Murder at the Museum

by Lena Jones

  ‘Just down that way, about fifteen stacks.’ She points off to her left, towards a far corner of the room.

  ‘Many thanks,’ the professor says briskly.

  We walk on, through the hush of the vast, thickly carpeted room.

  I follow the professor, with Sofia behind me. It’s a bit like being a prisoner escorted by guards. I’m trembling at the thought that soon I will have access to the cases Mum worked on before she died. Will the details of her death be in the files? I still don’t know if the professor knows what happened, or only – like me – that Mum didn’t die in a bike accident. I haven’t had the courage to ask her. I’m aware of the blood pounding loudly in my ears. After we’ve walked for about thirty seconds, I realise I can no longer hear the tip-tap of computer keyboards back at the archive assistants’ desk.

  Professor D’Oliveira doesn’t glance more than once at the piece of paper she’s been given, but soon we are standing in front of a filing cabinet, and – using another tiny key from one of her series of keyrings – she is unlocking the cabinet and sifting through the folders within.

  My heart is beating fast. The label on the drawer reads EXPIRED – does this mean expired cases or expired agents? It seems a bit cold, if it’s referring to agents who died in the line of duty. As the professor’s fingers flick expertly through the folders, I can read the tags on some of them, each bearing a single name. Some of the files are as thick as a biology textbook, others so thin that they can’t contain more than one or two sheets of paper.

  As the professor’s fingers settle on a file, and I read CLARA ODDLOW, my mother’s name, on the front, my heart rate kicks up another notch. I can feel myself sweating. I’m not in danger, I’m not being chased through a tunnel or threatened with a gun, yet I feel more scared now than I have in a very long time – perhaps since the day that I lost Mum, and realised Dad and I were all alone in the world.

  The professor pulls out the file and turns to me. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes …’ I say, uncertainly.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she asks gently, putting a hand on my shoulder.

  Either out of some desire to give us privacy, or because she can’t stand this display of sentimentality, Sofia turns and walks a little way down the row of filing cabinets. There she stops, as if standing sentry.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, more certain this time. ‘Yes, I’m sure – I’ve been waiting a long time for this. Dad and I both deserve to know the truth.’

  The professor smiles. ‘Spoken like the true daughter of Clara.’ She turns serious. ‘But don’t forget the promise you made about confidentiality – we’ll have to talk later about what exactly you can share with your father.’

  She hands me the file, which is a thick one, clearly bulging with information.

  I place it on top of the filing cabinet, take a deep breath, and flip open the cover of my mother’s file.

  The first piece of paper in the file is blank. It must be some kind of cover sheet. I turn it over. The next piece of paper is also blank. I turn it over. I turn the next one over too, and the next …

  They’re all blank.

  Looking for some kind of explanation, I turn to the professor.

  ‘What …?’ I say. No other words come.

  But the professor is just shaking her head. ‘No, it can’t be …’ She looks panicked, stricken almost.

  Sofia quickly comes back over to where we are standing. ‘What? What is it?’ she asks in her brusque tone.

  I demonstrate by riffling through all the blank pieces of paper in my mother’s file.

  ‘The notes,’ the professor says, ‘they’ve been wiped. The pages are all blank.’

  ‘There must be a mistake,’ Sofia says.

  There’s a screeching in my head, the beginning of a high-pitched scream. It wants to burst out, to break the silence in this awful quiet room.

  I have a realisation, and clutch at it like I’m drowning and it’s my only salvation. ‘This is part of the Trial, right?’ I say. ‘I haven’t passed yet after all, have I? This is another challenge. Let me see …’

  Through my tears, I inspect the file, the pieces of paper, hold them up to the light, sniff them. If only I can work it out … I have to work it out …

  ‘Agatha, no. This isn’t a test, child.’ The professor takes my hands and removes the paper from them. ‘Not a test,’ she says again.

  I meet her gaze, but her eyes show a panic which I’ve never seen before. Professor D’Oliveira, of all people, has always appeared unflappable.

