away. The window was jammed. Parting the curtains, she looked out the window. It was a new moon day. The streetlights were on. Buildings became shadows in the darkness. She got back to her bed and hoped to fall asleep.

  Her eyes refused to close. Restlessness filled her mind. She remembered Charlie again. When he was four, his first sports day, his piano lessons, his choir practice, his primary school graduation, Charlie winning a medal on sports day and the jubilant expression on his face…she remembered everything. Jane stood up and grabbed the flashlight she had put under her bed. She slipped her coat on, walked to the door, and left the room.

  At 1:15 a.m., Jane was wandering in the endless stretch of grass that led to the lake. The cool breeze caressed her hair. Temperatures were low but the fresh air restored her sense of calm. Her eyes gazed at the horizon. At night, St. Anne’s looked like a gothic manor from a horror novel. Stars lit up the night sky. There was no moon in the dark sky. Jane walked down the hill. A few feet away from her stood a shadow. Jane focused on the male silhouette. She inched closer.