The Betrayal of Bindy Mackenzie

by Jaclyn Moriarty

  Lots of love,

  Bindy

  PART EIGHT

  1

  Dear Finnegan,

  When you said goodbye this evening, and pressed that envelope into my hand, I had a curious feeling that I would never see you again.

  But that is idle foolishness.

  It is now about 9.00 pm, and I am writing to you on my laptop while sitting in Mr Botherit’s office.

  It was kind of you to come to the debating semi-final tonight—I couldn’t believe the whole FAD group turned up, including Try!

  You giving me that envelope made me think of writing to you now. I want to tell you what’s been going on.

  Tonight, Emily almost missed our debate. We have an hour preparation beforehand, and Ernst and I were alone for that hour. We wrote Emily’s speech for her, panicking that we’d have to forfeit. But she sprinted in at the last moment.

  As you know, when the debate was over, we all hung around in the classroom, up here on the top balcony. You gave me your letter, and left.

  Mrs Lilydale appeared beside me. Together, we watched you hurry from the room.

  ‘Who is that nice young man?’ she said. I explained that you were Finnegan Blonde, a new boy this year.

  Gradually, people began to leave. Teachers and parents drifted away. Sergio suggested we go to the Blue Danish to celebrate, and offered to drive me home afterwards. Auntie Veronica and Uncle Jake asked to speak with Try. The three of them stepped onto the balcony.

  That left only the FAD group, and Ernst von Schmerz, in the classroom.

  Immediately, the others gathered close around me.

  It seemed they were in a frenzy.

  Finnegan, I’m very sorry but they think you have been poisoning me this year. You see, I’ve been sick for a lot of the year, and today I discovered that there’s arsenic in my body.

  They think you’ve been giving me the arsenic. This is why:

  1. You’re new this year, so you’re a stranger.

  2. Somebody hacked into the school system to move me into our FAD group. You’re really good at computers so they think that must have been you.

  3. Somebody from FAD gave me nail polish, anonymously—they all deny it was them, so that must have been you too. They think there’s arsenic in the nail polish. (But there’s no proof of that.)

  4. You always get the coffee at the Blue Danish: they think that’s opportunity for you to slip the poison into my drink. (That’s if it’s not the nail polish.)

  5. Toby and Sergio have been watching Mrs Lilydale’s office this week, and yesterday, they saw you slip into the office three times.

  6. Emily’s boyfriend has a brother who’s a police officer, and he did some checks on a few different Queensland lists for you. He can’t find any record of your existence.

  I didn’t believe a word of what they’re saying. I know you’re not the kind of person to murder me. Besides, the doctor thinks the arsenic probably comes from wallpaper I’ve been taking down for my father. But no! The FAD group would not accept that. They’re sure it’s more sinister. Besides which, I started getting sick before I started working on the wallpaper.

  I told them it was irrelevant that your name doesn’t come out on any Queensland lists. Maybe you don’t have your drivers’ licence, I said. (Although you drive as if you do.) Maybe you’ve changed your name? Also, I explained what you had said to me a few weeks ago, that you’re doing an independent study with Mrs Lilydale for your Ancient History class. That’s why Toby and Sergio saw you in her office.

  But then I stopped.

  Finnegan, Mrs Lilydale asked me who you were tonight. Who is that nice young man? Surely she would know you if she’d been working with you . . .

  What are you doing in her office?

  I did not say this to the others—anyway, I didn’t get a chance. Emily had something to say. It seemed she had been frantic to speak, but had waited for her moment. She had an important announcement.

  ‘There is no such lawyer,’ she breathed, dramatically, ‘as Blake Elroy.’

  That is the name of a lawyer I have spoken with about an argument about computer software that I overheard last year.

  Emily had asked her parents, who are lawyers, to check on Mr Elroy’s firm for me. They said there was no such firm. This afternoon, Emily had travelled into the city, to the office where I had met with the lawyer, to find out what was going on. That is why she had run late for the debate.

  The office was completely empty.