  My anxiety levels rise further. ‘So, if this isn’t part of the Trial, what is it?’

  The professor looks around the room, as though searching for inspiration. ‘I honestly don’t know … Somebody has removed them.’

  ‘That’s impossible,’ Sofia says. ‘Nobody could have gained access to them without the highest clearance.’ She doesn’t appear even slightly surprised, I notice. Her manner has been calm and cold this whole time. Perhaps she doesn’t feel emotion. I wonder if she’s an advanced type of robot.

  ‘And yet they are gone,’ the professor replies brusquely, shooting her a fierce look that suggests she is challenging her to argue the point.

  ‘But you must have a copy?’ I say. My legs are wobbly and I feel like I’m going to faint. I sit down on a chair beside the cabinet.

  The professor shakes her head. ‘We don’t keep copies of these records; they’re classified. That’s why they’re under such high security. I do, of course, know some of the detail from the files; I even have a few notes of my own, some cuttings at home …’

  ‘Who could have taken them?’ I say. ‘The security in this room is like the Bank of England.’

  ‘You are right, Agatha. Nobody from outside the Guild could have made it in here to steal or destroy the files, without someone noticing. This room is guarded twenty-four-seven, all year round. The cabinet is fitted with a complex mechanical lock, which would shut down completely and sound an alarm if someone without the correct key attempted to gain access.’

  There is a strange tone in her voice.

  ‘Then, if it’s not someone from the outside, what are you saying?’ I ask – though the answer’s obvious.

  ‘What I’m saying, child, is that there must be a mole in the Guild.’

  There is a moment’s silence, while the three of us digest this information.

  My brain is behaving badly – it’s slow and sluggish. It feels like there’s a stone in my belly, heavy and cold.

  ‘A mole?’ I say at last. ‘You mean – a Guild member has stolen my mother’s file?’

  The professor is rubbing her forehead as if she has a headache. ‘That is the only logical explanation. Though how … or why …’ She turns to Sofia. ‘It’s very late, and both you and our new recruit need to get some rest. Please take Agatha to the induction room, and give her a copy of the handbook to take home. You may then escort her out of headquarters, and go home yourself. If there is a mole in the organisation, our security could be compromised. I have to look into this straight away.’

  ‘But don’t you need my help?’ says Sofia.

  The professor sighs. ‘I need you to follow my orders, Ms Solokov.’

  ‘Of course, Professor D’Oliveira,’ says Sofia, in an obedient tone. Even in my confounded state, I can’t help noticing the look of anger that flashes in her eyes.

  The professor marches over to the archive assistants’ desk, and I can see her pointing at the blank pages in the file as she starts to explain the situation to the young assistant. A tiny part of me is hoping the girl will magically draw the real file out from behind the desk, where she’s been keeping it safe. But her face goes from smiley to bewildered. She keeps shaking her head, clearly denying all knowledge of what could have happened – denying, no doubt, even the possibility of a file in this esteemed, ultra-secure file room being tampered with at all.

  Soon, all the archive assistants are gathered round, deep in discussion with Pro
fessor D’Oliveira. I would like to stay and observe, but Sofia is dragging me along by the sleeve of my sweater. My legs are still wobbly and they’re slow to respond, as if they’re being controlled by an incompetent puppeteer.

  ‘Come on,’ she says, impatiently.

  I bumble along behind her towards the exit. We have to stand still to be searched on the way out.

  By the time I make it out of the archive room, Sofia is standing in the corridor, harrumphing loudly. ‘What is it with you?’ she says. ‘They’re all making such a fuss – like you’re some kind of prodigal daughter or something. But as far as I can see, you’re just some geeky kid who’s struck lucky with a couple of Guild tests.’

  I pull myself together quickly. ‘The Guild Trial,’ I correct her. I don’t want Sofia to see me looking upset, so I start to think positively. Surely Mum’s file has just been mislaid, and the professor will soon hunt it down? I feel better immediately.

