Suddenly it occurred to her that maybe the body was the whatsit. The teachers had acted like they didn’t know who it was, but what if that was all for the girls’ benefit? Maybe they knew all too well. If that were the case, was the fact that the person was dead going to change everything, or had it just been his whereabouts that was the issue? If either was the case, who could be so important that his disappearance would have the teachers practically in crisis?
She thought about Professor Feeney’s conversation—the one she and Simon had overheard. It hadn’t sounded like she was talking about a person, but maybe she was. They’d accounted for the teacher who’d gone missing at the beginning of spring term, but could there be someone else? She couldn’t think of anyone. Maybe Ivy’s sister would know. She made a mental note to ask. At the same time, she would speak to Ivy and the rest about the possibility that the body was the thing the teachers had been seeking. She didn’t really believe it was, but they had to consider every possibility, no matter how implausible.
Then Holmes came running up. “Here,” he said. He was holding a Geiger counter. Was there anything Professor Stegelmeyer didn’t keep in his labs? “Let me test those crystals.” He waved the Geiger counter over the pile of crystals, including Amphora’s, which he’d carefully laid on top. Nothing. “These seem perfectly safe,” he said.
“Are you sure it’s on?” said Amphora.
“Yup. Absolutely sure.” He double-checked the on/off switch.
“Maybe it isn’t working right.”
“I thought about that,” he said, “so I brought a sample of a radioactive mineral from the lab.”
“Eeeek,” said Amphora, stepping away.
“Please don’t worry,” he said. “I’m just going to test this tiny sample.” He took a leaded box from his pocket and opened it, then placed it on the ground. “This is a metamict—the kind of radioactive mineral I mentioned before.” The nugget was silver and chunky.
“I don’t want to see,” said Amphora.
Amanda did want to see, and not only took a good long look, but also snapped a couple of pictures.
“Ready?” said Holmes.
“I’m ready,” said Amanda.
“Amphora?” said Holmes.
Silence.
“Okay, here we go,” said Holmes. Amanda thought it interesting that he had taken Amphora’s silence for a yes. He turned on the Geiger counter and passed it over the metamict. It buzzed. “Hear that?” he said. “It’s positive.”
“How do I know that’s the sample doing that?” said Amphora.
“You’re a tough cookie, you know that?” he said, smiling. She blushed again. “I’ll show you.” He closed the box and passed the Geiger counter over it. Nothing. He looked at Amphora to make sure she’d seen the demonstration. Then he opened the box and passed the Geiger counter over it again. It buzzed.
“You win,” said Amphora. “The crystals aren’t radioactive. But are you sure that sample is safe?”
“It’s fine,” he said. “It was open for about twenty seconds.” He closed the box, turned off the Geiger counter, and slipped the box back into his pocket.
“Told you,” said Amanda.
“So what?” said Amphora. “It’s not a sin to be careful.”
“You’re right,” said Amanda. “It isn’t.” She almost wanted to thank Holmes for calming Amphora down, but she couldn’t get the words to come out. Amphora did manage to express her gratitude, however.
“Thank you, Scapulus,” she said. “You’re a good guy.”
Holmes gave her a huge smile, but when he looked at Amanda the smile faded. She could not get herself to express approval of any kind. He looked disappointed but she didn’t care. So what if she didn’t like him? That was his problem. Anyway, he had charmed the entire rest of the school—even grumpy old Stegelmeyer and Buck. Wasn’t that enough?
At last the teachers managed to extract the skeleton from its hiding place and get it into a body bag in a process that was both painstaking and infuriating. Pieces of bone, fiber, and what-have-you kept dislodging, falling, and disintegrating and had to be gathered carefully. This caused a lot of dirt and other matter to be mixed in with the remains, which at first Amanda thought would cause problems in the lab, but then realized that they’d have to analyze it all anyway.
