The Ghost of Robert Brown: A Mystery Novel

by P. Wish

  They walked to the car that stood under the umbrella of the vast night sky. The sunlight had faded. It was past five-thirty.

  Detective Myers opened the car door. Mrs. Brown smiled at him.

  “Bye, Jane. See you tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “After what Mrs. Brown said, I need to look around St. Anne’s.”

  It was work, of course. She leaned in.

  “Just so you know, Gary Myers, this was the worst date I’ve ever been on.”

  “My pleasure,” he said. He closed the door. Jane remained standing. He lowered the window and stuck his head out. “And Jane, you look beautiful,” he said, looking straight into her eyes before he drove off.

  Jane remained where the car had been for a minute. Slowly, she began walking towards St. Anne’s with a smile pasted on her lips. She hadn’t realized until now how much she had missed his sense of humor.

  Chapter 7

  Sunday, April 21, 2002

  Sunday was supposed to be a quiet day filled with laundry, cleaning and church, but it was nothing like that. At 9:00 a.m., Jane woke up to the clanging sound of church bells. By the time she opened her eyes, a huge crowd had gathered outside the chapel for the Sunday mass. She parted her curtains further and opened the window. Among the faces, she recognized Oliver, Mr. McEwan and Mrs. Wolverhampton. The chapel door opened and the crowd went in.

  Jane hurriedly slipped into a skirt and a pair of stockings and raced down the stairway. A rare ray of sunlight beat down on her face as soon as she exited the building. It felt good to have some sunshine on your face. Breathing the clear spring air, which was nothing like the stuffy smog she was used to in London, Jane walked to the open chapel door.

  The church had a high wooden ceiling decorated with chandeliers. Her eyes met Oliver’s across the room. He sat next to the church organ, waiting to play. He smiled at her. The choir was made up of St. Anne’s students, gathered next to him. The priest made his entry. Jane hadn’t seen him before. She didn’t know if he lived on the school premises or not. Tracing her steps on the long path, she took a seat on the edge of the pew in the third row, next to Mrs. Wolverhampton.

  “Good morning,” she said. Mrs. Wolverhampton’s eyes met hers.

  “Good morning.”

  “It’s a nice day out there.”

  “It is.”

  The pastor began to recite a few verses.

  “It’s my first time at a mass,” Jane said.

  “In Tenterden?”

  “Ever.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s eyes widened. “They didn’t have churches in London?”

  “I never had the time to go.”

  “What about when you were younger?”

  Youth seemed like such a long time ago that Jane couldn’t remember anything about it. She probably had. That was how she’d learned everything she knew about religion.

  The pastor’s sonorous voice filled the church as the Sunday mass began. It was followed by a session of gospel hymns, which Oliver accompanied. He had some talent at the organ from what Jane could tell.

  “He’s talented,” Jane said aloud.

  “Who?”

  “Oliver.”

  “He is,” Mrs. Wolverhampton said. “He used to play for us when he was in school.”

  “He goes to church every Sunday?”

  “Never misses it.”

  “Is it because of the organ?”

  “I wonder.”

  Mrs. Wolverhampton held her head in her hands and rubbed it.

  “Are you okay?”

  “A little migraine, nothing more.”

  “Do you need something?” Jane asked.

  “I need a bit of rest,” she said, getting up.

  “Mrs. Wolverhampton,” a voice cut in. It was the priest.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton shoved a set of keys at Jane. “Can you get me some paracetamol? It’s in the bottom drawer on the right side of the table.”

  The pastor’s eyes lit up on seeing Mrs. Wolverhampton. “I have a feeling this conversation’s gonna be long,” she said, eyeing him warily.

  “I’ll be back soon,” Jane said.

  She opened the gate and rushed out of the church. From the organ, Oliver waved at her. She waved back before she disappeared out the door.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s room was on the first floor of the teachers’ dorm. It was situated in an extension of the teachers’ building. Jane inserted the key into the keyhole and opened the door.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton’s room was warm. Jane’s eyes fell on the desk, on which lay scattered pages and books.

