The Ghost of Robert Brown: A Mystery Novel

by P. Wish

  She choked on emotion. Her stomach tightened. She looked at the computer screen, which flashed with reminders of her next class. Jane’s fingers dug into the wooden desk. She stood up, clutching it for support. She took two deep, careful breaths, in and out, in and out. Breathe. Just breathe.

  Somebody knocked on the door.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened. It was Mrs. Maeda. She had a worried look on her face.

  “Is everything okay?” Jane asked.

  “Oh dear, it’s been a tiring day,” she said. “Do you mind?”

  “Please.”

  Mrs. Maeda sat down and crossed her arms across her chest.

  “It’s scary,” Mrs. Maeda said. She was shivering.

  “Should I turn up the heater?”

  “No.” Mrs. Maeda’s voice was low. She rubbed her left arm to comfort herself.

  “Is everything all right?” Jane asked.

  “Jane…oh…the incident today brought back some horrible memories. I shouldn’t—”

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Jane asked, her voice low and comforting.

  “Do you mind?” Mrs. Maeda asked, her stricken eyes looking up at Jane.

  “No. Of course not,” Jane said. “Would you like some tea?”

  Jane walked to the hot water kettle that sat near the sink. Mrs. Maeda nodded.

  “Reminds me of Robert…” Her voice was a tense whisper. Jane turned.

  “Jack?”

  “The whole thing,” Mrs. Maeda said. Despite rubbing her arm, her fear failed to subside. “It’s like…history is repeating itself.”

  Jane turned the kettle on. The sound of bubbling water distracted them. Jane sat next to Mrs. Maeda but didn’t touch her. Her eyes were hollow and her voice was shaky.

  “Mr. Greene and now…this,” Mrs. Maeda said. “I never thought I’d have to see this again.”

  “You saw Robert die?”

  “We all lived through the incident,” Mrs. Maeda said. “He was one of my students. When I saw him floating…”

  She closed her eyes and buried her face in her hands. Jane placed her hand on Mrs. Maeda’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry…”

  “No,” Jane said.

  “I don’t know who to talk to. What happened that day…it wasn’t the first time,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  “Robert tried committing suicide before?”

  “Once. It was a long time ago…a year before his death, I think,” Mrs. Maeda said. “I found him in his room. It wasn’t locked, though. I was on dorm duty that evening. I’ll never forget the horror.” She closed her eyes. “He was bleeding. His eyes were red. He’d been crying. There were cuts on his arm. I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

  Jane rubbed her shoulder to encourage her.

  “He said he didn’t want to live anymore. Imagine hearing that.”

  Yes, imagine hearing that. Jane swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “I asked him what was wrong,” Mrs. Maeda said. “He said he didn’t know what was happening to his body. A strange thing to say. I told him he needed to get his wounds cleaned. It was dark and everybody was asleep. I called the nurse up. Luckily, it wasn’t anything serious. She cleaned the wounds and bandaged them.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “Robert asked me to keep quiet about the incident, but I couldn’t. I called his parents. His mother didn’t answer, so I got his father’s number and called him up instead.”

  “His father?”

  “He used to work in Paris.”

  “That’s strange because Mr. Greene—”

  Jane paused. Mrs. Maeda turned to her. Jane’s heartbeat sped up. “He was…” Jane urged her on.

  “Yes, Mr. Greene was Robert’s father,” Mrs. Maeda said. “Please don’t tell anyone. He didn’t want anybody to know.”

  “But you know?”

  “I’m the only person who knows. I promised to keep it a secret.”

  “The detective—”

  “Don’t tell him,” she begged. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  Jane didn’t say anything. She nodded, though she wasn’t sure it would remain a secret for long.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Maeda said, holding Jane’s hands between hers. “I’ve been restless since his death.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  “Everybody says he was a recluse, but I think he was a good human being. It’s just that…he loved Robert too much.”

  Jane understood exactly what Mrs. Maeda was implying.

