by R. A. Spratt
‘What was so awful about him?’ asked Friday.
‘He’s a maths teacher,’ said the Headmaster.
Friday nodded. Even though she loved maths herself, she had to concede that the profession did seem to attract a certain personality type, for whom empathy and compassion were not a great strength.
‘Still, that poor man,’ said Friday. ‘I don’t have a close relationship with my own mother, but to be lost at sea … It’s terrible.’
The Headmaster shook his head sadly. ‘That’s the problem with being a headmaster. You always have to ring families with bad news. Your son has been suspended. Your daughter has run off with a professional polo player. Your mother has been lost at sea. You never get to call people and tell them that their child has won the lottery or discovered the cure for cancer.’
He traipsed off towards the administration to perform the grim task.
Binky was devastated. When Friday returned to her dorm room, Melanie was sitting on her bed with her arm wrapped around her big brother, patting him on the back as he wept loudly.
‘It’s all my fault,’ sobbed Binky.
‘There, there,’ said Melanie. ‘No-one who has ever met you would believe for one second that you meant to bump off a headmaster.’
‘But that’s just it,’ said Binky. ‘If I didn’t get so confused by everything, maybe I would have been able to control the boat better, or figure out what to do.’
‘Binky, the Headmaster asked you to go out in the boat and unveil the fountain for two reasons,’ said Friday, as she sat down next to him on Melanie’s bed.
‘He was trying to frame Binky?’ asked Melanie.
‘No, he asked Binky because he is strong and reliable,’ said Friday. ‘Whenever someone needs someone strong and reliable they always turn to you, Binky. You are very well loved and regarded. Everyone knows this isn’t your fault.’
Friday was rewarded for her uncharacteristic kindness by having one hundred kilograms of boy slump on her, grab her in a big hug and start weeping loudly on top of her head.
‘Oh, Friday, you’re so kind,’ said Binky. ‘I hope you’re right.’
‘Of course, I’m right,’ said Friday. ‘I always am.’
‘Really?’ said Melanie sceptically.
‘I am when it’s about a scientifically logical deduction like “Binky didn’t do it”,’ said Friday. ‘I will be the first to admit I have no idea and make terrible mistakes at things like making small talk at funerals, or knowing when someone is about to have a brain aneurysm because what I’m saying is infuriating them.’
‘But if it wasn’t Binky’s fault …’ began Melanie.
She was interrupted by Binky starting to sob loudly again.
‘Which it wasn’t,’ said Friday. She was struggling to support Binky’s considerable weight, so she was keen to cheer him up.
‘Then what happened?’ said Melanie.
‘I can’t be sure. The police won’t let me inspect the boat,’ said Friday. ‘They say I will contaminate the evidence.’
‘What’s left to contaminate?’ asked Melanie. ‘The boat was smashed to pieces.’
Binky wailed louder.
‘It was a new boat,’ said Friday. ‘Mr Pilcher only got it during the holidays. There was absolutely no reason for the controls to stop responding the way they did. Unless it had been tampered with.’
‘It wasn’t me!’ wailed Binky.
‘Of course not, Binky,’ said Melanie. ‘Everyone knows you’re not capable of tampering with anything. Lifting and smashing, yes. Tampering, no.’
‘To cause spontaneous loss of electrical control on a boat would require a knowledge of electrical wiring and installation of a remote-control switch,’ said Friday. ‘You don’t know anything about that type of thing, do you?’
‘Gosh no,’ said Binky. ‘I even get confused by light switches. Did you know, in different countries they go different ways? Some you switch up for on. Some you switch down for on. If we can’t come together and agree on a way to switch on light bulbs, what hope have we got for living together as humanity?’
‘Buck up, Binky,’ said Melanie. ‘This isn’t like you to be so pessimistic. If you have trouble with light switches you can always use a flashlight.’
‘Of course, you’re right,’ said Binky, trying to smile. ‘I just feel very upset. I’ve never drowned a headmistress before.’
‘You didn’t drown her,’ said Friday. ‘At this stage all we know for sure is that she is missing. She may yet turn up.’
