Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [28]
I held my arm to the light. And there in the mirror was my proof. Three letters. R E D. The round-headed tacks on Red Sharkey’s hurl had etched their signature into my arm.
My detective’s brain accessed my file on bruising. Bruises faded quickly. Sometimes in hours. This purple bruising would quickly soften and spread. I needed to preserve the evidence before it blended with the rest of the tissue damage. There must be a way.
Of course, in a perfect world, I would simply press the call button and tell the nurse that I needed a digital camera immediately. But I knew from experience that adults do not react well to boy detectives. The nurse would more than likely look at me as though I had two heads and one of them was purple. I would be bundled into bed and possibly sedated until the bruising had faded. On top of that, I would be lucky to wake up without a child psychologist in the room.
I would have to do this on my own. I found my trainers and dressing gown in the cupboard. It took a minute to get the trainers on, because my feet felt like they belonged to someone else. I scolded my toes as though they were misbehaving infants.
‘Now, now, boys. Keep still. Good little piggies.’
A part of my brain realized that the anaesthetic still had a grip on my good sense, but the rest of me had evidence to process and was determined to be professional.
The hallway was clear. I could hear conversation on the wards, but there was nothing but floor tiles between me and the nurses’ station. I strolled across confidently, as if I had a medical reason for being there. The station was bordered by a semicircular counter, and behind that a few worn chairs. There was an extension lead on the floor. Plugged into it were a kettle and a photocopier.
I switched on the copier and waited, shuffling impatiently, while it heated up. At last the red light flashed green. I pulled back the lid and plonked my arm on the glass. That really should have hurt, and probably would later, but at that moment I felt no pain.
I made a copy. But it was worthless. No court in the world would admit it as evidence. The image was blurred and the reversed letters were barely visible. I tried again, darkening the picture. Still no good. Now my entire arm was coming out black.
This was ridiculous. In this age of technology, I was being thwarted by a Stone Age photocopier. I needed a digital camera. Right now. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed as though the incriminating bruises were already fading. If only my family were here. Hazel’s mobile phone had a built-in camera. But if I had removed my cast in front of my mother to take a photo of a bruise, she would have had a nervous breakdown on the spot.
May Devereux had a camera connected to the computer in her Wendy house. And I knew where the key to the Wendy house was. The Devereux house was barely a minute from the hospital. In fact Rhododendron Road was clearly visible from the main entrance. I could just saunter over there, snap a few quick photographs and nip back to bed before anyone knew. In my fuzzy mind, this plan made perfect sense.
I belted my dressing gown, thrust my injured arm deep in the pocket and pushed through the double doors into the reception area. In my semi-anaesthetized condition I decided it would be a good idea to sing a quiet little song, so as to appear casual and certainly not up to mischief. Unfortunately, because my brain was buzzing so loudly, I sang like someone wearing headphones. Out of tune. And louder than I intended.
‘To my little lady friends throughout the West,’ I warbled. My dad’s favourite country song, forever on the CD player in the kitchen. ‘I can’t never tell which one I loved best.’
A nurse blocked my path. She glared at me the way you might look at something that has crawled from a sewer leaving a trail behind it.
‘Excuse me, Tex,’ she said, hands on hips. ‘Would you mind reining in the voice. There are babies being born in this hospital. We wouldn’t want the first sound they hear to be your painful howling. There could