Clutch, page 2
“Oologists!”
“Yeah! Anyway, Grandad said that eggers who loved their collections couldn’t stop. Obsessed collectors kept doing it. They’re addicted.”
“Weird thing to be addicted to.”
“That’s why the authorities had to make owning an egg collection a crime. Places like museums are allowed to have old collections, but that’s it.”
“So, if I were an egger, I’d have to hide my collection?”
Twitch nodded. “You couldn’t tell your friends or family in case someone dobbed you in to the police. They would take your collection away and you’d go to prison.”
“An egger must collect all kinds of eggs, which means I’m probably good at climbing trees.” He wrote this down. “I must be fit and outdoorsy, probably between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five-ish. I’m a loner, with secrets, and addicted to collecting.” Jack thought for a moment. “Unless … can you sell rare eggs? I mean, are they worth money? Could someone be stealing the eggs to sell to rich oologists?”
“I don’t know.” Twitch frowned. “I mean, it’s possible, but you’d have to be paid a lot of money to risk going to prison for an egg. I think the thief is probably stealing for their own collection.” He considered the picture of the person Jack was creating. “And they must know a lot about birds. Nests can be hard to find. You’d need to know about habitats, times of year for laying, the number of eggs in a clutch, their size, what they look like. The thief has to be a birdwatcher!”
“Imagine watching birds so you can kidnap their babies!” Jack looked disgusted. “That’s dark!” He shook his head. “My first thought was that this might be the kind of thing that Richard Peak or Tom Madden would do for money…”
“No.” Twitch had already ruled out the two teenagers who’d mercilessly bullied Jack last year. “They don’t know enough about birds, and they haven’t been back to Briddvale since Christmas. This is someone new.”
“It’s good that Ava and Tippi are coming tomorrow,” Jack said. “When the seven of us put our heads together, no criminal is safe.”
There was a knock and Jack’s bedroom door opened. “Jack, I— Oh! Twitch!” Jack’s dad was startled to see him. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hello, Mr Cappleman.” Twitch stood up. “I came to talk to Jack about the Easter holidays, but I should be going.”
“You can stay the night if you want,” Jack said. “He can, can’t he, Dad? It’s the holidays.”
“I have to go home,” Twitch told him. “I’ve got my paper round in the morning, but I’ll see you at the station, to meet Ava and Tippi’s train.”
“I’ll drive you, Twitch,” Mr Cappleman offered. “It’s too dark for you to walk. I’ll just go get my keys.”
As the door closed, Twitch turned to his friend. “Jack, egg thieves target the rarest birds. They do terrible damage to vulnerable populations. We have to catch this thief quickly. It’s spring. Nesting season. The birds in Briddvale are in danger!”
Jack’s alarm screamed at him from under his pillow. He turned it off and threw the covers back without opening his eyes. It was dark, but it didn’t matter because he was already dressed. Sitting up, he turned on his bedside lamp, blinking against the brightness as he shoved his feet into his trainers. His rucksack was packed beside his bedroom door. He pulled on his coat, slipped the bag over his shoulder and crept downstairs. He left a pre-written note on the kitchen table, went to the fridge and took out a freezer bag containing the chocolate spread sandwiches he’d made last night. Wheeling his bike from the garage, Jack set off.
By the time Jack reached Twitch’s house, the sky was the greenish shade of dark blue that heralds the rising sun. Taking out his phone, he typed: You up yet? I’m outside your front door.
Two minutes later, Twitch opened the door in his pyjamas.
“Surprise!” Jack whispered, enjoying the baffled look on his friend’s face.
“What are you doing here? It’s five-thirty in the morning!”
“I’ve got something to show you. I would’ve shown you last night, only I forgot because of the egg thief. Can I come in? It’s freezing out here.”
“I’ve got about thirty minutes before I have to get ready to do my paper round,” Twitch said in a hushed voice, ushering Jack down the hall and into the kitchen.
“I’m doing it with you. I’ve got my bike. We’ll get it done quicker together and then we can work on the case.” Jack noticed there were shadows under Twitch’s eyes. “You all right?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Twitch replied. “Then I had bad dreams.”