  She looked for the drawer and opened it The drawer fell and its contents scattered to the floor. Hurriedly, Jane began to gather the contents.

  Her eyes fell on a bunch of papers that had fallen out of an envelope. Their edges were uneven, as if they’d been torn out of a book. Her heartbeat quickened. She picked up a yellowish page from the floor and began reading it.

  Dear Diary,

  I started writing today because Mrs. Wolverhampton told me to. She says I should get my feelings out by writing them down. I don’t know what I feel. What am I supposed to write?

  There are no feelings inside me. I’m hollow. I don’t know why I do anything anymore. Dad was so proud I got into St. Anne’s. I thought my life would change once I came here. It did, but for the worse. Everybody expects so much from me. What am I supposed to tell them?

  I don’t know who I am anymore. Everybody around me is so different. I am invisible to them. Strange feelings fill my body. Each day, I go deeper and deeper into this abyss. I wonder if it will ever end.

  —Robert

  She turned the page.

  Shadows. Big, scary shadows. Big, scary shadows accompanied by footsteps clicking on the wooden floor. They’re here. They’re here to taunt me. The feeling of euphoria drains out of my body as my nerves fill with fear instead.

  Click, click, click. They’re coming closer. My heart begins to thud. I start walking in the other direction, but my hand is clutched by a thick, lumpy piece of flesh. His fingers dig into my skin. My eyes began to water, but I keep a straight face and turn around. His thick lips begin to move like a blowfish’s and he says those ugly words again. I want to shut my ears, but I can’t. They laugh, they poke fun. And there’s nothing I can do, because they’re right.

  But then, I see him and for a moment, I feel a little bit better. My breath is returning to me but embarrassment pricks my awareness. I don’t want him to see me like this- helpless and pathetic.

  Jane’s breath vanished in her throat. She stared at the diary, waiting for her brain to react. Blood flooded to her brain, making her head thud. Her eyes froze over the small, scrawly words written in black ink. Her thumb brushed the edge of the pages. She continued reading.

  I feel dizzy. Everything is spiraling and convulsing into nothingness. The lights are playing tricks on my eyes.

  Then, my world comes to a halt. Little by little, life returns to how it was. First, the colors, then the sounds and then the sensations. I feel the weight of each and every moment, but somehow, it feels light instead of heavy.

  I don’t want the moment to pass. I want to stay here and stare at the object of my desire. I want to hold the person who makes my heart beat. More than anything, I want my heart to stop beating so fast and embarrassing me. But I can’t control it. It’s an out-of-body feeling. I lost control a long time ago.

  There were only three pages of material in the drawer. At least six of them had been torn off, according to Gary. The other three pages must’ve contained the identity of the suspect.

  Jane’s eyes moved to the wastepaper basket. She decided to take a look. A few pages, shredded, had been dumped into the basket. Jane picked up a piece of paper and saw that it had Robert’s handwriting on it. She dug into the bin looking for other tiny bits of paper when she heard footsteps.

  She hurriedly stood up and straightened the dustbin. The pieces were too small and there were
too many of them. She stuffed the three pages from the drawer back into the envelope as the footsteps grew louder, then quickly put everything back into the drawer and inserted it into the desk. The door opened.

  Mrs. Wolverhampton stood in the doorway. Her marble-blue eyes stopped like two cold stones over Jane.

  “Did you find it?” she asked. Her weak body edged closer to the mahogany desk.

  “Here,” Jane said picking up a strip of paracetomol that had fallen out along with the contents of the drawer

  ***

  Jane turned up for brunch at 12:00 p.m. Mrs. Wolverhampton decided to rest in her room. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice that Jane had put the drawer back.

  The dining hall was noisy. Students walked in crisscross fashion across the surface of the wooden floor. The smell of food infused the air.

  “Good afternoon,” Chef Kalra said. Jane turned.

