Extraordinary Losers 2 (8 page)

Is someone trying to tell us something?” I asked, entirely bewildered.

“Yes, why leave a copy of Madam Siti's IC in the middle of the corridor, no?” Mundi thought out loud. “Maybe, someone is trying to tell us that she is involved?”

“A teacher involved?” Janice was doubtful.

“Tough,” Clandestino said, sighing. He put his iPhone away and took out a pen. He started scratching his neck. I couldn't see it but I heard the scritch scratch of a pen tip against rough skin. In the darkness of the night, we could only see each other's eyes.

My gaze collided with his pair of narrow slit eyes. “Are you sure you found this right outside the classroom?”

“Yes, when we came in, it wasn't there. Remember? And after we, or rather YOU, heard the footsteps, it suddenly appeared.”

“Strange.” Janice mulled. She needed her donuts to think and she secretly pinched a morsel of a donut hidden in her pocket and popped it into her mouth, thinking no one could see in the darkness. (Of course, I heard all the munching.)

“Guys, it's getting late. I need to be back home,” Mundi said. “Let's discuss this another time. We cannot stay here any longer. Someone obviously knows we are here! No?”

“I agree,” I said. Knowing Mom, she would be worried sick if I was home late.

We climbed out the gate and started making our way home. Of course, Clandestino was the first to disappear.

As I lay in bed tossing and turning, images of the fire and the blackened classroom flashed through my mind. It kept me so awake that I couldn't sleep. The fingerprint on the vandalised wall and on the Coke can… Was it supposed to match the fingerprint on the IC? I realised I knew someone who could help.

“Psst, Soph, can I borrow your eyes for a moment?”

“Now?” she said, yawning. Sophia was already almost in dreamland.

“Yes, please?” I begged.

“Okay, what do I get in return?” Sophia rubbed her eyes, still awake enough to bargain.

“You get, let me see… my Internet time for tomorrow?”

We only had one laptop in the house. That was Mom's way of teaching us to share and get along. What Mom didn't know was that the laptop was the source of every contention because we were always fighting to use it. What's worse, we resorted to lies and bribery (like this).

“Deal!” She jumped up from her bed and dragged her feet to where I was.

“What now?” she said, followed by a big yawn.

“THIS!” I pinched the piece of paper with the fingerprint from my poem book.

“So? What do I do with a fingerprint? By the way, this looks quite disturbing.”

“Compare it with this.” I slid her the photocopied identity card with a fingerprint on it.

“That's easy,” she said.

“Hang on. And… this.” I whipped out my handphone and tapped on “Albums”. Quickly, I located the photograph of the fingerprints on the vandalised wall I had taken. I zoomed in on the fingerprint.

“Are you trying to be a detective, Darryl?” Sophia asked. “You had better not get involved.”

“I know what I am doing. Just this once. Please, Soph?” I begged.

“Hai,” she sighed. “Okay. By the way, this is really a no-brainer task.”

She looked at the three specimens before her. The photocopied IC, the sheet of paper with just a fingerprint and the zoomed-in photo on the phone. Then her head stiffened, her pupils expanded and she peered hard at each specimen for about two seconds each.

Sophia looked up and announced nonchalantly, “It's a match.” Her muscles relaxed again.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Of course!”

“Super sure?” I tested.

“Yes, Darryl DUUUHHHHH… and what are you doing with Madam Siti's photocopied IC?”

“It's a long story… but thanks, Sis.” I hugged her.

Sophia had very powerful eyes, just as I had very powerful ears. She could see as far as a kilometre away. And her powerful vision allowed her to spot details easily. It worked like a magnifying glass and a powerful telescope. But because it gave her terrible headaches, she chose not to use her powers most of the time, only when necessary.

Sunday passed uneventfully and Monday finally came. Clandestino was feeling very gloomy. He was sure he was still doomed despite all the evidence we had. I, on the other hand, was feeling quite positive. We were determined to show Mr Grosse and Mrs Priya our findings. We had agreed to meet early that morning, at 6.55 am.

I told my friends about how the fingerprints matched.

Mundi was stunned. “I can't believe this, no? No wonder she was so insistent that no one go near the wall!”

“Yes, and Madam Siti didn't want us involved at all remember?” I said.

“But it doesn't make sense. Why would she do that?” Clandestino asked.

“She's not happy with the school, maybe. Or Mrs Priya,” Janice added. “We have to show this to Mrs Priya and Mr Grosse.”

We approached Mr Grosse first. Our hearts were lodged in our throats – he wasn't exactly the most approachable teacher. When he saw us, he immediately furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously.

“Hey, there you are, Clandestino. The police have some questions for you.” He grabbed Clandestino's wrist. Clandestino pulled back.

“What's the matter with you?” Mr Grosse flared up.

Mundi began to tremble.

“Err … Mr Grosse,” I said. “Err… we think we know who the vandal is. I think I mean … the vandal is the same as the arsonist. Yeah, we think we know who it is.”