“About the peregrine falcons?”
Twitch’s lips pressed together in a narrow line as he nodded. “Sometimes I think human beings are horrible. I wish I wasn’t one.”
“Some of us are nice.” Jack gave Twitch’s arm a gentle shove.
“I know.” Twitch sighed. “But, when I see a rare bird, I have sad thoughts, like … this might be the only time I ever see this bird because they’ll be gone one day.” His expression was haunted. “Maybe soon.”
“Don’t think like that,” Jack said softly. “Concentrate on the good things people are doing to make a difference, like us, like the Twitchers.” He gave him a reassuring smile. “I’ve got something that will cheer you up.” From his rucksack he carefully lifted a white plastic dish with a black microphone in its centre. Pulling headphones over his head, he plugged them into a chunky rectangular recorder strapped onto his belt and waggled it at Twitch. “It arrived yesterday when we were at school.”
“Is that a parabolic microphone?” Twitch looked impressed. “Have you tried it?”
“I thought we could test it together.”
Twitch glanced up at the kitchen clock. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Brought it with me.” Jack whipped the bag of sandwiches out of his pocket.
“Give me a second to get dressed.” Twitch hared away and Jack sat down at the table to eat his sandwiches. He thought about how down Twitch was and decided that, until they could meet the others, he would distract and cheer up his friend.
Twitch returned, dressed in combats and a hoodie, and hurriedly poured milk onto a bowl of cereal. Unlocking his back door, he grabbed his bowl and waved Jack through. “I’ll eat in the garden. You can try the microphone.”
“According to the instructions, this parabolic microphone can capture sounds from fifty or sixty metres away. I just need some birds to record.”
“You came to the right place.” Twitch strolled past Jack, stopping beneath the old wild lilac tree from which dangled an assortment of brightly coloured chipped and broken teapots. Twitch had made the tree to cheer up his mum after his grandparents had died. The broken crockery had been turned into bird feeders, baths and nesting boxes. Jack watched as his friend closed his eyes and listened.
Lifting his left hand, Twitch pointed towards a neighbouring garden. “Blackbirds. Two of them.”
Pulling his headphones on, Jack directed the white dish to where Twitch had indicated. With a thrill of excitement, he heard two birds trilling their penny whistle duet loud and clear. He pressed record on the box strapped to his belt. “Got them!”
Between mouthfuls of cereal, Twitch waved his spoon. “Wren. Over there.”
Jack moved the dish, tuned in to the bird’s song, and hit record. Twitch’s ability to instantly recognize a bird by its call seemed miraculous to Jack, like a superpower. “Come and listen,” he said. “It’s captured it brilliantly!”
The boys huddled together as they took turns putting the headphones on and playing back the blackbirds and the wren.
“That’s so cool!” Twitch smiled and Jack was relieved to see the shadow of his earlier mood retreating.
A squawking came through the headphones. Beyond the chicken-wire fence at the bottom of the garden was an old outhouse that had been converted into a chicken coop. Twitch’s three hens were inside clucking excitedly. Jack pointed the white dish in their direction. “Eggbum, Dodo and Fandango say they’re hungry.”
Twitch rolled his eyes. “Those hens are always hungry.”
“I’ve been learning more about the Dracula parrot,” Jack said, following Twitch into the chicken run.
“You’re not still trying to build a Horror Lifer List?” Twitch chuckled. Jack’s approach to birdwatching was different to Twitch’s. Whereas Twitch was interested in all birds, Jack was drawn to birds of prey. Since he’d discovered his spark bird, a bearded vulture, he’d been making a new kind of list, containing birds that he thought were deadly cool. He kept a list of all the birds he’d spotted, like every other birder, but Jack’s particular passion was for birds that could star in horror movies.
“The Dracula parrot is forty-five centimetres tall,” Jack said, as Twitch filled the chicken’s food trough, “with a normal parrot body but a head like a vulture’s! Its plumage is black and scarlet, like Dracula’s cloak.”
“Does it suck blood?” Twitch chuckled and Jack’s heart lifted at the sound.
