The Hangman's Lair (7 page)

A
LONG THE MAIN CORRIDOR AT
school, outside a long run of classrooms (including mine), there are various noticeboards. One of them is a kind of free-for-all where pupils, parents and staff can put up info about out-of-school events, local stuff, that kind of thing. The Head once sold her house on that noticeboard, I’m told.

Anyway, on Monday morning I happened to spot two new announcements. The first one, declared:

HURRY! HURRY! HURRY!
Last few days! Mega-Sale MUST end Wednesday!
At SwordStore, Hanover Street
£££s off figures and construction kits
Meka-Tek 9000 – FrogWar – Gigablast – Ultra-X

(As readers of my earlier case files will know, I’d come across SwordStore before, and been hugely unimpressed.) The second new announcement was pinned so that it half-covered a request for charity donations and a thank you note from a mum who’d recently been in hospital. It said:

FOR SALE
‘Encyclopedia Of British Crime Detection’
10 volumes – Good condition
Quick sale needed
Contact Harry Lovecraft, in Mrs Penzler’s class.

My heart nearly skipped a beat, for two reasons. Firstly, because this was a rare set of books I’d read about ages ago, but had never been able to find. Secondly, because if I was going to get my eager little mitts on this important addition to my library, I’d have to deal with my arch enemy, that lowdown rat Harry Lovecraft!

What a dilemma! Either I’d end up giving
money
to the world’s slimiest slimeball, or I’d miss out on something I’d been wanting to get hold of for months.

I didn’t feel in a dilemma for long. The lure of the books was too strong. All the way through the first lesson of the day, it was as if I could hear them calling to me: ‘Buyyyy meeeee . . . Buuuuyyyyy mmmeeeee . . .’

I collared Harry Lovecraft when the bell went for morning break.

‘Well, well, Smart,’ he oozed, ‘I thought you’d be first in the queue. Ten points to me for a correct guess.’

He was looking even smarmier than usual. Shiny shoes, shiny black hair, shiny everything. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: add a thin, twirly moustache to his weasly upper lip and he’d be a Victorian villain!

‘They’re in good condition, are they?’ I said.

‘They’re completely unread,’ said Harry. ‘Only a very dull person would find a tedious subject like that worth reading about.’

I bit my lip. ‘How come you’ve got the complete set, then?’

T haven’t. My dad’s having a clear-out. He’s getting married again in a few months and we need to make space for his new wife’s collection of shoes.’

‘How many stepmothers does that make now?’ I said. ‘Three?’

‘Four,’ said Harry, with a smile like an eel. ‘Nice girl. Can’t see her lasting very long, though.’

I bit my lip again. ‘Why do you need a quick sale? Are you into something dodgy again?’

‘None of your business, Smart,’ oozed Harry.

No, I thought to myself, I must give even a low-down rat like Harry Lovecraft the benefit of the doubt. I’ve been caught out like that before.

We agreed on a price. A remarkably fair one, amazingly enough! Purely by chance, I had some money in my pocket that day. I’d been given a ten pound note and strict orders to get three pints of milk and a loaf of bread on my way home. However, this was more important. I gave Harry the money and he said he’d bring the books into school with him tomorrow.

I was so pleased. Then I suddenly realised I’d almost forgotten about the missing diary. There were only a few minutes left before the next lesson, so I hurried to find Amy.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Did you write down that timetable for me?’

‘Yup,’ she said, producing a folded sheet of paper from her pocket with a flourish. ‘I’ve put down all the details I can remember.’

‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘We’d better get back to class – the bell’s about to go.’

We walked back together. We must have passed several dozen kids on the way, and I think Amy exchanged a few words with every last one of them! Every few seconds, it’d be, ‘Hi, you coming to Abbie’s party?’ or, ‘I’ll see you at lunch, OK?’ or, ‘Give me a call, yeah?’ No wonder she’d managed to cram her diary full of red-hot gossip and juicy secrets – her social network must have been more intricate than a spider’s web.

