by R. A. Spratt
‘Then it must have been someone from the front,’ said Mr Maclean. He turned around and glared at the students in the front half of the bus. ‘Come on, admit it. Who did it?’
‘It couldn’t have been anyone from there,’ said Friday. ‘The aisle is too narrow. I would have felt them brush past.’
‘What if it was an incredibly skinny person?’ asked Melanie.
‘I still would have sensed the movement of them passing by,’ said Friday. ‘It must have been someone from the rear.’
Rajiv Patel snorted.
‘What are you giggling about, Patel?’ demanded Mr Maclean.
‘Friday said “rear”. You know, as in “bottom”,’ explained Patel.
Now half the bus chortled.
‘That’s it,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘Patel, I want you to write two hundred lines – “I will not make rude jokes”.’
‘But we’re going to camp,’ said Patel. ‘We don’t have pens and paper.’
‘You can scratch it in the dirt when you get there,’ said Mr Maclean.
Friday turned to the girl sitting directly in front of Mirabella. ‘What about you, Moiya? If someone was giving Mirabella an impromptu haircut right behind you, you must have noticed something.’
‘I was reading a book,’ said Moiya.
‘You were?’ said Friday, genuinely surprised. She didn’t often come across a Highcrest Academy student voluntarily reading a book.
‘Yes, she was reading it aloud to me,’ said Twiggy, the girl sitting across the aisle from Moiya.
‘It must be a very good one to have you both so totally absorbed,’ said Friday.
‘It is,’ said Moiya, showing her the cover. ‘It’s a book of horoscopes. It tells me exactly what will happen in my life, day by day, for an entire year.’
Friday stared at Moiya before turning to Melanie. ‘Is she joking?’
Melanie shook her head.
‘You do realise that planetary movements may affect tide and gravity, but in no way do they affect personality let alone life events?’ said Friday.
‘Yes, they do!’ said Moiya. ‘Look at my horoscope for today: Your faith will be challenged by another. But you will be strong and ignore them. Avoid the colour brown.’
Friday glanced down at her signature brown cardigan. ‘That doesn’t mean anything.’
‘It’s good advice, though,’ said Trea with a snigger.
‘So none of you saw anything?’ asked Friday. She glanced about at all the blank faces surrounding her. No one looked particularly innocent, but nobody looked particularly guilty, either. There was no red-faced shame, or telltale attempts to avoid eye contact.
‘Mirabella, do you have any enemies?’ asked Friday.
‘Of course not,’ said Mirabella. ‘I’m one of the most popular girls in school.’
Melanie snorted. Friday looked at her.
‘Sorry,’ said Melanie. ‘The funny part is she’s not lying. She actually believes that’s true.’
‘So you haven’t annoyed or insulted anybody, or made someone jealous recently?’ asked Friday, turning back to Mirabella.
‘I hope I have,’ said Mirabella. ‘That’s what being popular is all about. Making people die with jealousy.’
Friday was confused. She turned back to Melanie. ‘She doesn’t understand the definition of the word “popular”, does she?’
‘Oh, she does,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s just that her definition is not one you’d find in any dictionary.’
‘Half the girls in the lacrosse team wanted to scratch my eyes out when I got picked as captain again,’ began Mirabella, ‘Barbara Trieste cried for a week after I snogged her boyfriend on a dare in the first week of term, and Wai-Yi Yap was annoyed when I copied her history answers, then got a higher mark because the teacher liked me more. And Jessica Dawes has never forgiven me for wearing the same dress as her to her pool party last summer. And then …’
‘I get the picture,’ said Friday. ‘It’s going to be a long list of suspects. I’ll have to get to the bottom of this another way, with a forensic examination of the crime scene.’
‘It’s a crowded bus travelling at a hundred kilometres an hour,’ said Bethany. ‘You can’t ask us to step outside.’
‘The driver could stop the bus,’ said Friday.
‘He will not,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘I don’t care if every student on this bus is shaved bald – we will not delay this trip. I’ve got to see to it that you’re dropped off so I can get back to school.’
‘Why, do you have a date tonight, sir?’ giggled Trea.
