The Case of the Exploding Brains Page 3

  “When you’ve finished, geniuses,” Aggressive Policeman interrupts, “there’s some confusion about the length of time Alexander West was missing from the group.”

  “No time at all,” Remarkable Student Alexander protests. “Unless you count a quick toilet break.”

  “Quick? You were gone for over thirty minutes,” I say.

  “More like five.” Alexander stares at Shazia, Omar and Giles until they murmur in agreement.

  “We’ll go with the majority,” Aggressive Policeman says, scribbling in his notebook.

  “Why?” I protest. “Why go with the majority when the majority is wrong? Go with the person who’s right – me!” I add, in case that part’s not clear.

  Porter pulls my sleeve and murmurs under his breath, “He wasn’t in the toilet.”

  “Huh?”

  “I don’t know where Alexander was,” Porter whispers, “but he wasn’t in the toilet.”

  I try to share this important clue with Aggressive Policeman.

  CLUE 7

  Remarkable Student Alexander lied about where he went. And Shazia, Omar and Giles lied to cover up his lies.

  Aggressive Policeman isn’t interested. “What about Joe Slater? Was he, or was he not, close to the Moon Rock when it vanished?”

  I’d be more than happy for them to lock up Smokin’ Joe and throw away the key, so it’s hard to admit, “He was nowhere near it.”

  “That’s not what your friends think.” Aggressive Policeman scowls.

  “I saw Joe smash the glass,” Holly says apologetically.

  I nod. “But he was on the other side of the room when the Moon Rock disappeared.”

  “How can you be sure?” Aggressive Policeman glances at the wall clock, clearly keen to move things along.

  “Because I can picture it.” I close my eyes and visualise my last glimpse of the Moon Rock, less than a minute before Museum Curator Gnome announced its disappearance. Smokin’ Joe is at least ten metres away from the smashed display case.

  “What do you mean, ‘picture it’?” Aggressive Policeman snaps.

  “Know-All has a photographic memory,” Holly says. “She can remember everything she sees.”

  “Then she must have had her eyes closed,” Remarkable Student Shazia says. “Because Joe Slater was right next to that Moon Rock. I saw him.”

  Alexander, Giles and Omar nod in agreement.

  CLUE 8

  The Remarkable Students are claiming to have seen things they couldn’t have seen.

  “Great,” I mutter. “Another majority. I guess that means he must have been where they say he was.”

  Aggressive Policeman seems to think so. He notes it in his book and clicks the end of his pen, up and down, up and down, staring at me.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Why does your account differ from everyone else’s?”

  “Because everyone else is wrong?”

  “Are you saying your friends are lying?” Aggressive Policeman asks.

  “No. I’m saying the Remarkable Students are lying and my friends weren’t paying enough attention.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Holly admits.

  “Someone else must have seen what I saw,” I say. “What about the woman under the blanket?”

  “What woman under the blanket?” Aggressive Policeman flicks through his reports.

  Remarkable Student Alexander points at me and then twirls his fingers beside his head, making the universal sign for ‘crazy person’.

  Aggressive Policeman’s mouth tightens. “You do not want to play games with me, young lady.”

  “Absolutely not,” I agree. No way would I ever sit down to a game of Cluedo with Aggressive Policeman. He strikes me as a very bad loser.

  Aggressive Policeman scribbles something else in his notebook.

  “What are you writing?” I ask. “What have I done?”

  “Why don’t you tell me?” This seems to be Aggressive Policeman’s idea of sharp interrogation.

  “How can I tell you if I don’t know?”

  “What do you know?”

  “Lots of things. My sister’s right, I have a photographic memory. I can remember everything I’ve—”

  Aggressive Policeman raises his hand. “Not interested in your memory,” he says, “Tell me what you know about the Moon Rock.”

  “I wrote everything in my statement. If you read it properly, instead of ignoring it because it doesn’t match everyone else’s, you’ll see—”

  “Watch your attitude,” Aggressive Policeman blusters. “You think you’re smarter than the police because you’ve got some kind of photogenic memory . . . ?

