‘Shoulda seen that coming,’ hissed Clancy.
‘They never do,’ replied Ruby.
Naturally, then the murderers turn their attention to the dancer, and she has to run for it, still wearing her glittery yellow tap shoes, running across rooftops and cable-car cables and you name it. The shoes, noisy and sparkly, made her easy to spot.
One had to wonder why this woman couldn’t just stop off and buy a decent pair of sneakers? It would have saved her an awful lot of grief, but then that would spoil the whole premise of the movie.
‘Boy, does she have the loudest scream,’ said Clancy, his ears still ringing as he left the theatre.
‘The loudest scream in Hollywood was what they said,’ said the guy from the ticket booth.
‘It was highly unrealistic,’ commented Clancy, ‘but on balance I liked it.’
‘I think she’s a whole lot better in Don’t Call My Name, but then it’s a much better film,’ said the guy. ‘It’s a total classic.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Ruby.
‘The only reason the Canary is so famous,’ continued the ticket booth guy, ‘is because it’s the movie that made Bardem famous, and that’s only because she does those like totally cool stunts – I mean, without the stunts I don’t reckon Margo Bardem would have even been noticed.’
‘I can’t agree with you there Horace,’ said Ruby. ‘Margo’s got charisma and that goes a long way – she can deliver a comedy line as well as any comedian and that ain’t as easy as it looks.’
Horace shrugged. ‘I guess, but I still think it’s a lame film – take away those stunts and the film would have been a total wipe-out.’
Ruby and Clancy walked out into the sunlight.
‘So, you have a better idea now of who might have taken the shoes?’
‘Not a clue,’ said Ruby.
‘Me either,’ said Clancy.
They rode back towards West Twinford and on to Cedarwood Drive.
‘So what’s your plan,’ said Clancy, ‘the one you came up with to prevent me getting another detention?’
‘You’re taking grade five trumpet,’ said Ruby.
‘But I don’t even play the trumpet,’ said Clancy.
‘Exactly, so you can’t fail,’ said Ruby.
‘Jeepers,’ whined Clancy, ‘some great plan – I mean, totally foolproof.’
‘What do you mean? No one’s gonna ask you to suddenly play the trumpet,’ said Ruby.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Clancy. ‘Word gets around that I play the trumpet and suddenly I’m appearing at the junior high school concert.’
‘And that’s when you fake a broken finger or get amnesia,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s no biggy.’
‘I think you must have damaged more than your limbs in that fall,’ said Clancy. ‘So what’s your excuse?’
‘I’ve been at physio,’ said Ruby, holding her arm up, ‘damaged arms sure are useful.’
‘You have a legit excuse and I have a totally bogus one,’ moaned Clancy, but Ruby had stopped listening.
‘You know what, Clance, drop me right here on the corner of Lime, I need to get a pack of bubblegum, I’ll catch you tomorrow.’
Ruby hopped off and Clancy cycled towards home, all the time looking out for a possible ambush. He was tired of this feeling; constantly fearing a voice behind him, or worse. Like he needed another gormless Neanderthal patrolling the streets around school, calling him names. Bullies travelled in packs, hunting down the most vulnerable. Clancy fitted the bill, he knew he did, he always had. From his first toddler party, his first morning at kindergarten, he knew it.
There were plenty of kids smaller than him, skinnier, uglier (Clancy would actually be considered nice-looking, but it didn’t count for much when you totted up all the other victim check points). He just fitted a profile that caught the bullies’ attention and although he had a best friend in Ruby Redfort this in some ways only served to make his plight worse. They loathed him the more for it – he had this band of cool kids to hang out with, he was close to the toughest most popular kid of all, but he himself was a loser. What did she see in him, why pick him when she could hang out with better specimens? This was how they always saw it. He sighed to himself. Clancy Crew you are such a loser.
It was when Ruby was nearing Cedarwood Drive that she heard a sort of familiar voice. ‘Hey!’
She looked up and saw the good-looking boy hanging by his fingertips from the top of a street lamp.
