I open my mouth to argue, but Holly puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Do you have a daughter, sir?” she asks the guard.
The prison guard nods.
“What if she just wanted to see your face and a man wouldn’t let her?”
The guard sighs, swears and then turns the screen towards us. “One minute,” he says.
“That’s long enough,” I whisper in Holly’s ear. “I have a theory I want to test.”
“A minute would be great.” Holly smiles at the guard. “You are a very nice man. Your daughter is a very lucky girl.”
“Humph,” the guard grunts.
The camera scans the cell-block corridor. I hold my breath, waiting for the moment when my theory will be proved by what’s not on screen.
Fail!
There’s Dad, wrapped up in his Stealth Blanket, still completely visible.
I’m wrong. I hate being wrong.
Perhaps I’m not as good a detective as I thought.
25
Turtle-Cam Necklaces
Days Left to Save the Earth: 5
I need to go back to the beginning. Everything is moving so fast I’ve lost track of the clues, which must be why I’m coming to the wrong conclusions. It’s all about those vital moments in the Science Museum.
In search of more information, I hook up the video footage from the police station on my multi-screen computer. It comes from four different cameras:
– THE MALFUNCTIONING ‘INVESTIGATING ALIEN WORLDS’ CAMERA
(showing a brief glimpse of Ms Grimm followed by nothingness)
– THE HAIRSPRAYED ‘MOON ROCK DISPLAY CASE’ CAMERA
(showing fuzzy, hairspray-blurred images)
– THE ENTRANCE TO ‘EXPLORING SPACE’ CAMERA
(showing anyone entering or leaving ‘Exploring Space’ via Reception)
– THE EXIT FROM ‘EXPLORING SPACE’ CAMERA
(showing anyone entering or leaving ‘Exploring Space’ via the ‘Making the Modern World’ gallery)
I play each tape again and again, looking for something I’ve missed. Where was Ms Grimm during those fifteen minutes the camera was off? The footage suggests she disappeared completely, along with the brain ray. But that’s impossible. According to my calculations, she couldn’t have left the gallery without passing in front of one of the functioning cameras.
“We need access to the live feed from the museum’s security cameras,” I tell Holly and Porter when they wander in to watch the footage with me.
“Yeah. That’s going to happen.” Holly snorts. “Maybe they’ll hand out popcorn and soft drinks too, while we watch.”
“I’m guessing that’s a joke? In which case we have to stage a re-enactment.”
“Like Crimewatch?” Porter grins.
“Just like Crimewatch.” I ignore the sniggers and google ‘spy cameras’. “We’ll set up our own camera feeds and figure out what Ms Grimm was doing during the ‘Alien Worlds’ blackout.”
“How?”
“Let me worry about that. You two worry about convincing Uncle Max to take us back to London.”
As we enter the Science Museum, I close my eyes so I can picture the exact directions in which the CCTV cameras were pointing on the police footage. I move Porter into the position of the camera covering the entrance from Reception and hand him one of my new Spy Cam Necklaces.
“This contains a digital video recorder with a built-in USB port for easy downloading. It captures video in AVI format at thirty frames per second—”
“It’s a necklace.” Porter interrupts. “You’re asking me to wear a necklace?”
“Only for half an hour,” I say. “Think of it as a medal rather than a necklace.”
“It’s sparkly and shaped like a turtle.”
“Special offer,” I explain. “Four for the price of two. We needed four cameras.”
“There are only three of us.”
“We’ll improvise,” I say. “Porter, you stand here and cover the entrance. Holly, you head over there so you’re filming the display case.” I angle Holly so she’s facing in the right direction. “I’ll put one of the spare camera necklaces here, in the ‘Investigating Alien Worlds’ section, to represent the camera that blanked out, and the other one here, covering the exit.”
“What about you?” Porter asks.
“I’m going to be your mum.”
“Ugh. Talk about scarred for life.”
“What I mean,” I say with more patience than Porter deserves, “is I’m going to figure out how she escaped. She was standing here when the camera went off.” I assume the position behind the Moon lander. “And she wasn’t standing here when the camera came back on again.”
