A Pocketful of Eyes (19 page)

BEE’S ALARM WENT OFF AT
seven-thirty on Sunday morning, but she thumped it and went back to sleep.

She woke again at 8:59, and stretched out in bed. Gus’s funeral was at eleven, but she wasn’t going. And she wasn’t going back to the museum, either. Ever again. She’d been threatened by Kobayashi and Featherstone and it wasn’t as though Toby would be there to back her up. Screw them all. They could have their murderer. It wasn’t her problem. She’d tried to help, but everyone seemed equally corrupt and unpleasant. And it was too big, anyway. Too big a mystery for Bee. It wasn’t just missing jewels or a long-lost sibling. This was murder and blackmail and stealing important scientific research.

At 9:26 am, Bee emerged from her bedroom. Her mother was sitting on the couch, scowling at some mail.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Bee, wandering into the kitchen for coffee.

‘Just bills,’ said Angela. ‘I’m going to have to take on another class. Being a grown-up sucks.’

Bee made a face. ‘Try being a teenager.’

‘Been there, done that. Fewer bills.’

Bee peered into the coffee plunger and shrugged. Lukewarm was better than nothing.

‘Other things that suck about being an adult include taxes, parking fines, remembering when to put the bins out and having to earn an honest living but not be able to spend my hard-won earnings on the new Final Fantasy game, because the water bill is due.’

Bee pulled a
Lord of the Rings
movie tie-in mug from the cupboard, and poured herself a coffee.

‘You’ve been out a lot lately,’ said Angela.

‘Work has been busy.’

‘But you’re finished now, right? And back to school tomorrow?’

School. What a crazy thought.

‘I’m worried you haven’t had a proper holiday,’ said Angela. ‘You’re supposed to be resting up. This year will be a big one.’

Bee sipped the warmish coffee and screwed up her nose. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said. There was no way Year Twelve was going to be as intense as her summer break. It’d be a breeze.

Angela put down her bills and hesitated. ‘Did you . . . see Neal yesterday? You came in just after he left. I thought I heard you talking.’

Bee nodded. ‘We passed each other on the doorstep and had a chat.’

‘What about?’

‘Stuff. I was tired and grumpy. He gave me some good advice.’

‘What kind of advice?’ Angela toyed with the amethyst ring on her finger.

Bee frowned. What
was
it that the Celestial Badger had said to her? He said she should be friends with Maddy again. She remembered that part. But there was something else . . .

‘Do you like him?’

‘What?’ said Bee. ‘Oh. Sure, he seems really nice.’

Something about sleep. He’d told her to go to sleep . . .

‘I just want you to be okay with all this,’ said Angela. ‘I know I totally failed to provide you with a decent father the first time around. And I know how upset you were when he left, although you probably don’t remember much now. You were so little.’

Get a good night’s sleep
. He’d said that. Then what?

‘I know sometimes I’m a bit of a flaky mum,’ Angela continued. ‘And I’m certainly not like other mothers. I know you used to be embarrassed by me when you were younger, and I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable by being a giant nerd.’

The image of a jar of glass eyes kept popping into Bee’s mind. But they weren’t reptile eyes. They were blue. Pale, startled blue, like William Cranston’s eyes, smiling and sparkling at the camera.

‘Anyway,’ Angela said, ‘I suppose I just wanted to hear that you’re okay with me seeing Neal. And I wanted to reassure you that you’re still my biggest priority, even though there’s this new person in my life. You’re still number one.’

Bee’s head snapped up. ‘New person,’ she repeated.

Make sure you get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel much better tomorrow. Like a whole new person.

Bee dropped her coffee mug, which shattered on the kitchen floor, splashing her feet with tepid coffee.

‘Bee?’ Angela hurried into the kitchen. ‘Are you okay?’

Bee didn’t respond. Angela bent down and started picking up shards of mug. ‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘You’ve got bare feet.’

‘A whole new person,’ said Bee.

‘What?’ Angela picked up a fragment of mug and looked at it. ‘Poor Aragorn.’

Bee gazed at the pool of coffee on the floor, her mind whirling. She was on the edge of something. Something big. She felt as if she had almost all the pieces of the puzzle, but she just wasn’t sure how to go about putting them together. She suddenly remembered seeing a news report the night Gus had died. Something about an attempted burglary . . .

‘Street directory,’ she said out loud. ‘Do we have a street directory?’

Angela blinked. ‘On the bookshelf,’ she said.

