The Case of the Exploding Brains (13 page)

Holly is looking at Dad the way she usually gazes at Mum – as though she’s the parent and he’s the one who needs looking after. I try to see Dad through her eyes and decide the
grey blanket wrapped around his shoulders is the main problem. It makes him look old and tired, particularly the way he has to hunch over to hold the ends together.

“Are you cold, Dad?” I ask. “Or is that a style choice?”

“This is my STEALTH BLANKET!” Dad declares so loudly the whole room turns to look, and Vigil-Aunty walks into the vending machine. “Good, eh?”

“Er, yeah . . . Lovely.”

Dad straightens up, no longer weary and wounded. “It’s my best invention to date.”

His characteristically smug tone wipes the sympathy from Holly’s face. “Congratulations,” she mocks. “You’ve invented the blanket.”

“The Stealth Blanket,” Dad corrects her. “In this blanket, I am invisible.”

We stare at him. I wonder how to break this to him gently.

Holly doesn’t do gentle. “We can see you, you stupid man.”

“Holly!” I hiss.

“You can?” Dad asks. “There must be some malfunction.”

“Argh!” Holly leaps to her feet. “Hasn’t being in here taught you anything, Dad? Don’t you feel any guilt about the brain rays? How can you still be as ridiculous
as ever? The stolen Space Rock could blow up our brains at any minute and all you’re worried about is some dumb invention that doesn’t even work. I can’t stand it. I’m not
going to sit here, waiting for my head to explode, listening to you waffling on about invisibility cloaks.”

“Stealth Blankets,” Dad corrects her.

“Whatever! I’m done. Know-All, are you coming?”

“No,” I say firmly. “We’re in the middle of an investigation. I came to talk to Dad and that’s what I’m going to do. If you can’t handle being near him,
go and chat to Aunty Vera about Han Solo for half an hour.”

Holly is on the verge of sitting back down when Dad hands her his blanket. “Here, wear this. Being invisible might help you calm down.”

“OHMYGODDAD!” Holly shoves the blanket at him, muttering, “My dad is an idiot. My dad is an idiot,” over and over, like a mantra, as she storms over to the other side of
the room and kicks the vending machine.

Vigil-Aunty grabs her by the shoulders and leans in to tell her off. Holly’s violent gestures in Dad’s direction suggest she’s defending herself by blaming everything on him.
When she’s finished, Vigil-Aunty kicks the vending machine too.

“You wound Holly up on purpose!” I accuse Dad.

Dad grins.

I can’t help grinning back, remembering a time when it was me and Dad against the world. Or, more often, me and Dad against Mum and Holly because the rest of the world was busy.

But things have changed. I’m on Holly’s side now. I drop the smile, put my elbows on the table and stare at him. “I want to talk to you about the ‘clue’ you gave
me. We know Ms Grimm was in the museum that day. Was she stealing the Space Rock for you?”

“I told you, I don’t have the rock,” Dad fiddles with his blanket.

“I know.”

Dad looks up sharply. “You do?”

“Yup. That’s why you’re no longer Lord of the Neanderthugs. But they still think you can get it for them, don’t they?”

“Nicely deduced.” Dad nods approvingly. “But I’m not admitting anything. And I know nothing about exploding brains.”

“You don’t have to admit it because I know I’m right. And even if you didn’t realise the rock was dangerous at the time, you do now. It has to be returned to the museum
fast. What will your Neanderfriends do then?”

“I have a backup plan.” Dad taps his Stealth Blanket.

“You do know everyone can see you, right?” I check. “This
is
just one of your bizarre attempts to wind people up?”

“There’s more to invisibility that meets the eye.” Dad winks theatrically on the word ‘eye’.

Before I can ask what the wink’s supposed to signify, one of the guards sneaks up behind us and tries to snatch Dad’s blanket. Dad squeals like a baby in a blender. Everyone turns to
look and the guard backs off quickly. His fellow guards move forward, signalling the end of our visit.

“It’s only a blanket,” one guard mutters. “Let him keep it. He has enhanced privilege status.”

That means Dad has earned extra treats through good behaviour. Why is he wasting them on a stinky blanket?

“He thinks it makes him invisible,” I say, answering my own question.

“No he doesn’t,” the guard corrects me. “He’s pretending he does. He hopes that by convincing us he’s insane he’ll get himself released early. We see it
all the time.”

I’m not so sure. This is more than fake insanity. I know it is. As I follow Holly and Vigil-Aunty to the car, Dad’s comment keeps playing through my head.

I think about Dad’s research.

Eureka!

Halfway to the car, it comes to me.

Ignoring Vigil-Aunty’s protests, I drag Holly back towards the prison building. “Quick. Have you got a camera?”

“You want some happy family snaps with our banged-up Dad?”

“Ha. Hilarious. Have you got a camera or not?”

“Not.”

“I can’t let you back in there, Miss,” the man at the gate says I as I try to push past him. “Visiting time is over.”

“I need to take a picture of my Dad – Professor Brian ‘Big Brain’ Hawkins. It’s urgent. It could save the Earth.”

