by June Whyte
“Isn’t that where they try out new weapons of war?”
The microfilm was starting to make sense.
“Yes.” His voice went cold, almost threatening. “And intruders at the Centre are shot on sight.”
I looked up and for a moment his eyes seemed as cold as his voice. Then his smile returned.
“Okay, that’s all you’re worming out of me, devil-spawn. Now, go buy an ice cream or something and stop tailing me—or I’ll run you in.” He stopped and gave me a mock frown. “And I’ll tell you something else for free. If DI Phillips catches sight of you at the police station, he’ll lock you up and throw away the key.”
“Is that the detective with the moustache and the very shiny black shoes?”
Constable Roberts nodded, his white teeth gleaming against his tanned face.
“That’s the one. And I heard from a very reliable source he had to toss those shiny black shoes in the garbage.”
His grin widened as he walked off, slowly shaking his head. “Not a happy man…”
Fourteen
“Here’s the library book you wanted, Mum,” I called, letting the screen door slam behind me. “You were lucky. The person who borrowed it only returned the book an hour before I got there.”
“We’re in the kitchen baking cakes.” Ken’s voice was followed by a muffled giggle from Mum.
As I poked my head through the kitchen doorway I rolled my eyes.
“Geez, do you two lovebirds ever stop?” I asked in mock disapproval.
By the flush on Ken’s face and the way Mum was grinning at him they’d been kissing over the cake-mixture.
I was happy for Mum. She deserved a good guy like Ken in her life after losing Dad to a heart-attack six years ago then bringing me up single handed. This guy made her laugh and since he’d come into her life she looked years younger.
But that didn’t make it any easier to put up with Ken’s daughter. If only Sarah wasn’t such a pain in the body-part you sit on.
What about the sneaky way she found my diary?
In my room…inside my wardrobe…under a pile of old tee-shirts…wrapped in a nightdress I used to wear when I was five.
Hey, if she could find that—she could find anything.
Which is why I tied the micro-film inside the pink handkerchief then tied both to a hunk of string around my neck. That way both clues were with me 24/7.
I was half way through reading chapter 4 of an Emily Rodda’s Teen-Power mystery when the phone rang. Of course Sarah, who was home from the mall by this time, came barreling out of her room. The thumping beat of one of her rap idols followed her.
“It’s mine!” she screamed, both hands outstretched. Her wet purple colored nails reminded me of vampire claws. “Let me have it!”
Let her have it? Ooooh, I was so tempted…
Instead, I grabbed the phone and accidentally smudged one of Miss Pre-Teen’s painted nails in the struggle.
“Hello. Chiana Ryan speaking.”
“Hi, Cha. It’s me, Tayla.” There was a pause. “What’s with the noise? Sounds like a bulldozer is knocking down the house.”
“Just Sarah.”
I scowled get lost at Miss Pre-Teen, who was stamping her feet and giving me an, I’ll get you back glare. Geez. Anyone would think I’d chopped her finger off at the last knuckle instead of smudging her nail polish.
“Hey, Tayla,” I said. “Are you home from your Gran’s yet?”
I had to stick a finger in my other ear. All the better to hear Tayla’s voice over thumping music, stamping stepsister and Mum yelling up the stairs to turn that blasted music down.
“I came home this afternoon. It’s peaceful with Gran and Poppa, but deadly boring.”
“Are you okay? I’ve been worried about you since—you know—the other night.”
I watched Sarah stamp off in the direction of her room then slam the door so hard the floor boards quivered under my feet.
“Creeped me out big time, like, I keep thinking of—you know—the ants eating his face and stuff.” I could hear the shudder in her voice.
“Yeah. And what about how stiff he was?”
“Wonder if they broke an arm off when they tried to get him out through the shed door.”
“Yuk!”
“Anyway, what’s happening? Did you give you-know-what to the police?”
“Not yet. It’s on a string around my neck. And guess what? I found another clue.”