  “Photographic,” I point out politely. “I doubt my memory looks particularly good in pictures.”

  “Photographic, photogenic, photic-schmotic. I don’t care, Miss. Let me tell you—”

  I don’t get to hear what he’s planning to tell me because we’re interrupted by the Museum Curator Gnome.

  “Which of you young folk would be Noelle and Holly Hawkins?” He glances from our table to the other school party.

  I’m about to step forward when I notice his shirt sleeves are covered in blood.

  He sees me flinch. “Fear not, small person. This blood is not mine. It came from the nasal passages of one of our poor, unfortunate security guards.”

  Reassuring. Not.

  “Nosebleed, you say?” Aggressive Policeman scribbles in his notebook. “Could that be an effect of the Moon Rock?”

  Museum Curator Gnome scratches his chin. “Seems a bit early, but we must be on our guard. One of these young gentlemen was similarly affected, I recall.” He spots Smokin’ Joe. “You, my fine young fellow! How are your nasal passages?”

  Smokin’ Joe ignores Museum Curator Gnome and fiddles with his headphones.

  Archimedes! Look at the colour of them. How did I not notice that before?

  CLUE 9

  Smokin’ Joe is wearing turquoise headphones.

  “Excuse me.” I pull the gnome’s sleeve, carefully avoiding the blood. “Did the security guard with the nosebleed have a turquoise walkie-talkie?”

  “What a strange question, child. I have more important things to do than . . . Wait! Yes, I think he did. I noticed something off about the fellow, but I was too busy being bled on to give it my full attention. Turquoise walkie-talkies? Yes, indeed. Whatever next?”

  I look at Holly and Porter. They’re already looking at me. So is Museum Curator Gnome.

  He peers over his glasses at my face. “You’re one of the Hawkins girls, aren’t you? Striking family resemblance.” He turns to peer at Holly. “You too. A less striking resemblance, but it’s still there. The daughters of Professor ‘Big Brain’ Brian, I presume?”

  I nod. Aggressive Policeman’s lips twist and he makes another note in his book. I try not to sink in my chair. I used to be proud when people linked me to Dad, but that was when he was just a famous celebrity scientist. Now he’s an infamous crazy-scientist who faked his own death by blowing up a public toilet.

  Museum Curator Gnome doesn’t seem to hold that against him. “Terribly sorry to hear of your father’s misfortunes,” he says. “He was a wonderful supporter of the Science Museum and a splendidly clever fellow. He’d have found a solution to this dreadful situation. When I discovered his daughters were on the premises I thought you might be able to help – I didn’t realise how small you’d be. Still, I’m sure you’ll be smashingly bright when you’re older, just like your father. I was devastated when I heard he’d perished. Delighted to discover he’d just . . . er . . . just . . .”

  “Just blown up a public toilet and pretended to be dead?” Holly spits out the words in disgust.

  “Mmm. Yes. That.” Museum Curator Gnome nods.

  “I’m not that young,” I point out. “I’m twelve and I have an IQ of one hundred and fifty-seven.”

  Museum Curator Gnome isn’t listening. “Do ask the old chap if he plans to return and complete his r
esearch after his . . . break. Shouldn’t be embarrassed about . . . er . . . you know. These things happen to us all.”

  I’m so busy wondering what Museum Curator Gnome gets up to in his spare time if he thinks being arrested for exploding a toilet ‘happens to us all’ that I forget to ask what Dad was researching.

  Never mind. I know who can tell me about the research. And the nosebleeds. And the moon connection.

  Dad.

  Luckily I’ve already booked a visit for tomorrow.

  6

  Softer Cell

  Days Left to Save the Earth: 13

  I stride through the Prison Visitors’ Centre. Vigil-Aunty scuttles along behind me. The metal detector doesn’t scare me now I’ve swapped to multivitamins-with-zinc, which have the added benefit of protecting me from jail germs.

  Dad joins us at Table Eight, looking much better than he did last time. Maybe he’s taking zinc too. His limp is gone, the bruises are fading and his nose is more Ernie from Sesame Street than Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Plus he’s shaved off the stupid goatee beard he grew when he was the Great Leader of LOSERS.