  “Is that why he came to St. Anne’s? Didn’t it break his heart to live through his son’s memory?”

  “It did. For a year, he couldn’t do anything but insist that Robert wouldn’t have killed himself.”

  “But?”

  “But there was no evidence,” Mrs. Maeda said.

  “So he came here to find it.”

  Mrs. Maeda remained silent.

  “We’re deviating from the topic.”

  “But if Robert tried to kill himself—”

  “That was the last episode,” Mrs. Maeda said. “I insisted he get treatment. At first, his father didn’t agree, but eventually, his mother decided that treatment was the best course of action.”

  “The depression medication…”

  “The doctor put him on antidepressants. He had monthly counseling sessions. He worked with a clinical psychologist. I knew he was getting better. He would smile at me when I saw him in the corridor.” A half-smile lit up Mrs. Maeda’s tense face.

  “Dis Mrs. Wolverhampton know about the treatment?”

  “She knew about the treatment, but I didn’t tell her about the incident that night. It gives me goose bumps to think of it. When I opened the door and saw him bleeding…” Mrs. Maeda closed her eyes. “There was hopelessness in his eyes. I thought I’d never see that again, until…until today.”

  She was still shaking. Jane walked over to the kettle, which had switched off, and poured her some chamomile tea. She placed the cup on the table.

  “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Maeda drank some tea. It calmed her down a little. “I panicked when you called me this morning. I hoped my intuition was wrong.”

  “Jack is better,” Jane said, but her voice sounded bleak. “He will get better.”

  “I hope you’re right. I hope…”

  “I didn’t know Mr. Greene was Robert’s father.”

  “He loved his son,” Mrs. Maeda said. “I could tell.”

  “Why did he come here, then? It’s odd,” Jane said.

  “He said he knew his son would never do something so…cowardly.”

  “Did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Did he manage to prove that?”

  “No.” Mrs. Maeda shook her head, her eyes filled with hopelessness. “He died before he could.”

  Mrs. Maeda stood up. “I’m sorry you had to listen to this, Jane.”

  “No, I’m happy you’re feeling better now.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

  Pulling herself up, Mrs. Maeda marched out of the room.

  ***

  April 20, 2002 (Saturday)

  At 4:30 that afternoon, Jane stepped out of the school gate. Remnants of sunlight hung over the horizon. Jane took the bus to a cafe near the train station. There was only one train station in Tenterden and it was easy to find. Jane walked down the road and turned left. After walking a few blocks, she found Bluebell Tea House. On the door, she saw a reflection of a younger Jane. She had slapped some lipstick and mascara on before leaving.

  She walked in through the door.

  The cafe was packed for afternoon tea. Porcelain plates, silver spoons and cookie jars clanked amidst the irregular sounds of chatter. The cafe had a posh atmosphere. A spread of cakes was encased in the glass showcase next to the cash register. The waitress dressed in a frilly white apron placed a pot of tea before a group of people. An assortment of pastries
and finger sandwiches arranged in rows followed. The cash register chimed. The pillar next to the register was made of stone. Lights hung from the ceiling.

  Jane squeezed through the tightly packed tables. Detective Myers sat at the end of the cafe. Jane walked towards him. She noticed a woman sitting before him.

  Suddenly, her heart constricted. This was supposed to be a date.

  As she began to turn away, her shadow fell on the woman, who turned immediately. The bell rang when someone came into the cafe.

  “Jane.” Gary recognized her. She turned back around.

  The woman looked at her. She had greying red hair, and her contrasting blue eyes examined Jane, who flashed an uneasy smile.

  “Mrs. Brown, this is Jane,” Detective Myers said quickly. There was a sparkle in his eyes. Jane walked to the empty chair next to Gary. Mrs. Brown. That name sounded familiar. Amanda Brown. Her muddy brown eyes and round face resembled the picture she’d seen. She turned to Gary, who was sipping coffee. Amanda Brown—Robert Brown’s mother and Mr. Greene’s ex-partner.

