Spark, page 4
“I don’t know.” Terry kicked at a stone.
“We’ll let them go on being excited about the vulture and making preparations, while we do the investigating,” Jack cajoled. “Then they won’t have to deal with Pamela.”
“Yeah, all right,” Terry agreed, as they approached the blue hull of the Kingfisher.
Clambering onto the bow of the boat, Ava pushed the cabin door open, calling out, “We found him!”
“Sorry.” Jack smiled apologetically as they all looked up at him. “I got distracted by, er, a bird.” No one batted an eyelid at this. “Nan, it’s nice to see you again.”
Ava and Tippi’s grandmother’s name was Nancy, but everyone called her Nan, including her granddaughters. She was an illustrator. The Kingfisher was her home and her studio. Paintbrushes hung in bundles from hooks on the walls. There were pencils stuffed into jam jars on the shelves and half-finished paintings of birds were taped to the wood-panelled walls.
“You’re a good boy, Jack.” Nan clapped him on the back then pulled him in for a hug. Releasing him, she pointed to the kitchen sideboard. “Help yourself to juice and a biscuit.”
Twitch and Tara were poring over a map of Briddvale that was spread over the table in the seating area beyond the kitchen.
“Hey, Jack, come and check this out.” Twitch waved him over. “The lammergeier travels using thermals, which means it does most of its flying in the day.”
“The what?” Jack hadn’t understood anything Twitch had said.
“Lammergeier is the name of the bearded vulture,” Tara explained, her eyes shining.
“They roost in high places.” Twitch pointed to the map. “We’ve circled all the high peaks, where it could stop overnight, but I’m thinking – should we also be looking at areas with tall trees?”
“Er, yeah.” Jack nodded, glancing at Ava in alarm; she suppressed a smile.
“Once we know the direction the lammergeier’s travelling,” Twitch said to Tara, “we’ll have a better idea of potential roosting spots.”
“Tomorrow, we’re going to take supplies to the skywatch hide up on Passerine Pike,” Ozuru said happily, holding up his notebook. “I’m writing a list.”
“Isn’t there a big storm coming?” Jack looked pointedly at Ozuru’s waterproof trousers.
“Rain won’t stop us!” Twitch cried, without lifting his eyes from the map.
Jack, Ava and Terry sat down and drank their juice, listening and nodding at everything the others said.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that storm,” Jack said, shooting a meaningful look at Ava and Terry. “If it comes tonight, shouldn’t one of us go back to the hide and make sure it’s secure. You know, put all our stuff into the waterproof boxes and lift them onto the walkway under the tarpaulin.” He paused. “I don’t mind doing it.”
“You’ll need a hand with the lifting,” Terry said.
“I’ll help you,” Ava said.
“Me too.” Terry nodded, dusting biscuit crumbs from his hands.
The three of them got up, to a chorus of grateful grunts and nods from the others. Tara was lost in her book, Twitch was marking the map, Ozuru was noting things down, and Tippi was drawing a picture of the bearded vulture. They barely noticed Jack, Ava and Terry leave.
“Whoever is doing this must hate cats,” Ava said, as they walked along the canal towpath. “I wonder why?”
“Perhaps one of their relatives died,” Jack suggested, “and when their body was found, it was surrounded by hundreds of cats eating their skin.”
“That’s gross!” Terry laughed.
“Well, you’ve got to be pretty messed up to prowl around at night shooting cats,” Jack pointed out.
“We don’t know it happens at night-time,” Terry said.
“You’d hardly shoot cats in broad daylight,” Jack countered. “Someone would see you.”
“What if they’re not only shooting cats,” Ava said, thinking out loud. “The vet only told you about cats, but we should check last week’s local paper in case there are stories of other animals getting shot.”
“You think the cat killer might be hunting bunnies and gerbils?” Terry snorted.
“Well, you can’t shoot at a dog, because their owner walks with them,” Ava said. “Maybe it isn’t a cat hater, maybe it’s a pet hater.”
