by Jen Banyard
Sherri liked von Albericht way too much already. Had her mother ever been in this situation? Investigating a story that could lose her a friend? Protecting someone who didn’t want to be protected? Chasing a suspect who was downright dangerous? Pollo walked briskly along the track. The life of an investigative reporter was tough sometimes.
When she saw the grey puffs drifting above the fence ahead she broke into a run. A fire! Maybe it was out of hand, or the owners didn’t even know it was happening! You could never have too many stories!
Drawing level with the smoke, she roped Shorn Connery to the foot of a large gum overhanging the path. She swung herself up the tree and edged along a branch.
When she looked down into the yard below her heart sank. The fire was already being subdued by a tall thin boy about her own age. His method was entertaining—leaping from one side to the other and banging everything in sight with a spade—but there was no news in it.
Wasn’t this Sergeant Butt’s place? Then this must be his stepson—her backup news story. Perhaps he wasn’t so boring after all. She got out her notepad and pencil just in case.
She was about to call down to him when the back door of the house opened and a man appeared. It was Sergeant Butt, hard to recognise at first in his baggy tennis clothes.
Funnily enough, he called out the very same question that Pollo had been going to ask. ‘Everything okay down there?’
It seemed an innocent thing to ask.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Saturday 18:30
All the woes of Will’s day blurred into oblivion as the spade juddered at the end of his big toe. Everything around him was dark as a cave. His stomach knotted deep inside, pulling him double. When his vision returned, he was on his knees, the backyard sloshing from side to side. HB, waving from the back step, looked like he was doing the Dance of the Seven Veils.
His big toe screamed at him, ‘Give up! Cry like a baby! Confess!’ But his brain commanded, ‘Do NOT give him a reason to come closer. Do NOT let him know you were putting out a fire!’
Will sank forward in the dirt, pretending to fuss with the hole he’d dug, blinking back tears of agony.
HB called across the lawn. ‘Just popped back for my wallet!’ He moved down a step towards Will then seemed to think better of it. He scratched inside his left ear with an index finger. ‘Can I give you a hand, son?’
The pain in Will’s toe subsided enough for him to speak. ‘No thanks. I’m just digging a hole to...’ To what? He could hardly yell out to bury the evidence of a crime! HB was waiting for him to finish. Will’s thoughts galloped. Crime ... murder ... dead body. Dead body!
‘...to bury a dead body!’ he blurted. ‘An animal! A dead animal!’
‘I see,’ said HB. He was scratching in the other ear now. ‘What sort of dead animal?’
At that moment, from out of nowhere, Will heard the single short bleat of a sheep, so close by he must have imagined it. It was a sign! Awesome!
‘A sheep!’ he called back triumphantly.
‘Gosh!’ said HB. ‘I thought you were going to say a bird or a rat or a possum maybe. But a sheep, eh? I wonder how the devil it got into the yard—before it ... err ... passed away.’
Will thought about grabbing his spade and making his hole bigger—much bigger—not stopping until he reached the other side of the earth.
‘There’s a hole in the fence,’ he wailed.
‘Gosh!’ said HB. He scanned the yard. ‘Where’s the sheep now?’
‘I ... I dragged it behind the shed because ... because it was creeping me out,’ called Will. ‘Then I was going to bring it back to bury it.’ Why the heck was he going to bury the sheep? ‘For fertiliser,’ he added. Sudden inspiration hit. ‘And then I was going to plant a veggie garden for Angela on top of it—for her birthday!’
‘Righto. I see,’ said HB. ‘That’s ... err ... thoughtful of you, son. Your mum will appreciate that ... I think.’ He had fingers in both ears now, scratching vigorously.
‘So, you see, I’m fine. Really,’ called Will.
‘Yes ... yes, you are.’ HB shuffled on the back step. ‘Well, I’d best be getting back to the club then. Buy that round of drinks for your mum’s birthday.’
Will nodded. ‘Don’t want to make her mad!’
‘No-sir-ee! We can’t do that!’ HB opened the fly-wire door. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it.’
Will managed a casual smile and a wave. ‘Bye then!’
