The Ghost of Robert Brown: A Mystery Novel

by P. Wish

  “That makes sense,” Larry said. “But what baffles me is how Mr. Greene got the diary. He wasn’t here five years ago. There’s no mention of him. Who is he?”

  “A very good question. I’ve been wondering where he got that diary from.”

  “Do you think he got it from somebody else?” Larry asked. “I suspect someone took the diary after Robert’s death because they didn’t want the detective to find it.”

  “I wonder what’s in there that is so important to hide,” Detective Myers said.

  “Did you notice anything strange about the diary?”

  “A few pages have been ripped out,” Detective Myers said.

  “Someone must’ve taken them. Mr. Greene?”

  “We don’t know. I suspect whoever took them destroyed them so in all probability, we’ll never know.”

  “How did the diary get to Mr. Greene’s room?”

  “A very good question. I need to figure that out.”

  “Somebody might have put in there.”

  “With Robert Brown’s photographs?”

  “That wouldn’t explain why he has one on his phone.”

  “I have something to say,” Larry said. “I looked through the victim’s phone. Someone called the day he died.”

  “Who?”

  “I can’t trace the number.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The number doesn’t belong to anyone.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “The phone company said it might have belonged to someone in the past, but they don’t know who.”

  “That’s not very helpful. When was the last call?”

  “That afternoon. At one.”

  “Anything else on his phone?”

  “Nothing useful.”

  “You think the one o’clock call had something to do with his death?”

  “I’m looking,” Larry said. “Have you managed to locate his ex-wife?”

  “Ex-partner. I did. We’re meeting this Saturday.”

  “How is she doing?”

  “She was surprised. Shocked. She wanted to come down here and pay her last respects.”

  “What about their son?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “Will he be joining her?”

  “I’ll find out on Saturday.”

  Gary exhaled another puff of cigarette smoke.

  “We haven’t seen something like this ever. Tenterden is supposed to be a safe place,” Larry said.

  “Two murders in five years. Maybe not anymore.”

  “I heard Jane is in town.”

  “Ummmm…”

  “You two were dating a few years ago, weren’t you?”

  “It’s in the past,” Detective Myers said, lighting another cigarette.

  “She’s been through a lot. I heard she quit after her son died.”

  “I know.”

  “Is she one of your suspects?” Larry asked. Gary’s eyes widened.

  “No. I never thought of her that way,” Gary said. “Do you think-”

  “No. I don’t suspect her. She got here only recently. She was working in London before that. The dates match.”

  “You’ve been looking into her, Larry.”

  “Just wanted to be sure. Do you think she could help?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a teacher here. She’s got access to more resources than us. These people might tell her their secrets. We can use that. She knows more about them than we do.”

  “An undercover detective?” Detective Myers asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “She says she retired.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I found her looking around the crime scene.” Detective Myers said. “She beat me to it.”

  Larry laughed. “You’re known for being late.”

  “She was early.”

  “I gotta go,” Larry said. “I have to get back to the city by eight.”

  “Thanks for coming,” Detective Myers said. “I need an old friend to break up the solitude sometimes.”

  “No problem. While we’re at it, I heard you’re being transferred.”

  “Really?”

  “You look surprised. Didn’t you ask for it?”

  “It’s been a while…”

  “I think it’s going to be Liverpool this time. Aren’t you glad you get to go back to a city?”

  “I’ve started to like this place.”

  Larry raised his eyebrows and then smiled. “The official letter’s gonna come soon. Just giving you a heads-up.”

  “Why?”

  “Tie up any loose threads you have to.”

  Chapter 6

  How can feelings be unnatural? You just feel. You can’t help but feel. It’s the most natural thing in the world. We can stop thinking about what’s wrong, but we cannot stop feeling what’s wrong. Feelings are always honest.