‘I hope so,’ said Binky.
‘And it wasn’t your fault,’ said Friday. ‘Someone interfered with that boat.’
When Friday knocked on Dr Wallace’s door the following morning, she was surprised how long it took Dr Wallace to answer. It was a small apartment and Dr Wallace was painstakingly punctual. Sometimes, Friday’s knuckles were still pressed against the woodwork as the door swung open. This morning she was having to wait. She debated with herself whether she should knock a second time. She did not doubt that Dr Wallace would find a second knock to be rude. But Friday reasoned she could not justify returning to her own room and getting back into bed until she had tried twice. So Friday knocked again. Again there was no response. Friday was just about to turn and leave when she heard a noise. The sound of a toilet flushing. Friday paused. She definitely heard footsteps now. Slow shuffling steps. Then the rattle of the latch and the door finally opened.
Friday flinched. She did not recognise the figure at the door straight away. She had only ever seen Dr Wallace dressed smartly and neatly presented. Even when she had climbed over the school gate she had been wearing a freshly ironed pants suit. The woman before her looked like a creature that had emerged from a swamp, or a nightmare, or somewhere else deeply unpleasant. Dr Wallace was still wearing her pyjamas and dressing gown. But her skin was grey, her hair lank and she smelled very unpleasant. The distinctive smell of someone who has recently been sick.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Friday. She realised this was a stupid question, but she had to make some sort of conversation and it didn’t look like a good time to start talking about the weather.
Dr Wallace left the door hanging open and staggered back inside, collapsing on the small sofa. ‘I feel terrible,’ said Dr Wallace. ‘I can’t keep anything down. I must have been infected by some waterborne parasite when I fell into the swamp.’ Dr Wallace shuddered and wrapped her dressing gown tightly around herself.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Friday. ‘Perhaps you’ve been poisoned. The symptoms are similar.’
‘Why would anybody want to poison me?’ asked Dr Wallace weakly.
‘I’ve thought about doing it and I only met you last week,’ said Friday.
‘I’ve always had excellent health,’ said Dr Wallace, ‘until I fell in that swamp water. It must be putrid with some infection.’
‘A lot of animals do use it as a bathroom,’ said Friday, ‘but then, the same could be said of any public swimming pool.’
‘You’d better call a doctor,’ said Dr Wallace, clutching her stomach and doubling over. ‘I’m going to be sick!’
Dr Wallace got up and ran to her ensuite bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Friday heard the distinctive and disgusting sounds of Dr Wallace being ill.
Friday hurried over to the telephone and started to dial the number for the Headmaster’s residence. As she waited for the Headmaster to pick up, Friday noticed Dr Wallace’s rubbish bin. There was some scrunched up paper, a coffee cup and a wrapper for a block of parmesan cheese.
Friday peered at the wrapper, sniffed it, then picked it up and put it in her pocket.
‘What is it now?’ grumbled the Headmaster on the other end of the line.
‘Can you please call a doctor for Dr Wallace?’ said Friday. ‘That is, a medical doctor. The last thing she needs is an academic with a PhD. They’re never helpful in a crisis.’
Forty minutes later, Friday and the Headmaster stood outside
the apartment while a doctor saw Dr Wallace.
‘Dr Nicole looked very young,’ said Friday.
The Headmaster just grunted.
‘And I don’t like this new trend of doctors using their first names,’ said Friday. ‘If I’m going to have a conversation about bodily functions I’d prefer to keep it formal. Are you sure she has completed medical school?’
‘Of course, I’m sure,’ snapped the Headmaster. ‘But you can’t expect the medical centre to have its senior staff on call at 6 am in the morning. I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of diagnosing a tummy bug.’
Now it was Friday’s turn to grunt non-commitally.
The door handle turned and the doctor quietly emerged. ‘I’ve got her settled,’ said Dr Nicole, ‘but she was in a very bad way. Extremely agitated and angry.’
‘Oh no, that’s not the disease,’ said Friday. ‘She’s always like that. She’s a headmaster. It’s just the way they behave.’