“Someone who’s wanted a pet all their life but never been allowed to have one,” Terry hypothesized dramatically, as they climbed the steps to the road, “and it’s driven them to murder.”
“It could be a bird lover,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Someone with a pet parrot that was killed by a cat?”
“Something must’ve triggered the spate of shootings,” Ava said, nodding. “If they only started last week, either someone has only just got mad at cats, or they only just got a gun.”
Jack wished he’d thought of this. Ava was right, there had to be a reason the shootings had started now. “We should get a map of Briddvale and mark where the cats live and where they were shot.”
“Do you think we’re looking for an adult or a kid?” Terry asked.
“I don’t think a kid would own a gun,” Ava replied. “Unless they’re using someone else’s.”
“You know who is comfortable with a gun, and just got a weekend job on the Mord Estate helping out with the hunts?” Terry stopped walking.
“Who?” Jack asked.
“Vernon Boon.”
They looked at each other. Vernon Boon was six foot tall, heavy-set, with a low voice and, despite being in their class at school, often mistaken for a grown-up. His dad ran an abattoir and Vernon’s attitude to all animals was unemotional.
“You’re right,” Jack said, taking out his notebook and adding Vernon Boon to his suspect list.
“Why have you got Lady Goremore on there?” Terry asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Oh, that wasn’t serious. She nearly mowed me down on her horse this morning. Twitch told me she hunted grouse, so I made her a suspect in case she also hunts cats.”
Terry laughed. “Hunting cats is not her style, unless they were big cats on safari.”
As they approached Redshank Road, Jack felt a flutter of anxiety. There was a reason he never went further down the road than his own house; why he preferred to go out the garden gate rather than the front way. It was because across the road and a few doors down from Jack’s house lived a notorious bully called Richard Peak. He and his best friend Tom Madden had picked on Jack when he’d first moved to Briddvale, but they’d left him alone since Twitch had frightened them off in the summer holidays. Nevertheless, Jack did what he could to stay out of their way. Peaky and Madden – as they were known – slunk around the streets of Briddvale wearing tracksuits, trainers and puffer jackets. Peaky was tall, thin and quick to lose his temper. Madden was shorter, stocky and a keen boxer. Together they were terrifying.
“We need to cross over,” Jack said furtively, nodding towards a house. “Peaky lives there. The best way to get past without being seen is to use the hedge as cover.”
Terry’s eyes widened and he hurried across the road with Jack.
“Who’s Peaky?” Ava asked, brazenly staring at the house as she strolled casually past it.
“You don’t want to know,” Terry hissed. “C’mon.”
They sprinted away, running all the way to number fifty-two. Jack and Terry took a moment to catch their breath. Ava, who wasn’t out of puff, waited for them to recover with an unimpressed look on her face.
The buildings at the end of the cul-de-sac were older than the new houses at the beginning of the street. Mr Frisby’s place had a red tiled roof, metal windows and a neat square lawn out front.
They rang the bell and after a few minutes, through the frosted glass in the door, they saw a silhouette approach.
“Good morning, Mr Frisby, it’s Jack. Jack Cappleman. The one who saved Colonel Mustard.”
“Hold on. I’ll reverse and you can come in,” came Reggie’s wavering voice.
Jack gently pushed the door and they saw Reggie making his way backwards down the hall with the aid of a walking frame.
“Try and keep up!” he called cheerfully, wheezing out a laugh.
When they reached the kitchen, Mr Frisby was lowering himself into a high-backed armchair.
“Thank you for letting us come and talk to you, Mr Frisby,” Ava said, as Jack took out his notebook and pen. “My name is Ava, and this is Terry. We’re both members of the Twitchers.”
“Call me Reggie, everybody does.” He smiled.
“How is Colonel Mustard doing?” Jack asked.
“The old Colonel came home this morning, and he’s in a terrible grump.” Reggie pointed at a basket by the back door where a large ginger cat, with a plastic cone around its neck, was scowling. His back half was shaved and one of his legs was in a plaster cast. “The vet gave me painkillers for him, but he won’t take them. He eats around them, and he’s furious that I won’t let him go outside.”
