by Josh Berk
The thing is, I can understand Hawley’s line of thinking.
Devon and I were separated when the lights went out. And, yeah, Devon made us skip past his interview on the surveillance camera. And he kept several details from me during our “investigation.” And I did wonder: Am I being impartial in my investigation? Am I being honest with myself? Meanwhile, Hawley is up in my face, shouting at me.
I gesture to Hawley to back up. He gnashes his teeth, and I reach into my pocket and take out my notebook. He flinches, like I am pulling a weapon. I hand it over.
“It’s all in there!” Devon yells. “Will has the proof!”
Hawley flips the notebook open. I read his lips. Everyone is listening in rapt attention. He starts to read. I don’t catch all of it, but I am pretty sure he says, “Who the hell is Jimmy Porkrinds?” I grin sheepishly and gesture that he should turn the page. He reads again: “Scuzzy guy loves his fingers?” Everyone is looking at me, and I feel my face get hot. I gesture that he should turn the page again. “I’m not reading this part about Miss Prefontaine’s, uh, chest,” he says. Why did I spend so much time writing about boobs and Escapone? I gesture as if to say, “Can I have that back?” I take it and start flipping through.
It is embarrassing as hell to have all those things I had written be entered into the police record or whatever, but with Devon’s innocence on the line, I have no choice. Hawley looks over my shoulder, checking out my notes about everyone in school. His eyes light up when he reads, “Stay away from Smiley Guy,” but I quickly flip the page again and find the exact page we are looking for.
And there in plain printed English is my map and my theory about who had killed Pat. I had crossed out suspects one by one. Finally, there is only one name left, the name I had signed to Purple in the hallway. Next to that I have a map of the secret passage, a list of Pat’s awful behavior to explain motive, and some ideas on ways to collect hard evidence: checking the dog hair on the coal against the perp’s pup and for footprints in the passage. We have enough.
I trace the route on the map with my finger. And my notes spell it all out for the detective: “She entered a secret passage a few yards from where he fell. Take the path to the right and you pop out of a door a little farther up the path. She got in on the other side, just before the lights went off, and crawled through. As soon as it went dark, she reached out and smashed him with the coal. Then she crawled around the other side. There are no fingerprints because she had her hands inside a coat with long sleeves. And the hair on the coal should match her dog.”
I sign the name again.
Devon knows who I mean. He nods. Purple knows too. And I don’t have to present all the evidence right then. Because Purple elbows the person standing next to her and translates this in a whisper. At least that’s what I assume happened, because the person next to Purple suddenly turns as white as a ghost. She literally starts shaking in her shoes and then tries to flee. Before she makes it more than a few steps down the hall, however, she smacks right into Principal Kroener. The true culprit is apprehended.
Principal Kroener is holding her by the shirt. Suddenly the word “collared,” as in “The police collared the suspect,” makes sense. He just grabs her by the collar and doesn’t let her go. Detective Hawley is pacing and huffing like an angry lion at the zoo. He gives her a look that says, “You’re not going anywhere, Ms. Pennington.”
Leigha collapses; she looks so young, like a girl. A baby. I don’t see exactly what she is saying, but I don’t need to.
EPILOGUE
So I’m back at my computer playing around online. Yeah, I solved a crime of national importance, got a bunch of Republicans cleared of assassinating a high school quarterback, got the homecoming queen arrested—-just normal-dude stuff. Just a regular long weekend in public school. Uh … to be honest, it has been pretty amazing. For the day or two after Leigha’s arrest, I was on the local news as the lead story.
I got top billing even before the twin scandals of sexy Miss Prefontaine and the drug-dealing Jimmy Porkrinds, which still have the town in a fury. My name was even briefly on CNN.com. They wrote, “Pennsylvania deaf high school student Will Halbin solves murder of son of casino scandal kingpin Pat Chambers; Chambers cleared in corruption scandal.” Yep, they spelled my name wrong. And, yep, Pat Chambers Sr. got off scot-free.
Maybe people cut him some slack because his son died. Maybe he just had a really good lawyer. I still think he might be a raging scuzzbag, but my feelings on the subject changed somewhat when he presented me with a large check for catching his son’s killer. All the money that was going to go to Pat’s party came in one fat personal check to one William Halpin. Pat Senior said I could do whatever I want with it. I have several things in mind.
Oh, and I even got mentioned on TheTruthIsNot.com! It was posted by someone other than me, I swear. They thought I was a CIA hit man, which was definitely sort of awesome.
I spend a while online reading my own press until I get tired of it. But I have one more page to visit. I click back to my old favorite: Leigha’s profile page. I’m a weak man. Even after everything, I want to see that picture one last time. I am not prepared for the flood of comments damning and defending Leigha. It is fascinating reading. Some are on her side, maintaining that Pat was an overcontrolling maniac who got what he deserved. The way he treated her was terrible, and she just snapped. It wasn’t premeditated or anything. Still, they are talking about life in prison.