Then came the long, tedious process of evidence collection. Thrillkill wanted the students to learn from the experience, but because inviting all two hundred of them to the scene would undoubtedly result in compromised evidence, he told Amanda that she could text a few people and video the action carefully for the benefit of the rest of the school. They’d set up lights and work into the evening. He also enlisted a few more teachers to help scour the scene. These included Professors Also, Pargeter, and Buck, as well as Professor Browning, who would help the kids with their sketching.
Everyone knew what to look for by this time. First and most important was a murder weapon. Next came fibers, substances that weren’t supposed to be there, blood, and anything the murderer or the victim might have dropped or lost, for of course, it was a murder. The man whose skeleton had been found hadn’t walled himself up. How he’d died and whether he’d had a hand in his own demise no one yet knew, but that much was clear. Someone, or more than one someone, qualified as a culprit, and they needed ways to identify him or her.
Of course Amanda texted her friends, who were first shocked and then eager to participate. She thought it might be politic to invite David Wiffle and Gordon Bramble as well, and in that way avoid the fits that would ensue if they felt left out. All came running, with the exception of Editta, who had either ignored or not received Amanda’s message. When Wiffle and Bramble came running up, they each gave her a most unappreciative look, which made her wonder if she’d done the right thing. She probably hadn’t gained any brownie points for her generosity after all.
Professor Scribbish took on the role of coordinator. Of course being the evidence teacher, he would. Before everyone started their search, he patiently explained how they could avoid stepping on each other’s toes by assigning territories, reiterated the rules of collection, and told them in no uncertain terms how appreciative he was of their efforts, which got everyone all pumped up. Then he gave the go sign and they were off like a bunch of party kids on a scavenger hunt.
Ivy came up with a couple of observations Professor Sidebotham would be proud of. Come to think of it, thought Amanda, why wasn’t Professor Sidebotham there? She should have been one of the first people Thrillkill called. People seemed to be missing all over the place, although Sidebotham’s failure to arrive was far less disturbing than Editta’s behavior over the past couple of weeks.
Ivy contributed two pieces of evidence no one else had observed: a faint humming coming from the crystals, so low that no one else could hear it, and a sweet smell in the cavern that she swore was aftershave. This, said Professor Scribbish, was most interesting but may have been the smell of decay. Nevertheless, he asked her to write up her findings and characterize them as carefully as possible, just in case.
Another interesting bit of evidence was some bloodstains that David Wiffle found in the bushes. These were difficult to see and he was proud of himself for having discovered them. His friend Gordon showered him with so much praise that Amanda thought Wiffle’s head would burst, but maybe it was good for him this once. The poor kid was normally so much less capable than he thought he was that maybe a shot in the arm would calm him down. Of course the blood might belong to a squirrel, but it was still important to collect it and find out.
They didn’t find anything else. There was no ID on the body, no label in the clothing, nothing that would help identify it, except, perhaps, its DNA. They found no artifacts that could have belonged to the murderer and no signs of a weapon. Still, they had quite a bit to go on and Professors Hoxby and Scribbish were optimistic that they would turn up something useful.
There was so much to do that Amanda wasn’t spoiled for choice:
the secret stashes, the missing item, the dead body, her newly resurrected storytelling class, Editta. But the most pressing thing on her mind was Darius Plover and the fact that she’d forgotten to answer his request about the “Sand” clips. This she must take care of immediately or potentially damage her career. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to say, but she knew she needed to respond ASAP, so she climbed up to her room and booted up her laptop.
The thing made all the usual clunking, whirring, and half-musical sounds and stood at the ready. She didn’t know why she was using it to compose her message rather than her phone. There was something solid about the device that calmed her. Whoever had heard of anything so crazy?
She opened up her mail and reread the director’s last message. She’d offered feedback, he’d asked for feedback, and she absolutely had to provide feedback.
And suddenly she knew. There was no way she could tell him the truth. Yes, the clips were lousy, and yes, the script was lame, but no, she could not tell him so. She hit Reply and composed a message.