“Are you crazy?” Tayla’s voice rose to a squeal. “There’s a killer out there looking for the you-know-what, and you’re talking another clue. Cha, you are totally freaking me out here.”
I changed the phone to my other ear, slid to the floor then stretched both legs out in front of me.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take the microfilm to the police as soon as I’ve checked out this latest clue. Hands-on stuff helps me to write my story.” Excitement bubbled inside at the thought of my story. “I’m three-quarter way through now, Tay, but need the mystery solved before I can finish.”
“I dunno, Cha. I’m scared. Like, why can’t you write about a true-life crime that’s already been solved, like everyone else?”
“But that’s the point,” I twisted a strand of my hair around my finger. “That’s exactly why my story will stand out from the others.”
“Still say you’re crazy.”
“Maybe.” I sniffed and blanked the cold shiver that invaded my body. “Hey, guess who I saw today?”
“Leonardo De Caprio?”
“I wish.”
“That cute guy from Port Power who sometimes plays at full forward?”
“Cute? Tayla, he’s a gorilla.”
“Is not!”
“Have it your way. I saw Constable Nick Roberts today.”
“The cop with the dimple?”
“Yeah. He said Frank Skinner used to work at the Weapons Research Station.”
“So?”
“Don’t you get it? The microfilm must have something to do with a new weapon they’re researching.”
“All the more reason to toss it at the police and run for cover.”
“Come on, Tay. I just want to ask around at the Research Station. Find someone who knew Frank. If I can land one more lead, I promise I’ll spill everything I know to the police.” I paused to let that sink in. “Are you with me?”
“I dunno…”
“Pretty please. If I can win that writing contest we can celebrate with a party.”
“But—”
“We’ll visit the Research Station in the morning. It’ll be daylight and lots of workers will be around,” I assured her. “What can happen?”
“I don’t really—”
“You’re so good at this sort of thing, Tay. You just flick your hair. Smile. And people smile back and confide in you. Me—I scare them off.”
“Hmmph…”
“I do. I get doors slammed in my face, nutters talking about space men and savage dogs licking their lips ready to eat me.”
Tayla giggled. “Not to mention wig-holders pretending to be chopped off heads.”
“Let’s not go there.” I shivered. “So…will you come with me in the morning?”
“What about school?”
“We’ll go there before school starts.”
I heard this big sigh and grinned. My best friend was hooked.
“Okay. But I’m warning you, Chiana. If we discover another dead body, I’ll push you off the jetty and toss rocks at you.”
“Deal,” I said, ending the conversation before she changed her mind. “Gotta go now. Mum’s coming up the stairs. I’ll see you at the corner of your street at 8 o’clock in the morning. Okay?”
“Mmm.”
“And remember—zip your lips.”
“Don’t worry, if I told anyone you’d talked me into another one of your crazy schemes, they wouldn’t believe me.”
Fifteen
The landscape surrounding the Weapons Research Station w
as dry, harsh, like we’d landed on another planet.
“I don’t like it here.” Tayla slowed down and eyed the area nervously. “There’s no shops. No houses. Nothing.”
A rabbit darted across the road, a flash of red fur chasing it. I watched them disappear into a tangle of bushes and prayed the fox got caught in the prickles and the rabbit escaped unhurt.
“I wonder why they built their Research Station here?” Tayla went on. Due to a king-sized prickle and a flat front tire, she dragged her bike along beside her.
“Best place for secret army business, I suppose. No houses means no people,” I answered, cruising up to the front gate on my bike and dragging one foot in the dirt to stop.
I looked up. The chain wire fence surrounding the property was topped with no-nonsense rolls of barbed wire.
“Hmm…” I mused. “Might have trouble getting in here.”
“Who said anything about getting in?” Tayla leaned her bike against the fence and gave me the eye. “See that sign, Cha? It says, ‘No Trespassing’.”
“Whatever.” I dropped my bike in the dirt. “Let’s talk to the guy in that little office. If he doesn’t know Frank then you’ll have to keep him talking while I sneak into the factory. Okay?”