Some people just wrote, “We’ll never 4get u!” which seems a little inane and obvious. Most of the messages are condemning or downright threatening, including statements like “i hope someone gets u baaaack.” Others contain a bunch of words I probably shouldn’t repeat (left by people like Travis Bickerstokes, who was understandably shaken up).
From several of the messages, it becomes clear that we had correctly lip-read the question that made Leigha cry in the interrogation. She was (is?) pregnant with Pat’s baby, and he was trying to force her to—how do I put this?—get rid of it. He even got physical with her a few times over it, which explains her increased amount of makeup and puffy lips. This part makes me sick. Pat was worse than anyone thought.
There is one interesting heartfelt message, left by Purple Phimmul, of all people. She simply wrote, “So sad.” Those two words really do seem to sum it all up. Pat crossed the line in how he treated Leigha, and she way crossed the line in how she fought back. It is just so sad. I sit there, thinking deep thoughts. I check out Purple’s page, catching up on what Purp is up to.
She has some new pictures, including a few in her family’s oak-paneled study. There she is, doing her weird Purple face in front of a giant oil painting in the study. They are the type of family that has oils of all the old Phimmuls. One of them—with his giant mustache and super-old-timey hearing aid—looks sort of … familiar. In fact, he looks extremely familiar. Is it because I read about him on the mansion’s Web site? Or is it because he looks exactly like the picture sitting on my desk at that very moment? Purple’s caption says, “Me and my great-uncle Andy, LOL.”
I stare at the painting of Andy Phimmul and compare it to the photo of Dummy Halpin. Maybe it’s the double m that gives me a hint? Andy Phimmul, Dummy Halpin! I grab a pencil and scratch it out. A perfect anagram. Andy Phimmul is Dummy Halpin.
And suddenly it all makes sense; well, some of it does.
Here’s what I think happened. Just like I walked out of that fight in the cafetorium with nobody noticing, the original Will Halpin found that being unnoticed can sometimes be a blessing. It can offer a chance to escape. Unlike all the other miners who lived their lives in grime and felt trapped by the walls that fate surrounded them with, locked in with no way out, Dummy used what made him different to make him stronger. His deafness was his key to transformation, his key to a different future. I think he survived that 1901 cave-in by hiding in that secret passage. He knew everyone would assume he was dead, and this gave him a chance to make his life over
again. I try to put myself in his shoes. Go back and spend another day clawing coal out of the earth to make some mining company rich or just go … where?
Where else? He obviously spent some time in town trying to remain sort of hidden—that could explain all the early “hauntings.” But the bright lights of the big city drew him like a moth to a flame. I don’t know if he hitchhiked, hopped a train, or walked and swam. But I bet he ended up in New York City. And I bet that he changed his name, met a girl there, and started a family. The Phimmuls.
It all makes sense. How did I miss it? Purple definitely looks like me—some ancient trace of Dummy’s lineage flows in both of our veins, like deep coal flowing under the Pennsylvania mountains. And she has deaf relatives whose condition was congenital just like mine, passed down to some lucky ones, skipping others.
A few weeks ago, I would no more have considered walking to Purple Phimmul’s house than I would have planned a trip to the moon. But now it just seems easy. I have a new dog, a new friend; it is time I have a whole family too. I am going to shut the computer off, lace up my sneakers, and walk downtown toward Purple’s house—her elegant old family mansion. My elegant old family mansion. I will walk past the stump of the DEAF CHILD AREA sign. Are they going to put a new one up? Probably not. I don’t really feel like a child anymore. I plan to walk far off the safe and wide sidewalks in my neighborhood and plow right into the traffic of the town’s busiest road. I have places to go, people to see. Ace is already at my side, this crazy mutt who thinks I’m the greatest thing on two legs. And before long I’ll be the coolest thing on four wheels. That’s right: I’m taking driver’s ed next semester. Hiring an interpreter for CHS and the deaf school outta my own hefty pockets. You’re welcome.
Oh, and I’m going to get really skinny and buff. All slim like a swimsuit model. Ha-ha, totally kidding. I’m just like my dad and grandfather and great-granduncle Dummy Halpin. Some people simply like to eat. Get over it, world.
But before I do all this, there is one more thing I have to do.
Of course, Devon is logged on.
HamburgerHalpin: howdy frank
Smiley_Man3000: Just thinking about ya, Chet! It’s been crazy, huh? I can’t believe that everything turned out exactly like a Hardy Boys book.
HamburgerHalpin: except for the part where the quarterback had a sex liaison with one of his educationalists
Smiley_Man3000: Oh yeah.