“Poor old Colonel,” Terry said.
“If you want tea, you’re going to have to make it yourselves,” Reggie said. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a host.”
“Oh no. We’re fine.” Ava smiled.
“Good, now, which one of you is the strongest?”
Jack was taken aback by the question. “I guess I am?” He looked apologetically at Terry and Ava.
“Good. If you go into my living room, you’ll find an unplugged telly. I want you to carry it up the stairs to the bedroom at the front of the house. Perhaps two of you better go. It is quite heavy. I’ve cleared a space for it. You’ll see when you get up there.”
Jack and Terry stood up, looking confused, but they did as they were asked and carried the TV upstairs. When they came back down, they could hear Ava asking Reggie a question.
“Have you any idea who might have shot Colonel Mustard?”
“Not a clue. It’s beyond me who would want to do such a heartless thing.” Reggie looked up as the boys entered the kitchen. “Ah, good, you’re back. Did you see the armchair in there? Pop that into the front bedroom too, would you, boys?”
Stunned by this second request, but too polite to refuse, Jack and Terry traipsed back into the living room.
“Why’s he making us move furniture?” Terry whispered.
“I don’t know, but did you see the military uniform hanging up in the back bedroom?” Jack replied. “I’ll bet Reggie owns a gun.”
“He’s hardly going to shoot his own cat!”
“If we’re going to be proper detectives,” Jack said, “we have to suspect everyone.”
“Yeah, but Reggie isn’t an assassin with a sniper rifle. When he was in the army, they probably used swords.”
Jack chuckled and they returned to the kitchen.
“I don’t go out much these days, my hips being what they are, but I knew something wasn’t right when the old Colonel didn’t come in for his breakfast yesterday morning,” Reggie was telling Ava. “He’s a greedy moggy and never misses a meal.” He smiled up at Jack and pointed to three stuffed grocery bags on the floor. “Take those up and pop them beside the armchair, would you?”
Jack and Terry exchanged an incredulous look, before picking up the bags and carrying them upstairs. This time, when they returned to the kitchen, they both quickly sat down.
“Did you get the footstool?” Reggie asked. “Oh, and there’s a couple of books on the small table I’ll be wanting. Tell you what. Why don’t you take up the table too?”
“Reggie,” Jack huffed, “why are we carrying all your furniture upstairs?”
“I told you yesterday. There’s a big storm coming,” replied the wily old man, his eyes full of mirth at Jack’s expression.
“So what?”
“When the storm comes, it’s going to really rain.” Reggie leaned forward. “Briddvale is built in a valley beside a river and a canal. There are rocky hills on all sides. When there’s heavy rain” – he lifted his hand and waggled his knobbly fingers as he lowered it – “the whole place floods.”
“You think your house is going to be flooded?” Jack suddenly understood.
“I know it will.” Reggie nodded. “Most of the land round here belongs to the Mord Estate. They’ve cleared it, for grouse hunting, and they burn the heather every year, drying out the ground so that it can’t absorb heavy rainfall. All the rain that falls in the storm will collect in Briddvale.”
“Is that why you wanted us to interview you today?” Jack asked. “To move your furniture upstairs for you?”
“I can’t very well carry it up the stairs myself.” Reggie patted his legs. “I thought, why not kill two birds with one stone?”
Jack winced. Twitch hated this saying.
“We don’t mind, Mr Frisby,” Terry said, getting up. “Is there anything else you want us to move?”
The three of them set about moving everything Reggie pointed at, whilst questioning him about Colonel Mustard. Jack paused every so often to scribble something down in his notebook, but the old man had no idea where his cat went at night, or who might have hurt him.
“I did notice something odd,” Reggie said, stroking his chin. They stopped what they were doing to listen. “At the vet’s, the old Colonel was unconscious, on the table, and the vet showed me his leg.”
“Gruesome,” Terry muttered.
“She was asking me if I wanted her to save it or remove it.”
“Why would you want it removed?” Ava grimaced.