‘I’m a headmaster!’ snapped the Headmaster.
Friday nodded meaningfully at him. ‘See what I mean?’
‘Be quiet, Barnes,’ said the Headmaster. ‘So what has she got? Please tell me it’s nothing too serious.’
‘At her age this sort of thing is always serious,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘If this goes on she’ll need an IV drip to rehydrate.’
‘The last thing I need is another death,’ said the Headmaster.
‘Mrs Thompson isn’t dead,’ said Friday. ‘She’s missing.’
‘I wish you were missing! Could you please stop interrupting?’ yelled the Headmaster before turning back to Dr Nicole. ‘What exactly has she got? And is it something the school can be sued for?’
‘I can’t know for sure,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘I’ll have to run some blood tests and some tests on the swamp water. But it could be anything – giardia, cryptosporidium, even hepatitis A.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the Headmaster, rubbing his temples. ‘The Occupational Health and Safety payout will be huge.’
‘It’ll be bigger if she was poisoned,’ said Friday.
‘Could you be quiet about your crackpot conspiracy theories?!’ railed the Headmaster. ‘Reality is bad enough right now, thank you very much.’
‘But, doctor, what sort of parasite would act so quickly?’ asked Friday. ‘She only fell in the swamp sixteen hours ago.’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘I’ll have to consult an epidemiologist. Perhaps a protozoologist. This is going to be tricky to pinpoint. It’s not common for elderly ladies to fall in swamps. There won’t be a large case sample of medical histories to compare it to.’
‘Just what I don’t need,’ muttered the Headmaster. ‘More uncertainty and a long investigation of disease. It’s sure to lead to a panic. Hysterical school girls love whipping up a good panic.’
‘I’d better get back to the medical centre,’ said Dr Nicole, packing her bag. ‘Call me if her condition deteriorates.’
‘One more question, doctor,’ said Friday. ‘Can you think of a disease that causes a craving for hard Italian cheese?’
‘Not off the top of my head, but that’s not my field,’ said Dr Nicole. ‘I’ll ask the epidemiologist.’
‘Come on,’ said Friday, striding away from the school buildings and down towards the swamp.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Melanie. ‘Art class is the other way.’
‘We’re going to the swamp,’ said Friday, ‘to collect samples.’
‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘Why are we doing that?’
‘Students are getting pushed in the swamp all the time and none of them have ever come down with a rare disease,’ said Friday.
‘I got African sleeping sickness,’ Melanie reminded her.
‘Yes, but you got that in Africa,’ said Friday, ‘not the school swamp. If there is a rare disease lurking in the water, I intend to find it and have it analysed.’
‘It’s probably a good idea,’ said Melanie. ‘We’re supposed to be doing linocut printing in art. It would be better if I skip that. It never goes well when I have to use sharp cutting tools.’
They were almost at the boardwalk that stretched out over the swamp mud when Friday noticed something.
‘Don’t look now,’ said Friday, ‘but I think we’re being followed.’
‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘How exciting. Unless it’s a baddie, then it’s kind of terrifying.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Friday. She grabbed Melanie and yanked her into a bush.
‘Wha –’ Melanie started to say, but Friday put her hand over her mouth then whispered in her ear, ‘We’ll hide here and see who goes past.’
Melanie nodded to show she understood. Although she didn’t really, she just wanted Friday to take her hand away from her mouth. The girls crouched in the bushes waiting. Eventually they heard the footsteps of someone trying to be quiet.
Melanie leaned forward to get a better look but Friday grabbed her arm and pulled her back. The footsteps were growing closer. Suddenly, a leg appeared in front of them. Then two legs. Friday leapt out of the bush and crash-tackled their follower.
It was a much better crash tackle than she had anticipated, because they both tumbled right off the boardwalk and into the swamp mud. As Friday scrambled to her feet, so did her follower. The person was entirely unrecognisable under a thick layer of mud. Friday leapt on them and grabbed them in a head lock. The follower stumbled about, trying to shake her off.