“But you might not believe us,” Janice chimed in. “She's a teacher.”

“Yeah, one of the
very
important teachers,” Clandestino added.

Mr Grosse eyeballed all of us, trying to catch on.

“Wait… who is it then? You had better tell me before things get worse in this school.” We took a deep breath. Mundi pursed his lips in silence.

“Madam Siti,” the rest of us said in unison.

“What?” Mr Grosse snapped. “How do you know that?”

“Well… we have HER fingerprints all over the crime scene,” I said.

“Yeah, we really do. See for yourself.” I handed Mr Grosse three cellophane bags. All labelled neatly. One with the fingerprint from the Coke can, one with the photocopied IC and one with a photograph of the fingerprint on the wall.

He peered into the contents of the bags. It seemed like an eternity and for a moment our legs turned into lead. Had we done the right thing?

Mr Grosse let out a heavy sigh.

“This case is not for you. This is for us and the police.

You four are not to investigate this further, okay? Stay out of this.”

“But…” Janice started to protest.

“No buts, Janice. You want me to call your parents and inform them of this?”

“No,” she said and bowed her head low.

“Yes, then you four had better stay out of this. How dare you blame a teacher for all that has happened?”

“The evidence speaks for itself.” Clandestino could not restrain himself.

“Clandestino, you still are one of the suspects! There may be more than one person involved. See me after school.”

Mr Grosse marched off with all the evidence – the photograph, the fingerprint and the IC.

Mundi squealed, “Oh no! Oh no! Clandestino is still a suspect and now Mr Grosse has all our evidence!”

“Not all the evidence,” Janice said. “Good thing, he hasn't got this!” She took out the glove from her bag.

Clandestino leapt up and immediately forced her hand down. “Don't hold it up so high!”

“Oops,” she said sheepishly.

“Hey, Janice, you're our saviour. But what are we going to do with this?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Clandestino said.

“But this is a strong piece of evidence.”

“How so?” Clandestino asked.

“This is as good as the murder weapon. What is a single glove doing in the fire? The culprit must have accidentally left it there,” Janice explained.

I noticed something odd about the glove. “Wait, why does it look so small? What did you do to it, Janice?”

“Nothing! It has always been this size, Darryl!” she snapped. We were all feeling weary from the case.

Mundi felt the glove and agreed, “Yes, it's the same glove. Maybe you couldn't see its actual size as it was dark that night.”

“But wait, Madam Siti's hand wouldn't have been able to fit into that glove,” Janice said. “See, even mine can't!” Janice measured the tiny glove against her palm.

It was a logical assertion. Madam Siti was huge! She had sausages for fingers. Not just any sausage, but huge German bratwursts.

“This is so confusing!” Janice stamped her feet in annoyance. “You mean Madam Siti might not even be involved in this?”

Mundi nodded his head sideways so we weren't sure if he was agreeing or disagreeing.

“You see here? Another thing. No?” He held up the burnt glove. “It's a left-hand rubber glove.”

“So… are you saying the vandal is left-handed?” Janice asked.

“Yes… I mean, probably, I mean… maybe…” Mundi hesitated.

“Good thinking, Mundi,” I said. “Maybe the vandal only wore one glove because he needed one hand free to strike a match to start the fire. And he would wear a glove only on the hand he was going to use the most – which was his left, if he was left-handed.”

Mundi blinked his eyes rapidly for a while before concluding, “An 80 per cent chance he or she was a leftie.”

“Madam Siti is… let's see… right-handed,” Janice said. “When she writes on the board, it is very obvious.”

Clandestino let out a prodigious yawn. Every time someone started doing math, it drained his hyperactivity away. “Okay, okay. What else is there to do?” He took out three pens and started juggling them in mid-air. “Left hand, right hand. This is confusing!”

Clandestino threw up a pen, then spun another two with his fingers while the first pen was somersaulting in mid-air. Then he caught that one and threw up another one. Basically, he was spinning pens and juggling at the same time.

“Guys, speaking of size, the silhouette I saw near the fire that day was rather small, more like a student,” he said as he juggled.

“Oh no! We are really losers!” Mundi said. “Now we have just gotten Madam Siti involved. She's definitely not small!”

“But… maybe she is the accomplice, that's why her fingerprints are everywhere?” Janice suggested.

“Madam Siti's not even good in art!” I said.

“But if you think about it carefully, who would be so silly to leave fingerprints everywhere?” Mundi reasoned. “Maybe someone is trying to frame her! No? Someone small and left-handed?”

We looked at one another. Our eyes lit with understanding but slowly flickered with puzzlement and disappointment.

“Miss Teo?” Janice asked.

“She's so nice, it can't be her.” I scratched my head in disbelief.

Janice nodded, recollection in her eyes. “I remember now. One day, I was doing our science project in the parade square. I didn't have scissors, so I borrowed one from the office. Miss Teo was there and she handed me one. It couldn't fit properly into my fingers.”