Friday Barnes 2

by R. A. Spratt

  ‘Take me through the details,’ urged Friday.

  ‘Apparently some rich housewife was taking a shower and she put her bracelet on the windowsill,’ said the vagrant. ‘When she got out of the shower, the bracelet was gone.’

  ‘And they immediately arrested you?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I was seen by three separate witnesses as I walked through the field behind the lady’s house,’ explained the vagrant.

  ‘That doesn’t look good,’ conceded Friday.

  ‘There was a prison break at the maximum security jail yesterday,’ continued the vagrant, ‘and they say I look like an ex-con.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘So the cops picked me up on the road out of town,’ said the vagrant. ‘And when they searched me they found that I was a wearing prison-issue undershirt.’

  ‘Why were you wearing a prison-issue undershirt?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I was released from jail yesterday,’ said the vagrant.

  ‘Oh,’ said Friday, taken aback. She had started to warm to this vagrant, but now that she knew he actually was a ‘con’, she was not so confident of her ability, or the appropriateness, of getting him off. ‘What did you do time for?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said the vagrant.

  ‘That bad, huh?’ said Friday.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ he repeated.

  ‘Okay,’ said Friday, ‘I can see how you would fit the profile for just about any crime likely to be committed in a small country town.’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ said the vagrant.

  Friday looked at him with pity. That was what people always said when they realised that no logical argument would be persuasive. ‘So let me get the facts straight,’ she said. ‘You were released from prison yesterday … and how did you leave?’

  ‘I walked,’ said the vagrant. ‘I walked until I got tired at about ten o’clock, then I found a nice big bush and I curled up underneath it to go to sleep.’

  ‘Then this morning, you resumed walking?’ asked Friday.

  ‘That’s right,’ said the vagrant. ‘I like walking and being outside.’

  ‘And there was a rich lady in town who took a shower,’ said Friday. ‘Who knows how long rich ladies’ take to shower? Probably longer than average, because they wouldn’t care about the hot-water bill. So maybe as much as fifteen minutes, or twenty at the outside – she wouldn’t want to get pickled fingers. And during that twenty-minute window you just happened to be walking through the field behind her house.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the vagrant glumly.

  ‘Where’s the bracelet now?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said the vagrant. ‘I didn’t take it. And the police can’t find it. So they’re saying that I took it and stashed it somewhere, planning to come back and get it later.’

  ‘That would work,’ agreed Friday. ‘Or you could have swallowed it.’

  ‘A whole sapphire bracelet!’ exclaimed the vagrant.

  ‘You could have put it in a lump of cheese and swallowed that,’ said Friday. ‘That’s what we did with our cat when we wanted it to swallow a tablet.’

  ‘I didn’t swallow the bracelet!’ said the vagrant.

  ‘Is there any possibility that you did swallow it, but now you have no memory of doing so, perhaps because you have subsequently suffered a blow to the head while you were resisting arrest?’ asked Friday.

  ‘What makes you think I resisted arrest?’ asked the vagrant.

  ‘There’s an open first-aid kit on the desk over there,’ said Friday, ‘and a red droplet of spatter on the linoleum floor by the doorway, which looks a lot like blood.’ Friday pointed at the spot without turning her head towards it. She did not care for blood and didn’t think that fainting in front of this large vagrant would help her street cred. ‘Also, there are six desks in this room, but I have only seen two police officers,’ continued Friday, ‘which suggests to me that somewhere in this building there is a police officer receiving medical attention.’

  ‘I didn’t hurt anyone,’ said the vagrant. ‘The constable tore his pants when he leapt over a barbed wire fence trying to chase after me. He got a nasty scrape on his backside. They took him to the doctor for a tetanus injection.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘You do make an excellent suspect. You even look like a criminal.’

  ‘I know,’ said the vagrant.

  ‘With so much circumstantial evidence, and your criminal record and frightening physical appearance working against you,’ continued Friday, ‘you could quite easily end up back behind bars for this.’