‘No, I want to savour every moment of not having you grotty year 7 students clogging up our school,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘Did he just call us grotty?’ asked Bethany.
Mirabella started crying again.
‘Don’t get angry with Mr Maclean,’ said Melanie soothingly. ‘It was a poor choice of words, but he is a geography teacher so his vocabulary probably isn’t very large.’
‘If you pick your feet up, I’ll investigate,’ said Friday, dropping to her knees and crawling under Bethany’s legs so she could check the floor around Mirabella.
‘What can you see?’ asked Melanie.
‘Not much,’ said Friday. ‘It’s pretty dark down here. I wish I had my headlamp, but it’s stowed in my suitcase under the bus.’
‘We’re not stopping to get it out,’ growled Mr Maclean.
‘Okay,’ said Friday. She didn’t want to stay on the floor any longer than she had to. The floor of a school bus is a wildly unhygienic place. And Bethany seemed to be swinging her feet into Friday’s back more than she needed too. ‘There’s hair everywhere down here.’
Mirabella wailed.
‘It’s under this seat, the one in front and the one behind,’ said Friday.
‘The bus is moving about,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘The hair would have rolled back and forth while Mirabella was sleeping.’
‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘And where is the weapon?’
‘You mean the scissors?’ said Mr Maclean. ‘There’s no need to be melodramatic.’
‘Cutting someone’s hair without their permission is assault,’ said Friday. ‘Therefore the implement used may be considered a weapon. Especially if it really was a weapon, like a knife.’
‘You’re not suggesting one of these students has a knife, are you?’ spluttered Mr Maclean. ‘They’re against school rules.’
‘Someone here has some sort of cutting implement and the lack of scruples to use it,’ said Friday, ‘and they wouldn’t want to be discovered with the device, so where could they have hidden it?’
‘It could be anywhere,’ said Melanie. ‘In a seat pocket, embedded in a cushion, or tucked behind the wall lining.’
‘But it would eventually be discovered,’ said Friday. ‘If it were me, I’d throw it out the window.’
Friday leaned over and pulled the window open. Only the small part at the top slid open. But it was plenty of room to throw an object out.
‘Then you’ll never find it,’ said Mr Maclean.
Suddenly the bus jolted and Mr Maclean was thrown sideways, knocking Friday into Mirabella and Bethany’s laps.
‘Get off!’ yelled Bethany.
‘You’re crushing me!’ accused Mirabella.
Melanie just sat down on the floor in the aisle.
The bus continued to swerve, first one way then the other, as the driver desperately tried to regain control of the vehicle. He was grinding through the gears and stomping on the compression brakes as he eventually brought the bus to a shuddering halt.
It took some time for Friday to disentangle herself and make it down the aisle of the bus, over and around discombobulated students. By the time she got outside, the bus driver was already inspecting the damage. He was standing behind the bus, hands on hips, shaking his head. Friday jogged over to join him. She could immediately see the problem. One of the tyres was as flat as a pancake. It was no wonder the driver struggled to control the veh
icle.
‘They’re brand new tyres,’ said the driver. ‘They only went on last week. Top-quality steel-belted radials. I don’t know how this could’ve happened.’
‘You must have driven over something,’ said Friday.
‘Out here on the freeway?’ said the driver. ‘There’s nothing on the road. And if there is, you can always see it from so far away you can change lanes to avoid it.’
‘Something must have punctured the tyre,’ said Friday, crouching down to inspect the rubber. She couldn’t see anything, so she ran her hand over the tread to check if she could feel anything.
‘I told you there’s nothing there,’ said the driver.
‘Could you roll the bus forward a metre?’ asked Friday. ‘Perhaps there’s something on the underside of the tyre.’
The bus driver grumpily went back to his driver’s seat, started the engine and rolled the bus forward just a little.
‘There’s something here!’ cried Friday. She looked closely at a piece of metal embedded in the tread. It was thin and about two centimetres long.
‘What is that?’ asked Mr Maclean. He and Melanie had come to find out what was happening.
‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘I have my suspicions. But let’s find out for sure.’ She removed a large penknife-style tool from her pocket.
‘You can’t carry that!’ exclaimed Mr Maclean. ‘It’s a dangerous weapon.’
‘We’re going to a wilderness camp,’ said Friday. ‘A utility tool is going to be handy.’
‘Give it to me,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘If I wanted to hurt another student, I could just hit them with a rock.’
‘It would be better to take your sock off, put the rock in the bottom and then use that to hit them,’ said Melanie.
Everyone turned to look at her.
‘What?’ said Melanie.
‘Nice use of applied physics,’ said Friday.
‘I learned that from watching prison dramas,’ said Melanie. ‘If you’re going to the pokey, you need to know how to bust heads.’
‘True. It’s a valuable life skill,’ agreed Friday as she opened the utility tool to the pliers function. ‘You see, Mr Maclean, it’s just a harmless pair of pliers for removing a nail or, in this case …’ Friday grabbed the object with the pliers and pulled hard, only to stumble backwards and land on her bottom as she yanked out …
A small pair of scissors.
‘What is that?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘It looks like nail scissors,’ said Friday, peering at them closely. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘What?’ asked Melanie.
‘There’s a name etched on the handle,’ said Friday. ‘It says … Mirabella Peterson.’
‘Right, that’s it,’ said Mr Maclean. He looked up and spotted Mirabella through the window. He banged on the toughened glass. ‘Mirabella, get down here right now!’
Mirabella sulkily made her way out of the bus and over to where they were standing. The driver had started to get out the jack and spare tyre.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ demanded Mr Maclean, waving the scissors in Mirabella’s face.
‘Careful, sir,’ said Melanie, ‘you shouldn’t wave scissors. You could poke Mirabella’s eye out.’
Mr Maclean glared at Melanie. He looked as if he would quite like to poke her eye out. He turned back to Mirabella.
‘Why were these scissors embedded in this tyre?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mirabella. ‘Why should I?’
‘They’re your scissors!’ yelled Mr Maclean. ‘Your name’s on them.’
‘Really?’ said Mirabella, taking a better look. ‘That would be Consuela. She’s the new maid. She’s grateful not to be living in a fishing village in the Philippines anymore. She’s got a very good work ethic. She doesn’t want to be sent home before her visa gets renewed.’
‘Why did you jam them in the tyre?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘I didn’t!’ said Mirabella. ‘I’ve never touched a tyre in my life.’
‘Not even a bicycle tyre?’ asked Melanie.
‘Goodness, no,’ said Mirabella. ‘We never ride bikes. Only ponies.’
‘Sir, look, there’s some hair trapped between the blades,’ said Friday as she closely inspected the scissors.
‘Don’t be disgusting, Barnes,’ said Mr Maclean contemptuously.
‘But it is clearly Mirabella’s hair,’ said Friday. ‘No one else has that uniquely artificial shade of blonde.’
Mirabella smiled and nodded proudly. ‘My stylist blends the peroxide herself.’
‘Yes, that is a ridiculous statement for so many reasons,’ said Friday. ‘Most of them to do with chemistry, so I won’t bother explaining them to you. But my point is, these were the scissors used to cut Mirabella’s hair. Then, once the crime was committed, in a thoughtless attempt to hide the evidence, the perpetrator must have thrown the scissors out of the window of the bus. The bus was travelling at one hundred kilometres per hour. That creates a significant draught, drawing air at high speed around the shell of the vehicle, which in turn would have sucked the scissors back in towards the bus, so they embedded in the tyre and then were pressed further in by the rotation of the wheel.’
‘Who would do such a thing?’ said Mr Maclean. ‘It’s days like this that make me really hate children. All I had to do was chaperone you out to the camp, then I could go back to the school and enjoy an afternoon off. But no. I have to put up with this.’ Mr Maclean threw his hands in the air in frustration. ‘Tell me who did it and I’ll see if I can get them expelled or, at the very least, suspended.’
Friday looked up at the bus. Forty faces were looking down at her. Some were smiling and giggling, and while she couldn’t hear them, they were clearly passing nasty comments amongst themselves.