“How could we have missed her?” Holly asks.
“I’m not surprised you missed her,” I say. “You wouldn’t notice if the Queen marched straight past you. But it is weird Porter didn’t spot his own mother. And I can’t believe I missed her. I’ve been searching my memory for images of that afternoon and she’s not in any of them. It doesn’t make sense. I accept I could have been looking in the wrong direction for a few seconds, but not for over fifteen minutes.” I close my eyes and picture the gallery. I focus all my attention on the images. Where is she? Where was the Grimm Reaper when the Space Rock was stolen?
“I don’t know!” a familiar voice cries. “Stop asking.”
I swivel round to find Museum Curator Gnome doubled over, clutching his head. He’s still wearing the same green suit, and the oniony smell coming from the armpits suggests it’s not because he owns several versions of the same outfit. The suit that was so perfectly pressed nine days ago is now wrinkled and stained and the waistcoat is missing a couple of buttons.
His eyes are bloodshot and his beard contains a collection of breakfast items. At a quick glance I spot a baked bean, a Coco Pop, several raisins, and – wait – is that the tail of a sardine?
“What?” I ask him. “What don’t you know?”
“The Grimm Weeper,” the gnome wails. “I don’t know where she is.”
“Impossible! How did you know . . . ?” I grab Porter by the shoulders. “Did I ask where your mother was out loud?”
“Owww!” Porter rubs his arms. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m sure I didn’t.” I release Porter and prod Museum Curator Gnome. “How do you know we’re looking for her?”
“For whom?”
“The Grimm Reaper. You said you didn’t know where she was.”
“I don’t.”
“But you know who she is?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know we’re looking for her?”
“You told me.”
“No I didn’t.”
Museum Curator Gnome clutches his head. “Then it appears I am losing my rather fine mind. What’s happening to me? Must be sleep deprivation. Such long hours. So many voices.” His eyes roll and he starts shouting. “IT’S THE VOICES! STOP THE VOICES!”
I remember the weird conversations I overheard last time we were at the Science Museum and something clicks.
CLUE 30
Some Science Museum employees can hear what other people are thinking.
I touch his arm to try and calm him down. “I think you’re reading our minds,” I say. “I think it’s a side effect of the pressure the Space Rock is creating in your brain.
“STOP THE . . . ! What?” He pauses mid-rant and stares at me, his eyes clearing slightly. “Mind-reading? That’s ridiculous. Impossible . . . And what’s a Stealth Blanket?”
26
Impossibly Invisible
Holly rolls her eyes “Mind-reading? Get real! And don’t start again with the Stealth Blankets.”
“He’s the one who mentioned the Stealth Blankets.” I point at Museum Curator Gnome. “You can’t have it both ways. If mind-reading is impossible then he came up with the phrase on his own and I had nothing to do with it.”
“You probably hissed it at h
im,” Holly says. “You did say you thought the brain ray and Space Rock were stolen by the Invisible Man.”
“That was a joke! I don’t think Ms Grimm was invisible. We could see her, but we couldn’t see her. I think she was the woman under the blanket.”
That grabs Holly’s attention.
“Remember the woman under the blanket?” I ask. “She was here, beside the Mars lander. She was here, near the Space Rock.” I’m screeching in my excitement, so I try to talk more slowly. “What if Remarkable Student Alexander was standing in front of the camera to hide her from view. What if she smuggled the brain ray out of ‘Exploring Space’ under a blanket? What if she took the Space Rock out the same way?”
Porter shakes his head. “They shut the museum down the minute it disappeared and searched everyone straight away. They’re hardly going to let somebody leave the building with a blanket over their head and a suspicious-looking bulge beneath it.”
Hmm. Good point.
“She wouldn’t need the blanket once she was outside the room,” I realise. “If she’s a volunteer she’d be a familiar face. Have you got a picture of your mother?”
Holly snorts. “Of course he doesn’t. She’s as good as disowne— Oh.”