  ‘Hmmpf,’ said the vagrant. ‘You’re making me wish I didn’t start talking to you.’

  ‘The only thing that will clear your name is finding the bracelet,’ said Friday.

  ‘If you do, there’s a big reward,’ said the vagrant. ‘$10,000 to anyone who provides information leading to its recovery.’

  ‘It’s a good job I know where it is then,’ said Friday.

  ‘You do?’ asked the vagrant.

  ‘But first, before I take on a client, I like to know what their name is,’ said Friday.

  The vagrant paused for a moment. It obviously went against the grain for him to concede anything. ‘Malcolm,’ he eventually said. ‘What about you?’

  Suddenly the main doors burst open and Uncle Bernie hurried in. ‘Friday! What mess have you got yourself into now? Terrorism charges! You haven’t been looking up bomb recipes on the internet, have you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Friday. ‘I promised the federal agents I would never do that again.’

  The sergeant emerged from his office. ‘Mr Barnes, I’m Sergeant Crowley,’ he said. ‘If you’d both step into the interview room, we have a lot of questions for your niece.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Malcolm.

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Friday. ‘When they let me off. I’ll fix up your thing too.’

  ‘What if they don’t let you off?’ asked Malcolm.

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’d be a very good advocate for you then,’ conceded Friday as the lady police con stable led her into the interview room.

  Chapter 3

  Deadly Beans

  ‘Friday Barnes, you are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say or do may be used in evidence. Do you understand?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Yes,’ said Friday.

  ‘The national counterterrorism centre received an anonymous letter informing them that you have been making ricin in your dorm room,’ stated Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Ricin?!’ exclaimed Friday.

  ‘The deadly poisonous powder derived from the seed of the castor-oil plant,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I know what ricin is,’ said Friday.

  ‘Of course you do,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘You’ve been making it in your dorm room.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ exclaimed Friday. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘We don’t claim to understand your agenda,’ said Sergeant Crowley, ‘but we know you have a history of this type of thing.’

  ‘I do not,’ protested Friday.

  ‘Do you deny that last year in –’ Sergeant Crowley checked his notes ‘– geography class, your pencil box exploded?’

  ‘Actually, it imploded,’ said Friday.

  ‘Friday, now is not the time to be pedantic,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘But it did,’ said Friday. ‘And I didn’t do it. Why would I implode my own pencil box?’

  ‘Because you were honing your technique,’ suggested Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘And why would I make ricin?’ asked Friday. ‘I don’t have any grudges against anyone. And apart from anything else, it’s really hard to make. First of all, you’ve got to …’

  ‘Shhh,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘So you do know how to make it?!’ pounced Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Of course, I was curious,’ said Friday. ‘Isolating lectins
is a fascinating field of research.’

  ‘This is nonsense,’ said Uncle Bernie. ‘Unless you have some evidence, I suggest you release my niece right now before I contact a lawyer about pursuing a complaint of wrongful arrest.’

  ‘But we do have evidence,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘Our crime scene investigation team locked off her dormitory and went through her room with a fine toothcomb.’

  ‘Urgh,’ groaned Friday. ‘You would’ve had to do that just before laundry day when the hamper is full of dirty underwear.’

  Uncle Bernie sighed. ‘What have you got hidden in your room, Friday?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ protested Friday.

  ‘We found an unregistered short-wave radio,’ began Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I use that to talk to Uncle Bernie,’ said Friday. ‘It’s important to stay in touch with family.’

  ‘Military-grade night-vision binoculars,’ continued Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I sleep in a building with two hundred teenagers,’ said Friday. ‘It would be stupid not to have night-vision binoculars.’

  ‘And a cavity drilled into the handle of your hockey stick, containing ricin,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  Uncle Bernie laughed. ‘Well, then there’s no way this can possibly be true. Friday would never own a hockey stick.’

  ‘Actually I do,’ admitted Friday. ‘You have to. It’s essential school equipment.’