“Sadly, no. It eats fruit. Figs mostly.” Jack pretended to be sad about this.
“Are you sure you haven’t confused it with a gracula?”
“What? Wait! There’s a bird called Gracula! How did I not know that?” Jack took out his notebook and pen. “That’s going on the Horror Lifer List for sure.”
“What birds do you have so far?” Twitch asked, dusting off his hands.
“Dracula parrots, ravens, crows, vultures, falcons…” Jack kicked himself silently as Twitch’s expression clouded over at the mention of the bird who’d fallen foul of the egg thief. “Er, eagles, graculas” – he made a show of adding the new bird to the list – “oh, and seagulls.”
“No such thing,” Twitch said flatly, as he came out of the chicken coop.
“There is,” Jack insisted.
“Nope. There are different types of gull, like a herring gull or the black-headed gull. They all get called seagulls, but there’s no such bird.”
“Well, I say there is,” Jack argued, “and they’re terrifying. When I was little, we went on holiday to the seaside. Brighton. We went on the pier. My mum bought me a bag of hot mini doughnuts coated in sugar—”
“They’re nice.”
“I love them. Anyway, I was walking along, eating one, and a massive seagull swooped down and snatched it out of my hand! Then, the evil bird swooped around, came back and grabbed the whole bag! I thought it was going to carry me off next. I was so scared I cried! My mum had to take me back to the hotel.”
“Bet it was a herring gull.” Twitch laughed. “Hey, maybe that’s why it took you a while to get into birdwatching? Too scared of them!”
“I’m not the only person to find birds scary. There’s a horror movie called The Birds, you know. It’s really old. We should watch it. Loads of birds attack a bunch of people trapped in an old house.”
“All right.” Twitch grinned. “So long as you don’t mind if I’m on the side of the birds.”
Jack raced Twitch to Mr Bettany’s newsagent’s, which stood at the point where Briddvale Road became the high street, not far from their school. The morning was fresh and frosty, the sky was an icy blue and the pair were neck and neck all the way to the shop. Twitch pulled on his brakes, turned into the skid, and neatly slotted his BMX into the bike rack at the same time as jumping off.
“Unfair advantage!” Jack cried as Twitch did a victory dance. “You’ve had practice.”
The bell tinkled as Twitch pushed the door open. Jack saw Mr Bettany kneeling on the floor, counting newspapers from a stack. He raised a forefinger to his flat cap in greeting, his lips monitoring his counting. He pointed a pencil at two hessian bags heavy with the Saturday papers. Twitch picked them up, passing one to Jack, and said, “I’ve got a helper today.”
Mr Bettany scribbled something in the margin of a newspaper before smiling up at them. “Me too.” He nodded to the counter. Behind it, standing in front of jars of boiled sweets, was Pippa. “You know my granddaughter Pippa, don’t you, Twitch?”
Pippa’s face turned pink as she waved.
“Yes.” Twitch glanced at Jack. “Hi, Pippa.”
“Are you going to Aves Wood today?” Pippa asked.
“Er…” Twitch spoke hurriedly. “Not sure yet. Are we, Jack? We’re meeting our friends at the station in a bit. We’d better go. Lots of papers to deliver. Bye.”
“Bye!” Jack echoed, suppressing a giggle as they piled out the door and jumped back on their bikes before Pippa could ask another question.
“Where do you think we should begin our investigation?” Twitch asked Jack, as they pedalled back towards the crossroads, slower now that they were loaded down with heavy bags. Jack noticed the intense expression on Twitch’s face, and it occurred to him that if he didn’t catch the egg thief, his best friend might not ever forgive him.
“Once we’ve met Ava and Tippi’s train, I think we should go straight up to Passerine Pike,” Jack replied, pushing his fears aside. “The police will have finished their search of the crime scene. Now it’s our turn.”
Conversation became tougher as the gradient of the north road grew steep.
“The fastest way … to get the paper round done,” Twitch said, between gasps, “is to go to the furthest house … and work back … then it’s downhill all the way.”