‘Apparently no one,’ said Friday.
‘What?!’ exclaimed Mr Maclean. ‘You’re supposed to be the great detective. I thought you could work out anything.’
‘I said apparently no one,’ said Friday, ‘because all the people who had the opportunity, those sitting immediately around Mirabella, they all back each other up. Trea and Klara provide each other with the alibi of playing cards, and they support Bethany’s claim of meditating. Moiya and Twiggy cover for each other as well, because they both claim to have been engrossed in the horoscope book. And there is no way anyone else could have attacked Mirabella without one of those five girls noticing.’
‘So who did it?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘There’s only one possible answer,’ said Friday. ‘They all did.’
‘What?!’ exclaimed Mr Maclean.
‘They all did it,’ said Friday. ‘All five of them. It had to be one of them. And if they all say it was none of them, then they’re all in on this together.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘It is,’ agreed Friday, ‘but it’s the only explanation that works. So no matter how silly it is, it must be true.’
‘But they’re my friends!’ wailed Mirabella.
‘Yes, but they’re dreadful people,’ said Melanie.
Mirabella nodded as she sobbed. Melanie was quite right.
‘Trea, Klara and Twiggy, from the persistent bruises on their shins, I take it they’re in the lacrosse team,’ said Friday, ‘that you captain?’
Mirabella nodded. ‘They don’t like it when I make them carry the equipment, so I do it all the time.’
‘Bethany is Mirabella’s roommate,’ continued Friday, ‘so no doubt she has a litany of grievances against her. And Moiya is Barbara Trieste’s cousin, so she wouldn’t appreciate Mirabella’s reckless snogging.’
‘It’s amazing they didn’t shave your eyebrows off as well,’ said Melanie to Mirabella.
‘So all five of them had the opportunity and the motive to commit the crime,’ said Friday.
‘You can’t prove it,’ said Mr Maclean glumly. ‘There’s no evidence.’
/> ‘Oh yes, there is,’ said Friday. ‘The hair was under all their seats.’
‘But the movement of the bus would have made the hair slide around,’ said Mr Maclean.
Friday sighed. ‘Don’t you have to study some basic physics to be a geography teacher?’
‘What?’ said Mr Maclean.
‘Never mind,’ said Friday. ‘The answer is clearly no.’
‘Friday,’ said Melanie, ‘maybe you should be less rude. We are standing next to a freeway. You wouldn’t want Mr Maclean to push you in front of a moving car.’
‘All right, I’ll explain,’ said Friday. ‘The bus was travelling at one hundred kilometres per hour. It never turned, accelerated or decelerated. Therefore, the hair would not have moved. The hair sitting on the bus floor had the same momentum as the bus. It’s only when the bus changes its movement, that the hair would change its position. Therefore the location of the hair is proof.’
‘I’m going to call the Headmaster,’ said Mr Maclean, taking out his mobile phone.
‘Sir,’ said Friday, ‘don’t be too hasty. If you inform the Headmaster, he will have to suspend them. This is a serious breach of school rules.’
‘Too right,’ agreed Mr Maclean, starting to dial.
‘But think about it,’ urged Friday. ‘Getting suspended from a camp in the wilderness – nothing could delight them more. They’d love to go home to their computers and lovely clothes.’
Mr Maclean glanced up at the girls in question. They were looking unbelievably smug.
‘That’s probably the whole reason they came up with this ridiculous prank,’ said Friday. ‘If you really want to punish them, I’ve got a far better idea.’
‘What?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘Make them change the tyre on the bus,’ said Friday.
What followed was a wonderful hour of entertainment. Everyone got out of the bus and watched as the five girls changed the tyre while the bus driver gave them instructions. Watching them try to use tools, move a filthy tyre and work as a team was pricelessly funny. Even Mr Maclean had a good laugh. The best bit was when Trea Babcock slipped over in a muddy puddle and the spare tyre rolled right over her.
By the time they got back on the bus everyone was in a buoyant mood, ready for their adventure ahead. Except for the five culprits, who were now plotting ways of taking revenge on Friday.