  —Robert Brown

  Wednesday, April 17, 2002

  At 7:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning, Jane passed by St. Mark’s, the boys’ dormitory, on her way to class. Her feet tapped on the grey stone path, her head wrapped up in thoughts. She stopped upon seeing a large shadow enter her line of vision and looked ahead at the boys’ dormitory.

  The rectangular red brick building stood out amidst the pool of green grass. Heavy clouds floated in the grey skies above. She saw two silhouettes approach her. Two boys hurried out of the dorm in their beige-and-brown school uniforms. They came running to her. One of the boys’ clear green eyes focused on hers. His forehead was wet with condensed sweat, darkening the edges of his blond hair.

  “Something’s wrong with Jack. He’s not opening his door,” he told Jane, his voice giddy with panic.

  “What?” Jane spat the word out. She hurried to the door.

  “I went to his room to tell him to come down for breakfast,” the boy said, following her to the dorm. “But the door wouldn’t open.”

  “Something’s wrong. He hasn’t been out of his room since last night,” the other, chubby student said, swiping his card. His beady dark eyes swung like a pendulum. The door opened. She heard the faint sound of an alarm clock in the distance. She hurried up the narrow flight of stairs toward the sound, closed in by walls on two sides, her footsteps loud. The boys were ahead of her.

  “I’m Timothy. I’m the dorm leader,” the green-eyed boy said. “Jack usually goes to breakfast early, but he didn’t wake up all morning, so I was worried. I’ve been knocking on his door for fifteen minutes, but he’s not answering.”

  “Could he have gone to class?” another boy asked.

  “There are no classes at this time of the day.”

  “I didn’t see him come out of his room today. It’s locked.”

  “What about his roommate?”

  “He doesn’t have any.”

  “Where is his room?” Jane asked, standing at the end of the corridor.

  “It’s that one,” the green-eyed student said. He squeezed through the corridor and stood before a closed wooden door, “205” inscribed on it. She tapped the door gently. The hard sound of wood traveled. Nobody answered. Jane tried opening the door. It was locked. She inhaled.

  She knocked again. “Jack, open up,” she called out. She waited for a few seconds but there was no response. “Jack. It’s me, Jane Grey. Open the door.”

  Silence.

  She turned to the two boys who stood next to her. Deep worry lines formed on her forehead as her eyebrows knitted together. Her stomach clenched. The last time she had broken into a room was a year and a half ago. It was 7:00 p.m. She had never forgotten what she’d found inside that locked door. She coughed, dismissing the memories.

  “I’ll break in,” Jane said. The boys stared at her.

  “We should ask Mr. McEwan for the keys,” one of them said. Of course. Normal people did not break into rooms.

  “Stay here. I’ll get the keys,” Jane said, beginning to walk away. She walked outside the r
oom and called Mr. McEwan, but he didn’t answer. Panic rose through her blood. She dialed Mrs. Maeda next.

  Mrs. Maeda. As soon as Mrs. Maeda answered, her voice broke.

  “Hello? This is Jane. We have an emergency. Jack—his room is locked. He’s not answering. I need the keys to his room,” Jane uttered in a single breath.

  “What?” Mrs. Maeda said. “Slow down.”

  “Jack—he’s not opening the door. I don’t know what happened,” Jane continued, breathless.

  “Did you call Mr. McEwan?”

  “He’s not answering.”

  “Where are you?”

  “At the boys’ dormitory,” she said.

  “Room number?” Mrs. Maeda asked, her voice firm.

  “205.”

  “Stay there. I’ll be there in five minutes,” Mrs. Maeda said before hanging up.

  Jane stomped up two flights of stairs and burst into the corridor. Two baffled faces stared at her. One of the boys stood outside the door, knocking on it at regular intervals.

  “He’s still not answering?” Jane asked. The boy nodded.

  “When did you see him last?” Jane asked, her voice sharp.

  “I don’t know…I haven’t seen him since last evening,” the chubby boy said, scratching his head.

  “Did you try calling him?”

  “I don’t know his phone number.”

