The Lornea Island Detective Club

by Gregg Dunnett

  "So are you two like..." He hesitates, sounding really unsure now. "Look what's this about? This kid is way too young to work for any detective agency."

  Without hesitation Amber replies. "Do you remember the case of Olivia Curran, the tourist girl who was murdered two years ago?"

  He looks at Amber, confused. "Yeah, I remember."

  "My colleague here may look immature, he I can assure you he was absolutely instrumental in solving that case." Amber pauses and looks to me, like maybe I should say something. But I don't know what to say, so I just nod in what I hope is a meaningful way.

  "And since then he has solved many crimes. He is a most able investigator."

  I look very serious and do some more nodding.

  Now Mr. Smithson looks like he thinks he doesn't know if Amber is being serious or pranking him. But in the end he settles on the former, or maybe he just decides he wants to get rid of us as quickly as possible.

  "How old would the guy be now?"

  "Who?"

  "Jacobs."

  Amber takes an age to work it out, so I tell him.

  "Seventy two."

  At first I'm not sure if Mr. Smithson hears me, because he doesn't reply at once. And when he does it's to Amber again.

  "And is he... Look is this..." He drops his voice, I suppose trying to make it so that only Amber hears him.

  "Is he still doing it? At that age? Is that why the kid's here?"

  Me and Amber look at each other.

  "What do you mean? Doing what?" Amber says at last.

  Mr. Smithson stares at us.

  "Nothing." He turns away.

  "Mr. Smithson, whatever it is you're trying to tell us, we need to know." Amber sounds really anxious now, like she's dying to hear him say something. But Mr. Smithson just looks from one of us to the other. I have to admit, I don't really know what's going on.

  Finally Mr. Smithson speaks again.

  "You swear you're nothing to do with the police? I don't want no trouble with this."

  "No." Amber shakes her head firmly. "Absolutely not. You can tell us anything in the strictest confidence. We'll just use it for deep background." She gives him another smile, but it doesn't seem to settle him much.

  "Look I ain't sure I wanna say this. It was a long time ago..."

  "What was a long time ago Mr. Smithson?" Amber's eyes have gone really wide, her whole face pleading with him.

  "Tell us Mr. Smithson. Please. What you have to say could be incredibly important."

  He looks around again. Like he's hoping there's some way he can get away from this girl who's staring at him with her big doleful eyes, but she's leaning in close, hanging on every word.

  "It didn't happen to me, right? Nothing happened to me. I just knew about it. Everyone knew about it."

  "Knew about what?" Amber asks. "What did everyone know about?"

  He puffs out his cheeks, than shakes his head.

  "Jesus. I can't believe I'm saying this. It was forty years ago. What you want to go digging all this up for?" He takes a deep breath, but Amber is relentless.

  "Please Mr. Smithson. It's important. We're working for someone connected to Henry Jacobs. They're desperate to discover what happened to him. Telling us is the right thing to do. Whatever you're still feeling, it'll help."

  He laughs at this, but it comes out more of a cough.

  "I don't need no help. I ain't even thought about school in forty years. And I sure don't see why I should be bringing it up now. Specially not to a pair who look like they should still be in school themselves..." He glances over at me as he says this. I get the sense he's not going to say anything now.

  Mr. Smithson looks away and exhales slowly. But then he seems to come to a decision.

  "Alright. But you didn't hear any of this from me, OK?"

  "Absolutely. Of course." She makes a zipping sign across her lips, and he watches her, blank faced.

  "Whatever." He starts to walk back to the car he was fixing when we came in.

  "When I was in high school, Principal Jacobs had a reputation. That's what I remember. People said he liked his students a bit too much. The boys."

  "What do you mean?" I'm really surprised to hear that it's me who's asked this question. And I think Mr. Smithson is too because he looks up at me for a moment. Then he continues.

  "You say you're detectives. They used to call him ‘Handsy Henry’. You fucking figure it out."