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Brown,” she said, extending her hand. She looked at Gary, who continued to drink coffee.

  “Jane and I were colleagues in London. She teaches at St. Anne’s now.”

  “Oh,” was Mrs. Brown’s reaction.

  “Mrs. Brown,” Jane said, her eyes drifting from Mrs. Brown to Gary Myers. She raised her eyebrows.

  “We were talking about Mr. Greene,” Detective Myers broke in.

  “Nice to meet you, Jane,” she said. Jane sat down in the empty chair, and Mrs. Brown looked at them.

  “I was sad to hear about…what happened to him,” Jane said. Mrs. Brown nodded.

  “So, where were we?” Mrs. Brown asked.

  “You were together for thirteen years,” Detective Myers said.

  “I was shocked to hear about his death,” she said, turning to Jane. “Though we grew apart, there were no bitter feelings between us. He was a good man,” she said. “I don’t know who would do this to him.”

  “Is there anyone you suspect?”

  “No. Herbert was a private person. He never antagonized anybody. Sometimes, I didn’t know what went on in that mind of his,” she said, picking up her cup of tea and taking a sip.

  “I understand you had a son together,” Detective Myers said.

  “Robert Brown,” Jane said. He turned to her.

  “You know?” Mrs. Brown asked, her eyes turning a shade darker.

  “Robert Brown, of course,” Detective Myers said, his eyes asking Jane how she already knew that. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “But you never forget,” Jane said, her eyes downcast.

  “No, how could I? It was the worst day of our lives.” Her voice broke at the end of the sentence. “When I got the call…”

  Mrs. Brown pulled out a tissue from the box on the table and blew her nose. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please take your time,” Detective Myers said.

  “Talking about him makes me so…emotional. I loved him so much,” she said. “I don’t trust detectives anymore. Why would Robert kill himself?”

  “Mrs. Brown, I don’t think he killed himself,” Jane said.

  “You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “It’d be helpful if you could tell us more about his relationship with his father,” Detective Myers said. “Only if you want to.”

  Mrs. Brown looked at them while drying her tears. “I’ll give you a second chance. Please find out what happened.”

  “We will,” Jane said.

  “Well, Robert meant the world to Herbert. That’s why I didn’t tell him about it for a month. He was in Paris, and I knew if I told him, he’d come right away. He had a good job there and I didn’t want him to quit. But I ended up telling him a month later, and he came back to England.”

  “It must’ve been difficult for you,” Detective Myers said.

  “It was. I almost didn’t live through it. It was harder for Herbert. He loved Robert. Herbert was a very private person. Our son was one of the few people he spoke to. Robert told him things he didn’t tell me. They had a special bond. Even after we separated, they remained in touch. He visited on the weekends when he was in England. After he went to Paris, we grew apart, but he stayed in touch with Robert.”

  “Even when he was at St. Anne’s.”

  She nodded. “Robert would tell me about Paris when he came home during the summer break. He looked forward to the calls from Herbert every week—more than mine sometimes.”

  Jane and Gary exchanged glances. Gary cleared his throat.

  “There are many similarities between Mr. Greene’s death and your son’s,” he said.

  Mrs. Brown’s expression turned serious. Her eyes met Gary’s. Silence prevailed. Detective Myers cleared his throat.

  “I know it is painful for you to talk about your son, but I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re comfortable answering them,” Detective Myers said. Mrs. Brown shifted in the chair. She sipped some tea and cleared her throat.

  “Go on.”

  “How did Mr. Greene react to Robert’s death?”

  “He was devastated. He was angry, and for a year he lived in denial. He said Robert wouldn’t have killed himself. I don’t know if you know this, but he’d gotten a scholarship to go to Oxford that summer. He was looking forward to it.”

  “Did you know Mr. Greene was working at St. Anne’s?”

  “No. I was surprised when you told me that. He hated this place and blamed it for what happened to Robert.”

  “Were you aware that Robert was depressed?”