‘Yes, cheerio! Back in a little while.’ The door clicked shut behind HB and Will exhaled like he’d surfaced from a dive.
Suddenly the back door opened again and his stepfather’s head popped out. ‘Don’t worry about the hole in the fence, son. We can see to it tomorrow.’
The hole in the fence? What hole in the fence? Will groaned. Details! Why did HB always pick up the details? How come his stepfather thought of every little thing while his real dad couldn’t remember to ring?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Saturday 18:45
In her dress circle seat on the tree branch, Pollo had filled three pages of her notepad and was grinning from ear to ear. Shorn Connery was the best assistant ever! Calling out at just the right moment like that. She’d swear he’d been eavesdropping too! At first she’d cursed him and his big woolly mouth, thinking he’d given her away, but it had turned out better than she could have imagined. A dead sheep indeed. My-oh-my! Hadn’t that opened a can of worms for the new boy!
Suddenly, up at the end of the path near the cemetery, she noticed a tall figure moving in long, slow strides, a silver case under his arm. Von Albericht! He must have snuck out from the forest. He couldn’t have passed underneath her tree—Shorn Connery would have said something. In fact, where was Shorn Connery? His rope was no longer tied to the trunk. He must have gone on ahead while she was busy with the fun below.
Sergeant Butt hadn’t come back. His stepson was sitting on the lawn, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, staring into space. The action was all done here. She backed along her branch and climbed down. Keeping to the edge of the track, she snuck to the cemetery and crouched behind a bush.
Shorn Connery hadn’t reappeared, as she’d thought he might. It was later than she liked and getting hard to see any distance. She pulled a carrot from a pocket and took a bite.
Von Albericht was alone where the cemetery merged with the meadow, his case open on the ground nearby. He was circling slowly on the spot, his head tipped back. Once again, he appeared to be waiting, almost willing something to happen.
Slowly Pollo slipped from tree to tree until she was so close she could hear the man’s boots crunching through the grass. She patted the cold metal of the pen-torch clipped to her belt.
In von Albericht’s case, the blue light began to intensify. He darted over and, as the night before, set off for the forest—for her!—carrying the case in his arms. He ran past Pollo, only metres away, his eyes trained on the treetops.
Pollo clung to her tree. She could hear von Albericht pushing through the undergrowth, getting further and further away. Where was Shorn Connery when she needed him? She felt for her torch again and breathed deeply. She shuffled ten paces into the gloomy tangle of trees, everything now only visible in dark smudges. She could do this. She didn’t need a sheep to back her up.
She unclipped her torch and switched it on. A shy glow illuminated a circle of ground in front of her ... then slowly faded away. She shook the torch. Nothing.
Pollo thumped her head with her hand. If Mayor Bullock could see her now! How could she be so stupid? She yanked out the notepad and pencil on the cord around her neck.
Note to self, she wrote. Put new batteries INTO TORCH!!!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday 19:25
Von Albericht was the most important story lead she had ever chased and she’d let him get away not once, but twice! Pollo stomped back along the track, muttering to herself in the fading light. Shorn Connery trotted up to join her, lupin
leaves streaked across his nose. She picked up the trailing end of his rope, barely noticing he was there.
They rounded a bend and Pollo saw something that lifted her mood considerably. Up ahead was the boy from earlier—Sergeant Butt’s stepson—only this time he was on the track, his back towards her. In his hands he held a length of heavy timber and, to Pollo’s delight, he was swinging it lustily, aiming blow after blow at the pickets of his own fence.
Her backup story just got better and better! Dropping Shorn Connery’s rope, she snuck up behind him. As he was about to swing, she tapped him on the shoulder.
‘Hi there!’
Will wheeled around, dropping the plank and reeling backwards. As he stumbled, a big grey thing shot out of nowhere, catching him behind the knees. His arms windmilled but he kept tumbling. For a split-second he sat on something tickly that wriggled out from under him. He toppled backwards, cracking and snapping twigs as he crashed down into the prickly scrub.
He opened his eyes and looked up into a set of dirty Y-shaped nostrils. Glassy yellow eyes with horizontal pupil slits stared down at him. Ears at right angles to a long nose took turns to twitch.