Dear Mr. Plover,
I love the clips! They’re exciting, atmospheric, and well-acted. I especially like the one in which the conspirators are meeting in the tent and the camel wanders in. I can’t wait to see the finished product!
Sincerely,
Amanda Lester,
Filmmaker.
It was all a lie. The scene in the tent was so grainy you could barely tell there was a camel. Furthermore, it was trite. How many films were there in which a bunch of bandits met in a tent out in the desert? Offhand she could think of at least a dozen. What Darius Plover was doing filming such a mediocre script, and filming it badly, she couldn’t imagine, but she wasn’t going to question him. You just didn’t do that.
There. That’s done. Now I can breathe. Satisfied that she had saved her career, Amanda sat back and sighed. She could turn her attention to the next problem: her storytelling class. Not only would that be fun, but it would divert her from the gazillion things she really didn’t want to think about, including Scapulus Holmes
13
Stuck
The next day was Professor Redleaf’s memorial service. Normally they would have used the chapel, but they couldn’t because of the earthquake, so they met in the back garden. The kids were crying and the teachers looked solemn. The décor gremlins had dressed in Victorian black with top hats, which some of the kids thought cool and others ridiculous. Ivy had wrapped a black ribbon around Nigel’s neck, and Simon had unearthed a black fedora from somewhere and was wearing it along with a black jacket. Even Editta had showed up and was looking suitably funereal, not the most difficult achievement considering her recent behavior. Someone, probably the gremlins, had spent a lot of time picking and arranging flowers, because the makeshift dais was engulfed in them. There were dog violets, bluebells, kingcups, and primroses, all from the school’s garden. Fortunately it was too warm for icicles and Thrillkill had arrived sans hair dryer.
Professor Redleaf was too aloof a person to have been beloved, but she was well respected and many people wanted to say a few words about her. Professors Thrillkill, Snaffle, and Mukherjee had much to relate about her cool head, quiet excellence, and dedication. Professor McTavish praised her even though he didn’t understand the first thing about her work. And Professor Feeney lauded her ability to penetrate the minds of the world’s most dangerous hackers.
When the teachers had completed their eulogies, Scapulus Holmes, apparently the only student who had known her well, mounted the podium and looked out upon the sea of grieving faces. The first thing he said so irritated Amanda that she wanted to run up and shut his mouth.
“Professor Redleaf was my friend,” said Holmes.
La di da. Darius Plover is my friend. I don’t go around bragging about it.
“We worked together a number of times over the years.”
Over the years? Are you kidding? You’re twelve.
“I want to tell you about something that happened—”
But Amanda’s mental sparring was cut short when suddenly a strong aftershock, so powerful that it threw her over, struck. Holmes grabbed onto the podium, but it wasn’t secured and he fell over too. Thrillkill barely managed to steady himself on his crutches, and several people had collided with each other. Others had assumed the strangest positions: crouched on their knees like frogs, balancing like tightrope walkers, leaping with one arm raised like Hermes, the messenger god. Nigel was cowering and leaning heavily on Ivy, who had knelt down and grabbed him around the head and shoulders. People were screaming and wailing—even some of the professors, who tried with varying success to hide their distress. Amanda was so startled that she went numb and couldn’t think or do anything.
But her paralysis didn’t last long. Once she realized what was happening, she resumed her role of earthquake coach and tried to calm the crowd, explaining what was going on in the hope of taking some of the terror out of the situation. Simon, too, was calm and scientific about the whole thing, as was Ivy this time. These efforts were only minimally successful, however, and there continued to be much carrying on, especially by Editta, who wouldn’t stop talking about what bad luck the murder and these aftershocks were. Despite the topic, Amanda was relieved to see her talking again. Maybe there was some good luck in all this chaos too.