Bee picked her way over broken bits of mug to the living room, tugged the street directory off the bookshelf and thumbed through it until she found page 449. She stared at it, her mind full of suspects and alibis and the words
like a whole new person
.

‘I need to talk to Toby,’ she said. She up-ended her handbag onto the couch, spilling lip gloss, sunglasses, a dollar-seventy in loose change and a rogue tampon. She fished her phone out of the debris and brought up Toby’s number, her hands shaking. The phone rang, and rang, and rang, before finally clicking over to voicemail.

No surprise, really. If Toby had accused Bee of murder, she probably wouldn’t want to talk to him either.

‘Fine, then,’ she said. ‘I’ll go to Gus’s funeral.’

‘Good,’ said Angela. ‘I think maybe you need some closure on this.’

Bee scooped everything back into her bag, and headed for the front door.

‘Um,’ said Angela. ‘Bee? I know I’m hardly one to judge people for their sartorial self-expression, but are you sure your Rupert Bear pyjamas are the best choice of outfit for a funeral?’

In movies, funerals always took place on dreary, grey days where rain slid down car windows and off umbrellas like oily tears.

Bee pulled at her collar and wished life was more like the movies. The sun was blazing hot – the kind of heat that felt as if someone was pummelling her head in with a lead hammer. As soon as Bee had stepped off the train, she’d regretted wearing stockings. Her feet felt as though they had swollen to double their usual size in her tight black shoes, and the back of her shirt was damp and sticky with sweat.

There were only six people at the gravesite: Kobayashi in an immaculate, elegantly structural black dress, very high heels and large sunglasses; Bee; two of the guys from the Moulding and Casting studio at the museum; a civil celebrant; and, lurking a little way away from the others, Toby. Bee’s heartbeat quickened when she saw him, and she felt her knees tremble. She tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t look at her.

The heat was relentless, and there was no shade. Bee wished she’d brought a bottle of water. Or a hat.

The celebrant seemed to be waiting for more mourners to arrive, but after ten minutes she gave up and took her place at the head of the grave. Bee felt a little dizzy, and wondered if she was getting sunstroke.

The celebrant said a few generic, meaningless things and surreptitiously tried to swat a fly that was buzzing around her head.

Bee noticed a black, expensive car pull up nearby. One of its tinted windows lowered, but Bee couldn’t see who was inside.

‘. . . And of course Gus will live on in the memory of those who loved him.’

Bee wanted to cry, but she’d already sweated out all her available liquid. Who
had
loved Gus? Gus wasn’t even a real person. Had anyone ever loved Gregory Uriel Swindon? Bee glanced towards the black car.

‘Would anybody like to say a few words about Gus?’

There was an uncomfortable pause. Then Akiko Kobayashi took an uncertain step forward, her heels sinking into the grass.

‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Gus was . . . a valued employee. His contribution to the museum is much appreciated.’

Bee glanced over at Toby to find him watching her. She smiled tentatively and he looked away. She had a sudden vivid flashback to the Red Rotunda, her lips pressed against Toby’s, the cold glass of the case underneath her. The case containing the horseshoe crab and . . .

‘The deathstalker scorpion,’ she murmured, as every single puzzle piece fell into place.

It was the perfect solution. But could it be possible?

Kobayashi stopped talking and turned to look at her.

‘Did you want to say something, Beatrice?’

Bee felt her face go even redder. ‘Um, I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed working with Gus. He was a great teacher. I learned a lot from him about animals and preparation and museums and . . .’ A lump lodged itself in her throat. ‘And . . . he taught me a lot about myself.’ She looked over at Toby. ‘He was a really amazing person. I was very lucky to know him, even if it was only for a short time. I wish I’d . . . appreciated him more, when he was around. I’m really going to miss him.’

She fell silent, and the celebrant nodded briskly and thanked everyone for coming. The funeral was being paid for by the museum, so there was no reception or morning tea afterwards. Kobayashi and the two preparators wandered off. Bee took a deep breath and went over to Toby.

‘Hey,’ she said.

‘Hey.’

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Bee. ‘I got caught up in detective mode. All the novels go on and on about remaining objective . . . but I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Anyway, I’m really, really sorry. And I know you probably hate me now, but I wanted to tell you that if, at any point, you changed your mind and wanted to . . . to roll a pebble at my feet, then I’d be totally up for it. Or I could roll you a pebble. Do the girl penguins roll pebbles?’

‘No.’

‘Well, maybe I’ll roll something else,’ said Bee. ‘Like a . . . marble or a gobstopper or a glass eye.’