‘Oh it’s you, the boy who goes round asking people personal questions.’
‘Hi,’ said the boy. He swung himself back and connected with the lamppost’s trunk and shinned down to the sidewalk.
‘What were you doing?’ asked Ruby.
‘Just testing my nerve, seeing how long I could hang without, you know, falling.’
‘Sounds like an intelligent pursuit,’ said Ruby.
‘You should try it from a crane,’ said the boy, whistling. ‘Really pumps the adrenalin, and, you know, it’s something to do.’
‘That’s your motivation?’ She looked at him with such an intense expression that he looked away uneasily. ‘So,’ said Ruby, ‘what is it?’
‘What?’
‘Your name buster.’
‘My friends call me Beetle,’ said the boy.
‘If that’s what you wanna go by then that’s fine with me,’ shrugged Ruby.
‘You’re Ruby, right?’
‘Word gets around.’
‘Last time I saw you, you had a cast – on your arm.’
‘Yes I did, and now I don’t,’ said Ruby.
‘So they sawed it off?’ he said.
‘It would seem so,’ said Ruby, looking at her cast-free arm.
‘Did it hurt – when they took it off, I mean?’
‘Only when they sawed right through and on into my arm.’
He looked alarmed for a second and then nodded. ‘Oh, you’re kidding.’ He laughed a bit too much, as if trying to show that he really got the joke. ‘Do you maybe want something to drink. . . or eat?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘that’s why I’m heading home.’
‘You wanna grab a bite, like, somewhere else maybe?’
‘Nope,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not really persuadable that way. Once I’ve made my mind up about what I want to eat, that’s pretty much it.’
‘Some other time?’ ventured the boy.
‘Maybe,’ said Ruby. ‘I’m not making any firm plans today because I got a lot on my mind.’
‘Sure,’ said the boy. ‘By the way, what’s your T-shirt about?’
Ruby looked down; she had forgotten which one she was wearing today. It read: did you spot the gorilla?
‘It’s to remind me of something,’ she said disappearing around the corner.
Chapter 28.
SO RUBY HADN’T BEEN EXACTLY STRAIGHT UP WITH BEETLE – she was not heading home but was on her way to Spectrum to see how the investigation was going. Although she was hoping to eat, she did have something particular in mind and happily she found it in the Spectrum canteen.
After wolfing down her burger she hurried to the violet code zone. As usual, Froghorn was in room 324 (the Frog Pod, as Blacker called it). This was where he spent most of his time when at Spectrum; his work involved entering all available data into the Spectrum computers. Newspapers, crime reports, police records, you name it.
Froghorn had been tasked with searching through the records of all crimes committed in Twinford City, looking for robberies which might bear close resemblance to the crimes Spectrum were already investigating. If they could figure out when and where the mysterious thief had first struck, they could recover the first loyalty card and hopefully then decipher the code.
Froghorn didn’t acknowledge Ruby’s arrival but Blacker gave her a smile and a friendly greeting.
‘Hey Ruby, just the person we need on this.’
‘You found something?’ she asked.
‘Froghorn has,’ repl
ied Blacker. ‘Fill us in why don’t you, Miles.’
Froghorn cleared his throat and began.
‘Well, I brought up the robbery cases and set aside all the unsolved or unexplained. Of the ones I printed out, the only burglary that made any kind of link with the Little Yellow Shoes and the book of poetry was a break-in at Mr Baradi’s place, on the twenty-sixth floor of the Lakeridge Square apartment block, though nothing has ever been reported missing.’
Ruby remembered hearing about this on the cab driver’s radio the day she had her cast removed. ‘I heard about it,’ she said.
‘As far as the way the break-in was conducted,’ said Froghorn, ‘it’s identical to the Okra burglary.’
Blacker was looking at the report. ‘I visited the scene this morning. Everything about the break-in is the same, so it would suggest that the crimes are connected, though why did the thief not take anything? Did he change his mind?’
‘Maybe not,’ suggested Ruby. ‘Maybe he did take something, but Mr Baradi still hasn’t figured out what it was.’