“Whaaaat? You’ll get us thrown in jail!”
“They don’t throw people in jail just for trespassing, Tay. Now come on, get your smile ready.”
With Tayla dragging her heels beside me, I knocked on the glass door. In fact every wall of the office was made of glass. Why? Couldn’t be to gaze out at the dull scenery.
“Good morning.”
I nudged Tayla. She was busy checking out the toes of her sneakers. No help there so I smiled at the small bald headed man at the door. Dressed in a grey cotton dust coat that covered his street clothes, he reminded me of a wrinkled, big-eared gnome.
“Hello. Hello,” he boomed. “Got a puncture, eh?” A hearing aid was fastened inside his left ear and his voice could be heard in the next state.
“We were looking for Frank Skinner,” I shouted back. “Do you know him?”
“Frank who?”
“Skinner.” Any louder and my throat would gum up. “He works here.”
“Come inside while I check through the work sheets.”
He dragged a large well-thumbed pile of papers across the desk and began shuffling through them. “Agostini. Allington. Ambrose. Arnold. Astor—”
I could see Tayla’s duh! expression and couldn’t meet her eye without giggling.
“Bagshaw. Ball. Banner. Barton—”
My stomach ached from trying not to laugh. I could see Tayla struggling to smother a giggle behind her hand as the gnome continued.
“Er…why don’t you try the S’s for Skinner?” I asked.
“We must do things by the book, my dear. He who hurries only trips over his own feet.” With that he went back to licking his thumb and carefully flicking through the stack of papers. “Bartholomew—”
This could take forever. Tayla sank into a big comfortable armchair and picked up a magazine while I leaned on the counter and fiddled with a broken calculator.
Geez. By the time our gnome arrived at the S’s I could have snuck in the building, had a cup of tea and questioned every employee on duty. Only trouble was the wizened gnome was standing no more than an arm’s length from the door.
“Braithwaite. Breeding—”
“Morning, Trevor. Sorry I’m late.” A large beefy guy with a ginger beard and thick bushy eyebrows slouched through the front door and tossed a battered brief-case onto the counter. He hung up his jacket and pulled a grey cotton dust jacket over his shirt and trousers. “Traffic was bumper to bumper this morning. The Birkenhead Bridge got stuck when it went up for a yacht and took fifteen minutes to go down again. Dunno why they let them yachts go under the bridge. Should make ’em tie up at the berth on the other side.”
“Good morning, Sam. Now, where was I? Campbell. Castle. Corinthian—”
“Hello, girls.” The newcomer turned to us with a friendly smile, all casual like, in no hurry to start work. “Looking for information for your school project, eh?”
Cigarette-stained teeth still flashing, he edged through the narrow opening into the office area, his large stomach colliding with the counter. “We have some great brochures somewhere here—if I can find them.”
“Darcy. Drogemuller—”
With a frown of concentration etched between his eyes, the little man glanced up from his search. “No, Sam. These girls were asking about Frank Skinner. I’m going through today’s work-sheets to see—”
“Frank Skinner?” It was like an alarm clock had gone off in Sam’s ear. He jumped in the air. He waved his arms. He turned into Super-Sam. I almost expected him to grow rubber suctions on his feet and climb a wall or toss a cape around his shoulders and fly away through an open window.
“You get going, Trevor. I’ll take over here,” he ordered, tugging the work sheets from Trevor’s fingers and throwing them on the desk.
“No. No, I’ll—”
“It’s my fault you’re late knocking off your shift, so I’ll see to the girls.”
Almost lifting our friendly gnome off his feet, Sam shooed Trevor toward the front door.
With a wave to the gnome he turned back to us and let out a quick Phew!
“Now,” he said, turning back into Ordinary Sam. “What can I do for you girls?”
I sat on the arm of the chair and blinked. Wow! That was some show. Then, remembering what we’d come for, I nudged Tayla with my elbow.
