Murder At Snowfall, page 6
I’m not. I’m definitely my mum’s.
Lucas overheats in a second and takes off his blazer. The sharp stink of teenage armpit leaks into the room. It’s foul, but at least it’s honest. I’d rather have that than cheap deodorant, but I suspect most of the girls at our school wouldn’t.
“I could open the window?” I say.
“Oh, yeah,” says Lucas, and he leans round to unfasten the catch.
This could be the first time we’ve been alone in a room together.
“So…” I begin.
“We need to know more,” he says. “If this is a challenge we have to crack, then we need more information.”
“Yeah, sure, but where from?”
“Your mum. Or Jacqui – or … Oskar, is it?”
“I don’t think Mum really knows anything – but I agree there’s some information out there that the killer wants to hide.”
“How do you know that?” he asks.
“Well, because…” I think for a minute. “If Oskar’s right, Dr Price knew something, or worked something out about someone. That someone didn’t like it, and tried to destroy it, and him. But somewhere there’s a loose end that’s been left behind – or they wouldn’t have needed to break into Jacqui’s house or trash the surgery.”
“I’d bet it’s on the hard drives that were stolen from the surgery,” he says. “I mean, do you buy that stuff about precious metals? Oskar was right about that. If you want gold, you take a catalytic converter, not a motherboard.”
“Did they take all that stuff from your computer?”
“Dunno, they took the whole poxy thing.” He kicks the bedside table, knocking a pink teddy off the top. He picks it up and places it carefully back where it was sitting.
We sit in silence for a minute.
“But they’ve got all that,” says Lucas. “So there must be something else incriminating out there and we must have had access to it after they trashed the surgery.”
“Something you might have had on your computer? Or that might have been in my bedroom inside my actual duvet?”
“Or that your mum brought back home and hid.”
“But she didn’t bring anything back.”
“Yeah, but they don’t know that. So they’re going to go on looking if they think we have it.”
“Does this make you really cross?” I ask.
“Furious,” he replies.
“I’m fulminating. Incandescent, in fact. I’m so enraged!”
Lucas stares at me as if I’d grown a carrot out of the top of my head. “Yeah, me too,” he says. “So we need to get to whatever it is before the killer does.”
I giggle. “That’s probably the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.”
Chapter 10
Breakfast is madness. Granny is so loving having us all that she’s stumbled down in total darkness and is trying to cook a traditional fry-up. Personally, I’m well up for it – I’m always hungry – but Mum insists on taking over and Granny’s exciting notion of bacon, sausages and mushrooms is replaced by scrambled eggs on toast.
Mum drives us to school. In the queue of traffic on the way I ask her if there is anything else she can remember about Dr Price. Any other details about him before he disappeared.
“Poor man, I can’t think of anything useful. It’s just a blur, really.”
“Did he carry a briefcase?” asks Lucas.
Mum shakes her head. “Not really, he always travelled light, usually on foot, or sometimes on his electric bike.”
“Where did he keep the bike when he was at work?” I ask. “I’m sure I’ve never seen it at the surgery.”
“He rented a lock-up nearby, kept a few other bits and pieces there too. Actually, thinking about it, I don’t know who else knows about it, though I suppose his wife must. I managed to get it for him at a very low rent from Mrs Parks when her husband died and she said she just wanted someone to use it.”
“Where is it?” asks Lucas.
“Quarry Close,” says Mum. “Just down the hill on the right.”
We pull into school and Lucas taps me on the arm. “Quarry Close, see you later,” he says, vanishing into C Block.
School feels so weird. I sit next to Mia at tutor and her eyebrows practically join her scalp when I tell her about the break-in.
I promise I’ll tell her everything in art.
Unfortunately, in art we have a supply teacher who splits us up and makes us all stay in our seats. I don’t really blame him because Zak spills red paint all over his hands and wanders around howling and quoting chunks from Macbeth.
Finally in the queue at break we get to speak. “They broke into your house?” she says.
I nod. “It feels like there’s a loose end, something left over that the killer’s looking for. Something he might think Mum has taken home with her.”
“And was there anything?”
“Well, no. But there’s this.” I show Mia the tooth. “We found it near the body,” I say. “Ish. Up the hill, really.”
“Gold, eh?” she says. “And what’s that embedded in it? Bone?”
“Tooth,” I say. “Or at least that’s what Mum said it was.”
Mia wrinkles up her face in disgust. “Why would anyone have a tooth hanging off their neck, unless it’s some kind of a gross hunting trophy. I bet the police were really interested though.”
“Not really. Apparently it was too far away to have anything to do with the body. They were more interested in a skanky old crisp packet someone had dropped.”
We grab paninis and cold chips and I wonder where they buy their mozzarella from because it definitely isn’t where Paolo buys his. With the tepid chunks of white rubber going round and round on my tongue we make it into the rehearsal only a little late.
“Ah! Ruby! Mia! So pleased you could make it,” says Miss Johnson. I don’t think she’s being sarcastic.
