The Mystery of the Squashed Cockroach

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘I could understand if there were people being eaten by lions,’ said April, shaking her head. ‘But it’s just going to be tiny cockroaches. Most of the crowd will barely be able to see what’s going on.’

  ‘Yes, they will,’ said Fin. ‘Look, there’s a jumbotron.’ Between two banks of seating was a huge display. Each racer in turn was flashing up on the screen alongside a list of their statistics as they were read out by the announcer.

  ‘Boadicea. Owners – Lily Dalecki. Age – two months. Length – 32 mm. Top speed – 52 cm/sec.’

  ‘Look, there’s Madge!’ exclaimed April in delight, as the details of their own cockroach flashed up.

  ‘You named our cockroach “Madge”?’ asked Fin. ‘She looks like a Madge,’ said April.

  ‘Madge. Owners – Fin and April Peski,’ said the announcer. ‘Age – unknown. Length – unknown. Top speed – unknown.’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh,’ said April. ‘It makes it sound like we don’t know our cockroach very well.

  ‘We don’t,’ said Fin.

  ‘We know she was extremely hard to extract from our next-door neighbour’s microwave,’ said April. ‘They need to have a category for that.’

  Fin wandered over to the raised racing platform in the centre of the banks of seating.

  ‘That must be the famous ceremonial shield,’ he said, pointing to what looked like a large wok lid.

  ‘Let me have a look at that,’ said April. She picked it up by the rim and carefully rubbed the handle. She turned her back to the crowd so she could get a closer look without anyone watching. ‘Not exactly high-tech is it?’

  ‘Better put that down,’ said a laconic voice. It was Coach Voss.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ asked April rudely, turning back around.

  ‘Shhh,’ hissed Fin. ‘We’re in disguise, remember.’

  April replaced the shield and they walked away.

  April and Fin had a look around the rest of the gardens. There were a variety of stalls selling all sorts of local produce: doughnuts, fresh lemonade and wildly overpriced chutney. But the highlight was in the far corner of the gardens. The aviation display. Someone had set up a hot air balloon. It looked magnificent – a rainbow of silk swaying in the breeze. For a dollar kids could have a ride, which involved sitting in the basket while the balloon was raised three metres off the ground and then lowered back down again.

  Set up next to the hot air balloon was an old propeller plane, a glider and finally Dad’s helicopter. Dad was sitting alongside it, but so no one could approach him, particularly not with a cockroach, he was inside what looked like an old-fashioned telephone box, except it was made entirely of clear perspex. A placard on the box read:

  This helicopter has been loaned to the aviation display thanks to Harold Peski. As a courtesy, please do not allow any cockroaches inside the helicopter.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ called Fin.

  Dad did not look up from the book he was reading.

  ‘That’s rude,’ said April.

  April banged on the perspex box to get his attention. Dad looked up and saw two giant cockroaches standing in front of him. He screamed in terror. At least they assumed he did. They couldn’t hear it, they could only see it.

  He doesn’t recognise us in our disguises,’ said Fin. ‘He thinks we’re giant cockroaches.’

  April rolled her eyes. ‘For a parent, Dad is really hard work.’ She lifted her ski goggles to show her face. Dad clutched his chest in relief, then he tapped the telephone receiver hanging next to him. Fin noticed there was another receiver on the outside. He picked it up. Dad did the same.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ Fin said into the receiver.

  ‘Promise me you’ll be careful,’ said Dad. ‘This place is infested with cockroaches.’

  ‘We will,’ said Fin. ‘Are you okay in there? Have you got enough oxygen?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Dad. He pointed to a gas canister on the floor. ‘I have my own bottled supply in case the Kolektiv attack us with gas.’

  ‘That would be pretty unlikely though, wouldn’t it, Dad?’ said April.

  ‘That’s when they strike,’ said Dad. ‘When you least expect it.’

  ‘Could all competitors for heat one kindly make their way to the arena,’ came a request over the PA system.

  ‘That’s us,’ said Fin.

  ‘Time to catch a cockroach killer,’ said April malevolently.

  There were six heats with ten cockroaches in each race. The winner of each race would go through to the final. Mr Lang was the commentator. He introduced each cockroach as it was placed under the ceremonial shield. A Japanese translator was standing off to the side, giving live translations for viewers at home.