  Twenty-Six

  "Wow I wasn't expecting that!" Amber says as soon as we're far enough from the garage so that Mr. Smithson can't hear us.

  "You know what he means don't you? By liking boys. It means he messed around with them. Interfered with them. Fucking hell! This is massive."

  I don't answer.

  "It means he was a pedophile Billy. This changes everything."

  Still I don't reply.

  "So what do we do now? Do we go back to Mrs. Jacobs and tell her? That her husband was a kiddie-fiddler? Do you reckon she'll still pay us?" She's walking fast again, and we're half way back to school already.

  “I mean we’ve still got the check right? The 5000 dollars? We can still cash that?”

  I don’t reply.

  "Billy? What do you think?"

  Reluctantly I answer her.

  "I think we have to be careful."

  She spins to look at me. "What do you mean by that." But I hesitate. I don't know how to say this.

  "We don't know he's was a pedophile. We only know Mr. Smithson heard that he was. It's not the same thing."

  "Course we do. Why would Smithson say so otherwise?"

  I screw up my face, trying to make sense of this. I can't work out why I'm feeling anxious about this. Then I remember.

  "I made a mistake. Once before." I begin.

  Amber waits, her face screwed up into a deep frown.

  "When I started investigating that murdered girl, there was this guy that used to hang around in Silverlea. He had a limp, and people thought he was a pedophile. And I just assumed he was too. And I thought that meant he was the murderer too. But it turned out he wasn't. And he wasn’t even a pedophile. People just thought he was because of how he looked. So we have to be careful. That's all."

  Amber doesn't reply to this, but I can see her thinking it over.

  "OK." She nods, and we start walking again, in silence this time.

  "Did you like the card?" Amber says after a while.

  I shrug.

  "I got them printed on the internet. I thought they might help convince people we're serious."

  "It's alright." I can feel my face is still tight where I'm scowling.

  "It was a good idea wasn't it?"

  I shrug again.

  "Did you like the design? Did you think it was alright?"

  Honestly, I don't know why she doesn't just drop it.

  Suddenly Amber stops dead on the sidewalk, and I take a couple of steps further on before I realize she's not beside me anymore. I turn around to see her rooting around in her bag. Then she pulls out a small box.

  "Here you go." She hands it to me, and hesitantly I take it. I pull off the lid, and inside is another stack of business cards. But this time they have a different name on the front.

  William Wheatley

  Private Investigator

  I look up at her. "William?"

  "I thought it sounded more serious than Billy."

  Amber grins at me, and I realize from my face I'm smiling too.

  "You really think I'd forget you?"

  I feel quite happy for a few moments, just looking at it. You couldn't tell, that it's not real I mean, because Amber is really good at design.

  "They cost $35 dollars. We'll have to take it out of what Mrs. Jacobs pays us. When we've found out what happened to Henry. Which we will."

  We set off again, and soon we're at the school gate. The only way back in is through the reception hall. Amber sticks her head round the gate to have a look, then pulls back.

 
"Shit. The receptionists are there. We'll have to wait till they go back to their office."

  I feel a stab of anxiety, but Amber just leans back on the wall, waiting. She looks totally relaxed.

  "Have you ever been caught? Doing this?" I ask after a while.

  "Doing what?"

  "Skipping class?"

  "Not so much these days." She shrugs. I get a strange sense, that maybe she wants me to ask more. But I don't ask.

  "Say," Amber says a few moments later. "If Henry was messing with kids, isn't that a pretty strong motive for someone to do away with him?" She looks at me and tips her head onto one side.

  "I suppose."

  "Like an angry parent who discovered what he was up to? Don't you think they might lose control? When they found he was abusing their kid? Maybe they killed him?" The light in Amber's eyes is dancing as she says this, and I can tell she half believes it already. I take a deep breath, and try to keep my thoughts clearer.

  "Maybe."

  I guess that doesn't sound enthusiastic enough for her.

