A Pocketful of Eyes (15 page)

Featherstone sighed. ‘But I am a conservator,’ he said. ‘So do you know what I think I’d do?’ He leaned over to his drawer and pulled out a sachet, small enough to fit snugly in the palm of his hand.

‘This stuff is called Ageless,’ he said. ‘It’s an oxygen scavenger. It sucks moisture, oxygen and corrosive gases from an object. This little sachet here will absorb up to two litres of oxygen.’

He looked at her speculatively. ‘I’m guessing you weigh about fifty-five kilos,’ he said. ‘And your body is sixty-five per cent oxygen, which is about thirty-three litres. So if I was to put you into an airtight container along with, say, seventeen sachets of Ageless, and leave you in a cool, dark place for a few weeks . . .’ He grinned. ‘When I came back, you’d be a mummy.’

A giggle of hysterical laughter escaped Bee’s lips at the word
mummy.
A nervous, uncertain look flashed across Featherstone’s face, and suddenly everything fell into place. He was afraid of her. He thought she was laughing at him and that made him afraid.

Bee realised Featherstone wasn’t a homicidal lunatic – he was just trying to scare her. He was trying to hide something, that was certain, but she was almost sure it wasn’t Gus’s murder. Featherstone wasn’t a powerful, cunning killer – he was a weak, snivelling coward dressing up as an evil genius.

‘Oh, come
on
,’ said Bee, all fear replaced with annoyed relief. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bridge too far?’

Featherstone seemed startled. The wavering, unsure expression returned to his eyes.

‘Enough with the stupid threats,’ Bee said. ‘You’re not going to kill me, so why don’t we just cut to the chase?’

Adrian Featherstone slitted his eyes and tried to look sinister. It was almost comical. ‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you? You think you’ve got me all figured out.’

‘And
you
clearly think what you’re doing now is intimidating. It isn’t. It’s just annoying. To be honest, I’m surprised you ever managed to pull off something as complicated as you did with Cranston and the horseshoe crab. You’re not an arch-villain. You’re just a bitter loony in desperate need of a haircut and shower.’

Featherstone snarled at her, and Bee feared she might have gone too far. Even bitter loonies could snap.

She thought she heard footsteps in the corridor outside and held her breath, hoping that whoever it was needed to see Featherstone about something. Or maybe it was the security guard come to check on her. If Faro Costa was on duty, he would have noticed. He’d have
sensed
something was wrong, with his mystical weird spiritual mojo. The footsteps slowed as they grew closer. Featherstone hadn’t noticed yet; he was still spluttering and clutching the sachet of Ageless in his fist.

The knock at the door startled them both. Adrian Featherstone regained his composure and leaned across the desk. ‘If you make a sound,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper, ‘I really will become a murderer.’ He waved the sachet of Ageless in her face.

Bee rolled her eyes at him. ‘Come in,’ she said loudly. She heard someone try the doorhandle.

‘What a pity I locked it,’ said Featherstone.

The door opened. ‘What a pity I have the key,’ said Toby, jangling a ring of keys in his hand and stepping into the room. ‘Thanks
awfully
for looking after Bee,’ he said, his voice thick with sarcasm. ‘Much appreciated. But we’ll be heading off now.’

Featherstone didn’t reply. His face betrayed no emotion at all. Bee stood up and was surprised at how trembly her legs felt. Toby held out his hand and led her from the room. Bee stopped and turned when she reached the door.

‘What’s hidden in the Red Rotunda?’ she asked Featherstone.

He smirked condescendingly. ‘Buried treasure, of course. Or perhaps a diamond necklace. It’s usually diamonds in Agatha Christie, isn’t it?’

He turned to a folder on his desk and began to take notes, as if nothing had happened.

BEE FOLLOWED TOBY ALONG THE
back corridors of the museum, feeling relieved and grateful and a bit embarrassed. A good detective shouldn’t need rescuing.

‘Thanks,’ she said at last.

‘You’re welcome.’

Bee wondered if he was still mad at her about the incident with the flowers. She’d be mad, if it were her. She felt like an idiot.

‘You found my note,’ she said. ‘And where did you get the keys from?’

‘Faro Costa,’ said Toby, holding up the index card that she had left in the taxidermy lab. He didn’t turn his head towards her.