  Coach Voss was the master of ceremonies. It was his job to make sure all the cockroaches went under the ceremonial shield and then call out, ‘On your marks, get set, GO!’ as he whipped off the covering. The cockroaches didn’t understand English, but it added to the drama of the occasion and made sure everyone in the crowd was paying attention.

  From the first heat on things did not go to plan. In heat one, as soon as the shield was whipped off, it was clear something was wrong with one of the cockroaches. As the other nine sprinted for the line, the cockroach limped around in circles.

  ‘Dobby’s Boy is struggling,’ said Mr Lang. ‘Looks like he may have pulled a hamstring.’

  ‘Do cockroaches even have hamstrings?’ asked April.

  Animesh rushed forward and gently lifted his roach out of the arena. ‘What’s wrong, boy?’ he asked as he looked him over. Kieran was looking closely too. ‘Look! He’s only got five legs. Someone has ripped his leg off!’

  There were gasps from the crowd.

  ‘It must have been an accident,’ said Mr Lang, ‘or perhaps one of the other roaches did it. Coach Voss, you’re the master of ceremonies. What do you think?’

  Coach Voss thought for a moment. ‘Terrible tragedy, but Nelly’s Grin is the winner,’ he said, with his usual brevity.

  The crowd muttered among themselves.

  In heat two the trouble continued. The favourite was King Richard, and when the ceremonial shield was lifted he didn’t moved a millimetre. Close inspection revealed the cockroach had been stuck down with superglue.

  In heat three the hotly tipped Ali’s Barber was found chomping on a piece of pepperoni while the other roaches ran off.

  In heat four the short-odds contender, Marky Markus, disappeared completely.

  Then, in the final heat, when Coach Voss whipped off the lid the cockroaches showed no interest in running for the line whatsoever. They were too busy writhing all over each other.

  ‘Are they wrestling?’ asked April.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Fin.

  ‘The cockroaches appear to be covered in some substance,’ said Mr Lang. He leaned in and sniffed. ‘It’s honey.’

  One cockroach seemed to be less affected than the rest. It staggered away from the group and started making its way towards the line.

  ‘Which one is that?’ asked Mr Lang, consulting his notes. ‘Madge! Madge is in the lead.’

  ‘That’s our cockroach!’ exclaimed April.

  ‘Shhh,’ said Fin. ‘Keep your voice down or someone will recognise us.’

  ‘Madge isn’t moving fast, but there’s not much competition,’ said Mr Lang. The other roaches were still trying to eat the honey off each other.

  ‘Good ole Madge,’ cried April. ‘She’s going to win!’

  ‘And she does it!’ exclaimed Mr Lang. ‘Madge wins the last heat. And that roach is owned by …’ Mr Lang checked his notes. ‘Fin and April Peski?!’

  There were boos from the crowd.

  ‘They rigged it!’ cried Matilda, leaping to her feet.

  ‘They can’t have done,’ said Mr Lang. ‘They’re not even here.’

  ‘Stop!’ cried April. ‘I know who did it!’

  Everyone fell silent and looked at April.

  ‘Who are you?’
asked Constable Pike. He was standing by the racing dais overseeing security.

  April realised she was still wearing the cockroach suit. She pulled off her ski goggles and brown bicycle helmet.

  ‘I am April Peski,’ declared April. ‘And I know who has been secretly killing cockroaches.’

  Everyone gasped. There was muttering among the crowd as people discussed who April was and why she was disguised as a giant insect.

  ‘Of course you do!’ accused Matilda. ‘Because it’s you.’

  ‘You’re banned from these gardens,’ said Constable Pike. ‘I’m arresting you for breaking council regulations pertaining to special festivals.’

  ‘You can’t arrest someone for that,’ said Fin. ‘It’s not a proper law. All you can do is fine her. Oh, and me, because I’m Fin Peski.’ Fin removed his ski goggles and bicycle helmet too.

  There were more gasps.

  ‘Right, I’m telling your dad about this!’ declared Constable Pike.

  ‘Good luck,’ said April. ‘He’s afraid of authority figures. He’ll run away when he sees your uniform.’