  It’s harder to be mad at him when he looks like the Dad I remember.

  “How are the Neanderthugs?” I ask.

  The smile wobbles and Dad glances over his shoulder, relaxing when he sees no one’s listening. “All good.”

  “So tell me what happened at the Science Museum,” I whisper.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Of course you do . . . Louis Pasteur!” I cling to my chair as Hell Raizah approaches. “How can one man be so big?”

  Vigil-Aunty reaches for her Handbag of Mass Destruction, forgetting she had to leave it with security. I doubt it would have worked against Hell Raizah anyway. He’s built to withstand Armageddon. Like a large cockroach. With biceps.

  He slaps Dad on the back in a way you’d only welcome if you had mints blocking your windpipe. But there are signs it might have been intended as a friendly whack as Hell Raizah is carrying a fluffy moon toy with miniature arms and legs and he lifts one of the spindly arms to give Dad a wave.

  Freaky. Yet interesting.

  CLUE 10

  Hell Raizah wants the moon (because, weirdly, he’s convinced it will make him stronger) and a piece of the moon has been stolen.

  CLUE 11

  The Neanderthugs are being abnormally friendly to Dad.

  “Why so chummy?” I narrow my eyes at Dad as Hell Raizah gives him another moon-man wave and the Neanderthug at Table Two gives a cheery thumbs-up. “They’re treating you like . . .” I pause for a millisecond.

  Vigil-Aunty leaps in to fill the gap. “Like the winner of a criminal X-Factor competition.”

  Dad rolls his eyes “Wasn’t ‘Introduce Similes Into Your Life Week’ last week, Vera?”

  “It was.” Vigil-Aunty nods. “But I’m struggling with ‘Embrace Onomatopoeia Week’.”

  “BANG!” Dad slams his hand on the table.

  “For goodness’ sake, Brian,” Vigil-Aunty protests as the guards look over.

  “Just demonstrating onomatopoeia,” Dad says. “WHAM!” he slaps his hand down again.

  I giggle at the expression on Vigil-Aunty’s face, but I know Dad’s trying to change the subject and I won’t let him.

  “So, Dad, why are they being so nice to you?”

  Dad shrugs. “Probably because I’ve been teaching them a bit of English.”

  “But they are English,” I remind him.

  “Not so you’d notice,” Dad mutters. “I may have taught them a bit of ICT too.”

  “ICT? What are you talking about?” Vigil-Aunty nostrils flare. “You are not allowed access to a computer or any other technology in here, Brian. The judge said so.”

  Dad gives me a wink. I have no idea why. Probably best that way. I don’t want to become an accessory (as in ‘a person who assists with crime’ not ‘a human hair scrunchie’). Plus, I have other, more important, things to find out.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your research at the Science Museum?” I ask.

  “Never came up,” Dad mumbles.

  “Research? What research?” Vigil-Aunty screeches. “This better not have anything to do with those brain rays, Brian. Not after they caused all that trouble last time.”

  “All three brain rays were destroyed,” I begin . . . and then I remember Smokin’ Joe’s nosebleed. “At least that’s what Dad told me. Right, Dad?”

  Dad does more mumbling. “One melted in the fire and another was disabled by a top-secret government organisation called the Bureau Against Dangerous Devices in Ireland, England and Scotland.”

  “What about Wales?” Vigil-Aunty asks.

  “Wales must have opted out.”

  “More importantly, what about the other brain ray?” I ask. “It wasn’t destroyed, was it, Dad? Don’t lie. I’ll know and I’ll hate it.”

  Dad stares at his hands and says, barely loud enough to hear, “It’s in a safe place.”

  I don’t believe it. As if the Moon Rock wasn’t enough to worry about.

  CLUE 12

  One of the brain rays is still out there.

  “Tell me where it is.” I glance at the clock. “And tell me what you’ve done with the Moon Rock. We don’t have much time. The world needs saving. You need to start talking.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Dad asks. “You haven’t been very good at keeping my secrets so far.”

  I gasp. How unfair is that?