  “Do you know anybody who does?”

  The green-eyed student nodded. “Jack…uh…I tried asking a few boys, but they didn’t know,” he began reluctantly. “I knocked on his door this morning to ask him if he’s been to breakfast, but…there’s no response. I haven’t seen him since last night.”

  “And he’s in his room?”

  Timothy nodded.

  “Did something happen?”

  The boys turned to each other and shot Jane a blank look.

  “Did someone say or do something to him?” Jane asked.

  “Ummm…” The boys looked at each other. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think he forgot to set the alarm?” the chubby boy intervened.

  “He should’ve heard us knock,” Jane said.

  “I hope he’s all right,” Tim said.

  The sound of footsteps grew in crescendo. A shadow spread in the corridor. Jane turned. Mrs. Maeda walked up to her with disheveled hair and sleepy eyes, a bunch of keys jingling in her hand.

  “Here you go,” she said, handing the keys to Jane.

  Jane began sifting through the keys, examining each number. Her brown eyes moved rapidly, reading the numbers on the keys. Jack’s room number was engraved in one of the keys. 205. She picked it out. Jane inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it. The door clicked open. Jane kicked the door. The wooden door hit the wall, crashing with a loud thud. A thin shaft of light from the window pierced through the dark room.

  “Jack? Are you there?” Mrs. Maeda called out. Jane barged into the room and drew the curtains open. Light entered the small room.

  Books were scattered on the table. A dark shadow was crouched in one corner of the room. The ray of light fell on a small, gleaming silver blade. Jane turned the lights on.

  The scene became clear. The edge of the blade was stained with blood. Jack leaned against the bed, his arm bleeding. For a moment, Jane stopped breathing. Her eyes blurred and all colors bled into each other. A hollow ringing sound filled her ears.

  “Oh my God,” Mrs. Maeda said, covering her face with her hands. Jack’s lifeless eyes looked at Mrs. Maeda. A fresh cut stood out among the gradient of healed cuts on his arm. This one was deeper. The chubby student turned his face away, cringing at the sight of blood. “This can’t be happening…not again.”

  Every muscle in Jane’s body tensed. It was too familiar a sight. The voice began to echo through her mind. Panic hammered in her skull, freezing her fingers. And just like that, the procession of memories began.

  Jane noticed the scars on his face and on his legs. She swallowed. Had her son gone through the same? Her heart began to pound all of a sudden, the oxygen supply to her lungs depleted. The familiar feeling of terror coupled with anxiety clutched her heart. Her breathing grew jagged. Not here. Not now. She tried to take a deep breath and brush the feelings away, but her heart drummed like a hammer on steel.

  “Jane,” Mrs. Maeda said, jolting her out of her train of thought. There was no time to think.

  Jane rushed to Jack, pushing away the books that crowded the floor, and held his arm. When she felt his pulse, her breathing returned.

  “He’s breathing,” she said. “We need to take him to the hospital.”

  “Thank God,” Mrs. Maeda said. She brought out her mobile phone and was already dialing for an ambulance. The boys who stood at the door cleared the way.

  Jane carried Jack out of the room, rushing down the stairs. Mrs. Maeda and the two boys followed her. She stopped at the bottom of the staircase and caught her breath.

  “I don’t want to live,” he whispered.

  Jane’s eyes widened. Her heart thundered. Each beat echoed in her ears, pulling her deeper into a black hole of memories. She swallowed, looking into Jack’s blue eyes. They were slightly open. She averted her eyes, which pricked with tears. He reminded her of Charlie…of her failures. She brushed the thoughts away. Not now. She needed to save him. She couldn’t give in.

  “The ambulance will be here any minute,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  Jane carried Jack out the door and rushed to the main building. She was relieved to hear the sound of the ambulance. When the flashing red lights entered her line of vision, she relaxed. She placed Jack on the stretcher and climbed in back with Mrs. Maeda.

