Operation Gadgetman! (6 page)

Beans took a deep breath, then another. She had to calm down. Getting angry wouldn't help anything.

‘First, we need a blank sheet of plain paper,' Beans said quietly. ‘Then I put two pieces of Sellotape on the front and the back of the door handle and peel them off very carefully. Then I put them on the plain paper. With the dark fingerprint powder I should get a set of prints. That's the theory, anyway.'

‘So you've not actually done this before?' Louisa asked.

‘Never. And the prints might not even be clear. They might be smudged, or I could smudge them, or I might have two or three sets of prints one on top of the other. Lots of things could go wrong.'

‘That's right, Beans, look on the bright side!' Ann teased. ‘Or the whole thing might just work first time.'

‘Too right. You tell her, Ann,' Louisa joined in.

Beans smiled. They were right. She shouldn't be so pessimistic. She wasn't usually. Moving very slowly and carefully, Beans laid the Sellotape on the outside of the door handle. Once she peeled it off, she held it by its extreme tips before placing it on the plain paper Ann had got out of the kit for her. Next, she did the inside of the door handle. Once that piece of Sellotape had joined the first piece on the paper, they all huddled around for a look. The Sellotape was marked with the dark fingerprint powder and some kind of prints were definitely there.

‘The first set of prints are a bit smudged.' Louisa frowned.

‘I don't think so,' Beans said. ‘I think that's part of a palm print. The second bit of Sellotape has the fingerprints on it. That makes sense. Think about how you'd turn a door handle. Your fingers would be on the
inside
of the handle.'

‘But do they belong to your dad or his kidnappers?' Ann asked.

‘That's just it,' Beans sighed. ‘I have no way of knowing. I'm going to have to try and find some prints that must be Dad's. Meanwhile, these ones can go in the
TOP SECRET
file along with the other clues. I think . . . Oh no . . . !' Beans's face fell.

‘What's the matter?' Louisa asked quickly.

‘
We
came in here too,' Beans said, stricken. ‘Did either of you touch the door handle?'

Ann and Louisa looked at each other.

Ann shook her head. ‘I can't remember.' Louisa shrugged helplessly.

‘I don't think you did, 'cause the door was already open, wasn't it?' Beans tried to remember.

‘I think you should take both our fingerprints as well – just to be on the safe side,' Louisa said.

Ann nodded in agreement.

‘I'd better do my own as well,' Beans realized.

She took a felt-tipped pen out of her case and coloured in the fingertips of first Louisa, then Ann, then herself. She pressed each of her friends' fingers to a clean sheet of paper, one hand above the other, before doing her own. Beans labelled each sheet of paper very carefully. Ann wiped her fingers on her skirt. Louisa held her hands out in front of her and eyed them with distaste. She stretched out her fingers so that no finger touched the one next to it.

‘Yuk! So what next?' Louisa asked.

‘Next we go through Dad's workshop with a fine-toothed comb,' Beans said. ‘If you find anything, anything at all, let me know.'

Ten minutes and several questions later, they were all getting discouraged. Ann and Louisa thought they found several strange items but Beans had an explanation for each of them.

‘This is getting us nowhere,' Beans said reluctantly. ‘If there are any other clues in here, then I can't see them. Louisa, you didn't find anything in the corners of the room?'

Louisa shook her head.

‘Ann, there was nothing on the windowsill or under it?' Beans carried on.

Ann shook her head. ‘Sorry.'

‘And there was nothing in the waste-bin?' Beans asked.

Ann and Louisa frowned at each other before turning back to Beans.

‘I didn't check in the bin,' Louisa said, surprised. ‘I thought you were going to do it.'

‘I thought Ann did it,' Beans replied. ‘Still, I don't expect we'll find anything in there either.'

‘Beans!' Louisa warned.

Beans headed for the bin, mentally telling herself off. If that was the way she really thought, then why bother doing anything at all? She began to fish through the bin.

‘Two dead batteries – at least, I'm assuming they're dead . . . bits of wire . . . more bits of wire . . . hang on . . .'

‘You've found something?' Louisa asked eagerly.