  It’s Vigil-Aunty’s turn to slam her fist on Table Eight.

  “CRASH!” Dad shouts.

  “Oh, shut up, Brian!” Vigil-Aunty snaps. “Noelle’s the only member of your family who can stand to be near you, and now you’re upsetting her too. Frying children’s brains is not a ‘secret’, you stupid man – it’s a crime. Where is your remorse? Where are the apologies? You haven’t even asked how my sister is. And what about Holly?”

  Dad rocks back on his chair, looking ashamed but grumpy. He doesn’t like being told off. He likes being told how great he is . . . Aha! That might work.

  “The policeman told us the Moon Rock theft was a professional job.” I watch Dad’s face. “The work of a criminal mastermind.”

  Vigil-Aunty mutters something about ‘criminal mastermind’ being an oxymoron. Dad looks tempted to onomatopoeia-ify her again.

  “Was it you, Dad?” I ask. “Were you the criminal mastermind?”

  “How could I be when I was locked in here?”

  “That’s what I want to know. I know you were involved, Dad. How did you do it? Does this have something to do with these ICT lessons?”

  Dad smiles. Even when he’s trying to keep things secret he likes it when I figure things out. But all he says is, “So many questions, Know-All.”

  “And so few answers,” I reply. “Can you at least tell me about the research you were doing?”

  Dad chews his fingernails.

  “Or tell me why Hell Raizah’s so happy.”

  More fingernail nibbling.

  I jump to my feet and then quickly sit back down again when scary criminals turn to stare at me. “I need to know what’s going on, Dad. Removing the Moon Rock from its case put everyone’s life in danger. I’m going to be busy saving the world, so if you won’t help me by telling me what you know, I won’t have time to visit you for a while.”

  Dad slumps in his chair, his shoulders drooping, but I refuse to feel sorry for him.

  “I mean it, Dad. If you won’t speak to me then I don’t see the point in coming back.”

  “What if I give you a clue?”

  “What kind of clue?”

  Dad doesn’t answer. The prison guards announce visiting time is almost over.

  I pinch my lips together and tap my fingers on the table. I hate the woolliness of the word ‘clue’ but I need to find out what Dad knows. Growling in frustration, I mutter, “Okay, I’ll come back if you give me a clue.”

  Dad edges his chair clo
ser and whispers, “Ask your friend Porter about the museum volunteers.”

  7

  Any Volunteers?

  Porter is squatting in the oak tree outside Holly’s bedroom window when we get home. It’s Vigil-Aunty’s fault he’s happier outside, balancing on a branch, than in here with us. Even though Mum clearly invited Porter to stay for as long as he wants while his mother’s missing, Vigil-Aunty keeps asking what his plans are and telling everyone who’ll listen that Mum should never have taken him in.

  I’ve told Porter not to take it personally – if everyone Vigil-Aunty has offended this month sat in our tree, there’d be no room left on the branch for him. But he still won’t come inside, which is annoying because it’s hard to hold a conversation through a window.

  “What did Dad mean about the volunteers?”

  “No idea.” Porter doesn’t look up, just sits there shredding leaves.

  “Please come in,” I say. “I feel ill watching you perch out there like some sort of over-sized squirrel.”

  “Nice simile. Vigil-Aunty would be proud.” Holly leans out of the window to yell at Porter. “Stop being an idiot. Come in and tell us what you know.”

  “I don’t know anything. And I’m not coming in. I like it out here. Fresh air helps me think.”

  “Then start thinking about what Dad meant,” Holly snaps.

  “I already told you. I. Don’t. Know.”

  “Liar.” Holly throws a hairbrush at him. “Fine. You sit out there looking for nuts while Know-All and I solve this case on our own.” She makes a big thing of pulling the window down, but I notice she leaves it open a crack at the bottom.

  “Looks like it’s down to us, Know-All,” she says with her bossy face on. “We need a list of museum volunteers and a lift to the Science Museum. You get the list and I’ll pester Uncle Max for the lift. It shouldn’t be hard to convince him. Vigil-Aunty will like the idea. She’s always saying that you need to get out more and that I should do some educational activities.”