  “Yes. He told me about it before he started medication. I was sad to hear about it, but I wanted to help him get better. When the doctor told me he needed medication, I was reluctant at first, but after a few months on Prozac, he started to feel better. He’d smile more and tell me all about his day.”

  “So you say things were starting to get better?”

  Mrs. Brown nodded. “I have no idea why he committed suicide. The psychiatrist said his condition may have relapsed. That happens in many cases. If Robert had told me what he was going through…” Her voice broke. “I’m sorry.” She blotted her eyes using more tissues.

  “Mrs. Brown, how many people knew Robert couldn’t swim?”

  “Not many.”

  “Did anybody at St. Anne’s know?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “St. Anne’s doesn’t have a swimming pool.”

  “Mrs. Brown, did you know Robert was writing a diary?” Detective Myers asked.

  “A diary? He may have mentioned it,” she said.

  “When was the last time Robert met Mr. Greene.”

  “Before Herbert left for Paris. They never met after Robert went away to St. Anne’s. Herbert moved to Paris shortly before Robert started school there.”

  “I see.”

  Another sob escaped her lips. She drank some tea and blew her nose.

  “I’m sure it’s hard to talk about your son. Thank you so much for speaking about it,” Jane said.

  “No. I’m fine. I might as well tell you what I know while I’m here.”

  “We visited Mr. Greene’s grave earlier this morning,” Gary told Jane.

  “It somehow feels like life’s come a full circle,” Mrs. Brown said. “That’s strange.”

  She sipped some tea.

  “Do you think Mr. Greene had any reason to commit suicide?”

  “Suicide? You think he killed himself?” Mrs. Brown’s eyes enlarged.

  “We found a suicide note in his room that said he died to repent for his sins against Robert,” Detective Myers said.

  “That is a very strange thing to write indeed. Are you sure he’s the one who wrote it?”

  “Yes. I had it sent in for a handwriting analysis, and they confirmed it was his writing,” Detective Myers said.

  “I have no idea,” Mrs. Brown said.
“But I don’t think Herbert would’ve taken his own life. He wasn’t that kind of person.”

  “We suspect that he may have been depressed,” Detective Brown said. “We found some depression medication in his room. It’d been used.”

  “I’m shocked to hear about this.” Her eyes were enlarged and her fingers froze over the teacup. “I sometimes didn’t know what went on in that mind of his, but…”

  She buried her face in her hands. She didn’t cry but took solace in the warmth of her fingers.

  “Mrs. Brown….”

  “We haven’t been talking to each other over the years but it makes me so sad to know what happened. He was my son’s father, after all.”

  “We’re sorry you have to go through this,” Jane said.

  “No…I’ll feel better knowing what happened,” she said. She looked at the clock. “I’d stay, but I have to take the train back home.”

  “I completely forgot,” Detective Myers said. “I’ll drive you to the station.”

  “Thank you, Detective. You’ve been very helpful today.”

  “Please don’t mention it.” Detective Myers opened the cafe door and let Mrs. Brown out. “Please wait in the car. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Mrs. Brown wore her coat and headed out the door. Gary went to the cash register to pay. Jane followed him.

  “He was Robert’s father,” Jane said, breathless.

  Gary held her hand. “We’ve got ourselves a brand-new case now.”

  “We?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Come on, Jane. Help me out.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Like you thought about the date?” he teased. Jane fought a persistent smile. “You thought Mrs. Brown was my date, didn’t you?”

  “You said you’d be waiting at Bluebell Tea House,” Jane said.

  “You said you wouldn’t change your mind.”

  “But you knew I would. That’s why you brought her here.”

  He smiled. “Larry thinks we should patch things up before I leave.”

  “You’re leaving?” she asked, feigning surprise.

  “You’re no good at acting.”

  Jane smiled. “I hear Liverpool has a nice music scene.”

  The lady at the cash register handed him a receipt. He walked to the door and held it open. Jane walked out first. Gary stood behind her and closed the cafe door. His lips brushed against her ear when he whispered, “But it doesn’t have you.”