But Editta’s catastrophizing so infuriated Simon that he said, “So what brings good luck then?” Editta reeled off a whole list of positive harbingers, like white cats, crickets, and chimney sweeps, to which Simon responded, “Fine. I’m going to keep track of these things and show you that your good luck and your bad luck cancel each other out,” and started tapping notes into his phone. This so upset her that she appealed to Amphora, whom she knew was not exactly Simon’s biggest fan. At this point Ivy interposed herself among the three and said, “Cut it out, all of you. We have to pull together,” and Holmes came up and asked if everyone was okay, which precipitated a round of goo-goo eyes from both Editta and Amphora, who had miraculously forgotten how afraid they were. Holmes seemed not to notice, however, and walked back to the podium, from which he told the crowd that he would understand if people wanted to discontinue the service and he’d record his eulogy and post it on the school’s intranet, a presumption that infuriated Amanda so much that she fled to her room, one of the few places Holmes could not go.
What did they see in him anyway? Sure, he wasn’t bad looking, and he was smart, but so what? A lot of people were smart and nice looking, including, she didn’t want to admit it, Nick Muffet, the bane of her existence, or at least the bane until Holmes had assumed the role. That was exactly what Holmes was: a bane. He thought he was so special, always dropping names and acting like a know-it-all. She’d show him. She’d show him that you have to earn respect, not be born to it. She, Amanda Lester, descendant of the worst famous detective in history, would be the best sleuth who had ever lived, proving that you don’t inherit excellence. But unlike some people, she wouldn’t go around with her nose in the air. Uh uh. She’d be the same modest but amazingly competent person she’d always been.
Once everyone had recovered from the latest aftershock, the school returned to the conundrum of the dead body. Curiosity and speculation were running high, and for once everyone was eager to observe the autopsy, which wouldn’t have been the case under normal circumstances. So on Sunday afternoon, because there wasn’t room for everyone to attend in person, Professor Hoxby’s autopsy of the skeleton was broadcast over CCTV. Some of the older students were allowed into the autopsy room, as was Ivy, who would benefit more from being there than “watching” the proceedings remotely. Amanda and her other friends were to view the procedure in the common room. Just to be on the safe side, several of the students had brought gingersnaps with them. Unfortunately, Holmes had joined the group and for some perverse reason kept looking at Amanda.
Before he began the autopsy, Professor Hoxby explained that some of the results would be delayed. These included extract
ing the subject’s DNA and matching it to known profiles. The same was true for the victim’s teeth, for which dental records would have to be sought. However, he would be able to examine the state of the body and look for the cause of death and other clues to the identity of the victim and perhaps even the perpetrator.
The first blow came swiftly. The body possessed no usable fingerprints or teeth. The former were gone, while the latter had been smashed. Someone did not want the identity of the victim known, a safe assumption when you consider that they’d walled up the body so securely that had it not been for the earthquake, it might never have been discovered.
Next Professor Hoxby declared that he could not ascertain the cause of death, although he could see evidence of blunt force trauma to the skull. This, he declared, would not have been forceful enough to kill the man, and there were no wounds, broken or shattered bones, or any other signs of violence upon the body that hinted at what had really killed him. Nor was there evidence of disease. The man had been healthy, of normal height and weight, and between thirty-five and fifty years old. Perhaps the tox screen would reveal something. The man might have been poisoned.
As if those findings, or the lack of them, weren’t disappointing enough, Professor Hoxby couldn’t fix the time of death. However, based on her sense of smell, Ivy made a guess that the body had been there for a few months, which no one believed because everything else pointed to its having been there for years. However, Professor Hoxby said that he couldn’t rule out the possibility that the skeleton was of recent vintage.
The next thing that happened was that Professor Stegelmeyer came into the autopsy room and announced that the victim’s DNA wasn’t usable. It had degraded due to the heat generated by the earthquake as well as the moist conditions of the compartment. That meant that the school couldn’t use DNA to identify the body either. No DNA, no fingerprints, no teeth, no clothing, no recognizable features, no wallet—nothing. All they knew was that they had a middle-aged male of average description on their hands. It was going to be tough to figure out who he was.
Amanda Lester, Detective Box Set Page 47