Spark, page 7
“That’s barbaric.” Ava pulled a face.
“It could be Nick Skinner shooting the cats,” Terry said.
“No. If Nick Skinner shoots at something, it dies,” Vernon said. “He never misses.”
“Then it can’t have been him shooting at those pigeons when we were up the apple tree,” Ava said.
“But we saw him with the gun,” Terry pointed out.
“But we didn’t see him shoot, and there was someone else in the room with him. It could’ve been Peaky,” Jack said. “Or Madden. Or both.”
“Do you think Peaky was trying to show off to his uncle?” Ava asked.
“If he was, it didn’t work.” Terry laughed.
“When are you next working at Mord Hall?” Jack asked Clem.
“I’ve got a shift this afternoon. I’m there all week. There’s big preparations for the Halloween Ball on Friday, and a party of hunters arrive today.”
“We need to find a way to look around the place,” Jack said to Ava and Terry.
“Mrs Mulworthy was saying only yesterday that they don’t have enough staff to manage the hunt and the party. You could go and say you heard there’s work going,” Clem suggested. “If you mind your manners, they’ll probably give you a job.”
“Terry and I could go.” Jack looked at Terry. “We’re local and they might remember your sister.”
“Really?” Terry squeaked, looking alarmed.
“It’s a cover story for scouting out the place,” Jack said. “We don’t have to take a job. Come on. This is proper detecting we’re doing.”
Terry didn’t look happy, but he nodded.
“Great, we’ll go up to Mord Hall this afternoon, after we’ve been to the vet’s and the fishing and shooting shop.” Jack got up and shook Vernon’s and Clem’s hands. “Thanks, guys, you’ve been really helpful.”
“I want you to catch whoever hurt Pammy’s cat,” Clem said sincerely, as Ava saw them out.
“We will,” Jack assured him.
Ava shut the door and turned around. “What about Twitch and the others? We’re meant to be meeting them up at Passerine Pike in” – she looked at her watch – “twenty minutes!”
“We can’t go to Passerine Pike,” Jack said, hoping Ava and Terry would agree. “We’re at a crucial stage in the investigation!”
“And how are you going to break that to Twitch?” Terry asked.
Jack fell silent. He didn’t want to let his friend down. But he didn’t want to spend half a day climbing Passerine Pike and scanning the horizon for a bird that might not show up. He’d probably get up the hill only for it to rain and have to come back down again. It was a waste of time. A niggling thought reminded him he still needed to go and secure the hide in case it did flood, but he told himself that he’d deal with the hide after he’d been to Mord Hall. The new information Clem and Vernon had given them made Jack feel like they were on the verge of a breakthrough.
“I have to go to Passerine Pike,” Ava said. “Tippi’s been going on about it since she woke up. She’s really excited.”
“We need to come up with a good excuse.” Jack looked at Terry. “Something that would mean we couldn’t climb the hill today.”
“Ooh, I know.” Terry’s face lit up. “You could’ve sprained your ankle this morning and I’ve had to help you home. You’re so gutted you can’t go up Passerine Pike that I’ve stayed with you. Tomorrow, your swelling could’ve gone down, and you can limp around a bit. No one will suspect a thing.”
“That’ll work.” Ava looked at Jack. “Shall I tell that to the others?”
“Yes.” Jack nodded. “Although, it would be better if it was Terry’s ankle that got sprained. I didn’t show up on Saturday because of my cat scratches; two injuries in one week might seem suspicious.”
“Fine by me,” Terry said.
“Right, well, I better get moving or we’ll be late.” Ava called out, “Tippi are you ready? It’s time to…” but before she could finish, Tippi pushed the door open. She was fully dressed, wearing wellies and a raincoat, with a rucksack on her back.
“Been ready for ages,” she replied, scowling at them.
Jack and Terry hurried back to Jack’s house to get transport and smart clothes to make a good impression when they went to Mord Hall looking for work. Spots of rain spurred them on. Squinting up at the glowering sky, Jack had never seen clouds look so threatening. He thought of Reggie and Colonel Mustard upstairs with their supplies and wondered if there would be a flood after all. It had seemed like a silly idea yesterday.