  "Come on Billy, you have to admit it's pretty likely?"

  "I suppose it's possible," I accept. "But even so. There were hundreds of pupils in the school, and it was forty years ago. I don't see how we can know which ones he was abusing, and who might have found out about it."

  Amber looks away, considering. "I suppose we could go to the police," she muses, and right away I start thinking about that too, since I've been considering it to solve my Tucker problem. But that's kinda complicated too, what with Dad still away on the boat...

  "But what would we tell them?" Amber goes on. "We don't even know for sure that he disappeared. We need more evidence. Something concrete."

  Then Amber suddenly reaches over and picks up my hand. I don't have any idea what she's doing, but then she turns my wrist over, and reads the time on my watch. It's weird to be touched like that. I don't like it, but then also, as soon as she lets my wrist go, I wish she was still holding it.

  "Come on. It's break time. Let's risk it. Message me if you figure out what to do next."

  Without another word she pushes herself off the wall, and strides confidently through the gate. I don't feel anything like so confident, but I follow her anyway.

  We get about halfway through the lobby, almost joining the flow of students streaming past towards their next class. But at that moment there's a call from inside the receptionist's office.

  "Miss Atherton?"

  Amber freezes, but her voice is calm and clear. Unbothered. "Yes?"

  One of the receptionists comes out, and I get the sense she's actually been hiding in there, where she knew she couldn't be seen.

  "Principal Sharpe has been looking for you. You're to go to her office straight away."

  "What for?" Amber doesn't sound so confident now, and the receptionist ignores the question. Instead she turns to me.

  "And it's Billy Wheatley isn't it? The Principal would like to speak with you as well."

  I glance at Amber, as if I'm somehow expecting she has some secret trick to get us out of this. But of course there isn't anything.

  "Well go on then. Now please. She's waiting in her office."

  Twenty-Seven

  "Sit down both of you!" Principal Sharpe says when we get in her office. We didn't have to wait outside this time, we got sent straight in.

  She waits until Amber and I have taken a seat each in front of her desk, and then she sits as well, in the much bigger chair on her side. She looks calm, sort of. But when she puts her hands together, resting on the desk, I can see they're shaking.

  "Miss Atherton. I came to look for you this morning. In your history class earlier, but you weren't there. Quite ironic, in the circumstances wouldn't you say?

  I look up, not getting the reference. The receptionist wouldn't tell us why Principal Sharpe wanted to speak to us. I assumed it was for skipping class, but I can't see how that would be ironic.

  Amber doesn't reply, she just studies the floor, and Principal Sharpe stares at her for a really long time. Then she slides her eyes over to me.

  "And Billy. It seems you had something more important to attend to than your Geography class this morning, would you care to explain what that was?" She waits, and I try to think of something to say, but I can't tell her what we've been doing, so I don't say anything.

  Principal Sharpe sighs. "I thought not."

  She stares at us both for a few more seconds, then opens one of her drawers, and pulls out a sheet of paper.

  "I was contacted last night by a concerned friend. Someone who thought there was something I should be aware of. Billy, this is beginning to get a little repetitive don't you think?

  I try to work out what she means. This can't be about BullyTracker. She saw me take it down, and I haven't done anything on it since.

  "I really didn't know what to think when I saw it. I can honestly say that. In all my time in teaching, I've never had a situation like this one." She glances at the window, and when she looks back she's smiling.

  "So well done – for that at least."

  I guess, like me, Amber has decided we're not supposed to say anything. It seems Principal Sharpe is just really into rhetorical questions.

  "Miss Atherton, I understand you've been sending messages to former pupils of this school on social media sites, posing as some kind of investigator, and asking for information on former principals. Specifically Henry Jacobs? Is that correct?"

  Amber looks up sharply mid way through the question. And when Principal Sharpe finishes, Amber hesitates for a while, but then shrugs and nods. Principal Sharpe waits to see if Amber is going to say any more, then when she doesn't she pours herself some water from a jug on her desk.

