Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [41]
As we passed through Lock’s housing estates, I tried to imitate Red’s swagger, become a Sharkey. Red had a way of walking on a path that made him look cool. Everything he did, from opening a can of cola to running his fingers along a rail, looked cool. It would take me several lifetimes to perfect that. When I opened a can of cola, it looked as though I was afraid it would explode, which it often did.
‘What are you doing?’ Red asked. ‘Did someone kick you in the behind?’
I decided, foolishly, to tell the truth. ‘I’m walking cool. Like you.’ I wiggled my fingers theatrically. ‘Being a Sharkey.’
Red raised an eyebrow. Just one.
‘Being a Sharkey? Listen, Half Moon, being a Sharkey is not something you can learn in a day. You might fool an adult, but not a kid. Just stand behind me and hope nobody notices you.’
I shot Red with a finger gun to show that I understood.
‘What was that?’
‘It was, you know, a finger gun. It means loud and clear. Ten four.’
Red sighed. ‘Thank goodness for that. I thought you were about to start picking your nose.’
I stopped trying to be cool after that.
Mercedes’s house was empty. Her father owned the local paper, and her mother was editor-in-chief, so both were probably out beating on doors to find me. The house was an old detached building with wild ivy scaling the walls and weeds clawing their way through cracks in the flagstones.
‘Nice place,’ commented Red.
‘If you like jungles,’ I said. ‘Lucky for us, the Sharps like a natural-style garden.’
‘Why is that lucky for us?’
‘Because the crime scene should be relatively uncontaminated, except by the weather.’
We slipped down the side path around to the back of the house.
‘I wonder which is Mercedes’s window?’ said Red.
It didn’t take long to figure out. There were six windows at the rear of the house, but only one had the word Mercedes spray-painted on the glass.
‘I’m guessing that one. Whoever took the minidisc must have been grateful.’
‘Mercedes has a sister, you know,’ Red pointed out.
‘Your point being?’
‘My point being, Half Moon, that the sister probably lifted the minidisc. That’s what sisters are for.’
‘Good point. We’ll check on that later. Somehow.’
There was a flower bed at the base of the wall. Just a bed. No flowers. It seemed as though they had been ripped out.
‘Signs of a search,’ I noted, scribbling it down in the notebook that the Sharkeys had thoughtfully stolen from my room. ‘Someone really went through this.’
‘Maybe a gardener?’
‘No. We’ve got rose stalks here, and ferns. These aren’t weeds. Someone was looking for something.’
I pulled back a sheaf of withered ferns. Below it was a second giant footprint. A connection. For a moment I felt light-headed. Here was the first concrete proof that there was a link between the crimes. And where there was a link, there was a pattern. Bernstein. Chapter six.
‘Red, can you photograph this?’
Red held the phone at arm’s length. ‘This guy is big, Half Moon. Maybe too big.’
Red was right, but I didn’t care. I had the scent in my nose. There was a connection and I was right. The truth might hurt, but it was the truth and I would find it.
‘We have no choice,’ I said. ‘Either he’s the criminal or I am.’
I swept the area for more clues, but in all honesty we were lucky to find the footprint and evidence of a frenzied search. We were about to pack up when something scraped on the gravel behind us.
‘Red Sharkey?’ said a voice. ‘What are you, like, doing?’
I knew who it was before turning. A private detective does not forget the voice of his first cash customer. April. I kept my head down, using Red’s frame as a shield. Through the crook of this arm, I could see her. April was dressed perfectly, as ever, in a pastel-pink tracksuit, a matching lunch box dangling from one hand.
Red was calm under pressure. I got the feeling he was used to being under pressure.
‘Hey, April. I was walking past, thought I saw someone suspicious