  Now, I admit I was somewhat shocked by this. I had spoken to Mr Elroy just this morning.

  ‘He must have moved offices,’ I said. ‘That place was a dump!’

  But Emily was insistent. Mr Elroy does not exist.

  Now the group was hysterical. There was something illegal, they said, about the software. It must be more than a copyright dispute. I must have overheard something vital. It was a fake lawyer and a fake meeting, set up to find out what I knew. And you have been planted in the school to eliminate me as a witness. It was so clear to them! (They see too many movies.)

  ‘Think,’ said Astrid. ‘Is there any connection between Finnegan and this software?’

  And then it came to me.

  Finnegan, just last night I discovered that the password used at Ashbury to get access to that very software is your name in reverse.

  Is that a coincidence? An amazing coincidence? Or is there a connection?

  Once again, however, I laughed at them. I took out my transcript of the conversation I had overheard, to prove it contained nothing vital.

  I gave the transcript to Ernst, who had been listening to all this with serene bemusement. He’s a computer expert like you.

  At that moment, Auntie Veronica and Uncle Jake leaned back into the classroom to say goodbye. Try approached us. She was looking at me with concern.

  ‘I wonder if you and I can have a chat?’ she said. She suggested the others go into Castle Hill. She and I would join them shortly.

  I left my schoolbag, keys, notes and the letter from you, still unopened, behind, but brought my laptop with me. As you know, it is always on my shoulder.

  The others whispered, ‘We’ll talk more later,’ as they walked along the top balcony, saying goodbye.

  Try suggested we not waste any time. As Mr Botherit’s office is on the top balcony, and the door was open, she led me in here.

  And that is where I am right now.

  Try asked me to wait a moment while she took a phone call out on the balcony. I can hear the low murmur of her voice. She’s taking a long time!

  Oh, the door.

  —

  It’s me again. Still here in Mr Botherit’s office.

  Try came in for a second and then stepped straight back out to take another call. I’ve been waiting for at least half an hour! Still, I don’t mind so much as I feel like I’m talking to you. Although, Mr Botherit must have had garlic on his lunch today. I think I can smell it in his office! And why is it so cold in here? I’m shivering so much it’s hard to type.

  My aunt and uncle had told Try about my health, and my family situation. That’s why she wanted to talk to me. She was just offering support, saying I could talk to her whenever I wanted to.

  Now I wish she would hurry. I can’t hear her voice on the balcony any more. She’s going to drive me in to the Blue Danish now, and I don’t want to miss the others. I wonder if I should go home though? I don’t feel that well.

  I can’t believe how thirsty I am. And I’m a bit short of breath—seriously, it’s getting—and my head!

  The strangest thing, Finnegan.

  I’m staring at the window, which of course is black with night and misty reflections. It’s a cold night out there.

  I’m staring at the window and I think what I see is this:

  Only in reverse.

  As if someone had written it in the mist on the outside of the window.

  It’s my favourite formula. Wait! But it’s wrong. It says 8ac in
stead of 4ac! Who would do that? All the trouble of climbing—and then to get it wrong. I must look into this. I’ll just—oh, but my stomach really hurts.

  It’s—

  My head, Finnegan, is so—

  You can’t even breathe in here—

  Sorry, I can’t really type—I just tried to open the door to get some air and it’s locked.

  My Ventolin doesn’t help at

  Finnegan, I really,

  Finnegan,

  kemwkmksdnafkvknskdkjfwi

  2

  Emily

  A black cloth covering Bindy.

  That’s all I can think of.

  And now, I am sorry to say, the FAD group must take over.

  The FAD group must now speak for Bindy.

  Oh, our poor friend: Bindy Mackenzie.

  I will begin by saying what was happening, in the meantime, while Bindy was writing her final words—letters, I guess, her final letters, just up above.

  We were all heading down to the parking area, ready to drive in to Castle Hill.

  We could not stop talking—we were hovering around in the dark, cold parking area, leaning against our cars, trying to read the transcript that Bindy had just given us. This is the transcript.