  “Good afternoon, chef,” she said.

  “It’s a nice sunny day,” he said, dropping off a few apples in the basket. Jane smiled and collected her plate. He went into the kitchen. Through the glass window, she saw Irene busy cracking eggs. Jane filled her plate with food and walked over to the table where Mrs. Maeda was sitting. Jane placed her tray on the six-seater teachers’ table and sat down.

  “Oh, you scared me,” Mrs. Maeda said, startled by the sound of the chair.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s all right.”

  Mrs. Maeda’s plate was half-empty.

  “The weather’s getting warmer. I’m looking forward to letting go of my sweater.”

  Mrs. Maeda nodded and spooned some food into her mouth.

  “I went to chapel this morning.”

  “You did?”

  “Oliver asked me to come watch him play.”

  “He’s good at it. He used to do it when he was a student here.”

  “Did he take part in the school plays too?”

  “He did.”

  “He seems to keep himself to himself. He’s either reading or playing the organ. Did he have any friends when he was a student here?” Jane asked.

  “Now that you mention it…not really. He was liked by everyone, though, and a lot of the boys looked up to him because he was smart.”

  “Mrs. Wolverhampton has a spark in her eyes when she talks about him.”

  Mrs. Maeda smiled. “She always liked him. English was his favorite subject. Come to think of it, I never thought he’d teach here. He told Mrs. Warner he wanted to go into theater.”

  “Mrs. Warner?”

  “The previous principal.”

  “Oh, I heard she retired.”

  Mrs. Maeda tilted her head. “Well, I guess you could call it that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “The Robert Brown episode?”

  Mrs. Maeda leaned in. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She resigned. She resigned after his body was found because she wanted to take responsibility for it.”

  “Hmmmmm…”

  “And”—Mrs. Maeda looked around—“the boy who bullied Robert left the school too.”

  “After the…um…incident?” Jane asked. Mrs. Maeda nodded. She backed off.

  “That’s a little hasty,” Jane said.

  “Mrs. Warner, I can understand, but Tim?” Mrs. Maeda shook her head. “The year wasn’t through. It would’ve been difficult to get admitted to another school.”

  “His name was Tim?”

  “Timothy Toth,” she said. “His father was one of the school trustees.”

  “A trustee?”

  “He recommended Mrs. Wolverhampton’s appointment, actually.”

  Jane was silent. “I still don’t get why Tim would have left.”

  “Right? Half of what goes on here remains a mystery to me,” Mrs. Maeda added with a sigh. “Do you think they’ve run out of pancakes?”

  “They had a few left.”

  “May I—”

  “Go ahead.”

  Mrs. Maeda went to look for pancakes while Jane sat in the dining hall, staring at the chandelier.

  ***

  Jane met Detective Myers at Smallhythe Place at 3:00 p.m. that evening. The quaint cottage was one of the few tourist attractions near Tenterden. This was what Gary had meant when he’d said he wanted to show her around the place.

  Jane’s eyes absorbed the bright green grass painted against the blue sky. Violets and hyacinth shrubs blossomed amidst the grass. Smallhythe Place was a traditional cottage that looked like it had been transported from a fairy tale. Surrounded by visitors and concrete roads, it was a small spot of history in the town. Gary stood against the patch of green grass, dressed in a grey jacket and a pair of jeans.

  “Good afternoon,” he said in a raspy voice, waving. Jane walked towards him. The sunlight framed him.

  “This place looks beautiful,” Jane remarked.

  “This is as good as sightseeing in Tenterden gets,” he said. “Wanna go in?”

  “Sure,” Jane said.

  They walked into one of the rare tourist attractions that was open on a Sunday. The wooden house was enveloped by ivy that bore colorful flowers now that spring was here. Reds, lilacs, whites and blues filled her eyes. The grass was greener on the edges, shaking out of the shadow of winter.