Before we get to sit down, Miss Johnson has us dancing. It’s not too bad. Then we try it with Lucas centre stage. I’m willing him to succeed. I’m willing him to forget his fears and just dance. It’s not terrible, but it’s not good. I’ve never before seen a person wringing their hands but Miss Johnson does it as Lucas struggles through, swaying and bumping into everyone. Stumbling off the side and back on. Trixie is openly laughing again, so is Siobhan and so is Euan Henderson.
The anger that I’ve had building since last night boils over.
“Stop it, you lot. Just stop it!”
Miss Johnson swings round to face me. “What?”
“They’re being mean – horrible. Look at them!”
Miss Johnson switches off the tape. “Are they? What?”
“Just now, they were laughing, sniggering. At Lucas.”
Trixie shoots me a look of death but I don’t care.
“It’s not his fault. He’s just not…” I look at Lucas. He too is giving me a death look.
“Just not what?” asks Miss Johnson.
“Nothing,” I say.
I got that one wrong.
The rest of the day is unbearable. Trixie tries to trip me as I go to PSHE. I manage not to make a fool of myself. Siobhan makes a fuss about where to sit in music. She’s supposed to sit next to me. We do half an hour’s frozen hockey out on a frozen pitch where both of them go full nasty. I’m lucky to escape with my ankles intact.
After hockey, Mia and I have food tech.
“She’s such a cow,” says Mia.
“Isn’t she?” I say. I stir the gloop that’s supposed to be a cheese sauce. I’m not really thinking about Trixie, I’m thinking about Lucas.
“Should have kept my mouth shut,” I say.
“It’s like poking a hornet’s nest,” she says. “Once you’ve set her off…”
“I shouldn’t have tried to support Lucas. I read that all wrong. He’d rather have gone down in flames than have me stick up for him.”
“Why?”
“I dunno, but maybe he felt it was patronising. You know – like he can’t stick up for himself or something.” I sigh. “It’s just that finding the body together – it was sort of bonding, and I’m trying hard to get closer to him. But…”
“You’re solving a mystery together, that’s very bonding.” Mia squeezes my arm and changes the subject. “Listen, do you think I should order pizza for my birthday or make a load of canapé things – you know, go classy? Or maybe we could go skating? Actually, we could go and take a look at the rink in town after school?”
But at half past three, we’re surprised by Lucas. He’s waiting for me. For a second I think he’s going to lay into me for trying to stand up for him, but he says, “Quarry Close?”
He glances from me to Mia and back and widens his eyes theatrically.
Mia glances from me to Lucas and back. “Tell you what, I’ll go and see the skating rink on my own. You guys can ‘Quarry Close’, whatever that is.”
“Mia?” I say as she sets off out of the car park.
“S’cool,” she turns and calls back to us. “You need to find out what’s going on. Tell me tomorrow, OK?”
“Is this like, OK?” says Lucas. “I didn’t mean to, you know, butt in.”
“I think it’s fine,” I say. And it is fine, isn’t it? It’s just the first time, ever, I’ve chosen to do something with my Step and not my friend.
In silence we set off along the main road to Quarry Close.
It’s dark, more or less, and within a few minutes my phone tells me to go left and we leave the main pavement and take a bumpy tarmac road that runs along the back of some houses.
“It’s here somewhere,” I say, zooming in on my phone screen.
“I reckon it’s at the end – yes, look, there are some garages.” Lucas strides ahead and I follow into a dark cul de sac, passing through a line of trees and skirting piles of building rubble. On my phone I can see it’s a circular quarry, but standing here it’s just a wasteland.
“I can’t hear the traffic,” I say.
Lucas pauses. Listening. There’s a wash of orange sunset behind the trees, but everything in front of us is shades of dim. A long block of six garages and a pad of concrete sit in the middle of the space. On either side is masonry and bramble. There are no lights. No people.
“How do we know which one it is?” he asks, his voice quieter than normal.
“Process of elimination,” I say, approaching the left-hand end of the block. Not far away something rustles in the bushes. Hairs rise on the back of my neck.
“Try the doors,” I say.
I push the first one. It slides up and I squint into the gloom. A cold cavernous empty space. “Nothing here,” I say.
“OK,” says Lucas, pushing the one next to me and jumping back when the door clangs open.
Inside is a locked car.
Another is open with nothing inside.
The fifth is unlocked and jammed with chairs.
Which leaves the sixth.
“How do we know it wasn’t one of those ones that opened?” whispers Lucas.
“It should have his electric bike in it,” I say.
“Well, this one’s locked.” Lucas sighs. “We can’t—” There’s the sound of stone on stone, very nearby. “What was that?”
“I dunno,” I say, frantically running my fingers along the sill at the bottom of the door and down the sides of the locked garage in case there’s a key.
Lucas has his back to the garage and is shining his torch into the bushes. “There’s something out there.”
“Hang on,” I say, patting the sides of the building.
“Hurry up,” whispers Lucas.
“Ah!” I say, my thumb catching on a nail sticking out of the back wall. There’s a tinkling sound as something patters against the concrete. “Yessss!”
Lucas swings his torch back to the door and we struggle to unlock it with our frozen fingers. The key turns and we pause. “Ready?” I ask.
