Nancy Business

by R. W. R. McDonald

  I played the video from the bridge security camera and hit pause. Devon studied the screen then drew a big red circle on the last arch of the bridge. From there he drew a line through half the town hall, where we thought the edge of the camera was, and again on the other side to the grandstand and rugby field.

  For Mum’s work at the Riverstone Medical Centre, he drew a red dot for the front security camera set back from Main Street. Again we plotted the angle which fanned out over to one side of the footpath. Bigelow Jewellers security camera had a much wider angle that covered Main Street from the shop footpath to the other one across the street. It took in Main Street up past where Barry had parked his police car the night of the bombing all the way to the butchers, but stopped there, not reaching Henderson Lawyers. Chuck had been only two shops down from this camera.

  Finally, Devon drew the red circle for the security camera above the pub on the corner. One line skimmed over the roof of the Information Centre and along Main Street, until it disappeared behind the town hall, near the corner towards the bridge. The other line cut down the town hall carpark just before Henderson Lawyers.

  I handed my tablet to Uncle Pike and asked Devon for the pen. ‘Right here,’ I said. I drew diagonal lines in between the outside edge of the Bigelow Jewellers camera line and the outside edge of the pub’s, marking a triangle where there was no camera coverage. Henderson Lawyers was inside that triangle, along with where Chuck was found, and the alleyway.

  I picked up a green pen.

  ‘Tippy, nooo!’ Devon said.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Fine.’ I dropped it and picked up a black pen. I drew a stick man.

  ‘This is where Chuck was,’ I said. ‘And right here—’ I drew up and down a thick black line ‘—is the “dry dogging” alleyway. None of this is in any camera shot.’

  Devon put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Good job.’

  Uncle Pike nodded. ‘So they knew about the security cameras and the dead spot.’

  They. A creepy-crawly feeling started in my stomach. I took the tablet and played the video, the same one which had been on the news, pausing it when Mr Tulips got out of his van. I examined the map on the wall and put the tablet on the mantelpiece. I picked up the black pen, and at the edge of the red diagonal line by Henderson Lawyers, I drew a small rectangle. ‘This is where the van was parked right?’ I handed the tablet back to Uncle Pike for him to check.

  He and Devon studied the screen and the map. Devon frowned and slowly nodded. ‘Right at the edge of the blind spot.’ I updated them on what Melanie had found online.

  ‘So that drunk driving was not so drunk?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Well done, Tippy.’ Out in the hallway, Fabulon’s nails click-clacked their way back to us. He appeared in the doorway, wagging his tail, and went over and nuzzled Uncle Pike.

  Devon kept an eye on the dog and tiptoed in big steps back to the wall beside the door. Fabulon cocked his head, watching him. Devon uncapped the pink hair colour can and sprayed in large caps DRY DOGGING on a slant.

  My uncle glanced up from the screen. ‘Devon!’ he roared and Fabulon flinched. ‘Sorry, puppy,’ my uncle said, giving his head a pat.

  ‘What?’ Devon said. ‘It’s the graffiti from the alleyway.’

  I clapped. ‘You made it look the same as the wall,’ I said to Devon. ‘And it is a clue,’ I added to Uncle Pike.

  Devon bowed. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘If we had more time I would’ve used actual spray paint.’

  Time. The blood spider bomb threat note. If Lorraine and the police were wrong, sometime today Riverstone Bridge would be destroyed. Unless we find the bomber. ‘We need to call Barry,’ I said.

  Uncle Pike nodded. I got up and opened the window; the fumes were starting to give me a headache. My uncle ran his hands through his messy hair, keeping them on top of his head.

  I stared at the black rectangle on the wall. ‘Maybe the blind spot was supposed to be his escape path all along.’

  ‘But then why run in the other direction?’ Devon said.

  ‘Why indeed,’ Uncle Pike said.

  I shuddered. The closer we got, the more questions this case raised. I got up and with the red pen wrote Suspect. Under that I wrote Mr Tulips, and then added another name below it: Chuck. Uncle Pike and Devon looked at me. ‘He was there in the blind spot,’ I said. ‘Opportunity.’ I wrote ‘O’ beside his and Mr Tulips’ name.

  ‘But means?’ Devon said. ‘Could either of them put together a bomb?’

  ‘Maybe,’ my uncle said.

  I put an ‘M’ beside the ‘O’ for both of them.