  "I was forwarded one of these messages this morning. Would you like me to read it out to you?"

  Amber shrugs again.

  "Would you like me to read it to you?"

  It turns out that question wasn't rhetorical after all.

  "Not really." Amber says.

  In response Principal Sharpe picks up the paper and begins to read.

  "I'm a private detective and I'm looking for Henry Jacobs who was principal of Newlea High School who disappeared – there's two 'p's in disappeared by the way – in 1979. It says on your Facebook profile you went to Newlea High School then, so I thought you might remember him. If so please contact, blah blah." Principal Sharpe drops the paper on her desk.

  "Blah."

  There's silence for a moment.

  "A private detective? I know many 10th graders take on part time jobs," she gives a cold smile. "I encourage it. But I've never heard of any working as private detectives before."

  Principal Sharpe waits in silence, until finally Amber starts to say something, but I don't hear what it is, because she cuts her off immediately.

  "And then I wondered, what possible interest could you have in a man who was the principal of this school forty years ago. So would you care to enlighten me?" She sits back in her chair and waits.

  Amber's more cautious this time, but finally she replies.

  "I don't mean this the wrong way, Principal Sharpe, but we can't talk about it."

  "You can't talk about it?"

  "No. Because we have a client and..."

  There's a bang as Principal Sharpe slams her palm down on her desk. It makes Amber stop. It makes me nearly jump out of my chair.

  "You have a client," Principal Sharpe repeats. "And who, pray, might that be?"

  "We can't say that either."

  "Of course not. Of course not. Because that would be a breach of confidentiality wouldn't it?" She leans forward again.

  "Well perhaps I could ask you this – did your client contact you about this matter? Or did you approach her?" Principal Sharpe watches us carefully.

  "She did." Amber answers in the end. "She wanted to find out what happened to him. She's been wondering all these years, and now she's getting old..." Amber stops and she stares open mout
hed for a moment.

  "How did you know it was a she?" she asks.

  "How indeed? I have to say you're not particularly impressing me as a detective Miss Atherton. Neither of you." She looks to me for a second.

  "Tell me, when were you planning on interviewing me about this matter?"

  Amber looks up. "You? Why?"

  Principal Sharpe's eyebrows go even higher. "Well I thought I would have been an obvious place to start. As the current principal of the school." She pauses, then goes on.

  "And of course, given that Henry Jacobs was my father."

  Twenty-Eight

  It's as if all the air in the room is suddenly sucked out, and replaced by new air that's colder, like it's from a freezer.

  "Father?" Amber says after a long while. "What do you mean?"

  "Well, it shouldn't be that difficult to understand, not for a detective. Your 'client' as you call her, is my mother, who I should point out is a very frail and confused old woman. So I was extremely concerned when I spoke to her last night, and discovered she is under the impression she had contracted a professional agency to locate my father."

  Amber turns to me. Her eyes are as round as dollar coins. Then she turns back.

  "Father? Henry Jacobs was your father?"

  "I know, it’s amazing. Even school principals have parents. I know this must come as a huge shock to you."

  Amber turns to me again, her mouth hanging open. Then she turns back to Principal Sharpe.

  "Well... Well what happened to him?" Amber asks. "Do you know?"

  "Of course I know."

  Suddenly Principal Sharpe gets up from behind the desk and goes to a side table at the edge of the room. On it there's a tray with more glasses.

  "Would you like a drink?" she asks us both, but doesn't wait for a reply. Instead she comes back, standing over us now, and pours us both a glass of water. While she's distracted doing so, Amber mouths to me:

  She's Henry Jacob's fucking daughter!

  Which obviously, I've already realized.

  Then Principal Sharpe is talking again. "In normal circumstances I would say this is absolutely none of your business. But since my mother appears to have played her part in creating this situation, I feel bound to give you enough information to settle your curiosity. But after that this matter shall be closed, and it shall go no further than this room. Do we have that clear?