“It’s cheaper to take off the leg than try and fix it,” Reggie replied.
“What did you notice?” Jack asked.
“Well, in my time, I’ve seen many wounds. When a person is shot, the bullet burns the skin as it enters. It’s hot you see, from being fired out of the gun. It leaves a dark ring around the wound. That’s what I expected to see on the old Colonel” – he paused, looking perplexed – “but there was nothing. His hair wasn’t even singed.”
“What does that mean?” Terry asked, looking at Jack, who was scribbling all of this down.
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted, “but it feels like a pretty big clue.”
Pamela opened her front door and looked past Jack, Ava and Terry. “Isn’t Twitch with you?”
“Nope,” Jack replied.
“But he’s the one who’s good at catching bad guys.”
That stung, but Jack tried to ignore it. Pamela specialized in insults that got under your skin. She had a gift for it.
“Twitch is busy with a top-secret project,” Terry said, jutting out his chin. “You’ve got us, or no one.”
“It’s a bit tragic to pretend that looking for an ugly bearded bird is a top-secret mission,” Pamela snorted as she stepped aside to let them in. “But you do do tragic well, Terry. I mean look at what you’re wearing.”
“Hi, Pamela,” Ava said cheerfully, following a seething Terry into the house. “I see you haven’t changed.”
“Ava, you’re back?” Pamela didn’t have an insult for Ava. She didn’t know her well enough.
“Yeah, for the half-term holidays. We came to see the ugly bearded bird.” She paused, changing tone. “Jack told us what happened to your cat.” She shook her head sympathetically. “It’s awful.”
Pamela screwed up her face, attempting to hide her emotions. She didn’t want them to see how upset she was, and Jack realized her insults were an attempt at bravado. “Come through to the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll show you where I found her.”
Pamela’s kitchen was a temple of fawn marble. In the middle of the floor was an island of units containing a sink. She pointed to the cat flap in the back door. “She was lying there making a weird yowling sound.” A haunted look came over Pamela’s face and even Terry’s expression softened. “I didn’t know what to do.”
They could all see the traces of blood on the floor. Ava moved to stand beside Pamela, who was blinking back tears, and put an arm round her shoulder.
Jack pulled out his notebook and pen. “Could you describe Splatty for us, please?”
“Splaticus Caticus is a big white fluffy puss cat, with amber eyes, and the cutest little scrunched-up face, and the most beautiful poofy tail.”
Jack wrote down: Splatty (Splaticus Caticus) fat white cat, amber eyes.
“Can we go into your back garden and look around?” Ava asked softly and Pamela nodded.
Jack opened the door and followed Terry outside.
“Look,” Jack whispered to Terry, “there’s spots of blood in the grass.”
Bending down, they followed the trail of blood to the bottom of the garden and a gap in the fence.
“Splatty must have come through here,” Terry said. “She was probably too injured to climb.”
“If Splatty stayed on the ground after she was shot, we should be able to follow the trail to the place where it happened,” reasoned Jack. “From there, we might even be able to work out where the shooter was firing from.”
“We can’t go into the neighbour’s garden without permission,” Terry said. “What if they get cross?”
“What do you think we should do?”
“Knock on the door and see if anyone’s in. If no one’s there, we can climb over, but if someone is in, we should ask permission.”
“Great idea, Terry,” Ava said, coming up behind them. “You go knock on all the neighbours’ doors, and explain that we’re investigating the cat shootings.”
“What? Why me?”
“It was your idea,” Jack pointed out.
“What are you two going to do?”
“This,” Ava said, testing the top of the wooden fence with her hands before taking four big steps backwards. She ran at the fence, jumping to grab the top as she kicked her legs up to one side, vaulting over. “Come on, Jack.”
“See you in a bit,” Jack said to Terry. “Hope you get permission.” He copied Ava’s fence-vaulting method, only just making it over.
“What? No! Wait for me.” There were a series of thuds as Terry tried and failed to get over the fence. “Pamela, give me a bunk-up?”