Within the hour, the boys were racing back to the newsagent’s to exchange their empty bags for a small brown envelope containing Twitch’s wages.
“It’s a bit after seven-thirty,” Twitch said, as they climbed back onto their bikes. “We’ve two hours before Ava and Tippi arrive. Should we do some investigating now?”
“I think we should wait for the others before we go to the pike,” Jack said. “But how about we go to Aves Wood and scout about. We may see someone hunting for nests, or acting suspicious. The egg thief is hardly going to return to the scene of the crime. Most likely they’ll be where birds are nesting. We can test my microphone at the same time.”
Twitch didn’t look impressed with this plan. He was obviously keen to get back to the falcons’ nest and hunt for clues, but he reluctantly agreed.
As they crossed Crowther Bridge, Jack spotted something that sent his heartbeat into a canter. He yanked on his brakes, stopping suddenly. “Look!” he whispered, nodding down at a grey-haired man in wading trousers, navy shirt and a beige, pocketed waistcoat who was setting up for a day of fishing. Several rods were laid out on the grass beside him. He was arranging his tackle box and two camping chairs.
“He’s got the waistcoat and the fishing rods! Is he the man you saw on Passerine Pike, the night the eggs went missing?”
Twitch shook his head. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“Oh.” Jack’s shoulders dropped with disappointment.
“The man on the pike was younger and skinnier,” Twitch said, keeping his voice low, as they watched the fisherman pick up a rod in his gloved hands. “I wonder who he is. I know most of the people who fish the canal and the river.”
“He could be a suspect,” Jack whispered, clinging to the excitement he’d felt when he’d first spotted the waistcoat.
The man settled down in one of his chairs and peered into his tackle box.
“Maybe,” Twitch said, sounding doubtful.
“Let’s go talk to him.” Jack got off his bike, wheeling it towards the towpath. “Morning,” he called cheerily as he approached the stranger. “Lovely day for a spot of fishing.”
“Let’s hope so.” The man looked up at the sky as if he feared it was going to cloud over.
Jack wondered what question he could ask that would reveal whether this man was an egger. “Er … are you on holiday?”
“I suppose I am.” The man looked amused by this idea.
“It’s just, we come to the woods all the time,” Jack said. “We know all the people who fish here.” Realizing his statement sounded like an accusation, he gave the man a friendly smile. “My name’s Jack, and this is Twitch.”
“Twitch! That’s an unusual name.”
“His real name is Corvus,” Jack explained, delighted to have found a way to turn the conversation to birds, “but everyone calls him Twitch on account of him being a mega birdwatcher.”
The fisherman stretched out a gloved hand and shook each of theirs. “You like birds, do you, Twitch? A fine hobby. I’m Merle Drake, more of a fisher than a birder, I’m afraid. And you’re right. I’m not from these parts. I live in Cornwall.”
“Merle! Merle,” came a woman’s voice. “There’s a cafe in the nature reserve visitor centre. It’s not open yet, but the woman inside made me two teas and said I could pay her later.” A rosy-cheeked woman in walking boots, wearing a brown wax jacket and burgundy fedora hat, waddled onto the towpath carrying two steaming cups. “Oh!” She smiled warmly at Twitch and Jack. “Hello.”
“Evelyn dear, this is Jack and Twitch. They’re local boys.” He turned to them. “And this is Mrs Drake. Now, you must tell me something.” He narrowed his eyes. “Either of your dads fish?” He grunted in satisfaction when they both shook their heads. “You’re not here to check out the competition then?”
“What competition?” Jack asked.
“Don’t listen to him,” Evelyn Drake said, bustling through to sit in the vacant camping chair. “Merle’s here for the big Canal Masters fishing competition,” she explained. “I’m surprised you don’t know about it!”
“We’re birdwatchers,” Twitch told her.
“Oh, how lovely! I’m a big fan of our feathered friends.” She beamed. “I’m no birder, mind, but I do love to watch them in my garden.”
“Twitch knows more about birds than anyone in Briddvale,” Jack said proudly. “We’ve got a club, called the Twitchers. We watch birds and solve crimes.”