‘Or, just say,’ said Blacker, ‘that the robber made a mistake. Imagine you are two hundred feet up in the air, dangling from a piece of string. . . I mean, it would be pretty easy to lose your bearings, take the wrong turn, get the wrong floor, come in the wrong window. The Lakeridge Building is huge. Maybe he was trying to target a different apartment, say on the twenty-seventh floor rather than the twenty-sixth, maybe he just counted the floors wrong.’
‘So you’re saying, maybe he broke into Mr Baradi’s by mistake?’
‘Yep.’
‘So. . . what?’
‘So maybe he realised his mistake,’ said Blacker. ‘And maybe he corrected it. Climbed back out the window, climbed up or down to the right level – maybe the twenty-fifth or twenty-seventh – and went back in, stole what he was after, then strolled on down and out the door of the building.’
‘With the first item. . .’ said Ruby.
‘Yeah.’
‘So how come it hasn’t been reported?’ asked Ruby.
Blacker shrugged. ‘Could be the owner of the apartment is away or if he is anything like me then he wouldn’t notice a break-in – I’m telling you my place is real chaotic.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Froghorn in a sarcastic tone. ‘I had you pegged as Mr Tidy.’
‘No, Miles, it looks pretty much like a dump.’
‘So how sure are you that the thief comes in at the window and leaves by the door?’ asked Ruby.
‘Pretty sure,’ nodded Blacker. ‘There are marks on the outside of the Okras’ window frame, like someone spent a while trying to get the thing to open – he had to force it – and, well, the front door was unlocked from the inside. Mr Baradi’s window was found open even though he swears blind that he is an air-con-all-the-way sorta guy.’
‘You don’t think he could have opened it?’ said Ruby, ‘and then forgot that he opened it?’
‘I have to say, I’m inclined to believe him when he says he never ever opens a window; it was kinda fuggy in there.’ Blacker made a face at the memory of it. It was then that Froghorn’s phone began to ring and he signalled that they should continue without him.
‘And the door?’ asked Ruby.
‘The door was unlocked from the inside,’ said Blacker, ‘though we have no actual proof that Mr Baradi didn’t unlock it himself.’
‘You think he could be an attention-seeker?’ asked Ruby. ‘Just made the whole thing up?’
‘He doesn’t seem the type,’ said Blacker, ‘he’s kinda straight-forward, meat and potatoes all the way. It’s possible, of course, but my instinct tells me no.’
‘And the Little Yellow Shoes robbery?’
‘If they are linked to the Okra robbery then how the thief entered the building is more of a mystery,’ said Blacker.
‘You don’t think he came in through the window?’
Blacker frowned. ‘The thing is although there is a window in the safe-room at the Scarlet Pagoda theatre and although it is easy to open, there is no way a grown man or woman could make it through – it’s too small. You’d have to be some kind of contortionist.’
They were silent for a minute, until Blacker added, ‘What we do know is this thief goes to a lot of effort getting in but doesn’t seem to waste energy making his escape.’
‘Why bother climbing down a building if you can walk out the door,’ said Ruby.
‘Agreed,’ said Blacker. ‘But this guy must be pretty confident that he won’t get seen exiting the premises.’
‘So I guess the doorman’s always on duty? This is a fancy apartment block the Okras live in, right?’
‘Totally,’ said Blacker. ‘There are cameras, so anyone using the backstairs would be picked up on film.’
‘And Mr Baradi’s place?’
‘Not so much,’ said Blacker, ‘but what it lacks in fancy it makes up for in nosy neighbours. Mr Grint on the ground floor spends his whole time in the lobby watching people come and go.’
‘And what does Mr Grint say?’ asked Ruby.
‘He didn’t see any strangers that evening, not a one.’
‘So what’s your theory?’
‘The investigators think the thief must hang out somewhere in the building, a maintenance closet or somewhere like that. Then once it’s morning and the building gets busy he leaves, perhaps disguising himself as a mailman or maintenance.’
‘So what next?’ asked Ruby.
