The Fangs of the Dragon (11 page)

W
HEN YOU’RE A BRILLIANT SCHOOLBOY
detective like me, you can’t afford to let anything pass you by. You never know
when a clue, or a connection, or a significant fact, will turn up and blow a case wide open. You must always be on the alert. Always.

On Monday morning, I was about as alert as a dead wombat. The pollen count was at an all-time high, and my nose was at an all-time low. I slouched to school, cursing the DNA of my parents for
passing on the hay fever gene to their only child! I couldn’t decide which were runnier, my eyes or my nostrils. I was not in the best of condition to observe and deduce.

Even so, taking my usual route across the park at 8.40 a.m., I noticed something very odd. If you’ve read my previous volume of case files, you’ll be well aware of that low-down rat
Harry Lovecraft. He’s in my class at school but, as I like to say, the rest of us out-class him in every way, ha ha. Harry Lovecraft is my arch enemy, a sneaky, smarmy, shiny-haired and
shiny-shoed weasel, who’s about as trustworthy as a starving cobra in a boxful of white mice. If there’s a con trick to be played in the playground, he’ll play it.

So I was naturally suspicious when I saw him, taking his usual route across the park, chatting amiably to a group of younger kids. Believe me, that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft never chats
amiably to anyone, least of all kids in the year groups below him. Tricks them out of their dinner money, yes, but chats amiably, no.

I walked faster and caught up with the group. They seemed to be talking about wizards, frog-people, and something called a ‘Grand Croak Toad Belcher’.

‘What are you ubb to, Lovecraft?’ I said.

‘Deary me, Smart,’ oozed Harry Lovecraft, ‘is that hay fever, or has someone finally given you the smack in the face you deserve?’

The kids around him giggled. Some of them were from Miss Bennett’s class, and the rest from the other class in that year group.

I tried to think of a witty reply. I couldn’t. ‘Just shudd ubb, Lovecraft,’ I said. ‘You’re ubb to something.’

‘We’re talking about FrogWar BattleZone,’ piped up one of the kids. ‘You collect the figures and paint them. We’re all making our own battleboards.’

I glared at Harry Lovecraft as best I could with my bloodshot, pollen-bloated eyes. ‘You’re never into FrogWar,’ I said. ‘Whadd sneaky liddle plot are you haddching
now?’

Harry Lovecraft took a step closer to me. A new Inkspot pen, one of the more expensive sort, gleamed in the top pocket of his school uniform. Clipped to his lapel was the latest miniature MP3
player, a model that had only been in the shops for a week or so.

‘That’s the trouble with busybodies like you, Smart,’ he sneered, ‘you always think the worst of people.’

‘No, not peeble in general,’ I sneered back. ‘Just you.’

I turned to leave. Or rather, to carry on walking ahead of them. I’d only gone a few steps when I turned back, with a question for Harry.

‘Your birthday’s not for three muddths yet, is it?’ I said.

‘What?’ blinked Harry, confused. ‘Planning a surprise party for me, are you?’

I walked on. Despite having a fit of sneezing that lasted all the way to school, I was secretly congratulating myself. I now had
two
reasons for thinking that Harry Lovecraft might
somehow be involved in these mysterious non-break-ins I was investigating, two coincidences which made me suspicious.

Have you spotted them?

The two coincidences were:

1. Harry Lovecraft’s little FrogWar group
included a number of Miss Bennett’s pupils. He would
never
normally be friendly with those kids. Was there a link between
his sudden interest, and the non-break-ins experienced by Miss Bennett’s class?

2.  Some money
had – probably, apparently – gone missing. And Harry Lovecraft suddenly owned an expensive pen and an MP3 player he couldn’t have bought before it
arrived in the shops last week. From past experience I knew he was enough of a low-down rat to resort to petty theft.

The problem was,
how
could Harry Lovecraft be linked with these ‘un-crimes’? As far as I knew, he hadn’t suddenly gained the ability to walk through walls, as this
phantom-like burglar appeared to be doing.

On the
plus
side: these un-crimes clearly showed a great deal of careful sneakiness – classic Lovecraft trademarks!

But! On the
minus
side: to be so careful and sneaky seemed a bit of a wasted effort, if all that was nicked was some cash. If Harry Lovecraft wanted cash, he generally just pulled another
dinner-money scam.

But! On the
plus
side: no news of another dinner-money scam had reached me this term. So Harry Lovecraft’s sudden flaunting of new goodies made a link with the un-crimes all the
more likely.

But! On the
minus
side: would even that low-down rat turn to actual burglary? I’d never known him go
that
far, ever.

By the time I arrived at school, not only was my nose bunged up with snot, but my brain was bunged up with a jumble of confusing and contradictory thoughts. Before registration, I hurried along
to Miss Bennett’s class and arranged for the six victims of the un-crimes to stay behind at morning break. I had three items on my To Do list:

While our form teacher, Mrs Penzler, was handing out worksheets for the first lesson of the day, I leaned across to the desk beside me and had a quiet word with my friend George
‘Muddy’ Whitehouse, as follows:

Me:
(checking that neither Mrs Penzler nor H Lovecraft were looking my way) Muddy, I’m going to be busy on a case during break. Can you keep a close watch on Harry Lovecraft for
me?

Muddy:
Will do. Brilliant. I’ve got some of my homemade spy gear with me.

Me:
Why do you have to keep bringing spies into everything?