“Of course it could. Unfortunately, you’ll have to save the Earth using your special powers of photography on your next visit. He’s back in the cell block now.”

“You don’t know that. He could still be near the Visiting Hall. I just need to get close enough to take a picture.”

“I
do
know that. No pictures. Go home.”

My shoulders sink and I half turn to go. Then I realise something. “You said you
know
he’s in the cell block. How do you know? Can you see him on that screen?” I point
to the monitor between us. I’d have thought the CCTV here only covered the gate area and perimeter fence, but the guard’s eyes keep flicking to the screen shiftily. If he knows anything
about computers, he might be able to access more areas than he’s supposed to. It must be boring sitting out here all day. Perhaps watching the inmates in solitary confinement qualifies as
entertainment?

“You can see the cells. I know you can. You have to let me look.”

“I don’t have to let you do anything. Hop it.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Holly puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Do you have a daughter, sir?” she asks the guard.

The prison guard nods.

“What if she just wanted to see your face and a man wouldn’t let her?”

The guard sighs, swears and then turns the screen towards us. “One minute,” he says.

“That’s long enough,” I whisper in Holly’s ear. “I have a theory I want to test.”

“A minute would be great.” Holly smiles at the guard. “You are a very nice man. Your daughter is a very lucky girl.”

“Humph,” the guard grunts.

The camera scans the cell-block corridor. I hold my breath, waiting for the moment when my theory will be proved by what’s
not
on screen.

Fail!

There’s Dad, wrapped up in his Stealth Blanket, still completely visible.

I’m wrong. I hate being wrong.

Perhaps I’m not as good a detective as I thought.

Days Left to Save the Earth: 5

I need to go back to the beginning. Everything is moving so fast I’ve lost track of the clues, which must be why I’m coming to the wrong conclusions. It’s all
about those vital moments in the Science Museum.

In search of more information, I hook up the video footage from the police station on my multi-screen computer. It comes from four different cameras:

I play each tape again and again, looking for something I’ve missed. Where was Ms Grimm during those fifteen minutes the camera was off? The footage suggests she disappeared completely,
along with the brain ray. But that’s impossible. According to my calculations, she couldn’t have left the gallery without passing in front of one of the functioning cameras.

“We need access to the live feed from the museum’s security cameras,” I tell Holly and Porter when they wander in to watch the footage with me.

“Yeah. That’s going to happen.” Holly snorts. “Maybe they’ll hand out popcorn and soft drinks too, while we watch.”

“I’m guessing that’s a joke? In which case we have to stage a re-enactment.”

“Like
Crimewatch
?” Porter grins.

“Just like
Crimewatch
.” I ignore the sniggers and google ‘spy cameras’. “We’ll set up our own camera feeds and figure out what Ms Grimm was doing
during the ‘Alien Worlds’ blackout.”

“How?”

“Let me worry about that. You two worry about convincing Uncle Max to take us back to London.”

As we enter the Science Museum, I close my eyes so I can picture the exact directions in which the CCTV cameras were pointing on the police footage. I move Porter into the
position of the camera covering the entrance from Reception and hand him one of my new Spy Cam Necklaces.

“This contains a digital video recorder with a built-in USB port for easy downloading. It captures video in AVI format at thirty frames per second—”

“It’s a necklace.” Porter interrupts. “You’re asking me to wear a necklace?”

“Only for half an hour,” I say. “Think of it as a medal rather than a necklace.”

“It’s sparkly and shaped like a turtle.”

“Special offer,” I explain. “Four for the price of two. We needed four cameras.”

“There are only three of us.”

“We’ll improvise,” I say. “Porter, you stand here and cover the entrance. Holly, you head over there so you’re filming the display case.” I angle Holly so
she’s facing in the right direction. “I’ll put one of the spare camera necklaces here, in the ‘Investigating Alien Worlds’ section, to represent the camera that
blanked out, and the other one here, covering the exit.”

“What about you?” Porter asks.

“I’m going to be your mum.”

“Ugh. Talk about scarred for life.”

“What I mean,” I say with more patience than Porter deserves, “is I’m going to figure out how she escaped. She was standing here when the camera went off.” I assume
the position behind the Moon lander. “And she wasn’t standing here when the camera came back on again.”

“How could we have missed her?” Holly asks.

“I’m not surprised
you
missed her,” I say. “You wouldn’t notice if the Queen marched straight past you. But it is weird Porter didn’t spot his own
mother. And I can’t believe I missed her. I’ve been searching my memory for images of that afternoon and she’s not in any of them. It doesn’t make sense. I accept I could
have been looking in the wrong direction for a few seconds, but not for over fifteen minutes.” I close my eyes and picture the gallery. I focus all my attention on the images. Where is she?
Where was the Grimm Reaper when the Space Rock was stolen?

“I don’t know!” a familiar voice cries. “Stop asking.”

I swivel round to find Museum Curator Gnome doubled over, clutching his head. He’s still wearing the same green suit, and the oniony smell coming from the armpits suggests it’s not
because he owns several versions of the same outfit. The suit that was so perfectly pressed nine days ago is now wrinkled and stained and the waistcoat is missing a couple of buttons.