  Friday

  3.55 pm, still on my shadow seat. Two young substitute teachers are approaching one a redhead, the other blonde—their voices are raised and tumbling together—they speak in half-sentences only.

  Redhead: Edna Lbagennif, I mean, for a start, what kind of a pass—but, come on, what are you thinking? You have to—

  Blonde: Brilliant. I mean f. . . just spectacular. And you knew this all—

  Redhead: You’re being so totally—This has nothing to do—

  Blonde: But you knew, I mean, with that trap—she can do anything—

  Redhead: Don’t be ridic—as if she—it’s just basic mainten—I mean, right off you know, I’m going to have to say you think—I’ll have to tell Mr—

  [The blonde just SLAPPED the redhead!!! I’m going over there!!]

  So, that was the transcript.

  Ernst von Schmerz had an opinion about it, but everyone thought he had come to it too fast. He read it once, and then he spoke.

  ‘Check it,’ he said—pointing to the part where the Blonde says to the Redhead: ‘But you knew, I mean, with that trap— she can do anything—’

  He said she must have found a trapdoor in the programme. They must have put that in, secretly, so they could hack back into the software later, whenever they wanted or inclined.

  So then the Redhead said, ‘Don’t be ridic—as if she—it’s just basic mainten’ and then she says ‘I’ll have to tell Mr—’

  Which, in my humble view, makes no sense.

  Ernst, however, said that means the Redhead was claiming the trapdoor was there so they could get back in to maintain the software, but obviously, it was more than that, because (a) it was a secret from the Blonde, and (b) the Redhead was going to tell some mystery person, who must be in charge, that the Blonde had found it.

  Therefore, said Ernst, the Blonde must have been trippin about the person knowing, because she hit the Redhead.

  And, furthermore, said Ernst, had any of us located said Blonde to know if she was spry? (I think he meant to find out if she was alive.)

  Now, we all thought Ernst had reached his conclusions much too speedily, and with too much in the way of strange language. Also we were a bit annoyed that he was being such an easygoing detective, kind of shoulder-shrugging, as if it was obvious, plus asking if we’d gone looking for the Blonde! When we’d only just found out about the Blonde!

  I’m finding it hard to write.

  We didn’t take much notice of Ernst, but started looking through Bindy’s things for clues. Toby had carried them downstairs, and they were now sitting on top of Sergio’s car.

  This is when we saw a sealed white envelope with ‘Bindy’ written on the front, and Finnegan A. Blonde on the back!!

  You can imagine our agitation!

  We were hysterical.

  Finnegan had probably filled that envelope with poison! Or maybe some kind of biological chemical.

  We were all picking up the envelope and throwing it away from us. And then gingerly picking it up again.

  Now Ernst annoyed us again by saying, ‘Dudes, I do not find your case against Finnegan convictifying.’

  And he picked up the envelope and opened it.

  There was nothing in it but a piece of paper. He took it out and read it aloud. And here it is:

  Dear Bindy,

  I’m writing to say goodbye.

  I’ve decided to drop out of Ashbury, and this is my last day. But I didn’t want to go without explaining myself.

  Okay, first: I am not who I say I am.

  My name is not Finnegan A. Blonde.

  That’s the imaginary name my cousin gave me when we were kids—I chose it as a kind of tribute to her.

  You see, the reason I’ve been at this school is because my cousin was working here last year. She was doing some computer programming, and, as you know, was killed by a car after work one day. The day before she died she had instant-messaged me a couple of lines. Something about a problem with the software and an argument she’d had with a co-worker. She also mentioned that a student named Bindy had overheard the conversation.

  I thought that meant the accident was suspicious. But the police down here took no notice of a guy up in Queensland who thought he knew more than them.

  So, I moved down to my gran’s place in Sydney and enrolled in your school under a false name.