Holly chews her lip as Porter’s face turns Ruby Starlet and he pulls a photograph out of his pocket. I tell Porter to show the picture to the Museum Curator Gnome.
He recognises her immediately. “That’s Mallory Trimm. But her hair’s all wrong.”
Mallory Trimm, Mallory Grimm. Makes sense. Easier to fake your ID if you only change one letter of your surname.
“Do you remember seeing her leave the museum on the day of the Space Rock’s disappearance?”
“No, but I remember she had to go early. To pick up her son from school.”
Porter stiffens. Hard to be used as an excuse when your mother won’t even open the front door to you.
“I don’t suppose the guards were told to search employees as they left?” I ask.
Museum Curator Gnome eyes me sharply. “Are you suggesting I am unaware how to do my own job?”
I think hard about the vital and valuable role Museum Curators play across the globe. The gnome’s shoulders relax and he stops twitching.
“Actually, my dear,” he says, sounding more like his old self, “I insisted the fine officers of the London Metropolitan search our employees twice as carefully. I didn’t want people suggesting it could have been an inside job.”
So Ms Grimm couldn’t have been carrying the Space Rock. Unless the security guards weren’t paying proper attention to . . . Oops. Forgot to block my thoughts.
Museum Curator Gnome glares at me over his glasses and I lift my hands in mock-surrender.
“What about a strange-looking thing wrapped in silver foil? Did you ever see Mallory Trimm with something that looked like a brain ray?” I try to picture it in my mind.
Museum Curator Gnome grabs his head with a groan. “There was something,” he says slowly. “But it was days later. I discovered Mrs Trimm carrying a rather peculiar-looking turquoise machine. I told her I would have to write the incident up, but she explained she’d just found it and was on her way to hand it in to Lost Property.”
“Clever,” I say, as a piece of the puzzle drops into place.
The suspicious look returns to the gnome’s face and he stares closely at Holly, who’s clearly not thinking positive thoughts about Museum Curators. “Of course I checked she’d handed it in. I do know how to conduct an investigation, whatever you may think, young lady.” His eyes do that strange rolling thing and he looks like he’s about to start yelling again.
“O-kay. Time to go.” Holly moves quickly, rooting around in her bag for her mobile to call Uncle Max. “This place is too weird.”
We push through a crowd of cameramen, all obviously hoping to catch exclusive footage of an exploding brain. I hear one ask if it’s worth buying animal offal to smear over a few exhibits. (The general consensus is that it would be hard to find anything grey and wrinkly enough to be convincing.) Another suggests using pre-existing exploding-brain images. Because they all seem so miserable, I pull a page out of my notebook and make a few helpful notes:
None of the cameramen seem particularly grateful. “No wonder nobody likes the press,” I mutter.
“Forget them,” Porter says. “I’m more worried about the Museum Curator.”
“I fear he may be experiencing the lethal effects of the Space Rock,” I say slowly.
“Mind-reading?” Porter scoffs. “Hardly lethal. Are you suggesting people’s heads fill up with so much psychic information they just explode like a bomb?”
“Hardly.” I laugh along with him, deciding not to admit that I googled the possibility yesterday after watching Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull.
“Forget the mind-reading.” Holly says. “The lethal part is that the Space Rock makes people crazy-angry.”
The enraged roar that follows us out of the Science Museum supports her point.
“I think the two are connected,” I tell them. “Imagine that the pressure in your brain has you hyped up and ‘crazy-angry’ and then you start to hear all the horrible things people are thinking about you.”
“Yikes,” says Porter.
“Double yikes,” agrees Holly. “We need to find that Space Rock, whatever it takes. And while we’re on the subject of crazy-angry . . .” She turns to Porter. “We need to talk to your mother.”
27
A Grimm Challenge
7 Albion Road looks different in the daylight. Brighter. Less ominous. But still a bit ominous. I mean, the Grimm Reaper is in there.