He shook his head. Was he delirious?
The animal curled back its lips, baring grass-covered teeth. Baa-aa-aah!
Maybe he’d wake up and find that this day had all been a giant nightmare. He pinched himself but nothing changed. In fact, things were worse. A girl dressed like a burglar was now bending over him, offering him her hand. He got the strong impression she was trying not to laugh.
Ignoring her hand, he tried to lever himself out of his prickle bush. But with every twitch thorns found a new bit of flesh to jab. Swallowing his pride, he reached up.
The girl hoisted him to his feet and watched him pluck thorns from his legs and arms. She cleared her throat. ‘I guess it’s one of those one-thing-leading-to-another types of situations,’ she said.
Will grunted. ‘What’s that s’posed to mean?’
‘Let me guess,’ said the girl, pulling out a notepad and pencil. ‘You’re trying to make a hole in the fence?’
‘Why would I be doing a dumb thing like that?’ said Will, colour rising in his cheeks.
‘Because you told your stepdad, who happens to be a police sergeant, that there was a hole in the fence, when it would appear to most observers—’ here she took a step backwards and glanced up and down the fence ‘—that there isn’t, in fact, any such thing.’
‘How would you know what I told my stepfather? Unless you were—’
‘Eavesdropping. You’ve got it, though I like to think of it as making the most of all of my senses.’ The girl stepped forward and offered her hand. ‘Sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Pollo di Nozi—supersleuth and editor of the Riddle Gully Gazette.’
Will scowled at Pollo’s hand. What was it his footy coach used to say? Attack was the best form of defence! ‘Pollo?’ he said with a smirk. ‘That’s a weird name. It means chicken in Italian, doesn’t it? I had pollo-something at a restaurant. Are you a scaredy-cat, or something?’
Scaredy-cat? Was that the best he could do?
The girl gritted her teeth. ‘Pollo’s short for Apollonia, if you must know. After my dad’s mum. What you eat at restaurants is your business.’
Will gave up. He wasn’t up for a tussle in his current state. He scuffed the dirt. ‘What’s with the sheep?’
‘This here’s Shorn Connery—you know, like the original James Bond, Secret Agent 007. Only instead of S-E-A-N, it’s S-H-O-R-N—because he’s a sheep! Get it? My Aunty Giulia named him. She said it was a good name for any pet of mine because I was always spying on people. Still am.’
Will grunted. ‘Does he follow you around all the time?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Pollo. ‘He was born on my Aunty Giulia’s farm but his sheep-mother went all weird when he was born and rejected him. I raised him from a lamb.’
Rejected by a parent ... Will thought of his father, who hadn’t bothered to ring him since he’d moved to Riddle Gully. So Shorn Connery and he had something in common. He had a friend in Riddle Gully after all. Angela would be happy.
Pollo waited, her hands on her hips. ‘And you are?’
‘You seem to know everything about me already,’ Will grumbled.
‘A lot, sure, but not your name.’
‘It’s Will.’
‘Will, eh? Sure that’s your real name? Sure it’s not Liar-Liar-Pants-On-Fire?’
Will sighed. ‘Will Hopkins. Hopkins is my dad’s surname and I’m sticking with it. I’m never going near my stepfather’s surname, no matter what anyone says.’
‘Well, yeah. I can understand that,’ said Pollo. ‘Hey! Your stepdad doesn’t know anything about the graffiti at the school this morning, does he? Has he got any inside info?’
‘Nuh-uh,’ said Will, shaking his head vigorously. ‘Nothing. And I don’t know anything either. Not a single thing.’
‘Well someone wrote “Sergeant Butt is a pig’s bun” on the wall of the admin building. They did a really good picture of him too.’ Pollo giggled.
‘You liked it?’ Will tried to fend off a pleased grin.
‘Let’s say I admired it. I guess whoever did it meant to write “pig’s bum”.’
‘Of course they did!’ said Will. He added hastily, ‘I’m pretty sure they did, anyway. They must have run out of paint.’
‘I thought you didn’t know anything about it.’
‘Err ... I know a bit about it, I guess. I just don’t know about who did it.’ His head was starting to hurt.
