No Rules (11 page)

‘We need to figure out how the furniture was removed,' said Friday. ‘The thief wouldn't have taken it through the door. There are eighteen bedrooms along this corridor, with thirty-six occupants. The chances of being discovered would be too high. They must have taken the furniture out through the window.'

Tristan's room had a large double window. Friday opened both panels wide. ‘Look!' she said, pointing to the paintwork. There were large scrapes.

‘Let's see how easy it would have been to do,' said Friday. She went over to Harris' bed and picked up the mattress, then promptly dropped it again. It flopped about and was hard to carry. Even with Melanie's help it took a lot of effort to get the mattress to the window then push it out.

‘Phew, furniture theft is exhausting,' said Melanie.

‘That was the easy bit,' said Friday. ‘Now we've got to do the bed base.'

In the end it took Friday and Melanie fifteen minutes to shove all of Harris' furniture out the window. By which time they were knackered, Friday had a bruise in the middle of her forehead where she had been hit by the leg of the desk as it slid out the window and she had pulled several threads in her least ugly brown cardigan.

‘Was that really worth doing?' asked Melanie as she looked out the window. The furniture looked sad sitting abandoned on the gravel road outside.

‘Absolutely,' said Friday, swinging her leg over the frame and climbing outside herself. ‘We've learned so much.'

‘We have?' said Melanie, sitting on the frame and spinning her legs over before sliding herself carefully onto the drive.

‘We've learned that our thief is physically strong and committed,' said Friday.

‘Should be committed, more like,' said Melanie.

‘That they are academically inclined and culturally refined,' said Friday.

‘How do you deduce that?' asked Melanie.

‘Because they stole a desk,' said Friday. ‘Which means they intend to sit and work. Most students at this school don't actually use their desk as a desk. It's more of a collection point for their belongings. When they read or do their homework, they want to be as comfortable as possible so they sit on their bed. Our thief wanted a place they could sit and work diligently.'

‘And how do you figure they are culturally refined?' asked Melanie.

‘Because they stole the bed base,' said Friday. ‘If all you're interested in is sleep, then you only need a mattress. If dignity and style is important to you, then you would value a bed base. It also tells us they intend to use the furniture for a while.'

‘What does the chest of drawers tell you?' asked Melanie. ‘Their mother's maiden name?'

‘That they have nice clothes,' said Friday. ‘If you have nice clothes, you care about how they are stored.'

‘Is that why you always leave your ugly brown cardigan draped on the floor?' said Melanie.

Friday did not answer because she was too busy looking around her. She stood next to the chest of drawers doing a slow pirouette, taking in what she could see in every direction. To the north lay the long rolling lawn that stretched down to the edge of the swamp. To the west were the cricket pitches. Highcrest Academy had three. This was a fact the school liked to boast about in their prospectus. Although, in reality, very few students enjoyed playing cricket. Polo and lacrosse were more popular in their social milieu. Plus, in this day and age of helicopter parenting, sports involving extremely hard balls being purposefully bowled at great speed at an opponent's head were not as popular as they once were. To the south was the kitchen garden, then the formal flower garden that wrapped around to the front of the school.

Friday stood with her back to the dormitory, looking out at all this expanse.

‘Can you see anything?' asked Melanie. ‘Obviously you can, but I mean something more than the view of the empty school grounds that I can see?'

‘I can see that the thief would have had to move
the furniture a long way,' said Friday, ‘so they must have needed wheels.'

‘A car?' suggested Melanie.

‘Students aren't allowed to have cars,' said Friday. ‘I think they used something simpler. Like a cart. Which they could have got from a place I can't see.'

‘Now you're talking in riddles,' said Melanie.

‘Mr Pilcher's shed is on the far side of the kitchen garden,' said Friday. ‘I bet he has a cart. Let's go and visit him.'

Mr Pilcher was very hospitable when Friday asked if she could look around his shed. He made her and Melanie a cup of tea and gave them two of his own personal stash of cream biscuits before they got started. Friday was a favourite of his now. He was grateful for her faith in his mushroom selection. If he had been responsible for feeding deathcaps to 300 children, he never would have heard the end of it.

Mr Pilcher had two ride-on lawnmowers and even a small tractor, but he kept the key on him at all
times. He didn't have a cart, but he did have a large wheelbarrow. Friday inspected it closely.

‘Is your wheelbarrow always this spotlessly clean?' she asked.

‘I like to take good care of all my equipment,' said Mr Pilcher.

‘I can see that,' said Friday, looking about the shed. ‘Everything is in excellent order. But a wheelbarrow would usually have traces of dirt or muck, whatever you had last carried in it. This wheelbarrow, however, is immaculate.'

Mr Pilcher came over for a close look. ‘It is too,' he said.

‘What did you last transport in it?' asked Friday.

‘Um … well, it would have been the fertiliser for the rose beds,' said Mr Pilcher.

‘What sort of fertiliser?' asked Friday.

‘Horse muck,' said Mr Pilcher. ‘The head groom is always very generous with the muck and it makes for excellent mulch.'

‘Interesting,' said Friday. She leaned right into the basin of the wheelbarrow until her nose was barely millimetres from the bottom, then took a long, deep sniff.

‘Gross,' said Melanie. ‘Please just don't lick it.'