‘So that's where the fish-knife got to!' Beans smiled, regarding the burnt, blackened top of the knife. ‘I do wish Dad wouldn't use our cutlery for . . .'

Beans stopped herself in mid-sentence. Dad could burn every knife, fork and spoon in their cutlery drawer as long as he came home safe and well. She carried on searching through the bin.

‘Yet more bits of wire . . . an insulating tube . . . Wait a minute . . .'

‘What is it?' Ann asked hopefully.

‘There's . . .' At this point, Beans stuck her head right in the bin. Ann and Louisa stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

‘Yes, I'm right – there's cigarette ash in here.'

‘And your dad doesn't smoke,' Louisa said, a slow smile spreading right across her face.

‘
Exactly
.' Even in the rapidly darkening workroom, Beans's eyes were gleaming. ‘And Dad empties this bin every night so the ash had to have been put in there today.'

‘What kind of ash is it?' Ann asked.

Beans frowned at her. ‘Ann, I'm not Sherlock Holmes, you know! I can't tell the difference between one brand of cigarette ash and another simply by sniffing it.'

‘No, I meant is it from a cigar or a pipe or a cigarette?' Ann said.

Silence.

‘Good point.' Beans stuck her head into the bin again. ‘I'd say it's cigarette ash, but they all smell disgusting to me.'

‘Let me have a whiff.' Ann barged Beans out of the way. ‘My granddad smokes a pipe so I know that smell.' Ann took a deep breath, her nose over the bin. ‘It's not a pipe. It's a cigarette.'

‘I suppose it'd be too much to hope for that the cigarette tip is in there?' Louisa said.

Ann shifted through the quarter-full bin. ‘No. Just ash,' she said at last.

‘I'll put some in an evidence bag, anyway,' Beans said.

Once they were sure that there was nothing else in the workroom, Beans led the way back inside the house.

‘You two can check upstairs. Watch where you're both stepping and
don't touch anything
.' Beans warned. Louisa and Ann went to explore the upstairs, whilst Beans phoned her gran.

It only took a few second's deliberation for Beans to decide that she'd wait for Gran to arrive before telling her what had happened to Dad. She couldn't exactly say, ‘How are you, Gran? By the way, Dad's been kidnapped!' over the phone. No, she'd wait until Gran came round and they were alone.

‘Gran, it's Beans,' she said, the moment her gran picked up the phone and said hello.

‘Well, hello Beatrice, how are you?' Gran asked. Her voice was warm and normal and made Beans sad.

‘Er . . . that's what I'm phoning about. Dad isn't here. Can you come over to stay with me until he gets back? He left a note to say I should ask you.' Beans chewed on her bottom lip.

That was about right!

‘Where is he?' Gran asked.

‘I don't know,' Beans replied. That was truthful.

‘Well, when will he be back?'

Beans could hear the frown in Gran's voice.

‘I don't know that either. I'll explain when you get here,' Beans said.

‘Hhmm! I'll be there as soon as possible. In about an hour,' Gran said.

‘Thanks, Gran. See you later,' Beans replied.

‘Just what is your father playing at?' she heard Gran mutter.

Beans waited for a few seconds before she put down the phone at her end. She was sure she'd done the right thing. It wasn't the sort of conversation to have over the phone. With a sigh, Beans went to join Louisa and Ann.

Forty minutes later the upstairs was done – and not one more clue.

‘Downstairs now,' Beans said. ‘We'll have to make this fast. Gran will be here soon.'

It was certainly very tiring work. Beans felt as if she had to examine practically every square centimetre of carpet just so she wouldn't miss anything important. And in spite of careful and detailed scrutiny, there was nothing out of the ordinary in any of the downstairs rooms either.

‘Look, Beans, I've got to go home,' Louisa said, glancing down at her watch.

‘Oh, no! Is that the time? My mum's going to kill me,' Ann joined in. ‘Beans, I'm gonna have to shift.'

‘That's OK. Thanks for all your help. It would have taken me for ever to try and do all this by myself,' Beans said gratefully. ‘Will I see you both on Monday morning?'