Among those we passed were our three suspects in the theft of the diary, Nicola Norris, Paul Welles and Kelly Fitzgerald. Nicola was a tiny, sly-looking girl, who always reminded me of a chihuahua. Paul was never without his thick spectacles and a FrogWar Miniature Models catalogue sticking out of his blazer pocket, and Kelly was the sort who always wore her socks around her ankles and a scowl on her face.

To each of them Amy said, ‘Have you got your stuff ready for art this afternoon?’, and from each she got a ‘Yes, no problem’ or a ‘Yeah, see you there’.

Something suddenly occurred to me. Something rather odd.

I pointed back over my shoulder. ‘Our three suspects there,’ I said. ‘Did you speak to them on Friday?’

‘Yes, and I spoke to them earlier on today, too,’ said Amy. She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Whichever one of them did it, they’re playing it
very
cool. One of them is guilty, guilty, guilty, but you’d never know it.’

‘Quite,’ I said, frowning. ‘They’ve been completely as normal with you? None of them has said anything odd, or given you a funny look, or behaved in any unusual way?’

‘No,’ said Amy. ‘One hundred per cent as normal.’

‘Assuming that one of those three
has
had your “dynamite” diary since last Thursday, doesn’t a strange thought strike you? Something relating to how easy you said it would be to break the diary’s lock, and how very explosive you said the diary’s contents are?’

‘No,’ said Amy. ‘What?’

Have you spotted an oddity in the way the suspects were acting towards Amy?

‘I don’t think the thief has actually
read
the diary,’ I said.

‘What?’ spluttered Amy. ‘That doesn’t make sense. Steal a diary and not even
open
it?’

‘Think about it,’ I said. ‘You and those three aren’t exactly best buddies. You told me you’d even passed comment about them in the diary. One of them has had that diary for nearly four days. And yet all three, the thief included, continue to act completely normally towards you.’

Amy went pale. ‘Yes, I see. If they’d read even a few pages of what I’ve written . . . And especially if they’d read what I’d written about them . . .’

‘They’d have to be world-class experts in secret-keeping to carry on as normal. They’d be almost bound to react, even if it was in the tiniest of ways, just a weird look, or being a bit grumpy with you.’

‘So,’ said Amy, scrunching her face up in puzzlement, ‘you’re saying that as well as the thief
not
taking the diary in order to cause trouble . . . the thief
also
appears
not
to have taken the diary to even
read?’

‘Exactly!’ I cried. ‘I agree, it’s very strange. But don’t you realise? This is brilliant news!’

‘Is it?’ said Amy.

‘Definitely,’ I said. ‘If the thief hasn’t opened the diary, they haven’t realised what dynamite they’ve got their hands on. All the secrets in there could still be completely safe! We haven’t a moment to lose!’

Tracking down the culprit was now doubly urgent! It might still be possible to conclude this case without Amy’s worst fears coming true and the whole school exploding into turmoil because of the contents of the diary!

Hurriedly, I unfolded the timetable Amy had written for me. I skipped through the information she’d put down.

‘Where’s this dining table you mention?’ I said.

‘At one end of the kitchen. Ground floor, at the back of the house.’

‘And the bathroom is upstairs?’

‘Yes, next to my room.’

‘And your parents’ bookshelves?’

‘They’re all along the top landing, from the door of my room to the door of their room.’

The bell for the next lesson rang. By now, Amy and I had arrived back at the classrooms. The lesson which followed was all about . . . er, something-or-other. I can’t remember what. I was distracted by thinking about Amy’s account of last Thursday afternoon.

This is what it said:

THURSDAY TIMETABLE
by Amy Parsons

Dear Saxby,

I can’t be sure about the exact times of things, because I had no reason to keep looking at the clock. But these times are pretty good guesses, I think. The first and last times are spot on, because at those times I really did check the clock.