  Sofia rolls her eyes. ‘You’re just a little kid who needs a babysitter.’

  ‘I really don’t,’ I tell her. I manage not to add especially not you. I pause, wondering whether to carry on and confront her. At last I say, ‘What do you know about my mother’s file?’ I watch her face carefully for micro-expressions – the almost indiscernible twitches and tics that give away emotion – searching for signs of guilt. But there’s nothing. If she is guilty, she’s learnt amazing self-control.

  She stares at me. ‘What do you mean? I’ve never even seen the file.’

  ‘How do I know that’s true? Maybe you weren’t too pleased about having your “youngest ever” record stolen by a new girl? Maybe you came here earlier, to remove the file, so you could make me feel as angry and hurt as you were feeling.’

  Sofia flushes, but it appears to be with anger, rather than guilt. She advances towards me, and I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that she is considerably taller than me. I close my eyes for a moment and try to recall some of the self-defence moves Mr Zhang has taught me, but I can only summon up one of the most basic ‘forms’, which at best might be good for amusing her.

  ‘Why are your eyes closed?’ She sounds taken aback.

  I open my eyes at once. ‘I was trying to remember some self-defence,’ I admit.

  She laughs loudly. ‘You don’t really think I’m going to hurt you, do you?’ She moves her face right down to mine. ‘You are like a little bug – I don’t care enough about you to squash you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I croak. Thank you? What am I thinking? Am I really thanking her for not squashing me?

  ‘I want to keep my position here,’ she tells me. ‘I am not going to risk it for the sake of stealing files about some kid’s mum.’

  I take a breath. ‘Well, now we’ve cleared that up, what is it you’re supposed to show me?’

  She snorts. ‘Come on.’ She marches down corridor after corridor, and I have to run to keep up. I start to wish I had some of those trainers with wheels that little kids have – heelies.

  Finally, she stops at a door and uses her Guild key to gain access. I’m pretty sure we’re close to the Serpentine cavern, and I’m certain the professor’s office is close by, even though I’ve only visited it once, when Liam and I were caught exploring the tunnels. By the time I catch up, Sofia is tutting and sighing like a displeased schoolmistress. I come close to pointing out to her that she is still only a teenager herself.

  We step from plush carpeting on to wooden flooring, and she waits while the heavy door swings shut behind us; she doesn’t use her key to lock the door. I’ve noticed the Guild doors tend to be self-locking. Our footsteps echo as we walk along the corridor, past glass cubicles, all of which are empty. Each one bears a number on its door, plus the name of a different staff member.

  ‘Why is there no one here?’ I ask as I jog along behind her.

  She checks her watch. ‘Because it’s gone midnight.’ She says this as if it’s obvious.

  ‘But … aren’t there people on duty all the time? The file rooms were full of workers.’

  ‘The administrative staff are different – they work shifts. Apart from them, there are agents and support staff on call all the time – they can be contacted wherever they are, in case of an urgent situation. But most people who work for the Guild have other jobs too – and sleep is important, to maintain full brain function.’

  She definitely talks a little like a robot. She stops in front of a door that looks like all the others, except that it’s number 563 (563? How big is this place?) and bears the words INDUCTION ROOM.

  ‘Here’s your jail cell.’ She opens the door and steps aside for me to enter first. For a moment, I think she really is about to shut the door on me and walk away. My face must betray my concern, because she laughs a little nastily and says, ‘Much as I’d love to leave you locked in here, I have a job to do.’

  I step inside and scan the room. It’s bigger than the other offices we’ve passed. There are around twenty small round tables set quite far apart from one another, each with its own blue upholstered chair. She points to a chair at one of the tables.

  ‘You might as well sit here for a minute.’