They entered Jack’s through the back door, chatting excitedly.
“Ah, Jack, there you are.” His mum was standing by the kitchen counter, drinking a cup of tea. “I thought you were off with your birdwatchers today.”
“Er, I am. You remember Terry, Mum.”
“Hello, Mrs Cappleman,” Terry said politely.
“We’re busy today … doing … lots of birdwatching things.”
“Your father and I are off to town to do a bit of emergency shopping. We won’t be back till late. You’ll have to make your own dinner. There’s plenty in the freezer.” She took a sip of tea. “We’re on the hunt for a pair of spectacular Halloween outfits. I need something high fashion yet spooky for that ball I told you about.” She shimmied her shoulders with excitement at the thought of the party. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any good ideas?”
“Go as zombies,” Jack replied immediately. “That way you can wear whatever clothes you like. You could be a zombie movie star.”
“That’s what you always say!” Terry chuckled and Jack grinned.
“You can never have enough zombies.”
“I’ve never known a child to be so obsessed with the undead.” His mum sighed. “Although,” she considered the idea, “it would mean I could wear a designer dress.” She put down her mug. “It’s such a prestigious event; I don’t want to get it wrong. You’ve no idea how hard it was to get tickets.” She clapped her hands together. “After Friday all of Briddvale will know that the Capplemans can party the night away with the best of them.” A car horn tooted. “That’s your father, waiting to take us to the station.” She grabbed her coat as she rushed to the front door. “Byeeeeee,” she cried, as it slammed.
“So, you can party with the best of them, can you?” Terry teased.
“Naff off.” Jack laughed, shoving Terry in the direction of the stairs.
Opening the wardrobe in his bedroom, Jack considered his clothes. Terry picked up the drumsticks resting on his snare, sat on the drum stool, and failed to beat out a rhythm.
“If you’re going to do that, put the practice pad on. Otherwise, the neighbours complain.”
“When we’re at Mord Hall, you should tell them your parents are going to their party.” Terry spun around on the stool. “It might help us to get hired.”
“We don’t actually want a job.”
“Don’t we? It’ll be good money,” Terry pointed out. “And it would give us an excuse to have a proper snoop around.”
“Twitch wouldn’t like it.”
“Hey, I like your Iron Maiden poster.”
“Iron Maiden have the best album artwork. Check this out.” He pointed to a poster of a skeletal zombie playing the drums that was pinned to the inside of his wardrobe door.
“Gruesome.” Terry nodded, appreciatively.
They packed two clean school shirts into a rucksack, then went down to the kitchen and made sandwiches for lunch. Their route through town meant they’d visit the vet first, then Bait and Shot – the fishing and hunting shop – and finally, Mord Hall.
“Afterwards, if the rain holds off, we could say your ankle was better and go and meet the others up Passerine Pike,” Jack said, feeling uncomfortable about the lie they’d sent Ava off to tell the others.
“That would be suspicious. If you’re going to lie, you have to commit to it,” Terry said knowledgeably.
“I suppose. We should probably go to the hide and storm proof it, like we said we would yesterday.”
“Yeah,” Terry agreed.
When they went to the garage, Jack offered Terry his dad’s blue bike, but he chose to ride the pink one. “It’s the right size for me,” Terry said, with a shrug, “and I like pink. I could do without the flowery basket, but we can put the rucksack in it.”
They rode into the wind all the way to the vet’s. Jack’s spirit soared as gusts tugged at his coat and buffeted his face. It was thrilling to be on the trail of the evil cat killer.
Jess, the vet, was busy with an animal and couldn’t talk with them. However, she had left an envelope for Jack with the receptionist. Inside was an index card with information about the first two cats that had been shot. The first cat, Floyd, was the one that had died of a head injury. It had been found by the canal. The second cat, Bugsy, had sustained a front leg injury and made it home. Jack frowned.