  A constable came into the room carrying a large plastic bag with a hockey stick inside.

  Uncle Bernie scooted his chair back, away from the table. ‘Is that thing safe?’ he asked. ‘Even the tiniest particle of ricin is super dangerous.’

  ‘Ask your niece, she’s the expert,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘Do you deny this is your stick?’

  Friday leaned in for a closer look. ‘It’s definitely mine. It’s got a nick in the paint from when I tried to try to squash a spider but accidentally hit a light-fitting instead. Also, it’s got my name across the handle in my handwriting.’

  ‘And do you deny that these are the ricin seeds?’ asked Sergeant Crowley, producing a small plastic bag. It had been vacuum-sealed in thick plastic, zip-locked inside another plastic bag.

  Uncle Bernie scooted his chair all the way back so that he was wedged up against the far wall. ‘This is crazy,’ he cried. ‘If that’s ricin, we’re all in danger.’

  Friday peered at the bag for a moment then burst into laughter.

  ‘What are you laughing about?’ asked Sergeant Crowley. ‘This is a very serious matter.’

  ‘You haven’t got very good crime scene investigators, have you?’ said Friday. ‘Let me guess, you got the two most junior officers on staff to go through my things. You probably weren’t expecting to find anything and were shocked when they did.’

  ‘So you admit it!’ accused Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I don’t admit anything,’ said Friday. ‘That’s my hockey stick. But I didn’t drill a hole in the handle and I didn’t put those beans in there. And even if I did, who cares? They’re only beans.’

  ‘Beans that can be used to make ricin, one of the deadliest substances known to man,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Electricity is deadly,’ said Friday, ‘and you’ve got two power sockets in this room. No-one is arresting you.’

  ‘Why did you hide them in your hockey stick?’ demanded Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve been set up. And by someone with a perverse sense of humour.’

  ‘I don’t see what is funny about a terrorist threat,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘It’s funny, because not only is this not ricin – it’s not even the castor seed that ricin comes from,’ said Friday, picking up the packet. ‘These are pinto beans. They look a lot like castor seeds, but are entirely harmless. In fact, if you’ve ever had a burrito you’ve probably eaten them because pinto beans are the main ingredient in refried beans, a feature of Mexican cooking.’

  ‘How do I know you’re not lying?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘You don’t,’ said Friday. ‘You’ll have to check with a botanist or a Mexican chef. Or you could wait until the counterterrorism unit get here and ask them to run it through their forensic process. You should, it will give them a good laugh.’

  Sergeant Crowley drummed his fingers on the desk for a few moments, then got up and walked over to the door. He opened it and leaned out. ‘Harris?’ he barked.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ replied Harris.

  ‘Run down to the taco place next to the pub and get the chef back here, pronto,’ ordered Sergeant Crowley. ‘And when I say run, I mean run, now!’

  Six minutes later, Jorge, a short-order chef from Guadalajara had cleared Friday’s name by confirming that the bag did, indeed, contain pinto beans. Sergeant Crowley immediately rang the counterterrorism unit and told them to turn back – it had been a false alarm.

  ‘You can go now,’ said Sergeant Crowley, sulkily.

  ‘Do you want to make a complaint about wrongful arrest?’ Uncle Bernie asked Friday. ‘We could pick up the forms while we’re here.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Friday. ‘I’ve had a wonderful morning. I want to thank Sergeant Crowley. It’s been very educational. And it got me out of double woodwork. So it was extra educational in that it didn’t fill my head with redundant twaddle.’

  ‘I can have an officer drive you back to school,’ offered Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Friday.

  ‘I’ll drive her,’ said Uncle Bernie.

  ‘No, I mean I don’t want to go,’ said Friday.

  ‘You’re not going to confess to something else, are you?’ groaned Uncle Bernie.

  ‘No, I want to help Malcolm,’ said Friday.

  ‘Who’s Malcolm?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘My friend outside,’ said Friday.

