Novel - Half Moon Investigations (17 page)

But April couldn’t see or hear him. The engine noise smothered his words. April wrestled the automatic gear stick to DRIVE and let off the hand brake. Two seconds later, the Devereux four-wheel drive rolled into Murt’s squad car at ten miles an hour. Plenty fast enough to do almost twelve thousand euros worth of damage.

April had just enough time to see the looks on the adults’ faces before the air bag wrapped itself around her.

WE RETURNED TO Chez Sharkey flushed with victory. Though Red may have been flushed from carrying me on the back of his bike all day. Genie was at my computer again, downloading songs from an Internet pirate site.

“That’s illegal,” I said.

“So are you,” she said. A good point.

“Where’s Papa?” asked Red a little nervously. He had gotten himself all psyched up to talk about the promise he had made to his mother.

Genie slipped a recordable CD into the drive. “He’s out. Working.”

“Where?”

“I can’t talk in front of the N-E-R-D.”

I rolled my eyes. “I can spell, you know.”

“Really? Then G-E-T L-O-S-T.”

Red squeezed his head between Genie and the screen. “Where is he? I need to know.”

Genie sighed. “Very well, my annoying little brother. He’s at the vending machine warehouse. Papa’s been scoping it for a few days now.”

Vending. That was the second time I had heard that word recently. It was unusual to hear such an uncommon word twice. Murt had said it earlier tonight. He had promised to check the vending warehouse. Someone had been hanging around. A prowler. Murt could very well catch Papa in the act.

“We have to stop them.” Should I have said that? Papa was committing a crime. I was on the side of law and order, wasn’t I? But Red was my friend. And his family was in danger.

I tugged Red’s sleeve. “We need to go now and stop him.”

Genie folded her arms. “Here we go. Time for the piglet detective to deliver a lecture. The world is not black and white, Half Moon. Some of us do just fine in the gray areas.”

“Murt Hourihan.
Sergeant
Murt Hourihan is on his way to check out the vending warehouse right now. Remember?”

Suddenly Red did remember. The memory turned him whiter than a nervous ghost. “We have to go,” he said. “Right now.”

The quickest route to the Lock Industrial Estate was cross country. We sprinted through several gardens and across a wasteland of discarded machine parts, heading for the orange glow of the estate’s streetlamps. The farther we went, the farther Red pulled away from me. He was in good shape, a sportsman. Running flat out for a mile didn’t seem to bother him. Me, I thought I was going to die. And after I died, possibly throw up. I didn’t call Red back, though; speed was more important than brains in this instance.

The estate was U-shaped. Three rows of buildings with an entrance on to the main road. The entire place was lit up like a flying-saucer landing site. I imagine they would light those up pretty well. I saw Red tearing across a parking lot, surrounded by several of his own shadows.

By the time I caught up, he had located Papa behind the vending machine warehouse. He was wedged into a ditch overlooking the loading yard.

“Would you like to tell me why I shouldn’t go in there?” Papa was saying. It was obvious that he was not happy with Red’s sudden appearance. Then he noticed me.

“You brought Half Moon? On a job? I know you don’t exactly think like the rest of us, Red, but you’re still family.”

Red’s bottom lip jutted out. “You just can’t go in there,” he said stubbornly. “That’s all.”

Papa emerged from the bush. Quite a bit of it stayed in his hair. With the orange glow behind him, Papa looked like a caveman emerging from a hole in time.

“Listen, son. We all know how you feel. But I’m the way I am. Stop fighting it. Just accept it. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ve never been caught. You know that. I’m too clever for the police.”

“Can’t we talk about this at home?” asked Red. “We need to go home.”

“Why do we have to go home tonight?” asked Papa suspiciously. “You never came after me before.”

I thought I would fill in the details. “Murt Hourihan is on his way. . . .”

That was as far as I got because Papa eyes were wide and his voice grew loud. “Murt Hourihan. Sergeant Hourihan? You’ve gone over to the other side, then, Red. Did you turn me in?”