  ‘April, just t-t-tell us who did it,’ called Joe. He was sitting with Loretta in the middle of a stand. ‘Before you get yourself in more trouble.’

  Pumpkin barked excitedly and leapt down from Loretta’s lap to hurry over to his mistress. When April started yelling at people it usually meant he would soon get to start biting ankles.

  ‘The culprit is …’ April paused for dramatic effect, which was totally unnecessary because everyone in the thousands-strong crowd was already hanging on her every word. ‘Constable Pike!’

  There was a collective intake of breath.

  ‘But that doesn’t make sense,’ said Mr Lang. ‘No one has been more devastated than Constable Pike by the recent spate of cockroach deaths.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said April. ‘He’s been overcompensating.’

  ‘Do you have any evidence?’ asked Mr Lang.

  ‘It fits perfectly,’ declared April. ‘How else do you explain his totally incompetent investigation and unprofessional accusations of innocent children?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s just incompetent and unprofessional,’ suggested Fin.

  ‘No way. He’s obviously got deep-seated psychological issues about cockroach races. He’s a serial cockroach-killing psychopath. Probably the only reason he became a cop was so he’d be in a position to carry out these devious crimes. Someone citizen’s arrest him before he escapes,’ cried April. She turned and looked at Joe.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ said Joe. ‘I’m not going anywhere near him. He’s a cop. He carries a gun.’

  ‘You can’t accuse the one member of the police force in this town,’ said Mr Lang.

  ‘I can too,’ said April, ‘because I have proof.’

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ said Constable Pike. ‘It’s an insult. After all I’ve done for the Cockroach Races.’

  ‘I knew someone other than me was killing the cockroaches,’ said April. ‘So I laid a trap to catch them.’

  ‘She didn’t get a bear trap, did she?’ called Joe from his seat.

  ‘No, the shipping was too expensive,’ Fin assured him.

  ‘When I inspected the ceremonial shield earlier,’ continued April, ‘I put purple food colouring paste on the underside of the handle. Anyone who touches it will get the paste on their skin and their fingers will turn purple. I can prove that Constable Pike is the culprit because when he turns his hands over we will all see that he has purple fingers.’

  Everyone looked at Constable Pike. ‘You can’t take her seriously,’ he protested.

  ‘Just show us your hands, Bob,’ said Mr Lang. Constable Pike turned over his hands and the skin was … a completely normal shade of pink.

  ‘No way!’ exclaimed April. ‘I could have sworn it was you.’

  Someone in the crowd booed. Soon there was a whole chorus of boos.

  ‘We are never going to live this down,’ muttered Fin. ‘We’re all going to have to live in another town.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said April, still irrationally confident. ‘Then it must be the only other obvious suspect!’

  ‘Who?’ asked Constable Pike.

  ‘Don’t encourage her,’ pleaded Fin.

  ‘The cockroach killer must be …’ April swivelled about, looking for the right person in the crowd. ‘Daisy Odinsdottir!’

  Everyone gasped. Daisy’s face appeared on the jumbotron. She looked horrified and confused.

  ‘But she hasn’t got a motive,’ said Fin.

  ‘She did it because she’s deranged and evil,’ said April. ‘There’s no other explanation why she would have chased our brother, Joe, around school all week, goggling at him with stupid moony eyes.’

  Daisy was looking very embarrassed now. So was Joe. Loretta was loving it.

  ‘Daisy actually cornered Joe in the boys’ toilets!’ revealed April. ‘You’d have to be deranged and have no sense of smell to go in there.’

  People started muttering. ‘Show us your hands,’ called a voice from the crowd.

  Daisy slowly held up her hands and turned them palm out to the camera. They were a normal pink colour.

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed April. ‘That can’t be right.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Constable Pike.

  ‘No, someone here has purple fingers!’ said April. She whirled round to confront the entire crowd. ‘Everyone show me your hands.’

  ‘Great. Now you’re accusing the whole town,’ said Fin.

  But everyone in the raised seats was curious to see if their hands had changed colour. They were looking for themselves and showing their neighbours. Everyone’s hands were still pink or brown, depending on what colour their skin was in the first place.

  ‘No one?’ asked April. ‘Someone here must have purple hands. Someone tampered with those cockroaches and to do so they had to lift the lid.’