  ‘What friend?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘The gentleman you’ve got handcuffed to the bench,’ said Friday.

  ‘You mean the escaped prisoner and thief we’ve got handcuffed to the bench?’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  There was a knock at the door. The lady police constable ducked her head into the room. ‘Boss, I just got a fax through from the prison. Our suspect doesn’t match their physical description.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘Our suspect is six foot five and has blue eyes,’ said the lady police constable. ‘The guy who climbed over the wall this morning is five foot four and has brown eyes. Also, he’s only twenty, so that’s about twenty years younger than the guy we’ve got.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘So he’s just a bum who stole a bracelet.’

  ‘He didn’t steal the bracelet and I can prove it,’ said Friday. ‘If you take me to the scene of the crime.’

  Sergeant Crowley sighed. He would’ve liked to have gone to the pub, or at least the taco bar. All that talk of refried beans had made him hungry. But solving the only other pressing matter on his plate that day would make things easier for him in the long run. Plus, he suspected that if he didn’t cooperate, Friday would only embarrass him again.

  Chapter 4

  The Real Culprit

  Friday, Uncle Bernie, Sergeant Crowley and Malcolm all stood in the field at the back of Mrs Knox’s house. Mrs Knox was the well-to-do lawyer’s wife whose bracelet had been stolen. Strictly speaking, the field was a park. But the council had not gone to much trouble to turn it into what people normally think of when they hear the word ‘park’. It was just a field with grass and a few trees, which was actually rather nice. Friday could see why the wealthy Mr and Mrs Knox would choose a house overlooking this greenery.

  ‘So why were you walking this way?’ Friday asked Malcolm.

  ‘Because he was looking for houses to break into,’ said Sergeant Crowley, rolling his eyes.

  ‘I didn’t want to walk down the main street,’ explained Malcolm, ‘I didn’t want to be stared at. I was just cutt
ing through the town along the back streets.’

  ‘Where were you headed?’ asked Friday.

  ‘I’ve got a place a few kilometres north-west of here,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Really?’ said Friday. ‘That would be near our school, Highcrest Academy. Have you heard of it?’

  ‘It rings a bell,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Mrs Knox is expecting us,’ said Sergeant Crowley. ‘Are we going to go and look at the house or not? I’ve been yelled at by her enough this morning. I’d like to minimise the amount of yelling she does at me this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely,’ said Friday. ‘Lead the way.’

  Sergeant Crowley took them through a gate in Mrs Knox’s back fence and across the yard. There was a deck at the rear of the house. Mrs Knox was standing there, waiting for them. ‘Is this the vagabond?’ she asked on spotting Malcolm.

  ‘The suspect,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘The alleged suspect,’ corrected Friday.

  ‘Give me my bracelet back!’ demanded Mrs Knox.

  ‘He doesn’t have it on him,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘He’s probably sold it already,’ accused Mrs Knox.

  ‘He doesn’t have any cash on him either,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘You should be ashamed,’ accused Mrs Knox.

  ‘Please don’t harass the prisoner,’ said Sergeant Crowley.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Mrs Knox, turning on the sergeant. ‘I’m talking to you. You should be ashamed. What sort of police force are you running here, if this type of miscreant is allowed to wander the streets?’

  ‘Can you show me where the bracelet was?’ asked Friday.

  ‘Who’s this?’ asked Mrs Knox. ‘Have you invited the work-experience girl to come and have a looky-loo around my home?’

  ‘She’s my legal counsel,’ said Malcolm.

  ‘Ha!’ scoffed Mrs Knox. ‘Still, I suppose I should be happy you’ve chosen an adolescent to represent you. It should make the trial nice and quick.’ She opened the back door and walked in. Everyone else followed. ‘The bathroom is here.’

  Friday, Uncle Bernie, Sergeant Crowley and Malcolm entered. It was large for a bathroom, but even the largest bathroom is never really a large room, so with everyone standing there it was quite a squash.