“Um…we’re looking for Frank Skinner.” Tayla ran a hand through her golden curls and put on a sugary smile. “Do you know him?”
Geez…I love it when Tayla does that. When I try the same move in my mirror at home it makes me look like I’m getting ready to throw up.
Sam leaned back against the counter and shook his head. “I’m afraid my good mate Frank’s not with us anymore.”
“Oh.”
There she went again, large blue eyes sparkling with innocence and sympathy, bottom lip quivering.
“Dead, you know.”
Believe me Sam—we do know!
Tayla tipped her head to one side. “We were wondering if you could tell us what Frank was like.”
“Great guy. Give his last dollar to charity, he would.”
Hmm…not according to his police-records.
“Did he have any enemies? Was he in financial trouble? Up to no-good?” I couldn’t resist getting into the conversation, hurrying things along a bit, like.
Sam wrenched his eyes away from Tayla and frowned razor-blades at me. He pushed himself off the counter and took a menacing step closer.
“What’s it to you, kid?”
“We found Frank’s body in the garden shed.”
That stopped him like a bullet in the chest. I watched something like confusion pass over his face, then disappear. His frown deepened. “You found what…where?”
“Did you say you were a friend of Frank’s?”
“Yeah. We were good mates. Knocked me for six when I heard what happened to him. I’d like to get my hands on the mongrel what did it.”
“Then can you help us? Please.” It was Tayla, her soft musical voice sounding sweeter than a packet of pink marshmallows.
“Of course. I’d do anything to track down Frank’s killer. But what can we do? There’s no witnesses. No leads.”
“There’s the microfilm.” It was out of Tayla’s mouth before I could shove my fist down her throat. “Chiana found it in Patsy Turner’s tracksuit pants. Could be an important clue, don’t you think?”
“And it’s hidden somewhere safe,” I cut in to shut Tayla up.
Sam kept that easy-going best-friend smile on his face while he casually rubbed the back of his neck. His only sign of stress was the knife-cold flash that flickered in his eyes then disappeared as quickly as it had come.
“So you didn’t give the microfilm to the
police?”
“I wanted to,” Tayla gabbled on unwittingly, “but Cha decided to hang on to it for a bit.”
I gave her a sharp dig with my elbow but she just smiled at me as though I was being modest. “See, Cha’s writing a true crime story for a big writing competition and wants to solve the murder and use it in her story.”
“Aha! So you’re the clever one, eh?” Sam transferred his gaze to me and leaned closer. “Well, count me in on the sleuthing. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.” He flicked his hand. “What say I dig around here and see what I find? Then we can compare notes.”
I say I don’t trust you.
“That’d be brilliant, Sam,” I answered trying for a sugar coated smile. “Ask around in the Weapons Research Centre, then get back to me. See if you can find out what they’re working on in there. It must be something so important that by filming it Frank got himself killed.”
Tayla stood up, placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “Be careful, Sam. This assignment could be dangerous. Having a friend of Frank’s on our side makes me feel a lot safer.” She looked at me. “But I still say we should go to the police.”
“No, Cha’s right,” Sam said, patting her hand. “Let’s see what we can come up with first. The police have to go by the book which sometimes takes so long the killer can escape by leaving the country. And we don’t want that to happen, do we?”
By the look on Tayla’s face I could tell the idea of the killer boarding a plane and leaving the country was the best thing she’d heard for days. But she shook her head and said no, like a good little vegemite.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and saw it was almost ten o’clock. It would take us over an hour to walk to the nearest petrol station, get Tayla’s puncture mended and then ride to school.
“We’d better get going, Tay. Frosty is going to spew when we rock up to school late. She’s just itching for an excuse to send me to the principal’s office.”
We said goodbye to Sam and pushed through the glass door. I had to get Blabbermouth Tayla outside before she mentioned the microfilm was hanging around my neck.
Tayla, misunderstanding my warning elbow in the ribs for more smiling required, turned at the last minute, said a pretty ‘cheese’ and then gave Sam my mobile phone number.