‘Oh ... right,’ said Pollo. ‘How did your stepdad take it?’
‘He wasn’t too worried, as it turns out. My mum’s pretty mad though.’
‘Well, I sure would be if I were her,’ said Pollo. ‘It must be a bit hard for you too, with it happening in your very first week here. Don’t worry though. Everyone likes your stepdad way too much not to hunt down whoever did it.’
Will closed his eyes and tried pinching himself again ... Still here.
‘It’s a cheap shot, don’t you think?’ Pollo went on. ‘Your stepdad’s always so nice.’
‘Mmm, yeah, I s’pose,’ murmured Will. He looked at the ground. He’d have to sound more convincing or she’d be onto him. What had Angela said at lunchtime? He looked up at Pollo. ‘I hope whoever did it gets shot!’
‘Wow! That’s pretty severe,’ said Pollo. ‘I’ll tell you one thing though. I’m going to get to the bottom of it. Whoever did it is going to be Page Two news in the next Riddle Gully Gazette!’
Will gulped ... Hang on a sec ... Page Two? He couldn’t help himself. ‘What’s going to be on Page One?’
‘This other scoop I’m chasing.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m hoping it will win me the Youth Reporter cadetship with the Coast regional news network—Mayor Bullock can say what he likes to the editor-in-chief. It’s only a part-time job after school but it would set me off on my journalistic career.’
‘You want to be a reporter?’ said Will.
‘An investigative reporter,’ said Pollo. ‘I want to keep the people who run things honest and help the people who can’t help themselves. Like my mum did.’
‘Heck ... well ... good luck then,’ said Will. ‘So your mum’s a reporter too, eh?’ Another person he had to avoid.
Pollo smiled crookedly. ‘Not exactly. She died when I was six, before Aunty Giulia and Uncle Pete talked Dad into moving here. But she was a fierce journalist. She won an award. Dad’s kept all her articles for me.’
‘That’s good. No, I don’t mean ... not good, but...’ Will stared at his toes, his head thumping. This girl didn’t have enough parents and he had too many. Where was the sense in that?
‘Don’t worry, she’s still around somehow,’ said Pollo. ‘So!’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘You know as much about me now as I do about you,’ she said. ‘We’re square.’
If only, thought Wil
l. He licked his finger and dabbed at a prickle scratch. ‘You haven’t told me what your big Page One story is.’
Pollo peered up and down the track and into the dim forest behind them. ‘It’s this man. A stranger here in Riddle Gully. He’s staying out at the old ranger’s hut,’ she whispered. ‘He’s one of them, I’m pretty sure. I think he’s planning to take my friend Sherri and make her one of the Living Dead.’ Her voice resumed normal volume. ‘Do you know Sherri? She runs the second-hand shop but she used to be a singer on—’
‘Hang on,’ said Will. ‘Back up a bit. Make your friend Sherri one of the what?’
‘The Living Dead,’ said Pollo out of the corner of her mouth. ‘You know...’ She leaned close to Will’s ear. ‘Vampires!’
‘What?’
‘Vampires!’ said Pollo, looking around. ‘I think this man is one of them. I’m almost certain anyway—and I know heaps about them. I’ve read just about every vampire book there is. You should see the way he dresses and talks, and he hangs around in graveyards and likes bats and doesn’t come out till dusk. And—get this—his name is Viktor von Albericht! Nearly exactly the same as the vampire in the book I’m reading right this minute!’
‘No way!’ said Will. ‘He sure sounds like one.’
Pollo began pacing up and down the path, then turned to face Will. ‘He has to be! That’s why we’ve got to track him down tonight and find out everything we can. Sherri’s life could depend on it.’
‘Did you say “we”?’
‘Maybe ... It just slipped out.’
‘But you’re the one chasing the story,’ said Will. ‘I don’t even know Sherri! I’m not going to—’
‘Listen, it’s none of my business, I know, but aren’t your mum and stepdad due home soon? Seems to me like we should quit chatting and get on with it.’
‘Get on with what?’ asked Will.
‘Making a hole in the fence, of course! You can go and get an axe for starters.’
