Five Seconds to Doomsday

by Simon Cheshire

  Mr Gray was on the other side of the hall, terrifying some parents by standing there and talking to them. Seeing him there jogged my memory about something else which I’d put down in my notebook. Or rather, seeing him there turned my blood to water and then jogged my memory.

  I went over to a couple of teachers, Mr Nailshott and Mrs Womsey. I asked them if they were in the staff room this morning, between about 7.45 a.m. and 8.20 a.m.

  Answer: yes. They went back and forth between the staff room and their classrooms, but yes, between them, they were there during that whole period. So were many other members of staff.

  I asked them if today’s two visitors – Mr Gray from the council and the man from Ben’s Bugs – were in the staff room too.

  Answer: no. Mr Gray had appeared very briefly, then hurried out clutching the seat of his trousers. They hadn’t seen the bug man at all.

  ‘The man with the bugs is due to visit my class at eleven,’ said Mrs Womsey. ‘I hope he’s not got lost somewhere.’

  ‘Mr Gray left clutching his trousers?’ I asked, puzzled.

  ‘Yes, like that,’ said Mr Nailshott, pointing across the room. Mr Gray was scuttling away, walking as if he had an elephant trying to escape from his underpants.

  The teachers asked me if I was investigating . . . [shh, whisper, whisper] . . . this Morning’s Incident. I said I was. They expressed horror at the state of society. I thanked them politely and returned to Mrs McEwan. The previously-scattered office paperwork was still perched in a large wobbly pile on her desk.

  ‘Got any suspects yet?’ asked Mrs McEwan.

  ‘What, apart from the entire school including every pupil and all the members of staff?’ I replied. ‘No, not really. However, I have just discovered something highly suspicious. Our two visitors this morning, did you actually show them to the staff room?’

  ‘No, I just gave them directions and off they went. I would have taken them down there normally, but I was so busy with the PTA meeting. Why?’

  ‘Both Mr Gray and this bug guy are unaccounted for at the time of the robbery. Er, incident. Whatever. Neither of them was in the staff room, as they were supposed to be.’

  Mrs McEwan let out a little gasp. ‘You’re right,’ she breathed, her eyes staring alarmingly, ‘that is highly suspicious.’

  But was it? Either of these people could have done it, but neither of them fitted in with Thought No. 3 in my notes (see the end of Chapter One). Or was there something about them I didn’t know yet? Did Mr Gray really have elephantpants-itis? Or was it a bluff, so that he could go sneaking around the school? And what had happened to the bug guy? Where was he?

  The obvious thing to do was to question the pair of them. But I didn’t fancy exchanging so much as a word with that Mr Gray. I was scared my bones might turn to dust and I’d slump to the floor in a jellyish flop of arms and legs! And the bug guy didn’t seem to be around anywhere. Where was he?

  I’d kept putting it to the back of my mind, trying not to even consider it, but there was a disturbing fact I had to face: almost anyone in the school could have wrecked the office. It was done at the start of a normal school day, and hundreds of kids and adults were around. My suspect list was longer than the lunch queue!

  ‘Look, I don’t want to hurry you, luvvy’ said Mrs McEwan, ‘but if you’re going through all this paperwork for clues, I need you to do it now. I’ve got a lot of work to do.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, sorry, right,’ I said.

  I opened my notebook and reminded myself about point one in my Plan of Action. The first (actually, the only) thing to do now was to work out why the office had been wrecked and what had been taken (apart from the box of elastic bands and the two pencils). In amongst this whopping great heap of paperwork was the clue I needed!

  Thanks to her new system of tidiness and efficiency, Mrs McEwan could print out a complete log of office items for me, so that I could compare it with what was still actually here in the office. She assured me that her list was complete and accurate. (It didn’t include things like furniture or the phone, obviously – we’d have noticed if any of that had gone!)

  I won’t copy out the full list here. It would make very boring reading and it would take up the whole of the rest of this book! It broke down roughly as follows:

  • Letters about various things, to give to pupils, to give to parents.

  • Letters about various things, returned from parents.

  • Other letters and everyday correspondence.

  • Items of stationery – paper, printer ink cartridges, pens, paper clips, etc, etc.