At least the skip smells better. Someone must have emptied it. Ms Grimm probably called the council and insisted on it. She always was a neat freak. Wait! Something tells me that’s a clue. An image of a moonlit kitchen pops into my head. I don’t know how the two are connected, but I’ve learned to trust feelings like this.
CLUE 31
Ms Grimm is a neat freak.
CLUE 32
I missed a clue last time I was in Ms Grimm’s kitchen.
We walk towards the front door. It’s a competition of who-can-walk-the-slowest as we all try not to be the person who rings the doorbell.
“She’s your mum.” Holly shoves Porter forward.
“Yeah, but she’s already told me to go away.” Porter drops back. “She hasn’t told you to go away yet.”
Holly rolls her eyes and presses the bell, but the minute we hear footsteps in the hall, she pushes me in front of her.
“Hey!” I fold my fingers into my palm to stop them shaking as I wait for the door to open. The wait goes on. I chew my knuckles. There’s a peephole in the door, just above eye level, and I know Ms Grimm is looking at me.
“Hello?” I say.
Nothing.
“You try,” I hiss at Porter.
He shakes his head. Fair enough. He’s standing in full view of the peephole. He shouldn’t have to ask his own mother to open the door.
“We need to talk to you about the Space Rock,” Holly says. “People’s lives are at risk.”
We hear footsteps moving away from the door. I could have told Holly Ms Grimm wouldn’t care about other people’s lives.
“Wait!” I call. “We can tell you about the special brain powers the Space Rock gives people.”
The footsteps stop. There’s a sigh. And a shuffle. And back they come. The door creaks open an inch. “What special powers?”
“I’m not telling you anything while we’re stuck out here on the doorstep,” I say, hoping my voice doesn’t wobble.
“Looks like you’ll have to come in then,” Ms Grimm mutters. “Quickly. I don’t want anyone to see you.”
“Why?” Holly asks. “I thought the police had decided there was ‘insufficient evidence to prosecute’.”
“I don’t know if it’s the police,” Ms Grimm says. “But someone is spying on me and I can’t afford to be distracted.�
�
Holly and I exchange guilty ‘spy’ glances. Fortunately Ms Grimm doesn’t notice.
“What can’t you afford to be distracted from?” I ask. “The Space Rock? The brain ray? Both?”
“I don’t know what you’re talki—” Ms Grimm breaks off mid-sentence and eyes me speculatively. “You helped design the brain ray. You must know how to fix it.”
I wince. I don’t like to be reminded of my role in inventing the brain ray. I had no idea at the time how badly it would be used and abused. But I’ve learned my lesson now. Maybe I could fix it, but there’s no way I would. Still, no need to tell Ms Grimm that. I try to pull an ‘inscrutable’ face, but I realise I’m not one hundred percent sure what inscrutable looks like. So I add a shrug and ask innocently, “Are you saying the brain ray’s not working?”
“Was it damaged in the post?” Holly giggles. “Was your super-evil brainwashing machine defeated by the Royal Mail?”
Ms Grimm gives her a look that would kill a lesser mortal. “What were you saying about special powers?”
“Nothing.” Holly steps forward. “Know-All’s saying nothing until you tell us what you did with the Space Rock.”
“Is that so?” Quick as the flashiest flash Ms Grimm seizes Holly’s wrist and twists it behind her back until Holly screeches in pain.
“Mother!” Porter yells. “What are you doing?”
“Be grateful it’s not your arm, traitor boy,” Ms Grimm snaps.
“Top parenting skills,” Holly squeaks as Ms Grimm hoists her hand higher.
“Stop it!” Porter yells.
“It will all be over as soon as you tell me about the Space Rock’s special powers.”
“I will,” Holly squeals, “when you let go of my arm.”
Ms Grimm twists harder.
“Okay, okay . . .” Holly grits her teeth. “What the Space Rock does is . . . Owww!”
Ms Grimm gives her arm another wrench.
“The Space Rock helps you read minds,” Porter yells. “It helps you read minds and it makes you crazy-angry. NOW LET HER GO!”
The Case of the Exploding Brains Page 10