  I set down my backpack and take a seat. The chair is so comfortable I have to fight the urge to take a nap. I haven’t slept all night, and I’ve run round London and walked for miles – or what feels like it. Instead, I continue to look around me. There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases lining the room. Most of the books are modern and their arrangement appears haphazard, with tall hardbacks alongside skinny paperbacks. There’s one of those ladders that you can slide from left to right, for you to reach the higher shelves. It’s like a more practical, less glamorous version of the library in Brianna’s house, minus the reading balcony. Sofia walks over to a shelf and draws out a huge tome – it takes her both hands to carry it, and even then she grunts with the effort of carrying it over. She dumps it unceremoniously on the table in front of me.

  ‘Take this home with you and start on page one,’ she says.

  I stare at the thick volume and read its long title.

  A CONCISE HANDBOOK

  of the

  Rules, Regulations and Guidelines

  Governing Conduct

  for

  MEMBERS OF THE

  GATEKEEPERS’ GUILD

  ‘How many pages are there?’

  ‘Three thousand and fifty-one.’

  ‘Am I meant to read them all?’ I ask in a small voice.

  ‘If you want to become a fully fledged agent, yes, you are.’

  I try not to show how disheartened I am by the task ahead of me. Normally, I love reading, but this … I flick to the back and see the heading Rule Number 2,041.

  I look up at her. ‘I don’t have time to read this now. You see … I have to find out what happened to my mum.’

  ‘You need to leave this one to the big dogs, little pup. Professor D’Oliveira is on the case.’

  Little pup? Yuck! I decide to try a different tack. ‘Actually, I’m already investigating a case at the moment.’

  Sofia raises an eyebrow. ‘Are you indeed?’

  ‘Yes, it’s to do with that murder at the British Museum. I think it’s linked to the sinkhole in Bernie Spain Gardens – you know, the one that swallowed the ice-cream van.’

  She crosses her arms and perches on the table in front of me. ‘What makes you think there’s a link?’

  ‘Well … it’s more of a hunch than anything, if I’m honest. But someone warned me off investigating the sinkhole …’

  She sits forward. ‘Who did?’

  ‘I’m not sure. They were heavily disguised.’

  ‘I see. So a person in a costume told you not to inspect a sinkhole, and that means you have to investigate a murder?’

  ‘I know it sounds irrational! But how would they know I’d be visiting the sinkhole, unless they’d been watching me for some time, while I was looking into the museum case? So that means the two things are almost certainly connected. They don�
�t want me to find out how the events are linked – that’s why they told me to stop.’

  She starts laughing. Worse, she removes my beret and ruffles my hair, as if I’m an entertaining toddler. ‘You have a wild imagination, little girl.’

  ‘I’m not a little girl. I’m a Guild agent, just like you.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘You think you’re just like me, huh? Do you know how old I was when I left my parents to become a Gatekeeper?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Nine. I was offered the chance to train as an undercover child agent, and I jumped at it. You think you know anything about real life, at your exclusive school for privileged brats?’

  How did we get here? ‘You think I’m a “privileged brat”? I’m there on a scholarship! But this is about me not abandoning a case in progress!’

  ‘I see. And you think the Guild should support you in this?’ She doesn’t even try to keep the sneer out of her voice.

  ‘Not support me – but just let me finish my investigation.’ She snorts and her ponytail flies up like a mane. I suddenly realise that she’s not so much of a robot as a horse – one of those purebreds that are hard to tame.

  ‘Look, Oddball – or whatever your name is – you are just a cadet, OK? You don’t get to come in here and start choosing your own investigations. Just because your mum was some sweetheart of the whole organisation, it doesn’t give you special status. If you don’t toe the line, you’ll have your Guild key confiscated and be kicked out. Then you’ll just be an ordinary kid again.’ She says this with a mean grin, as if she can think of nothing better.

  I look at her, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t want special status. It’s just this is really important – I think something major is afoot.’

  She stands up. ‘Like I said, you’re just a cadet. Now, take home the nice storybook and read it like a good little girl.’ She rummages in her bag – a large black briefcase – and brings out a folder. ‘And here’s your homework.’

  ‘Homework?’

  ‘Puzzles, codes – that kind of thing.’