  • Other items – cash box [now broken], paper shredder, educational reference books, etc, etc.

  • Reports by the school – about pupils’ grades, etc.

  • Reports to the school – from the council, from the government, etc.

  • Mrs McEwan’s stuff from home – tea mug, etc.

  All pretty standard stuff. I then went through the pile of paperwork on Mrs McEwan’s desk, scribbling into my notebook as I went, sorting things out into piles as best I could. Soon, I had a complete list of everything.

  Nervously, I picked my way, bit by bit, through the two lists. I compared them line by line. The minutes were ticking away. Soon, I’d have to be back in class.

  With a couple of minutes to spare, I finished the job. I made another note in my notebook.

  ‘Well?’ asked Mrs McEwan expectantly.

  ‘I’ve now worked out exactly what’s been taken,’ I said. ‘Apart from the box of elastic bands and the two pencils, I mean.’

  ‘What, then?’ gasped Mrs McEwan. ‘What were they searching for? What did they steal?’

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  MRS MCEWAN STARED AT ME for a moment. ‘You’re joking,’ she said.

  ‘Do I look like I’m joking?’ I said, as flat-faced and un-jokey as I could possibly be. ‘Nothing has gone. Nothing. Every last letter, report, file, paper clip and piece of paper is still here. Apart from the box of elastic bands and the two pencils.’

  Mrs McEwan put her hands to the side of her head and pulled a face which looked like someone trying to lay an egg. ‘So . . . it wasn’t even a robbery? It wasn’t thieves? Nobody was out to find anything?’ She shook her head sharply and flapped her hands. ‘No, no, correction. This was all about stealing a box of elastic bands and two pencils!’ She slumped on to her swivel chair. ‘Oh, I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘There’s something I’m missing here,’ I muttered to myself.

  ‘Perhaps someone was just out to cause trouble?’ said Mrs McEwan. ‘Simple as that. You know, nick a few elastic bands, make a mess for someone else to clear up, and giggle about it behind the bike shed later on.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘The presence of the shattered box indicates that they were definitely after something.’

  ‘But what?’ cried Mrs McEwan. ‘If nothing’s gone, there was nothing here that they wanted.’

  Suddenly, an explanation smacked me on the head like a pencil fired from an elastic band. Adding what Mrs McEwan had just said to the fact that the culprits almost certainly were after something specific, there was a conclusion to be made!

  Can you spot it?

  Of course! Why hadn’t I seen it before? That was the vital thing I’d been overlooking!

  ‘They were searching the office,’ I said. ‘But nothing has gone. Which means that they didn’t find what they were looking for. Whatever they were after is still here.’

  At that moment, the bell for the next lesson sounded. Time for me to return to class. I almost squeaked with frustration!

  The object, the target, the whatever-it-was they were looking for, it was in amongst the paperwork here in front of me. Think think think! Was there anything unusual I’d seen, anything even slightly out of the ordinary that might give me some sort of a lead?

  ‘C’mon, off you go,’ said Mrs McEwan. ‘Mrs Penzler’s not impressed by lateness, you know that
.’

  Think!

  There were three possibilities. As I’d gone through that pile of paper, there had been three items – three printed letters – with features which were slightly out of the ordinary. (And I do mean ‘slightly’! They might have had no connection to the case at all. I was clutching at straws here, trying to find a clue.) These letters were:

  1. A permission letter for Sinead Crane in Mrs Womsey’s class, filled in by her mum and covering a class trip to Pizza Panik (to have a go at making them, not to eat them!). Unusual feature: the letter had clearly been screwed up and binned – it was extremely crumpled and had what looked like food stains on it.

  2. A letter to the Head from Donald Pollard, dad of Paul Pollard (also in Mrs Womsey’s class), complaining about the quality of school dinners. Unusual feature: it was really very, very critical indeed. It was so harsh it almost made me want to hug a dinner lady in sympathy. Almost.

  3. Another permission letter, this time for Katie Brewer in my class, filled in by her mum and covering a forthcoming trip to the local theatre. Unusual feature: as well as Katie’s mum’s signature on the front, there was a second signature (someone called Ellie Brewer) written half a dozen times on the back.