Lucas answers by bending down and lifting the bottom of the door until it’s fully open.
The bike stands in the middle, flanked on either side by neatly labelled boxes. I flick my torch on and run the light over the cardboard. “China, books, linen.”
“Videos and DVDs here,” he says. “Are we going to go through them all?” he asks, opening and closing the flaps on a box marked CDs Classical. “There’s so much.”
“No,” I say. “I’m disappointed. I thought there’d be something more obvious.”
“Hey,” says Lucas. “What’s this?” He holds up a brown envelope.
“Where’d you find that?”
“Bike basket,” he says.
“Let’s––”
“Terrible shame,” says a voice behind us.
I jump. Lucas swings his torch round. Behind us is a white-haired man wearing a scarf over half his face and a coat pulled close at the collar. He doesn’t look cross, just sad. “A shame about Dr Price – such a lovely man.”
“Yes,” I say. “He is – was. My mum worked for him. Miss Parker.”
“At the surgery?” asks the man.
Next to me Lucas is nodding furiously. “Yes, that’s right,” he says.
I paste a smile on my face and try to look relaxed. This must seem very odd. Two teenagers breaking into a lock-up in the dark. I pull the smile tighter. Maybe I’m trying too hard, so I let it drop a little. But the man doesn’t seem worried by us. “And to think he was only here a few days ago – putting his bike away on Wednesday morning. We had a nice chat.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. He was worried about something in that envelope you’ve stuffed under your jacket.”
“What, this?” says Lucas with an uncomfortable cough.
“I was wondering whether to tell the police about it – but if your mum works at the surgery, you can do that. Take care then,” he says, whistling to an invisible dog and strolling off into the darkness. “And watch your step.”
With demons at our backs we run from the garage towards the main road.
“I can’t believe we did that,” I say, sucking in lungsful of fumes from the line of traffic jammed at the roundabout.
“Nor can I,” Lucas giggles. “And that bloke turning up in the dark – freaky!” He pulls an inhaler out of his pocket and takes two giant breaths. “That’s better. Bus? Home?”
We walk back to school, but the last bus has gone.
“Town then,” says Lucas. “Race you.”
We half run, half walk down the hill. I’m desperate to look inside the envelope, but it’s windy and sleeting and now is not the time or place.
We turn into Bathwick Street and I get a text from Mum.
Are you in town? I’m still at the surgery. Give you a lift if you walk up?
“We’ve just come from there,” says Lucas. “Seriously?”
“We can walk through the Christmas market,” I say. “Come on. We’ll be up there in twenty minutes. And honestly, the buses are rammed this time of year. We might not even get on. Be much nicer getting a lift.”
“Oh, OK,” he mutters, and we plunge into the crowds.
There are thousands of people milling around and the air smells spicy and delicious. This morning Granny wouldn’t let me go to school without a coat and for once I’m grateful. I push my hands deep into my pockets and wander into the crowds around the market stalls. I’ve got my bank card with me, so I could buy Mum a present. I stop to look at soaps made in Glastonbury, but they all smell weird and are full of things like patchouli and neroli, whatever that is.
Mum’s fussy; she likes stuff she can recognise.
“Are we shopping or going home?” mutters Lucas.
Making a mumbled excuse to the stall-keeper, I step backward and blunder straight into someone who was standing very close behind me. It’s a man who is all scarf and hat, and he turns away, vanishing into the crowd. We plunge on through the market, heading roughly for the surgery although I’m looking out for something that Mum would like. I’m not finding anything, and I get a sudden sense of someone tugging on my pocket. I swing round but it’s just a sea of coats and hats and scarves. I apologise to no one and, grabbing Lucas’s sleeve, take off towards the Guildhall market where the crowds are thinner.
“What the…?” he asks.
I stop there, my back to the wall, and look at the people. “We’re being followed.”
We stand next to each other, staring out into the milling mass of people.
“No one’s looking at us.”
“Just now, someone had their hand in my pocket.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Have you still got the envelope?”
“Yup,” he says. “It’s digging into my armpit.”
We dive sideways towards the Guildhall market, barging through the crowds, and then swing back round to emerge on the street opposite the Society Café. As I glance back down the alleyway into the heart of the market a shadow slips to the side.
Although we ultimately want to go the other way, we head up town passing Waitrose on our right, where a thousand people a second are pouring in and out of the doors, then swing left into New Bond Street where the Christmas decorations that look like suspender belts are out showing their bling for the hundredth year running. Ducking into the entrance of Green Street I check that no one’s following us, although I really can’t tell. There are so many people swarming, dragging kids and shopping and mostly looking a little desperate.
Agreeing to meet back by the station, we split in Milsom Street. Lucas goes for Jolly’s while I dart into Waterstones, up the stairs to the cookery books, pretend to check them out and then go straight down in the lift. I double back towards the kids’ department, where there’s a woman in pink glasses rearranging the Peppa Pig display. “Can I help?” she asks, but I flee, striding towards the front of the shop where there’s a big queue. Perfect. I’ll burrow through and then out the other side. With only a little swearing, I make it to a different set of doors and dive into the stream of people heading down Milsom Street.