  ‘What motive would Chuck have?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘It put the pub out of action as well.’

  ‘But there is the other pub up by the vet.’ I tapped the pen on my lip and instantly spat out the bitter taste.

  Devon nodded sympathetically. ‘Easy to do, isn’t it?’

  I rolled my eyes and tried not to laugh. ‘So motive for Mr Tulips is money?’ I wrote ‘M’ beside the other ‘M’, and then wondered if I need to change motive to something else. For Chuck, I put a ‘?’ instead of an ‘M’ for motive. ‘He didn’t show up on any of the videos. I double-checked when you were watching.’ I handed the pen to Devon.

  He wrote another name under Chuck’s: Peter Henare.

  ‘Everyone’s a suspect,’ I said to Uncle Pike before he could protest.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘Okay, opportunity?’

  ‘We need to check his alibi,’ I said.

  Devon drew ‘? M M’. ‘He’s a chemical engineer for Pete’s sake, get it?’

  Uncle Pike and I didn’t move.

  ‘Tough crowd,’ Devon said. Fabulon wagged his tail. ‘Thank you, Fabs. Who knows, we may be friends after all.’ Fabulon barked and Devon winced. ‘Then you have to ruin it.’

  ‘Motive?’ I said.

  ‘Sex,’ Devon said.

  Uncle Pike sighed. ‘Erase that, Tippy.’ He patted his thigh and Fabulon came over and sat beside him.

  ‘You think he was having an affair?’ I said to Devon. ‘With whom?’

  ‘Mr Dalrymple,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Everyone’s a suspect, Tippy.’

  ‘True,’ I said. On stage at the memorial they were acting weird together. ‘But I thought Pete hated him?’

  ‘It’s a fine line,’ Devon said, turning his back. Uncle Pike got busy with the tablet.

  I got up and tipped the clues bags out onto the floor, fanning out Mr Tulips’ bills in front of me. I knew we were good detectives, we just had to be missing something. ‘Okay, let’s go through everything again.’

  Devon picked up the blue pen and pulled off its cap with his teeth. He drew a rectangle robot head with round eyes and an antenna. Beside it he drew a box with a round button. He leaned against the wall and pressed the button. ‘Hi, Charlie. It’s Devon-Angel here,’ he said to the robot head. ‘We’ve nearly solved the case. We will be in touch soon.’ He winked at us, then put his finger to his lips to shush us. ‘Over and out.’ He took his finger off the button.

  I giggled and clapped. My uncle went to say something then closed his mouth. Even if this was a wild-goose chase, it was bringing them back together.

  Devon grinned until Fabulon yawned noisily and got up. He shook himself, then did a big yoga stretch and plopped himself down near Devon’s feet. Devon shrunk away from the dog and made a sign of the cross with his fingers. Fab ignored him.

  I called out the first type of bill in my pile and Devon wrote it on the wall: Electricity. Then Bank statement, Car rego, Van rego and Phone bill.

  Uncle Pike stood back, stroking his beard. ‘Anything on the bank statement?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘And the phone bill doesn’t have any local calls.’

  ‘A burner phone maybe? Or pre-pay mobile?’ Uncle Pike said. ‘We need to ask Barry.’ He waggled his fingers. ‘Rego? Can you please pass me those?’ I handed them over. He looked at them then at me and Devon. His eyes were sparkly.

  ‘What is it?’ I said
.

  He sat near me on the couch. ‘Tippy, your tablet, please.’

  I reached over and dragged my bag across the floor. Devon came and sat beside him. I passed my tablet to Uncle Pike.

  ‘What?’ Devon said.

  Uncle Pike clicked his tongue. ‘Raewyn Dalrymple.’ He stood up and showed us the tablet. I felt my stomach drop.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Uncle Pike’s massive finger pointed to the screen. ‘There,’ he said, touching the glass.

  Devon squeezed in closer. ‘No one can see because your finger’s in the way.’

  My uncle sighed and moved his hand back, leaving a smear on the glass. I grimaced and pulled on my polar fleece sleeve. ‘It’s all smudgy now.’

  ‘Have you been licking your fingers?’ Devon asked him.

  ‘Eeew,’ I said, wiping the screen. ‘Why’s it so sticky?’

  Uncle Pike ignored us both.

  I spotted it and nodded at my uncle. ‘Raewyn.’

  Devon’s eyes darted between us and the tablet. ‘Raewyn?’