  ‘Just borrowing these!’ I cried, grabbing them and scooting out of the office. ‘Important clues! I’ll bring them back later!’

  I hurried away before Mrs McEwan could object. When I arrived at my classroom, a man wearing a bright green stripey shirt and a pair of round green-framed glasses was standing in front of the class, arranging see-through plastic boxes on Mrs Penzler’s desk.

  Oh, at last! This was the guy from Ben’s Bugs. I scooted over to my seat and paid attention, as Mrs Penzler gave me a just-in-time-young-man look.

  ‘Hello everyone,’ said the Bug Man in a voice as lively and interesting as cold porridge. ‘My name’s Ben. I’m from Ben’s Bugs. We do roadshows and visit places, showing people our collections of exotic insects.’

  Limply, he cast a hand across the plastic boxes. We all strained to see inside them. They seemed to be mostly filled with twigs and leaves.

  All the time, Bug Man’s eyes kept scanning the floor, and the area under our desks, and the area under Mrs Penzler.

  ‘Today I’ve got some interesting specimens for you to have a look at, including . . . er, umm, well, I was going to show you the Red-Backed Pinching Beetle of Western Sumatra, which likes to hide and then spring out on its prey but, er, umm . . . Must have left it behind . . . I hope . . . Since there’s a loose lid on one of these, umm, er . . . Gives you a very nasty bite, it does . . . Anyway, here’s an interesting specimen, it’s a cute little caterpillar . . .’

  To cut a long lesson short, I hadn’t realised it was possible to make creepy crawlies seem quite so boring. Even the really vicious ones which eat each other became dull and ordinary when described in Bug Man’s droning voice. The whole class gazed sleepily at fascinating examples of the Tiny Blue Butterfly of Northern Greenland and the Four-Legged Ant of Mongolia . . . yawn . . . zzzzzzz . . .

  ‘Any questions?’ he said about five years later.

  Two or three hands went up, including mine. Bug Man pointed at me. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I ask you where you were at exactly eight-eighteen this morning?’

  Mrs Penzler glared at me. ‘Insect-related questions please, Saxby.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I said. ‘OK, have you lost one of your bugs? Earlier on, you seemed to have lost something?’

  ‘No,’ said Bug Man, decisively, going slightly red in the face. ‘No, no, not at all, no. That would be very bad of me. No, definitely not. Next question?’

  The bell sounded for break about ten minutes later. Mrs Penzler, smiling, thanked the Bug Man very, very much for such a fascinating talk. She seemed to have loved every minute of it. The whole class gazed sleepily at a fascinating example of the Weird Teacher of St Egbert’s.

  I hurried outside, clutching the three letters I’d borrowed from the office. I had about fifteen minutes to find whatever background information these letters could provide.

  Luckily, Muddy came over to me for a chat. So I sent him looking for the kids I wanted to talk to. I sat on one of the wooden benches beneath the line of trees that bordered the sports field. Nearby was the window of the staff room, which was filled all break with a shifting mass of teachers and parents – the PTA meeting must have been taking time out along with the rest of us. The only fixed point was (shudder) Mr Gray, who was sitting in there glaring out at the world until the bell went again.

  Anyway with Muddy’s help I managed to hold three short conversations before the next lesson. Here’s what was said (I’ve not bothered with any of the ‘hello’, ‘goodbye’ or ‘isn’t it shocking what’s happened in the office’ bits):

  Short Conversation No. 1 – Sinead Crane

  S Smart: Why was your permission letter here crumpled up and thrown away?

  S Crane: Well, my mum filled it in and then she changed her mind and said I couldn’t go within a mile of Pizza Panik.

  S Smart: Why?

  S Crane (deep sigh): She’s a health inspector. After she signed the letter three weeks ago she did a surprise inspection of Pizza Panik’s kitchens. And she says they were filthy. She threw the letter in the bin.

  S Smart: And you got it back out again?

  S Crane (pauses): Yes. It’s not fair! I want to go on that trip! She said herself that Pizza Panik will have to clean up now, or the council will close them down! It’s not fair!