Red rolled his eyes at me.
Well done
,
Half Moon
, said the eyes. “No. Of course not. I would never do that. We’re here to save you.” Red stood his ground. “Don’t do it, Papa. Trust me. You go in there, and you’re in prison and we’re in care. Is that what you want? It’s not what Mom wanted.”

Papa was quietly furious. “That’s it!” he said, pointing a finger bigger than a hot dog. “The line is crossed. Don’t you throw your mother at me. You were barely five.”

“I know what she wanted,” insisted Red.

“You know nothing!” shouted Papa. “This is me, Red. In front of you. I am your family. Not our unwelcome guest. No offense, Half Moon.”

“None taken,” I mumbled.

“This is my life,” said Papa, spreading his arms. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Red said nothing. He simply pointed toward the main road. A solitary pair of headlights bobbed through the darkness, then turned in to the industrial estate. The car materialized under the street-lamp glow. It was a squad car with a crumpled rear bumper. The car disappeared from view around the front of the warehouse. It did not reappear at the other side.

Papa stuffed a tool kit under his arm.

“Home,” he ordered. “This conversation is not over.”

Back to Chez Sharkey for the final time. There wasn’t much said on the way. This would be my last night here, one way or the other. Even if we hadn’t steered Murt to the clipboard, the twenty-four hours that Papa had given us to break the case were almost up. As it turned out, it hadn’t even taken us that long.

The police watch hadn’t stretched to another shift, so we were able to walk through the front yard. Red and I dawdled at the door, reluctant to face Papa again.

“I have to sort out this family thing,” Red said. “It could be loud, Half Moon. So why don’t you go home now?”

I had asked myself that same question. I was desperate to see my parents and sister, but I needed to be strong for a few more hours. Until Murt had sewn it all up. It would be fascinating to see how it all tied together.

“Because it’s not a hundred percent yet. It may take the night for Murt to trace everything we’ve been accused of back to April and her gang. I want all the loose ends tied up before I turn myself in.”

Papa was waiting for us in the kitchen. The trip home had given him the opportunity to calm down, but he hadn’t taken it.

“In here, the two of you,” he roared.

We considered disobeying, but not for long.

Papa’s eyes sparkled with annoyance from below brows that could have taken a few braids. All the man needed was a helmet with horns and he could have been a Viking.

“Right, Red. Start talking. What exactly is going on in that head of yours?”

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Red whispered, his eyes on the floor. “You’ve made your choice, and so has Genie. But me and Roddy don’t have to have the same life.”

Herod laughed. “I want to do it. I have every video game in the charts in my bedroom. I don’t need friends. I just need my console and a bag of candy!”

Papa was taken aback. “You have us, too, Roddy boy.”

“For now,” said Red, louder now. “Until you go to jail along with Arthur and Uncle Pete and Mad Mary and Eileen. There’ll be a whole wing of Sharkeys soon. If it wasn’t for Half Moon, you’d be in a cell right now.”

Herod spoke quietly. “Are you going to jail, Papa? When?”

Papa frowned. “No, I’m not going to jail.”

“Me neither,” added Genie. “I’m too fashionable for those orange jumpsuits.”

Red was determined to make his point. “Tell him the truth. Before you drag him into a life of robbing and thieving.”

Papa was flabbergasted. I got the impression that this was the first time one of his children had ever pressed him on this subject. He recovered, and tried to joke his way out.

“Ah, now, Red boy,” he sang, dancing his way past the kitchen table. “We’re hardly master criminals, just shave a bit off here, skim a bit off there.” He took Red in his arms, waltzing him around the kitchen. “Relax, little man. Aren’t we happy? Don’t we get along just fine?”

Genie and Herod were dancing, too.

Red broke away from his father. “Mom made me promise!” he cried, his eyes wide and rebellious. “I was only five, but Mom made me promise that I’d keep an eye on Roddy. But how can I with the pair of you up to your armpits in every swindle going? What kind of example are you?”

This was family stuff. I should be elsewhere. Home with my own family, having our own fights. Suddenly I longed for some of Hazel’s drama-queen hysterics. I would even wear whatever shirt Mom picked out for me. And Dad. Dad. Just thinking about them made my insides hurt. I wanted to throw up. Then sleep for a few days.