Muddy:
Spies are cool.

Me:
So are fridges, so what? We are not spies. This is detective work.

Muddy:
(pulling a face) . . . It’s similar to spies.

Me:
No, it’s not, it’s — (flapping hands about) Just forget about spies. Watch Harry Lovecraft. Don’t let him know you’re keeping tabs on him, OK? Be casual.
Be subtle.

Muddy:
Casual and subtle, check. (Pause) ‘The seagulls fly south over Moscow.’

Me:
. . . What?

Muddy:
It’s what spies say.

Me:
Oh shut up.

Mrs Penzler:
Saxby, less chatter, please!

Me:
Sorry!

The moment the bell for morning break sounded, I zipped along to Miss Bennett’s class. I talked to each of the six one by one, and made careful notes. Here are the results.

Incident 1

Pupil’s name:
Maggie Hamilton

Date/time/location of incident:
24 April (first Thursday of term)/between 10 a.m. and 1 p.m./14 Meadow Road

What happened:
Maggie’s mum came home, thought several things had been moved – computer keyboard, address book by kitchen phone, pile of household bills;
£20 note in hall drawer gone. Mum has large jewellery box in bedroom – untouched.

Any other relevant info:
Mum and Dad think Mum’s just mistaken (neighbour says she saw Mum arriving home at 11.30 a.m., Mum thought she didn’t get back until
1 p.m.); Dad was away on business all that week; Mum works afternoons at SuperSave.

Incident 2

Pupil’s name:
Patrick Atwood

Date/time/location of incident:
1 May/in the morning ‘sometime after 10.15 a.m.’/26 Avon Street

What happened:
Files and papers on desk disturbed; drawers sorted through.

Any other relevant info:
Patrick’s mum works from home – this happened on the only day of the week she’s not at home; very worried that
‘intruder’ knew this and/or was watching the house.

Incident 3

Pupil’s name:
Sarah Hardy (This was the pupil who first mentioned the ‘un-crimes’ in class)

Date/time/location of incident:
8 May/‘must have been between 9.45 a.m. and noon’ / Flat 2, Park Court

What happened:
Stuff around PC station moved; waste paper basket in living room ‘in wrong position’; pile of change on hall shelf gone; £10 note from
Mum’s dressing table gone (credit cards untouched).

Any other relevant info:
Mum thinks Sarah’s two older sisters swiped the money; sisters grounded; sisters
not
happy; only Sarah noticed item movements
– sisters distracted by college work, Mum distracted by daily hobby of shopping(!); Mum calls Sarah’s suggestion of an intruder ‘ridiculous’.

Incident 4

Pupil’s name:
Thomas Waters

Date/time/location of incident:
15 May/‘sometime late morning’/36 Field Close

What happened:
Drawers left slightly open; box of old paperwork disturbed; kitchen bin moved; £20 in assorted coins and notes gone from teapot in kitchen(!?), but
Mum has convinced herself she used this for Chinese takeaway the previous week.

Any other relevant info:
Thomas’s mum suspicious when returned home from appointment; Thomas’s dad always at work 7 a.m.–7 p.m.; Mum works with Maggie
Hamilton’s mum at SuperSave in the afternoons, and is friends with Liz Wyndham’s mum down the street.

Incident 5

Pupil’s name:
Liz Wyndham

Date/time/location of incident:
22 May/before 12 p.m./45 Field Close

What happened:
Work desk disturbed; computer screen angle changed; wardrobes gone through.

Any other relevant info:
Liz’s mum works from home part-time – only leaves house a couple of times a week due to medical stuff. Liz asked nosy Mrs Huxley from
across the street if she’d seen anything that day (‘she misses
nothing
’) – Mrs H claimed Liz’s mum left house at 9.20 a.m., came back at 10.50 a.m., left again
at 11.05 a.m. and returned again at 12! But Liz’s mum says she was out all morning, from 9.20. Liz worried about her mum!

Incident 6

Pupil’s name:
John Wurtzel

Date/time/location of incident:
29 May/‘had to be 10.15– 11.45 a.m’/177 Deadman Lane

What happened:
Cupboard in dining room opened; laptop lid down when had been up; bills pinned to corkboard moved slightly; glass bowl on mantelpiece emptied of loose
change.

Any other relevant info:
John’s parents are divorced – Dad is an office manager, Mum is an artist – she spends most of every day in her studio in the
attic. Mum thinks Dad turned up and moved stuff around just to confuse and annoy her(!)

Looking through these notes on the way back to class,
lots
of interesting links and possibilities leaped out at me faster than a pouncing tiger. Links involving dates,
times, even the nature of the incidents themselves.

I could see three remarkable coincidences, one really weird connection, and – argh! – something which more or less proved Harry Lovecraft could
not
be the intruder. How many
of your conclusions agree with mine?

ITEM 1
– three remarkable coincidences:

1.  The timing of each incident.
In every case, it happened on a
Thursday
(the dates are seven days apart)! And on a Thursday
morning
too, between about a quarter to
ten and one o’ clock!

2. The households involved.
In every case, there was
no dad
around at the time of the incident – every dad was either at work, or away, or absent for one reason or
another.
And
, leading on from that: it struck me as very odd that all these six mums were people who just happened to be free on those Thursday mornings. They worked for themselves, or they
worked in the afternoons, or whatever. They were all people who, on those Thursday mornings, could organise their own timetable.