  I touched his arm. ‘On the security-cam video, what colour do you think her car was?’

  He poked his tongue out and frowned. ‘Is this a trick question?’ he said. ‘Maroon.’

  On Mr Tulips’ car registration notice the vehicle was listed as red. We did another check of the pub video, this time for Raewyn’s number plate. The registration was a match. ‘She drove his car,’ I said, and pointed it out on the car registration bill to Devon.

  He stood back. ‘But why wasn’t that mentioned in any of the news reports?’

  I thought about the speed she arrived.‘She must’ve been chasing after him.’ Not for the first time I wished I had met Raewyn.

  ‘So how did she get to his place?’ Devon asked.

  ‘Mr Tulips could have picked her up at the end of her drive,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Or she walked, it’d probably only take fifteen minutes across the paddocks.’

  ‘Quad bike,’ I said. ‘I saw tracks outside leading to the garden fence and on the lawn on the other side.’ I took the tablet off Uncle Pike and searched my photos of Mr Tulips’ house. I found the pic of the tracks outside the window.

  Uncle Pike pulled on his beard. ‘Excellent work, Tippy.’

  ‘Thanks! You too,’ I said. ‘And you, Devon.’

  Devon sat beside me and leaned right back, tilting his head all the way up. ‘Sitting is so much better—Oooh! They did a great job with the ceiling.’

  ‘It’s like space,’ I said, looking up at the inky blackness.

  He nodded. ‘Or a sideways cave.’

  ‘So assuming Will Jansen’s car was in his garage,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Raewyn Dalrymple was at his house that night.’

  ‘Wait,’ I said, scrolling to find my garage pictures. I showed them the two sets of muddy tyre marks.

  Devon hopped up and wrote a list on the wall where his deep-freezer picture had been. In blue pen he wrote: Alleyway dead zone, Security camera moved Saturday. He wiggled his butt a lot more than usual as he wrote. Uncle Pike stared at it, swallowing like he was thirsty.

  ‘Don’t look, it’s private,’ Devon said to him, without turning around. My uncle’s head shot down, suddenly interested in his bandage. Devon glanced behind him at Uncle Pike.

  I grinned. Devon winked at me, then continued his list: Raewyn driving Tulips car, Someone with Mr Tulips on the emergency phone call. Beside the list he drew a question-mark-head person. He gave them a high ponytail which I figured was Raewyn.

  On screen, I enlarged the pic inside the garage, focusing on the glass bottle.

  Devon tapped the pen on the wall, creating tiny blue dots. ‘These are our clues that Mr Tulips was not alone-slash-forced-slash-mysterious-slash-Raewyn. Any others?’

  I remembered something. I pulled up Mr Tulips’ bedroom pictures and enlarged one by the bedroom table. Uncle Pike’s head knocked mine.‘Ow!’ Devon leaned on my shoulder, pushing me down onto the couch. ‘Hey!’ Uncle Pike’s beard tickled the side of my head as they both clamoured to see. We really needed a flat-screen TV in here so I could mirror my screen and get some space.

  Uncle Pike’s big fingers tried to enlarge the picture, but all he was doing was pressing the tablet onto my thighs.

  ‘Two wine glasses!’ we all said together.

  I pulled the tablet away and stood up to get some room. ‘Mr Tulips and Raewyn?’ I tried to get my head around it. ‘Do you think they were together?’

  ‘Tippy Chan,’ my uncle said, ‘this could change everything.’

  Devon gasped and clasped his hands. ‘So profesh, Tippy.’ He turned to Uncle Pike. ‘See, sitting down meetings change everything.’

  ‘Jinx,’ Uncle Pike said.

  ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ I said, searching Mr Tulips’ bedroom photos for any women’s clothing or items that could belong to Raewyn. ‘Only if you say the same thing at the same time.’

  My uncle groaned as he stood up, using the mantelpiece to help pull himself to his feet.

  ‘So Raewyn was there with him that night,’ I said. ‘The call—could she have made him do it?’

  ‘Hang on,’ Devon said. ‘He didn’t sound drunk in the sexy emergency call, did he? I mean nowhere near as wasted as he was in the video.’

  We listened to the call again. ‘You’re right,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘Definitely not as drunk as he is on the steps.’

  I checked my case notes. ‘The emergency call was at 3.47 a.m.’

