Half Moon Investigations - Eoin Colfer [81]
I spent my time faking the symptoms of posttraumatic stress disorder to avoid facing everyone. I walked around staring into space, hoping that nobody would try to strike up a conversation. This tactic proved successful. My sister, Hazel, was very happy with the new me and was making a documentary on my progress.
At school, most people left me alone. Even the remains of Les Jeunes Étudiantes are afraid to stir up the hornets’ nest.
Sergeant Murt Hourihan was the closest thing I had to an ally. He stood up to Chief Quinn, insisting that the investigation against me be scrapped. Of course, Gregor Devereux is suing me for slander, but his case has about as much hope before a jury as a house of straw has before the big bad wolf. Especially since Devereux made a full confession in the police station. His lawyer advised him not to press charges against my mother for assault, as he had just been threatening her son.
Murt called over to the house when things had settled down.
‘How are you holding up, Sherlock?’ he asked when he had finally managed to get me alone at the kitchen table.
‘Sherlock Holmes is a creation,’ I said sullenly. ‘At the end of the book, he moves on to the next adventure. I can’t move on. I live here.’
Murt leaned back in the chair, popping a jacket button.
‘That was a nice trick, planting the minidisc in Gregor Devereux’s turn-up. Lucky he didn’t spot the plant.’
‘It was an Elvis track, from the hall sound system. Herod did it when Devereux pushed him over. We had it set up.’
‘Totally illegal of course. It’s entrapment.’
‘I don’t care about procedure any more. I’m finished with law and order.’
Murt sighed. ‘There was once this poet fellow by the name of Keats,’ he stated.
Murt was full of surprises. ‘What about Keats?’
‘Well now, young Keats was well known for immortal lines, and my own particular favourite is: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty, that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” Do you see what I mean?’
‘I’m not sure. What do you think you mean?’
Murt spun his cap on to the kitchen table like a frisbee, ‘Ah, nice to see a spark of the smart aleck we all know and love. What I think I mean is that truth is priceless. Or to give it the Sergeant Murt Hourihan treatment: Tell me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth or go directly to jail. When you exposed Gregor Devereux, you gave everyone in that hall the gift of truth.’
‘May didn’t see it as a gift. She hates me.’
Murt snagged an apple from the fruit bowl. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Life is like an apple.’
I raised my head out of my hands to look at the apple. This should be good.
Murt stared at the apple for several moments, then ate it in half a dozen bites. ‘OK, I can’t finish that simile. But give me some credit for the Keats. Come on, I looked that up on the Internet.’
‘You better change your police-site password,’ I said guiltily.
Murt gave me the eye. ‘Why do you say that?’
I avoided his gaze. ‘I guessed it. Blue Flew. Too obvious.’
‘Hmm. I think you’re right. Anyway, better you guessing it than someone dangerous. There are people who would have a field day with that information.’
I nodded listlessly.
‘Come on, Fletcher. Gimme a smile. May despises you now. She blames you for what’s happened. But do you really think that this is your fault? You did the right thing, however unorthodox your methods.’
My head knew that Murt was right, but my heart couldn’t accept it.
Truth is beauty. It was a few weeks later and I was sitting on my own in the lunch hall. Life was rolling along with no regard for my personal gloom. Kids were chatting, flirting and fighting, and occasionally eating.
Didn’t these people realize how depressed I was? I had turned my back on two things that were very important to me. My chosen profession and an unlikely friend. Red.
It had been awkward between us since the talent competition. We had been partners,