  ‘Then your trap proves that no one here did that,’ said Mr Lang.

  ‘I reckon it’s all just a story,’ said Animesh, ‘to hide the fact that she did it.’

  People in the crowd began to yell ‘Yeah!’, ‘Arrest her!’ and ‘Cockroach killer!’.

  ‘Wait!’ cried Joe, standing up in his seat. The need to protect his sister imbued him with clarity and confidence. ‘My sister may be deranged, unstable and deeply unpleasant. She may have violent tendencies, a menacing presence and an abusive manner …’

  April nodded. It was all true.

  ‘But she isn’t a liar,’ said Joe. ‘Someone here must have purple hands.’

  Fin gasped. ‘I know who did it!’

  Now everyone was looking at him.

  ‘Coach Voss!’ said Fin.

  Everyone turned to look at Coach Voss’s hands. He turned them over. The fingers on his right hand were bright purple.

  There were gasps in the crowd.

  ‘Of course he touched the ceremonial shield,’ said Constable Pike. ‘He’s the master of ceremonies. It’s his job to start each race by lifting the lid.’

  ‘Which also gives him unparalleled access to the racers,’ accused Fin. ‘He had more opportunity than anyone else.’

  ‘Enough!’ snapped Mr Lang. ‘You can’t accuse Coach Voss. He is the greatest lawn bowler this town has seen since the legendary Sir Roland himself.’

  ‘But he’s also Matilda’s great-uncle, aren’t you?’ asked Fin, turning to Coach Voss.

  ‘What?’ asked April.

  ‘Matilda’s full name is Matilda Voss-Nevers,’ said Fin. ‘They’re related.’

  ‘Wow, this town has a pretty shallow gene pool,’ said April.

  ‘And Matilda said she had a great-uncle who had never lived down the shame of losing the cockroach races many years ago,’ said Fin. ‘Was that you, Coach Voss?’

  Coach Voss stared in stunned silence.

  ‘But that’s not a motive,’ said Constable Pike.

  ‘It is if you hold a grudge for seventy years,’ said Fin. ‘The Curr
awong Cockroach Races are big business now. People follow them all around the world. So when a bookmaker asks you to rig the races, finally you have a chance to make a whole load of money and get revenge.’

  ‘You’re making it up,’ said Coach Voss. ‘You’ve got no proof. You’re the kids no one likes. I’m a respected pillar of this community.’

  ‘Then you won’t mind if we check your phone messages, will you?’ said April, waggling his phone in her hand.

  Coach Voss clutched his pocket. ‘Hey! How did you get that?’

  ‘If you’re going to leave it lying around in your pocket,’ said April, ‘you’re practically begging for me to steal it.’

  ‘Hey! Give that back!’ bellowed Coach Voss.

  ‘Make me,’ mocked April as she danced away, scrolling through the apps. ‘Here we go, most recent messages.’ She suddenly stopped moving. ‘Oh my gosh. Fin’s actually right! It says … “Captain McGoo in the second”. And the message before that is “Dinkston’s Pride in the first”. Each message came through exactly two minutes before each race.’

  ‘Let me see that,’ said Constable Pike. ‘The texts are from an international number. They start with 81. What country is that?’

  ‘Japan!’ cried Loretta. ‘I’ve got cousins living there.’

  ‘Cockroach racing is huge in Japan,’ said April. ‘Someone over there is arranging to have the races fixed.’

  Constable Pike turned to Coach Voss. He looked heartbroken. ‘Coach, why would you do it?’

  ‘For the money, you idiot,’ snarled Coach Voss. A menacing glare came over his face. ‘Do you think I like having to coach snotty teenagers for an hourly rate? After all I’ve given to the sport of lawn bowls, I’m just a tourist attraction. I’m no different to the giant poo, except the poo doesn’t have bills to pay.’

  ‘Coach, I’m sorry. I’m going to have to put you under arrest,’ said Constable Pike, his voice cracking as he spoke. He looked like he was about to start crying.

  ‘Ha! You’ll have to catch me first,’ said Coach Voss. Then, with surprising agility for a man of his age, he spun on his heel and made a run for it.

  The constable was fumbling to blow his nose and didn’t react straightaway, and since everyone else was expecting him to handle the situation there was a moment of hesitation.