  I was here for two reasons: first, to see if I could find out what happened to my cousin. I knew she was working on some new educational software, which was being tested out by the teachers in your school. That’s why I’ve been going in to Mrs L.’s office, by the way—to see if I can find something in the software connected with my cousin. (Mrs L. is never in her office.) But I knew sweet f.a. about computers before this year, so I’ve been trying to learn, doing extra work with the computing teacher, staying up late, etc.

  Second, and this sounds insane, I realise now, but I was here to see if I could protect you. I thought that something might happen to you, like it happened to my cousin. Luckily, there was only one student at Ashbury named Bindy.

  I got the principal to put us in the same FAD group by pretending I knew you. I kind of twisted my body towards you when Try was allocating those ‘buddies’, hoping to subconsciously influence her so she’d put us together. I even told you to do a kickboxing class, thinking you’d learn to defend yourself. And then I kind of waited to see what would happen.

  But you have to understand I lost my mind when I lost my cousin. I wasn’t thinking straight. Over the last few months, I’ve been realising this. I didn’t find anything sinister in the software. You seemed fine and not in danger . . .

  Anyhow, this week I’ve stopped coming to school. I did Year 11 two years ago, anyway, so I’m just repeating it now. I should actually be in first year uni.

  You’re a good friend, Bindy. I hope it’s worked out okay with your family—let’s catch some music together one day.

  Take care of yourself, okay?

  Markus Pulie

  PS I’m going to see a friend of yours tonight. I guess my cousin used to buy books at a place called Maureen’s Magic. Anyway, Maureen herself contacted me the other day and said she’d heard I was here now, and wanted to meet me. She told me that you used to work for her.

  So. (This is still Emily.)

  Finnegan Blonde is not Finnegan Blonde but Markus Pulie.

  And his cousin was working at this school just last year. Why did he not say anything to us? Maybe we could have helped him?

  But Ernst was keen to get into the software and see if his theory was right about it having a trapdoor. Perhaps he felt injured that we had doubted him.

  We decided we’d go into Try’s office, to look at the software on her computer, and we thought
she would not mind, once we explained.

  So! There we all were, crowded into Try’s office, being very careful not to touch anything, as Ernst sat down at her computer. We gathered around him, watching over his shoulders.

  Astrid, meanwhile, was being rather quiet.

  I noticed she was not watching the screen. She was staring at Try’s bookshelf. I followed her gaze, and saw The Travellers’ Ohio.

  ‘You know,’ Astrid said, slowly, reaching for the guidebook. ‘I’ve just remembered something.’

  ‘Shh,’ said Toby. ‘Ernst is trying to concentrate.’

  But Ernst typed away, happily enough. Now and then he made a ‘tch’ noise, and hit the keys harder.

  ‘I’ve remembered something Try once said,’ Astrid continued, sounding dreamy. ‘Okay, she told me she comes from Ohio? And she told me a bit about it too.’

  Toby said he’d heard that Try was from Ohio, but others couldn’t remember.

  ‘She doesn’t talk about herself very much,’ Briony admitted, sounding guilty. ‘I guess we should have asked her more . . .’

  Ernst hit the same key seven or eight times. Astrid opened the contents page of the guide book.

  ‘And see, this book has Cincinnati, so it must be in Ohio,’ she said. ‘But I remember once when Bindy was going on about Cincinnati, at FAD? And she was even wondering what it was like? And Try said nothing. Can you be from Ohio, do you think, and have nothing to say about a place there?’

  There was some thoughtful breathing in the room.

  ‘You could,’ said Sergio, eventually, ‘if Bindy’s the one asking.’

  ‘She might be from somewhere else in Ohio,’ Briony pointed out. ‘Somewhere far away from Cincinnati.’

  But Astrid was flicking through the guidebook.

  ‘This is too familiar,’ she murmured. ‘This introduction about Ohio—the second paragraph? It’s, like, exactly what Try said to me when I asked her about her home.’

  ‘You think she’s not really from Ohio?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Maybe Try’s the murderer,’ Astrid whispered. ‘Remember Em thought it was Miss Flynn because she’s new this year? And then we thought it was Finnegan because he’s new. So, Try’s new too.’