  Gary and Jane walked into the house which, was now a museum celebrating the life of the Shakespearean actress Ellen Terry. Jane stepped in through the low door. The house had a very homely feel. Jane could almost imagine herself living there. The fireplace had been blocked off, and the walls had been wallpapered as part of a refurbishing initiative by the local government. The walls were covered with framed photographs and paintings. Jane passed through the bedroom, examining the photos of the late actress. The wooden floor creaked when she stepped on it.

  The manor was quiet because it was going to close in two hours. However, it was warm because of all that wood. Breaths echoed in the room. Two women quietly observed the bevy of trinkets, diaries, pages and notebooks that lay inside a glass box, labeled with tags. The room contained a rosewood teapoy, a rocking chair and a two chairs. In one corner was a bed. Over the fireplace was a fine display of blue bone china terminating in two brass candle stands.

  After looking around the house, they went to have a look at the barn theater.

  “Nothing’s on today,” Gary said, looking at the closed doors. “We can come back when something interesting is on.”

  Jane nodded.

  He looked at his watch. “The cafe’s still open. Do you care for some afternoon tea?”

  Jane nodded.

  “I’m making up for the tea we missed yesterday,” he added.

  Jane and Gary ended up at the tiny museum cafe, which was preparing to close in an hour. Jane sat in one of the dark wooden chairs while Gary ordered them some afternoon tea. He sat down a little later after hanging his coat on his chair.

  “It’s been an eventful Sunday,” he said.

  “I didn’t see you at St. Anne’s,” Jane said.

  “I was supposed to go, but…but something interesting came up,” he said.

  “A development?” she asked. Before Gary Myers could say anything, the clanking of porcelain filled the air. The waitress showed up with a pot of tea and two cups.

  “Thank you,” Jane said as she poured herself and Gary some tea. The waitress flashed a smile and disappeared.

  Gary drank some tea. Jane did too. Nobody said anything while they waited for the finger sandwiches, cakes and scones to arrive. Afternoon tea in Smallhythe Place was a grand affair. Gary didn’t say anything even after the waitress went away. Jane looked out the window at the unfiltered twilight. Another minute ticked by. The couple seated next to them stood up and left the cafe. Jane drove her fork into the carrot cake and ate some.

  “This is good,” she said. Detective Myers looked up. His expression had changed.

  “How much have you figured out?” he asked. Jane remained silent. S
he didn’t move or try to avoid the question. His eyes remained fixed on her.

  “That depends on how much you know,” she said.

  “Jane—”

  “This is supposed to be a date,” she reminded him.

  “I’m sorry. Do you like the cake?”

  “And I thought you were charming yesterday,” she said. She drank some tea.

  “Come on, get it out. I know you have a theory,” he said.

  “And you’re not making any progress on the case.” she said.

  “That should be obvious after yesterday. Everything I believed, well….it’s just been proven wrong.”

  “I know. That’s what I thought too,” Jane said.

  “You knew about her,” he said. His eyes stilled. Jane picked a scone from the tray. “How?”

  Jane drank some more tea, but Detective Myers continued to stare at her.

  “Am I one of your witnesses now?”

  “Who told you?”

  “There’s something I think you should look into,” Jane said instead of answering the question. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photograph, laying it on the table. Detective Myers examined the photograph. A young teenage boy with a gap-toothed smile was the subject of the photo. He had red hair, brown eyes and big teeth.

  “Who is this?” Detective Myers asked, picking the photo up.

  “Tim Toth,” Jane said. Detective Myers stared at her, confused.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard that name.”

  “Gary, do you have the evidence from the Robert Brown case?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t have it on me now.”

  “Did the detective in that case mention Tim?”

  “No.”

  “I heard this from one of the teachers—”

  “Whom you’re not going to name.”

  “Of course not,” she continued. “I heard Tim was the one that bullied Robert.”

  “You want me to find him?”

  Jane nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because he might know something.”

  “Ah, so you have some information,” he said, leaning back in the chair.

  “Which I won’t share,” Jane said. “It’s surprising you don’t. You’re the detective on this case.”