  S Smart: So your mum works for the council? Does she know this Mr Gray who’s here today?

  S Crane: Eurgh, yes. Horrible man. Apparently he goes through people’s desks when they’re out, counts up their paper clips, then tries to get them sacked for nicking official council stationery. He’s tried that one on Mum twice.

  S Smart: Hmm, nice guy.

  Short Conversation No. 2 – Katie Brewer

  S Smart: On the back of your permission letter, someone else has signed it too, as well as your mum, someone called Ellie Brewer?

  K Brewer (looking at the letter): Oh, that’s my great-aunt, my dad’s aunt. Things were a bit difficult at home in the weeks before half-term. The poor lady was getting confused, I saw she’d signed the newspaper several times too. Mum’s been very upset.

  S Smart: Upset? Aunt Ellie’s been ill?

  K Brewer: She died exactly two weeks ago. She’d been ill for ages.

  S Smart: Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to —

  K Brewer: It’s OK, I hardly knew her. I only met her when she came to live with us a few weeks ago. But she and Mum were close – Mum said she didn’t want Aunt Ellie to go into a hospice. So she came to us.

  S Smart: I’m so sorry. No wonder your mum’s been upset.

  K Brewer: She was very distracted and in a funny mood all last week, during half-term, but I think she’s feeling better now. She’s on the PTA, she’s at the meeting today.

  S Smart: Yes, I asked her a couple of questions this morning.

  Short Conversation No. 3 – Paul Pollard

  S Smart: Why did your dad write to the Head about the school dinners? I mean, I see his point, but . . .

  P Pollard: I d’no. They’re rubbish.

  S Smart: Was there a particular dinner that enraged him? An ingredient? A menu?

  P Pollard: D’no.

  S Smart: Has he spoken to you about why he was so angry? Is he still angry about it?

  P Pollard: No. D’no.

  S Smart: How did the Head react? Has she replied to his letter yet?

  P Pollard: D’no.

  S Smart: Perhaps I should have asked your dad all this when I spoke to him earlier?

  P Pollard: Yeah, s’pose.

  The bell sounded and everyone slouched back indoors. As I was bumped along back to class in the river of pupils, several possibilities occurred to me.

  Things were becoming a little clearer. But not for a moment did I suspect what would happen next!
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  A Page From My Notebook

  Some possible scenarios, based on my three short conversations:

  1. COULD Sinead Crane, having rescued that permission letter from the bin, now be having second thoughts? Could it be that she realises she’ll be in trouble if her mum finds out she’s going on the Pizza Panik trip? Could she be trying to get that permission letter back?

  2. COULD Mr Gray be up to some sort of trick? Could he be trying to make St Egbert’s look bad? If so, why?

  3. COULD Paul Pollard’s dad, who’s on the PTA, have changed his mind about that letter of complaint? Could it be that he wants to find it and remove it from the office, so that people like Mr Gray don’t find it and start causing a fuss?

  WAIT! SUDDEN THOUGHT!

  4. COULD . . . the HEAD have done it? Could SHE be the one who wants to remove Mr Pollard’s complaint letter from the office? Could it be that she was LYING about hearing that thump this morning?

  IMPORTANT!!! MUST NOT forget that these three letters might have NOTHING TO DO with the case! I only picked them out because they were the only things with unusual features. But I’m still guessing. Nothing can be confirmed.

  However. . .

  If the Head is involved . . .

  What do I do now?

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  MRS MCEWAN FLAGGED ME DOWN as I passed the office on my way back to class.

  ‘Saxby,’ she hissed. ‘Come in here! Look at this!’

  The office was absolutely spotless. Not a single sheet of paper in sight.

  ‘Wow, that’s tidy!’ I cried. ‘Well done.’

  ‘Noooo,’ she wailed. ‘This morning’s raider has struck again during break! Now all that paperwork has been stolen! The whole lot! I went to the staff room for a cup of tea —’

  (‘Er, exactly how many times a day do you go to the staff room for a cup of tea, Mrs McEwan?’ I wanted to ask.)

  ‘— and when I got back, that pile on my desk was gone! I was only away for ten minutes! This is a disaster!’