‘What do you want, Bee?’

Bee couldn’t read Toby’s expression at all. There was no cheeky twinkle in his eye. That wasn’t a good sign.

Bee swallowed. ‘Two things. Firstly I want you to forgive me, and see if you think we can be friends again. Or more. Whatever you’re comfortable with.’

‘And secondly?’

‘I need your help. I need you to go back to the museum, and get Kobayashi and Featherstone into the Red Rotunda. We need to do this right.’

Out of the corner of Bee’s eye, she saw the window on the black car slide up as the car slowly pulled away. Bee was running out of time.

‘Please,’ she said to Toby. ‘I need you.’

‘Give me one reason why I should help you.’

Bee grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

‘Because I know who killed Gus.’

She leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the mouth, and before Toby had time to react, she sprinted away after the black car.

It wasn’t going very fast, and she soon caught up with it. She rapped on the tinted window, which lowered. Bee looked at the old man inside. He seemed shrunken with age and sorrow, and his pale eyes looked lost and frightened, as though he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing in the back seat of such an expensive car. He stared at her, concentration deepening the lines of his brow.

Bee said the old man’s name, softly, and he started.

‘Do you mind if I get in for a moment?’ said Bee. ‘I wanted to ask you about a break-in at your estate on the night of Thursday the thirteenth. Then I’d really appreciate it if you’d accompany me back to the museum so we can get this all sorted out.’

THE DOOR TO THE RED
Rotunda was closed. Bee took a deep breath and opened it, hoping against hope that Toby had done what she’d asked.

He had. Featherstone was sitting on one of the red leather chairs in the centre of the room looking ostentatiously bored, and Kobayashi was sitting next to him, tapping her foot.

And Toby was there, standing over by the deathstalker scorpion. Bee wanted to run over and throw her arms around him. Did this mean he’d forgiven her?

William Cranston followed her into the room, and stiffened when he saw Featherstone.

‘It’s okay,’ Bee murmured. ‘This will be the last time you’ll have to see him.’ She shut the door behind Cranston.

Toby glanced up as they entered, but Bee couldn’t tell if he was pleased to see her.

Featherstone’s bored expression vanished when he saw William Cranston. His face went completely white, and his eyes widened until he resembled some kind of frightening scruffy insect. Then the look of fear vanished, and was replaced with a carefully constructed mask of disinterest.

Kobayashi examined her nails. Nobody said anything.

Bee showed William Cranston to one of the red leather chairs. He didn’t say anything, or look at anyone, or betray any emotion at all. He just sat and stared at his hands, neatly folded in his lap. Bee nodded at Toby, who also took a seat.

‘Right,’ she said, suddenly feeling a bit stupid. ‘Well, thank you all for coming.’

Was she really going to stand in front of these people and deliver a Sherlock Holmes–style explanatory speech, detailing her investigation and withholding the vital clue until the very last minute? Hadn’t she learned that despite murder and betrayal and intrigue, the world
wasn’t
like a detective story, and it was dangerous to treat it as one?

But here everyone was. Perhaps she should just tell them everything at once, and if they wanted more detail she could provide it. There was no point staging a whole theatrical routine around it for the sake of drama.

‘This Nancy Drew crap is ridiculous,’ said Kobayashi. ‘I’m leaving.’ She stood up.

‘No,’ said Bee sharply. She glared at Kobayashi. Nancy may have had annoyingly perfect hair and implausibly convenient good fortune, but
nobody
dissed her in front of Bee.

Kobayashi bristled.

‘I have something to say, and you’re going to listen. So sit.’

Kobayashi sat.

‘Now,’ said Bee. ‘I’m going to start at the beginning, because that’s how it’s done.’

Toby gave her a look that Bee thought
might
contain the teensiest hint of a twinkle, and she felt a surge of excitement. There was something to be said for a little drama after all.

‘Firstly,’ said Bee. ‘Firstly I have to explain about Adrian Featherstone.’ She glanced at Kobayashi. ‘Although I’m sure none of what I’m about to say will come as a huge surprise to anyone here.’

She told them about Featherstone’s work at BioFresh, and how he had stolen research findings from Cranston. Featherstone’s lip curled as Bee explained how Cranston had destroyed Featherstone’s career.

‘So he was left with nothing,’ she said. ‘Except for millions of dollars of ill-gotten gain, which dwindled away within a few years.’

Featherstone sneered, but didn’t deny anything. William Cranston still didn’t look up from his folded hands.