“Jess says she’s not allowed to give out full addresses, so she’s just put the names of the roads the cats lived on, but neither of these are near Peaky’s house.” He showed the card to Terry. “Do you think there’s another suspect we haven’t found out about yet?”
Terry stared at the road names. “Maybe … or maybe there are two shooters.”
“Two shooters?”
“Tom Madden lives on Partridge Road.” Terry gave Jack a meaningful look. “That’s between both of these roads.”
When they arrived at Bait and Shot, Jack realized he’d never been in a fishing and hunting shop. He felt nervous, intimidated by the enormous glass cabinet of guns behind the counter. Terry seemed unphased and went straight to the fishing section.
“Hello, son. What can I do for you today?” asked the ruddy-cheeked, balding man, dressed in khakis, standing at the counter.
“Um, hello.” Jack’s mouth was dry. “I was wondering…” He paused, uncertain how to put his question. “My neighbour’s cat got shot, you see.”
“I read something about that. Terrible business.”
“Yes, but there was no bullet lodged in the body and no singeing around the … the … place where it hit, which you’d expect, on account of bullets being hot if they’re fired from a gun.” Jack took a breath. “What I was wondering was, are there special bullets that don’t get hot? And what type of gun might shoot them?”
“Doing a spot of detective work, are we?” The stout man smiled.
“Yes.”
“Well now, let me see, there’s lots of types of guns.” He leaned back and admired his cabinet. “But they’ll all leave a scorch mark.”
“Jack!” Terry called out. “What if the weapon wasn’t a gun?” He held up a black plastic catapult with an orange elastic.
“That doesn’t look like it could kill a cat.”
“That couldn’t,” the man behind the counter agreed. “That’s an angler’s catapult, used for firing bait into the water, to catch salmon.” He reached down and plonked a cardboard box on the counter. “However, one of these hunting slingshots, used with a ten-millimetre lead ball bearing, well, you can kill all sorts of small game with one of these.” He lifted out a simple-looking silver V-shaped piece of metal, with a wrist cuff, elastic drawstring and a leather cradle for the shot.
Terry put back the angling catapult and hurried over. The boys looked at the slingshot with wide eyes.
“This is it,” Jack whispered excitedly. “I know it. The murder weapon is a hunting slingshot!” He reached out to touch it, but the man behind the counter pulled it away.
“You’ve got to be eighteen to buy one of these.”
“Oh, we don’t want to buy it,” Terry said. “We don’t have any money.”
“Go on then.” The man laughed. “You’ve done your investigating. Now, sling your hook, or buy something. I don’t mind which.”
The boys tumbled out of the shop, elated by their discovery.
“It was a slingshot! That’s why Colonel Mustard didn’t have a scorch mark or a bullet in his body. When we heard the shot aimed at the wood pigeons, in the fir tree, it was more of a crack than a bang!” Jack said as they hopped back onto their bikes. He felt like things were coming together. “I’ll bet either Peaky or Madden has a slingshot. They’ve moved up my suspect list to prime position.”
“But the man in the shop said you had to be eighteen to buy one.”
“You have to be eighteen to buy cigarettes, but it doesn’t stop them from smoking,” Jack pointed out.
“If we have our prime suspects, and we’ve worked out the weapon,” Terry said, pushing off, “then we need to find out the motive.”
Jack nodded. “I’ve got a horrible feeling their motive has got something to do with Uncle Nick Skinner and whatever is happening up at Mord Hall. Let’s see what we can uncover.”
Halfway up the winding drive to Mord Hall, Jack and Terry dismounted, hiding their bicycles in the long grass beside the road, and put on their smart white shirts.
As they approached the manor house, dark windows in the forbidding façade loomed over them. The intimidating historic seat of the Goremore family was backed by a menacing sky.
Somewhere in there, Jack thought, is Nick Skinner. His heartbeat quickened.
A shot sounded and both boys jumped, grabbing each other’s arm.
“Probably people hunting on the heath,” Terry said, trying and failing to sound unconcerned.