‘What are you talking about?' Louisa frowned. ‘We're going to be round here first thing tomorrow morning . . . at least I am.'

‘I'll be here too, don't worry,' Ann said indignantly.

Beans looked at her friends. She tried to smile. ‘Thanks.' She didn't know what else to say.

‘And don't worry, we won't say a word to anyone,' Louisa said. ‘Will we, Ann?'

‘Dead right! Not one word,' Ann agreed.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

‘That'll be my gran,' Beans said. She opened the front door, Louisa and Ann behind her.

‘Hello, Beatrice. Hello, girls.' Gran stepped over the threshold, closing the door firmly behind her. ‘My goodness, but it's getting chilly out there.'

‘Hello, Mrs Conran,' Ann said. ‘We were just leaving.'

‘Don't let me chase you out.' Gran raised her eyebrows.

‘You're not – honest. We really were just going,' Louisa said. ‘We'll see you tomorrow, Beans,' she added with a whisper. ‘Good luck with the fingerprints.'

Beans opened the front door for her friends and watched them as they walked down the hill to the bus stop.

‘What fingerprints was Louisa talking about?' Gran asked.

‘You heard that!' Beans stared.

‘Of course! You young people! You think that once a person passes forty, they're ready to be tucked up in their grave.' Gran grinned. ‘So what's this about fingerprints?'

‘Gran . . . I've got something to tell you,' Beans said unhappily. ‘I think you'd better sit down.'

This was it. And it was the worst thing Beans had ever had to do.

At first, Gran wouldn't believe it. A joke in very poor taste, she called it. It was only when Beans convinced her gran to phone Detective Warner that Gran's expression changed from being seriously annoyed with Beans to being seriously worried. Beans listened as Gran spoke to the detective, incredulity and fear growing in her voice. When at last Gran got off the phone, no-one spoke.

‘Why didn't you call me, Beatrice?' Gran said at last. ‘You should have told me at once. Why didn't you tell me over the phone?'

‘I couldn't. I thought it would be better if you were here. If we were together,' Beans sniffed.

Gran beckoned Beans towards her. ‘Come here.'

And in the middle of the sitting-room, they silently hugged.

‘I think I'll make you a nice cheese omelette,' Gran said firmly, after a few moments. ‘You must eat to keep up your strength.'

‘Gran!' Beans exclaimed. ‘How can you think about cooking at a time like this?'

‘Nonsense. You're a growing girl. You must give your body something to grow with,' Gran said, already heading for the kitchen.

‘But Gran, I couldn't force a thing down,' Beans called after her.

‘Nonsense, Beatrice. You'll eat,' Gran called back.

Beans didn't know whether it was a threat or a warning or a promise. She did know, however, that it was useless to argue with Gran once she'd made up her mind on something. Beans silently followed Gran into the kitchen, resentment on her face. What was wrong with Gran? Didn't she
care
?

‘Beatrice, you have no eggs,' Gran called out, her head buried in the fridge. She straightened up. ‘And where are the fresh vegetables and fruit?'

‘There's not much in the fridge, Gran, because Dad and I were due to go shopping tomorrow,' Beans explained through gritted teeth.

Gran was not impressed. ‘Your father should make sure the fridge is always well stocked. I do. Hhmm! At least there's milk and cheese. I'll make a lovely macaroni cheese.'

Beans shuddered. Macaroni cheese was about as appetizing as a plate of slithery, slimy worms. She scowled at her gran. Dad was missing and all Gran had on her mind was macaroni cheese.

‘But before we cook anything, we're going to have to tidy this kitchen,' said Gran. ‘You know I can't cook in an untidy kitchen.'

Beans didn't say anything, but she didn't stop scowling. She would never have believed that her gran could be so unfeeling. And she'd never forgive her for it. Never.

‘I've got to do . . . do my homework first,' Beans said icily. ‘I'll help you when it's finished.'

She turned round and marched out of the kitchen. Gran didn't care about anyone but herself. Here Beans was, worried sick about Dad and not knowing whether to cry or smash things up or laugh with disbelief or maybe all of them, and what was Gran doing? Making macaroni cheese!