Papa had stopped dancing.

“You promised your mother? She asked you? Hardly more than a baby. Why not me?”

He already knew the answer, but Red told him anyway. “You’ll never change. But there’s still time for Roddy and me. We can be normal.”

“I don’t want to be normal!” stated Herod. “What am I going to do? Be a private eye, like you and your new best nerd friend?”

Red was upset now. “You’re too young to know what you want!” He sat at the table, hiding his face in his hands.

Herod laughed. “Sure, have a little cry there, Mary. Should I get you a hanky?”

“Shut up, Roddy,” snapped Genie. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?”

Red spoke between his fingers. “I was trying to keep an eye on the sly. Not turn everyone against me.

It’s getting too much now. Herod is a one-man crime wave at school. The police are already watching him. For his sixteenth birthday he’s going to get a set of handcuffs.”

Genie took a tissue from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “Papa, maybe Red is right.”

Papa threw up his meaty arms. “Another one. Are you all against me?”

Genie stood her ground. “Don’t take it personal. We’re not against you. We’re for Mom, and Roddy, too.”

Papa’s fingers disappeared inside his beard as he scratched his chin. “Well, maybe I could rein him in a bit.”

“What?” yelped Herod. “You can’t rein me in. Especially not because of Red.”

Herod had forgotten that you don’t give orders to Papa.

“I can’t rein you in?” he thundered. “Can’t? I am the master in this house. You will do as I say. From now on, school three days a week and no robbing.”

“Three days a week!” howled Herod. “I’m not a robot!”

Papa’s mind was made up. “Three days. That’s it. Maybe four after Christmas!”

Herod ran to his room, howling like a wolverine. He did pause on the way past to punch me on the arm.

“I know this is your fault, Half Moon!” he said, before disappearing down the corridor.

Papa turned his gaze to me. “How long have you been hanging around?” he asked, as if all this family upheaval had been my fault.

“Just today.”

“Seems longer. Anyway, your time is up in the morning.”

“I know. Twenty-four hours.”

“It’s okay, Papa,” said Red. “It’s all over. We cracked the case. By morning we’ll be in the clear, then he can go home and we can all get back to normal.”

Papa nodded slowly. “All over? Wrapped up quick and easy. I have an instinct for crime. This isn’t over. Nobody’s going back to normal just yet.”

Instincts versus facts. Papa had one, I had the other. I was right. This case was dead and buried. And there are only two ways something can come back from the dead. One, in dreams. And two, if someone has buried the wrong body.

I felt a twinge of doubt in my stomach.

“I need to go to my room,” I said. “I have to check my notes.”

My files were where I had left them, strewn across the furniture and floor. Generally when a case is wrapped up, hindsight makes it easy to connect the dots. When you know who dunnit and why they dunnit, how they dunnit is not so difficult.

So. April Devereux wants to get rid of the troublesome boys in her class. What does this have to do with May Devereux or Adrian McCoy or Isobel French or Maura Murnane? On the face of it, nothing. But there must be some method in her madness. Some ripple effect. It was impossible to know without that clipboard. Murt would figure it out. He would slot the pieces of the jigsaw into place, and I would be welcomed back into law-abiding society with bear hugs and sloppy kisses.

I lay on the bed among files and photos. The ancient mattress sagged alarmingly under my slight weight.

Mom, Dad, Hazel: Sorry. Home soon. Love, Fletcher Watson Sharkey Half Moon Moon.

I was getting all emotional—running through reunion scenarios in my head. An alarming number of them ended with me being grounded until I got married and moved out. You know you’re in trouble when your own imagination starts punishing you.

What have
Les Jeunes Etudiantes
got to do with you?

It was an annoying question because I didn’t have an answer for it. Why had April and her comrades targeted me? I couldn’t trace it back. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that there were two separate cases here. Was it just as Murt had said on that park bench a lifetime ago:
Sometimes when you can’t find a pattern it’s because there is more than one.
Two sets of criminals.
Les Jeunes Etudiantes
and the mystery giant. Could that be? Had I simply stumbled across April Devereux’s grand plan by throwing a dart at a photograph?