“Yeah, probably,” Jack agreed, releasing Terry and shoving his hands in his pockets. They walked faster. “Let’s get our story straight one more time. We heard there was work going. It’s half-term. We’re looking to earn a few quid…”
“Guns make me nervous,” Terry muttered. “I don’t like them.”
“Me neither,” Jack agreed.
They halted before the imposing pillars of the porch.
“What do we do now?” Terry whispered.
“This,” Jack said boldly, marching up the stone steps and yanking on the bell pull.
“Wait!” Terry called out in horror as a peal of bells rang inside the house.
After a few minutes, the door was opened by a blank-faced man wearing a black suit. “Yes?” The man cocked his head questioningly at the sight of the two boys.
“We’re looking for work,” Jack said, pointing to Terry and then to himself. “We heard there were jobs going, helping out with the party. Mr … ahhh…”
“Jones. I’m the butler of Mord Hall.”
“We’re hard-workers. We’ll do anything: sweeping floors, washing-up…” Terry gabbled.
“Carrying things, setting out chairs…” Jack added, not wanting to appear less enthusiastic. “Making signs, hanging up decorations…”
“Polishing things, and … anything you want us to do really,” Terry finished off.
Behind them, a white van rolled up the drive and came to a stop. Two men got out.
“All right,” one of them called out to the butler. “Got the display case you ordered. Where d’you want us to put it?”
“Bring it in. It needs to go upstairs,” Jones replied over the boys’ heads, as the men opened the back of the van.
Hearing hooves on gravel, Jack turned, feeling a flutter of panic. The white stallion that had almost trampled him the previous morning was trotting up the drive. On its back sat Lady Goremore in her scarlet jacket and black jodhpurs. Seeing the van, she yanked on the reins, slowing, then stopping, the horse. She swung her leg over and landed lightly on the ground.
Jack shuffled behind Terry, hoping she wouldn’t recognize him.
“How was your ride, m’lady?” Jones pushed the boys aside as he hurried down the steps, taking the horse’s reins from Lady Goremore. The white stallion towered over them, its flanks shining with sweat.
“Splendid,” she declared, tucking her riding crop under her arm as she walked towards the house, tugging off her leather gloves. “Galileo’s ready to show.” The horse stepped forward as if to follow her, and Jones yanked at his reins. Lady Goremore spotted Terry and Jack. “Why are there gawping brats on the doorstep, Jones?”
“They’re looking for work, m’lady.”
“I’m sure we’ve a chimney or two that needs sweeping.” Her lip curled as she swept past them into the house. Pulled by the sheer magnetism of her personality, Jack and Terry followed her, finding themselves in a stone and wood-panelled entrance hall that smelled of furniture polish and mothballs. Lady Goremore was climbing a grand staircase.
“Come back here!” Jones shouted at them, but he couldn’t move as he was still holding the reins of Galileo.
“Excuse me. Coming through,” one of the delivery drivers said, as the two men carried a box the size of a washing machine up the steps.
Jack grabbed the door, holding it open, and nudged Terry, who moved to one side of the box and gripped the bottom, helping to lift it.
“Ta,” the other man said, as they carried the heavy crate into the hall.
“The suit said to take it upstairs,” one muttered under his breath to the other.
“I’ll go ahead and get the door for you,” Jack said, nodding at Terry.
Terry hung on to his side of the crate, helping the two men as they lifted it up the grand staircase.
“Is that my display case?” Lady Goremore appeared in a doorway along the landing. “Bring it in here.”
Jack held the double doors open as the two men and Terry carefully shuffled into a room the size of their school gym. Following them inside, Jack stifled a gasp as they gingerly lowered the box to the floor and he saw a row of gold-rimmed glass cases. Inside each case was a magnificent bird of prey; dead, stuffed and positioned as if it were about to make a kill. He moved closer. The descriptive brass plates told him the cases contained peregrine falcon, merlin, osprey, kestrel, goshawk, honey buzzard, red kite, Montagu’s harrier, hen harrier – and between the windows at the end of the room was a giant case containing a white-tailed eagle. Jack felt sick.
The delivery men nodded at Lady Goremore and left.