‘So once all the money had been frittered away,’ said Bee, ‘Featherstone needed to get his hands on more. He couldn’t go back to working in the sciences because Dr Cranston had muddied his name to every laboratory in the world. So he hatched a plan for revenge. He would get close to Cranston again, in whatever way he could, he would find out whatever Cranston was working on, and he would steal it and sell it. The plan had worked so well last time – how could it possibly go wrong?’

Bee looked at Featherstone, but he just raised his eyebrows at her in a patronising sort of way.

‘He told me it was ironic that he got a job here, but it was actually carefully calculated. Museum sciences aren’t like other sciences; they’re part of a completely different sector. So nobody here would know who he was. And with this museum having close ties to Doctor Cranston, it was a perfect base of operations. And so he waited for his opportunity to arrive. Which it did – in the shape of Gus.’

Bee started to pace up and down the Red Rotunda, her hands behind her back. Despite the seriousness of the situation, she was genuinely enjoying herself.

‘Although Featherstone had never met Cranston or Gus, he’d seen a picture during his dogged research of Cranston. A picture of William Cranston and his faithful assistant and friend, Gregory Uriel Swindon. And as soon as he saw Gus in the museum’s taxidermy lab, he realised that Gus was, in fact, Gregory. Gus almost certainly recognised Featherstone instantly.’

Toby looked confused. ‘What I don’t understand is why Gus came to work at the museum in the first place. Was it just to keep tabs on Featherstone?’

‘I’ll get to that soon,’ said Bee, flashing him a quick smile. ‘So,’ she continued, ‘Gus was keeping an eye on Featherstone, making sure that all access to Cranston was blocked off, and ready to pounce if Featherstone tried anything dodgy. It gave Featherstone the perfect motive for murder. With Gus out of the way, the path to Cranston was clear. Let’s add to this the fact that Featherstone was close to finding out what Cranston had been working on. But he also knew he was running out of time, as Cranston appeared to be nearing the end of his project.’

Kobayashi shook her head in shocked disbelief.

‘Featherstone was seen in the Red Rotunda a few days before Gus died. He was agitated, like he was looking for something. Gus was found with an empty vial of mercuric chloride in his hand – a vial taken from a display case in the museum. The only person we know who had access to that case was Featherstone. Gus was also found wearing Featherstone’s hoodie – with a pocketful of the old glass eyes that Featherstone had been replacing.’

‘
You
,’ said Kobayashi, staring at Featherstone with a look of total horror on her face. ‘You promised me you didn’t do it. I 
helped
you . . .’

Adrian Featherstone opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but Bee got there first.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t Featherstone.’

The Head Conservator looked somewhat taken aback, as if he’d been expecting Bee to accuse him.

‘Of course,’ Bee continued, ‘Featherstone isn’t really
innocent
either. He
was
trying to steal Cranston’s research again, and he was planning to use Gus to get to Cranston. But you know that already.’

Kobayashi looked uncomfortable.

‘But he’s no murderer,’ said Bee. ‘He’s got a pretty watertight alibi, really, although understandably not one he was willing to broadcast. Did anyone else see that news report about an attempted break-in in Healesville on the same night that Gus died? The property was Cranston’s, and the would-be thief was Featherstone.’

Adrian Featherstone opened his mouth to protest.

‘The street directory on your desk,’ said Bee. ‘Page 449. And now I’ve confirmed that Cranston’s private security staff found a man fitting your description trying to break into Cranston’s laboratory. You were apprehended but managed to get away at around 1:30 am, just before the police arrived. There’s no way you could have killed Gus.’

Cranston’s head nodded slightly to confirm this, but with an air of regret, as if he wished it
had
been Featherstone.

‘Of course,’ said Toby to Featherstone with a somewhat malicious little grin. ‘Even if you had been successful in breaking into Cranston’s lab, it would’ve been too late.’

Featherstone’s head snapped around and he stared at Toby.

‘Didn’t you hear?’ said Toby, his grin widening. ‘Cranston submitted his research a few days ago. It’s really taking the scientific community by storm.’

Adrian Featherstone was as white as chalk. His face looked as though it was going to crumble into powder. ‘He . . . published?’

‘Yep. Guess you’ll have to find someone else to steal ideas from,’ said Toby. ‘Or perhaps you should just bite the bullet and rob a bank. Or take up puppy-kicking as a hobby. To satisfy all your nasty urges.’

Featherstone seemed completely lost for words. He opened his mouth and shut it again, then made a face like he was about to be sick.