  At 9:15 a.m., a shadow emerged from the hospital room. It was the nurse. Mrs. Maeda and Jane stood up and walked towards the nurse.

  “How is he doing?” Mrs. Maeda asked. The nurse exhaled.

  “Luckily, it was nothing serious,” she said. Mrs. Maeda breathed a sigh of relief. “We cleaned the wound and bandaged it. The cut was deep. He needed stitches. He’s sleeping now. Should be up in two or three hours.”

  Jane’s tense expression dissolved. Relief flooded her. He was alive. It was all going to be okay. She held the nurse’s hands and thanked her. “For a moment I thought—never mind. I’m glad he’s all right.”

  “He needs help. I don’t know if you know this, but he’s been self-harming,” the nurse said.

  “I had no idea this was going on,” Mrs. Maeda said. “His grades have been slipping, but I didn’t know he was self-harming. Mrs. Wolverhampton needs to know.”

  The nurse left. Jane sank into the chair.

  “He was locked in the storage building earlier this week,” she said. “I should’ve said something.”

  “What?”

  “This is not the first time,” Jane said. “I saw him being bullied one night. The next day, I found him in the storage building and took him to the nurse. He’s been self-harming for some time.”

  Mrs. Maeda turned pale.

  “He needs some time away from school. He’s been here all year,” Sakura muttered.

  “He didn’t go home during the Easter break?” Jane asked.

  “No. I don’t know what his circumstances are,” Sakura said. “Students don’t usually stay at school.”

  “Hmmmmm…” Jane’s eyes moved to the wall clock. “I have a class…in fifteen minutes.”

  “You can head back. I’ll watch him,” Sakura said.

  “Thank you.”

  ***

  At 12:00 p.m., Jane walked through the deserted corridor, her footsteps echoing. She stopped outside Mrs. Wolverhampton’s office. The door was ajar. The lights were on. Jane edged closer to the room. Her eyes peeped through the narrow opening in the door.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton was busy reading a book. She closed the book immediately and turned when Jane burst in through the door, without knocking.

  “Jane? What happened?” she asked, putting the book aside.

  “There’s
been an emergency.” Jane said.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton shoved the book into the first drawer. Her grey hair was pinned up. Locks of silver-streaked hair ran down her shoulders. Her spectacles hung on the edge of her pointed nose. She adjusted them. Her bony fingers interlocked and sat over the rosewood table. Her blue eyes looked at Jane, attentively.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Jack,” Jane said. “He- He’s been taken to the hospital.”

  “What!?”

  “Jack cut himself this morning and locked himself in his room,” Jane began. Mrs. Wolverhampton’s eyes widened. “Timothy told me he wasn’t opening the door when they knocked, so I went in and…” Jane inhaled. “He was trying to kill himself.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s eyes widened. Her face was pale. “Oh my god.” She rubbed her fingers over her heart.

  The lines on her forehead intensified. Jane noticed her lips appeared and her eyes appeared darker. Her sharp collarbones stood out.

  “This is not the first time,” Jane said. “I saw…he was locked up in the storage building by some other boys last week.”

  “I had no idea…”

  “He’s being bullied. That’s what I think.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s was silent.

  “They left him there. I found him bleeding and took him to the infirmary.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s cleared her throat, trying to compose herself. “This is all so sudden and surprising. Who were the boys the locked him in there?”

  “I saw them, but I can’t remember their faces,” Jane said. “Something needs to be done about this.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton brought her fingers up to touch her forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with—his parents need to know. God, what a mess,” she said. After she calmed down, she went on, “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again. I need to call his parents first and tell them about the incident.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  ***

  Jane sat in her office on the second floor, grading papers. She wasn’t making any progress. Her mind recounted the incident from a year and a half ago.

  Charlie’s words from that morning played in her mind. He had wanted to die. Jane closed her eyes and exhaled. The memory of his slanting handwriting on a single sheet of lined paper flooded her mind.

  I don’t want to live anymore.