3:55 p.m. – Nicola, Paul, Kelly and I arrive at my house. My dad is back from work and he gets us all some drinks and some biscuits. Kelly scoffs half of them, greedy moo.

We are all at the dining table. We decide that this will be the best place to do our artwork, as it’s the largest flat surface available. (I don’t have a board or anything that’s big enough to lay down on the carpet in my room.) Meanwhile, my dad reads in the living room; he doesn’t come out.

4:15 p.m. – By now, we’re working on our Twentieth Century Timeline. Nicola is doing up to World War I, Kelly is doing Europe Between The Wars, Paul is doing World War II, and I’m setting out The Cold War, Post-War Britain and The End Of The Soviet Union. Somehow, can’t help thinking I’ve got the biggest job! Paul keeps asking everyone if they want to buy his old
CDs, because he’s trying to get cash together to buy a load of FrogWar figures while they’re cheaper.

‘What, you mean instead of being jaw-droppingly overpriced, they’re now just ridiculously overpriced?’ I say. Paul glares at me! Can’t he take a joke? Nicola asks, ‘What CDs have you got?’ Paul says, ‘Mostly movie soundtracks, but I’ve got several FrogWar BattleBlast sound effects tracks to play while you’re gaming’. Surprise, surprise, the rest of us say no thanks.

4:30 p.m. – Kelly scoffs the rest of the biscuits. Whole packet is now gone! Oinky pig! Paul still dribbling on about FrogWar. I ask him to can it.

Timeline looking rather good. We’re pasting each completed section on to the back of a roll of wallpaper, so that we’ll end up with one continuous picture. My drawing of the Berlin Wall is excellent. Hate to say it, but Paul’s very good at drawing planes and soldiers.

4:45 p.m. – Nicola’s illustrations of Edwardian people are going a bit wrong. I have flash of brains to the head and send her to my parents’ bookshelves. There are a couple of big books there packed with old photos. She brings them down - they’re ideal for copying!

Paul asks if we’re sure we don’t want to buy his old CDs. Kelly asks if there’s any more biscuits. Answer to both questions is no.

4:50 p.m. – Kelly goes to the loo. I go to my school bag
(by the front door) to fetch pens. Work continues, Paul’s dribbling on about FrogWar continues. To escape Paul’s dribbling on about FrogWar, I pop up to my room to fetch some more sheets of coloured paper.

DIARY IS STILL THERE. I REMEMBER SEEING IT, IN ITS USUAL PLACE UNDER THE PENCIL CASE.

I return to the table. Kelly has helped herself to chocolate from the cupboard.

5:00 p.m. – Paul asks if any of us want to buy his old collection of sports car models. At this point, I lose patience with him. ‘No, we don’t,’ I say, ‘and we’re all a bit fed up of you dribbling on about FrogWar too, so will you please button your lip and stop being such a loser!’

This shuts him up. At last. He glares at me again. Serves him right.

5:10 p.m. – We’re all getting a bit tired of doing this now. Nicola takes the books back to the bookshelves. Kelly finishes her map of Europe and glues it on to the timeline. Nicola comes down a few minutes later and quickly starts packing stuff away in her bag.

Paul has spilled a load of ink on his hands. He goes up to the bathroom to wash it off. I give him the leftover coloured paper to put back on the way.

5:20 p.m. – We admire our handiwork. It’s looking good. Nicola says she’s in a hurry to get home. Kelly
says she’s in a hurry to get to the chip shop. Paul’s being sulky. We roll the timeline up carefully and secure it with elastic bands.

5:25 p.m. – Nicola, Kelly and Paul all leave together. My mum and my sister arrive home at the same time, and we get ready to go out.

After that, you know the rest. Hope this helps.

Amy

It certainly did help. For one thing, it told me that Amy Parsons could be a bit of a moo herself, when she was in a mood. For another thing, it told me that
one
of the suspects was in the clear. Setting motive aside for a moment, there was one of the three who wouldn’t have had the chance to steal the diary

Can you work out which one of them was innocent?