HamburgerHalpin: and then the prom queen got knocked up and pushed him down a coal shaft
Smiley_Man3000: Well there is that, but …
HamburgerHalpin: and then the police arrested frank
Smiley_Man3000: But he was cleared in the end!
HamburgerHalpin: thnx 2 me
Smiley_Man3000: I have already thanked you a million times. The Hardys never had such a need for praise. They just solved the case because it was the right thing to do.
HamburgerHalpin: again–i knew there was a reason i always hated those guys
Smiley_Man3000: Well, since I need to butter you up, I will thank you again.
HamburgerHalpin: why do u need to butter me up? fat joke?
Smiley_Man3000: Quick question–what would you say if I told you I have taken a fancy to a certain ex-girlfriend of yours??
HamburgerHalpin: i would say who the hell says taken a fancy?
Smiley_Man3000: What would you say after that? If I said I wanted to ask Ebony out?
HamburgerHalpin: i would say u don’t have to ask me. do whatever you want
Smiley_Man3000: Great! I hope it won’t be awkward if we all go out sometime.
HamburgerHalpin: double date! me and melody
Smiley_Man3000: You dog! You asked out that translator?
HamburgerHalpin: not yet but i will
Smiley_Man3000: Think she’ll say yes?
HamburgerHalpin: dude she has 2. i’m famous
Smiley_Man3000: Will Halbin is famous.
HamburgerHalpin: u saw that? haha
Smiley_Man3000: Where should we go?
HamburgerHalpin: 2 my party
Smiley_Man3000: You’re having a party!?
HamburgerHalpin: hell yes–pat’s dad gave me a serious chunk of change. i told him i’d rather he make a donation
Smiley_Man3000: A statue of yourself to be placed at CHS?
HamburgerHalpin: a few improvements to the school–a captioning system maybe or an interpreter on staff
Smiley_Man3000: Very charitable of you!
HamburgerHalpin: but i’m spending some of it on dumb stuff too
Smiley_Man3000: ?
HamburgerHalpin: well they already rented that huge place for a party … i figured it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.
Smiley_Man3000: 52 invitations?
HamburgerHalpin: why stop there? i’m inviting kids from my old school and a few lucky CHSers
Smiley_Man3000: Whoa!
HamburgerHalpin: still only about 8 at the head table though
Smiley_Man3000: Nice!
HamburgerHalpin: what are you so excited about?
Smiley_Man3000: I just assumed–
HamburgerHalpin: haha. dude of course you’re at the head table. it’ll be me and melody and you and ebony and maybe a couple of other cretins. with all the deaf people there we don’t have to pay for a dj–save money on music and have more cash for food
Smiley_Man3000: Oh, Chet. Still a hungry man.
HamburgerHalpin: and i think i know just what the centerpiece should be
Smiley_Man3000: What’s that?
HamburgerHalpin: the deaf child area sign i stole–i’m gonna jam it right into the center of the head table
Smiley_Man3000: It was you who stole that sign? I knew it! I just didn’t want to say anything.
HamburgerHalpin: u r a true gentleman
Smiley_Man3000: And a hell of a detective. Don’t you forget it.
HamburgerHalpin: no way i will my good man
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A million thanks to my wife, Kelly, for enduring endless early drafts and never being afraid to tell me which parts were totally lame. This book, like my life, is so much improved for having you in it that it is literally impossible to imagine either existing without you.
Thanks to Ted Malawer for being not only my agent but also a collaborator, a friend, an early reader, and a pro bono psychologist.
Thanks to my editor, Cecile Goyette, for your fantastic, ummm … what’s the word? Oh yeah: editing. (Cecile did not edit this page.) Your humor and wit and style have helped this book tremendously! Will and I feel so lucky to have found you.
Thanks to the copy editors, book designers, and all the fine people at Knopf who worked on the book!
Merci beaucoup à mes amis en France: Philippe Petit-Roulet for the awesome cover art and Manning Krull for making joshberkbooks.com way cooler than its subject deserves.
Thanks to David Galitz, and Cindy from the Beethoven’s Ears blog, as well as the deaf writers and bloggers who helped me understand my subject better without even knowing it.
thnx 2 alison nadraws 4 hlp w txting lingo!
And thanks to my writer friends Cyn Balog, Kurtis Scaletta, and all the Tenners for the support, advice, and endless shenanigans!
THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Josh Berk
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Knopf, Borzoi Books, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Berk, Josh.
The dark days of Hamburger Halpin / by Josh Berk. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: When Will Halpin transfers from his all-deaf school into a mainstream Pennsylvania high school, he faces discrimination and bullying, but still manages to solve a mystery surrounding the death of a popular football player in his class.
eISBN: 978-0-375-89551-7
[1. Deaf—Fiction. 2. People with disabilities—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction.