‘Froghorn is calling the TCPD, asking them if they could check out the apartments directly above and below Mr Baradi’s.’
‘You think you might be right about your theory – that the thief got the wrong floor first go, and so tried again?’
‘You know what, Rube – yes, I do.’
‘So you’re checking the floors above and below?’
‘Yes,’ said Blacker. ‘Yes, I am.’
When Ruby reached home her brain was swimming with thoughts; she lay back on her beanbag and stared up at the ceiling and tried to pull them in, stack them up, create some kind of pattern with them.
ITEM ONE: Unknown, but possibly taken from the 26th/27th/25th floor of the Lakeridge Square apartment block.
ITEM TWO: Little Yellow Shoes worn by Margo Bardem in the film, The Cat that Got the Canary. Part filmed in the Scarlet Pagoda. Stolen from the top floor of the Scarlet Pagoda.
ITEM THREE: the poetry book – A Line Through My Centre by JJ Calkin – a man who spent a lot of time hanging out at the Scarlet Pagoda, where apparently he went to see his “muse”. Question: who was his muse?
The book was found by Mr Okra on a plane when he was travelling back from LA to Twinford. Previous owner unknown. Stolen from Mr Okra’s nightstand in #914, a ninth-floor apartment in the Fountain Heights Building. Handwritten inscription: To my darling Cat from your Celeste.
This sounded like a reference to the characters in the film – there was after all a cat and a Celeste, the characters played by Hugo Gerard and Margo Bardem.
And one thing was for sure: the Scarlet Pagoda certainly connected both items.
Ruby took the poetry book from her drawer. The way the poems were laid out was interesting in itself. They weren’t simply all arranged in verses and lines: some of them travelled across the page, words changing size as they went as if to make a point of what they were saying, the hidden thought, the subtext. They were none of them poems that rhymed and none of them straightforward in their meaning.
The poem that didn’t seem to be there, poem 14, was called You are a Poem, Celeste, so was it merely a coincidence that the handwritten inscription was from someone also called Celeste? And was it a coincidence that the character in The Cat that Got the Canary was called Celeste too? Ruby didn’t think so.
She turned back to the cover.
JJ Calkin. A Line Through My Centre.
Click, click, click went her brain.
A line through the centre.
And she set about in search of poem number 14
.
It wasn’t difficult
breaking in this time. . .
. . .in fact he didn’t have to do any breaking in at all. No forcing windows or contorting through air vents – he just walked right in the door, followed her in.
There was a moment when he thought she might have sensed him but how could she know that he was there? He had watched her as she placed the 8 key in the little safe-box, memorised the combinations and when she had left the safe-room he had taken it – just like that.
Easy as 1 2 3.
Chapter 29.
‘OUR THEORY WAS CORRECT,’ said Blacker, ‘our thief did make a mistake when he went into Mr Baradi’s. And did then break into the right place.’
‘Huh,’ said Ruby. She had forgotten to turn her transmitter off on the Escape Watch and Blacker’s voice had pierced through her unconscious and dragged her from her dreams.
‘Our theory was correct, re: the window thief.’
‘Your theory,’ said Ruby, ‘I can’t take credit for it.’ She stumbled to her desk and picked up a pencil. ‘So which apartment was it that got burgled?’
‘25C,’ said Blacker, ‘I think he came in the window of 26C, couldn’t find what he wanted, opened the front door to check he had the right apartment number, saw he had screwed up and went back out the window.’
‘Why didn’t he just decide to take the stairs?’ She was noting down everything Blacker was saying.
‘It’s not his style – anyway, maybe he’s no locksmith, maybe to him, climbing in through the window is easier than breaking a lock, who can say?’ said Blacker. ‘Or maybe he’s just making a point.’
Ruby stretched her arms out, yawning. ‘What time is it, man?’
‘You’re not up? Aren’t you supposed to be school-bound?’ said Blacker.
She reached for her glasses and peered at her bird alarm clock.
‘Yeah.’ She yawned again. ‘So what are you saying? He climbed down a level and came in the window of 25C, is that it?’