‘It's all right,' said Friday, straightening up. ‘In fact, it's quite pleasant. The wheelbarrow smells of lemons. It has been scrubbed with a soluble cleaning product. This is our thief's mode of transport. They would have cleaned the wheelbarrow so they wouldn't get horse muck on the mattress.'

‘So the thief is a clean freak?' said Melanie.

‘I don't think you have to be a clean freak to not want to sleep in horse muck,' said Friday. ‘You just need a basic appreciation for cleanliness.'

‘So that rules out 75 per cent of the boys at this school,' said Melanie.

‘And it means we will soon catch the culprit,' said Friday, searching through her backpack before taking out a small jar and a large make-up brush, ‘because there will be fingerprints on the handles.'

Friday started brushing dust over both black handles. Then she took out her magnifying glass and closely inspected the results. ‘I don't believe it!'

‘You recognise the fingerprints on sight?' asked Melanie.

‘No, there are no fingerprints,' said Friday.

‘The thief was a double amputee?' asked Melanie.

‘No,' said Friday, ‘they must have worn gloves.
Or wiped the handles clean. That's clever and thoughtful.'

‘It sounds like someone who knows all about you,' said Melanie.

‘Perhaps,' said Friday, as she took a moment to consider all the evidence. ‘Who do we know who is strong, stylish, particular about clothes, clever, knows me well and is in need of a bed?'

‘Can you make it a multiple choice question?' asked Melanie. ‘You know I'm not good at linear thinking.'

‘Is it a) Ian Wainscott, b) Ian Wainscott or c) Ian Wainscott?' said Friday.

‘All of the above!' exclaimed Melanie.

‘Exactly,' said Friday.

‘But he's at another school that's hours away,' said Melanie.

‘Do we know that for sure?' asked Friday. ‘You know what his mother is like.'

‘Obsessed with growing vegetables,' said Melanie.

‘That would grow tedious quickly,' said Friday. ‘He may have become fed up with living at home.'

‘So where could he be?' asked Melanie.

‘He would need a room,' said Friday. ‘An empty
room. A place where he would know for sure that he wasn't going to be disturbed.'

‘But there are students all over the school,' said Melanie. ‘No room stays empty for long.'

‘But there are lots of outbuildings and sheds around the grounds,' said Friday. ‘I've got it!'

‘You have?' said Melanie.

‘You have brothers,' said Friday. ‘You must know something about sport.'

‘You've got two brothers, too,' said Melanie.

‘Yes, but they're physicists, they don't count,' said Friday. ‘Aren't some sports only played in certain seasons?'

‘I believe so,' said Melanie.

‘And its winter now,' said Friday. ‘So which sports aren't played in winter?'

‘Surfing,' said Melanie.

‘At this school?' said Friday.

‘Cricket,' said Melanie.

‘That's right,' said Friday. ‘It's only played in summer. So right now, in the middle of winter, the cricket dressing room would be entirely empty, and would stay that way for the next five months.'

It was a long walk to the cricket stand. Friday and Melanie had to cross two cricket pitches to get there. As they grew closer they could hear something.

‘Is that music?' asked Melanie.

‘He's not exactly being subtle about hiding his location, is he?' said Friday.

The girls walked around the back of the building. For modesty's sake, the window was eight feet off the ground so the players could have privacy while they were changing.

‘I want to have a look,' said Friday. ‘Can you give me a boost?'

‘No,' said Melanie. ‘Lifting other people up is not something I do.'

‘Fair enough,' conceded Friday. She looked about. There was a metal garbage bin nearby. She picked it up and set it down by the wall, then carefully climbed up. When she stood on her tippy-toes she could just see in through the dirty window pane.

‘What can you see?' asked Melanie.

‘I can't believe it,' said Friday.

‘Can't believe what?' asked Melanie.

‘The way he's got it set up,' said Friday. ‘It's just like … waaaaahhhh!'

Friday had stretched up on her toes too far, tipping the bin back. The bin toppled over and she fell forward, banging her head on the wall.

‘Oww!' yelled Friday.

‘Friday!' yelled Melanie.

‘What's going on!' yelled Ian, as he burst out of the back door.

‘Ian, it is you!' said Melanie. ‘Friday is going to be so glad to see you when she regains consciousness.'

Friday was lying unconscious in a clump of large weeds. There was a large scrape across her forehead that was just starting to bleed.

‘Urrrgh,' groaned Friday.

‘What are you doing here?' demanded Ian.

‘Tristan hired Friday to find his bed,' said Melanie.

‘Typical,' said Ian. ‘Trust her to fall in with the most amoral boy in school.'

‘To be fair,' said Melanie, ‘she didn't do it for moral reasons, she did it for the money.'

‘Urrrrrgh,' moaned Friday.

‘I suppose we should get her inside and stop the bleeding,' said Ian.

‘How very thoughtful of you,' said Melanie.

Ian bent down and picked Friday up. She was not
heavy but she was a dead weight, so he staggered a bit as he stood up with her.

‘I wish I had a camera,' said Melanie. ‘This would be a great snapshot to be able to show your grandkids.'

‘Would you mind getting the door?' asked Ian.

‘Of course,' said Melanie.

Ian lumbered into the change room with Friday and dumped her on his bed. Well, to be strictly accurate, it was Tristan's bed. But Ian had gone a long way to make himself feel at home. The change rooms had been kitted out with all his personal belongings, including his doona from home. Even his school books were neatly stacked on his stolen desk.