‘So,’ said Bee. ‘As clearly demonstrated, Adrian Featherstone is a bad man. But he isn’t a murderer.’

Kobayashi had a peculiar expression on her face, as it became obvious that her chances of getting a cut of Featherstone’s dirty money had vanished. Disappointment flashed over her features, but was replaced with a kind of resigned relief. Kobayashi had clearly been uncomfortable with swindling the museum’s great benefactor.

‘Well, then,’ she said, clearing her throat and trying to be businesslike. ‘Can you please hurry this up? I’ve got an appointment at three-thirty.’

Bee turned to her and smiled. ‘I’d better talk about you, then, Akiko. You, the ruthless businesswoman who would do anything to keep the museum above water. The museum would stand to benefit significantly from Cranston’s death. When you heard about Cranston’s illness, you started to think,
what if he died
? A great tragedy for science, certainly, but not for the museum. Then an old man called Gus turns up, with a sketchy CV and no previous employment experience to speak of, and you make him Head Taxidermist. You knew who he really was, of course. You’d seen that newspaper article too; it’s how you knew Cranston was ill. You didn’t let on that you knew his real name and identity, but you also knew that he was getting first dibs on Cranston’s estate when Cranston died. What would happen if Gus were to unfortunately expire before Cranston?’

‘Come
on
,’ said Kobayashi. ‘We both know I didn’t do it, so let’s move on.’

‘Didn’t you?’ said Bee. ‘You’re pretty cunning, Akiko. You discovered what Featherstone was up to. But instead of firing him or turning him over to the cops, you made him a deal. You’d keep his secret too, but only in exchange for a cut of the profits. Cranston had been working on something pretty big – Featherstone stood to make several hundred million dollars from it. Easily enough to clear the museum of its debt.’

‘Fine,’ snapped Kobayashi. ‘So I turned a blind eye to Featherstone. And I
may
have supplied him with some information to help him find Cranston. But I’m not a murderer, and frankly I’m sick of this.’ She stood up again.

Bee grinned. She’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. ‘Akiko Kobayashi,’ she said, ‘where were you on the night of January the thirteenth?’

‘We’ve already had this conversation,’ said Kobayashi. ‘I was at home. In bed. Asleep.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ Toby put in. ‘You were at the museum. I saw you, coming out of Featherstone’s office.’

Featherstone glared at Kobayashi.

‘What?’ she said to him with an almost hysterical laugh. ‘Do you seriously think I trusted you? I knew you’d try to run off with all the money if you had a chance. I was just gathering a little . . . insurance to make sure you’d keep your word.’

‘So, Akiko,’ said Bee. ‘You had a motive. You have no alibi. You were seen near the scene of the crime.’

Akiko Kobayashi was white. ‘But . . .’ she said, her voice high and panicked. ‘But I didn’t do it. I didn’t!’

Bee paused, letting her stew for as long as possible. Then she shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You didn’t. But I think you should be a bit more careful who you associate with in the future. You’re making some pretty crappy life decisions.’

Kobayashi swallowed. ‘Then who killed Gus?’ She turned to Cranston. ‘Was it you?’

William Cranston didn’t look up from his folded hands.

‘Who?’ asked Kobayashi. ‘Who did it?’

‘No one.’ Bee took a deep breath. ‘Gus isn’t dead.’

There was a long silence in the room. Everyone stared at Bee. Toby had a strange expression on his face that was half admiration, half this-girl-is-crazy fear.

‘But Bee,’ he said. It was the first time he’d said her name since the cemetery. ‘We
saw
him. We saw his body. It was definitely Gus.’

Bee smiled at him and dismissed the dizzy, fuzzy feeling she got when he smiled back. She had to concentrate.

‘Remember the story about the boy in the car accident?’ she said. ‘And how the doctor was really his mother?’

Toby nodded.

‘It’s like that,’ said Bee. ‘This whole time we’ve been making one huge mistake. It’s totally skewed our perception of what happened that night. And it’s all based around one assumption. It was a totally logical assumption to make, but you should never assume anything. It’s like when Sherlock Holmes said that circumstantial evidence can be misleading. Sometimes it seems like it can only mean one thing, but if you look at it another way, all the evidence suddenly points to something totally different.’

‘So what’s it pointing to now?’

‘We all assumed that the man found dead in the Red Rotunda was Gregory Uriel Swindon, or Gus. Except it wasn’t. Gregory Swindon isn’t dead at all. He’s right here in this room.’