  Devon jumped up and wrote that time on the wall.

  Uncle Pike played the security-cam videos again. We watched the white van pull up. I hit pause. ‘He arrived at 4.18 a.m.’

  Devon nodded and wrote that under the first time.

  I pressed play and waited for Mr Tulips to get out of the van and then stumble and weave his way up the town hall steps.

  ‘Can you get so drunk in that time?’ I asked.

  Devon counted on his fingers. He wrote Thirty-one minutes, then circled it. ‘Give or take a minute with the call.’

  We both looked at my uncle. ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘You’re the expert,’ Devon said.

  Uncle Pike gave him a fake smile.

  Devon tapped the pen on his forehead. ‘Unless we role-play it, like Nancy’s dad in the dungeon with the black velvet hood.’

  ‘That’s not actually in any of the books,’ I said. Devon looked both disappointed and confused. ‘But if Mr Tulips had been drinking a little before the call and then a lot after the call—’

  ‘And driving,’ Devon said.

  ‘Even so,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘I doubt he would have been staggering about like he is in the video. And if he was only drinking wine … thirty-one minutes? I doubt I could get drunk on wine in that time.’ He pulled on his white beard. ‘Unless I had a case and a funnel.’

  I didn’t remember seeing a funnel at the house. ‘We need to time the drive,’ I said. ‘And Uncle Pike you need to drink.’

  Uncle Pike leaned his head back and howled like a wolf. Fabulon joined in yowling. ‘Now this,’ he said, ‘is field work.’

  ‘CSI Riverstone,’ Devon said.

  ‘Let’s see if Chuck is at the pub as well,’ I said. ‘We need to talk to him, because everyone’s a suspect, and if he isn’t, he might have seen someone escape in the blind spot that night.’

  As we went to leave, Devon ran over and ‘pushed’ the robot-button.

  ‘Bye, Charlie,’ we all yelled. I laughed—the Nancys were happy. I crossed my fingers behind my back and hoped this was the start of Uncle Pike and Devon staying together.

  Devon pulled up at Cherry Tree Lodge’s carpark, up the hill from Number Four, near the vet. Since the explosion, it was the only pub open in town.

  ‘Where’s the cherry tree?’ Devon asked.

  ‘Got run over by a truck when I was a kid,’ Uncle Pike said.

  I hopped out. I never knew that.

  We walked into the public bar. A scattering of day dr
inkers gave us a look then ignored us. Chuck was at the bar, perched on a stool and crouched over his beer glass like Gollum.

  Uncle Pike leaned on the bar beside him. ‘Hello, Chuck.’

  Chuck turned. The scratches and cuts on his face were an angry red colour like they were infected. ‘Well … Hang on, who are you?’ He didn’t seem very pleased to be interrupted.

  My uncle held up his hands. ‘Just here to ask a few questions.’

  ‘What happened to Santa’s hand? Chainsaw?’ Chuck finished the last dregs of his beer. I wanted to ask why Santa had a chainsaw, but he continued: ‘I didn’t do anything and you can’t prove it.’

  ‘Didn’t say you did. I’m Helen Chan’s brother, you know her? The angel that saved you?’

  ‘She’s an angel all right.’ Chuck closed one eye and looked at my uncle. ‘Hey, you’re the one that fell off the balcony at Christmas.’ He sniggered, his shoulders bouncing up and down.

  ‘Hilarious,’ Uncle Pike said. ‘We just want to know what you saw the night of the bombing.’

  ‘My ears don’t hear so well without a drink,’ Chuck said.

  ‘Come to that table and I’ll clean them out for you,’ my uncle said.

  Chuck slid off his stool and followed him to the nearest table. I joined Devon at the bar buying the drinks. An old bartender in a stained yellow polo shirt gave us a sour look. Devon ordered a jug of beer, a lemonade for me and a hipflask of vodka for our field test.

  ‘But shouldn’t we buy wine?’ I said.

  ‘Trust me, this is like wine to her,’ Devon said.

  ‘That better not be for him,’ the bartender said, nodding over at Chuck.

  Devon snorted. ‘Of course not.’ He put the hipflask in his man-bag.

  ‘You don’t look like the beer type,’ the bartender said.

  ‘Have you seen my ex?’ Devon said.

  The bartender looked over at Uncle Pike then grunted. ‘The chainsaw guy.’ He grabbed a plastic jug and poured beer from a tap.