There were more, louder footsteps. The first eight rowing crew were coming towards them along the boardwalk, carrying their boat above their heads. Ian was in the first eight. He was mildly amused to see two people wrestling in the mud, until he recognised one of them.
‘Friday, is that you?’ asked Ian. ‘What are you doing to that person? Is it some sort of tribal dance?’
‘I’m making a citizen’s arrest,’ said Friday, scraping the mud away from her face.
‘I didn’t do anything wrong,’ wailed the follower.
Friday recognised the voice. ‘Abotomey?’
‘Why are you mud wrestling with Abotomey?’ asked Ian.
‘Are you jealous you didn’t think of it first?’ asked Melanie.
‘He was following me,’ said Friday.
‘He always follows you,’ said Ian. ‘He’s your stalker. It’s pathetic.’ He glared at Abotomey contemptuously.
‘How dare you!’ yelled Abotomey, lunging forward to take a swing at Ian, but his feet were stuck so he fell flat on his face in the mud again.
‘I didn’t know that it was him,’ said Friday.
‘So you just leap on random strangers then, do you?’ said Ian.
‘This is just like a Jane Austen romance novel,’ said Melanie happily. ‘Except easier to understand because you don’t use so many big words.’
‘Your own family rejects you, so you throw yourself at him,’ said Ian cruelly.
Friday physically flinched at the insult. ‘That’s just low,’ she said hoarsely.
Ian clenched his jaw. He knew he had gone too far.
‘Wainscott, can you sort this out with your girlfriend later?’ asked the captain of the first eight.
‘She is not my girlfriend,’ said Ian menacingly.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said the captain. ‘We’ve got to get the boat back and go to class. You can woo girls later.’
The rowers started walking again. Ian glared at Friday or Abotomey, it was hard to tell which, as they walked away.
Friday climbed down off Abotomey.
‘I’m sorry if I scared you,’ said Abotomey. ‘I only wanted to lend you my support if you both got into trouble.’
‘So far, you’re the cause of most of my trouble today,’ said Friday grumpily.
‘Now, Friday, there’s no need to be rude,’ chided Melanie. ‘It’s not Abotomey’s fault he’s smitten.’
Friday tried to move away from Abotomey, but she stumbled on something and fell over face-first in the mud agai
n. Abotomey helped her to her feet but she slapped him away. ‘I’m fine, I just tripped over something,’ said Friday.
‘Your own feet?’ asked Melanie.
‘No, this,’ said Friday, as she reached down into the mud and pulled out a flipper – a rubber flipper of the type scuba divers use.
‘Whose is it?’ asked Melanie. ‘Does it belong to one of the police divers?’
Friday wiped some of the mud off.
Abotomey looked over her shoulder and read the label printed into the underside. ‘It’s a size M. So it would either belong to a woman with a large foot or a man with a small foot.’
‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘What men do we know with small feet?’
‘Most of the boys at this school,’ said Melanie.
‘The Colonel,’ said Friday.
Abotomey started dragging himself back towards the boardwalk, his feet making a big suction sound with each step. Friday had fallen in the mud of the swamp before so she had a different technique for getting out. She just lunged headfirst at the boardwalk. It was a messier way to do it, but she was already messy anyway.
‘We should get back to class,’ said Melanie. ‘Did you collect enough samples?’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Friday. ‘I didn’t get any samples.’
‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘You look like you’re covered in samples to me.’
‘Barnes, get in the car!’
Friday and Melanie were playing lacrosse. To be strictly accurate, they were standing on the sidelines watching while the rest of the PE class played lacrosse. They had reached a compromise with their teacher. They would stand out of the way and let everyone else get on with the game if they promised to swish their sticks around and pretend they were doing something if a member of the teaching staff walked by.
They hadn’t expected for the Headmaster himself to pull up abruptly in his BMW and demand that they get in.
‘The only reason we’re not playing is because Mr Fontana said we were endangering the lives of the other students,’ said Friday defensively.
‘I don’t care about that,’ said the Headmaster.