‘Thanks,’ Bee said again.

Toby nodded.

Bee took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you about the flowers.’

‘It wasn’t supposed to be some kind of grand gesture. Just something nice.’

Bee shook her head. ‘It wasn’t the gesture that was the problem,’ she said. ‘It’s just that we’re not allowed to have fresh flowers in the museum. They carry all sorts of bugs that like to eat fur and skin and paper. You would have been in heaps of trouble if anyone’d caught you.’

Toby blinked. ‘I didn’t know.’ He looked considerably cheered and Bee felt a little tingle of excitement. He had brought her
flowers
. Flowers meant something.

‘No harm done,’ said Bee. ‘And I’m sorry I snapped.’

They reached the top of a flight of stairs, and Toby pushed open the fire door. Bee felt cool twilight air flow around her, and heard the evening rumble of the city, and crickets chirping in the bushes around the museum. It was good to be outside after being stuck in Featherstone’s cramped little office.

‘You know they have over four hundred distinct songs,’ said Toby.

‘Who?’

‘Crickets. Different songs for different things, during different cycles. So there’s a flirting song and a courtship song, and a mating song.’

Bee didn’t say anything. She remembered Toby’s hands on her body.

‘You’re sure you’re okay?’

‘Yeah,’ said Bee. ‘Just a bit shaken.’

Toby paused. ‘So . . .’ he said. ‘I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Bee bit her lip. ‘Don’t you want to know what I found out?’ she said. ‘From Featherstone?’

‘Yes,’ said Toby, with a rueful twist of his mouth. ‘Yes, I really, really do.’

‘Right then,’ said Bee, grinning. ‘Let’s go somewhere where we can sit down. And eat. I’m
starving
.’

They wandered into the city, and ducked into a tiny Chinese restaurant where Bee ordered the biggest bowl of noodles on the menu, and three serves of dumplings. Toby raised his eyebrows and ordered a beer. Bee suddenly remembered that Toby was several years older than her and could do grown-up things like order beer.

‘Well?’ he said. ‘Spill.’

Bee told him about Featherstone’s hatred and resentment of Cranston, his wild spending, why he’d come to the museum. She told him about how Featherstone had swapped his hoodie with Gus’s in an attempt to communicate with him.

‘So he did it, right?’ asked Toby, pinching one of Bee’s dumplings. ‘I mean, it’s just too much of a coincidence that he
happens
to be working at the museum where Cranston’s faithful employee
happens
to be killed.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bee through a mouthful of noodles. ‘Somehow I don’t think he would have told me everything he did if he was trying to conceal a murder.’

‘But he’s insane,’ said Toby. ‘I think that’s been pretty clearly proven at this point. And insane people do insane things. Plus, he probably didn’t think it’d matter if he told you stuff. I’m sure he doesn’t see you as a threat.’

‘Little does he know,’ said Bee, trying to look sinister and spoiling it by having soy sauce dribble down her chin.

‘Quite.’

‘It all comes back to the Red Rotunda,’ said Bee. ‘There’s something there – some secret we haven’t uncovered yet.’

‘You saw Cranston there the day Gus died,’ said Toby, ticking things off on his fingers. ‘Then Gus died in there. And Featherstone’s been seen snooping around there, like he’s looking for something.’

Bee pursed her lips. ‘
What
, though?’ she asked. ‘What is he looking for?’

Toby considered her, his head on one side, as though he was trying to make up his mind about something. ‘What if Cranston was working on something new?’ he said at last. ‘Something big? What if Adrian Featherstone was trying to steal Cranston’s research all over again?’

‘It’s possible,’ said Bee. ‘Likely, even. It would certainly give him a motive.’

Toby nodded. ‘If he was trying to get Gus on side, and Gus wouldn’t budge, it would have made Featherstone furious.’

‘Furious enough to commit murder?’

‘Why not?’ asked Toby. ‘Judging from your conversation with him, he’s got a pretty black mind. I think he’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and if Gus was standing in the way of him getting to Cranston . . .’

‘I suppose it would have the added bonus of revenge.’

‘Exactly.’

‘That’s just it, though,’ said Bee. ‘I thought the same thing, that it was all about revenge. But now I don’t know. He comes across as being this evil genius, but it’s all just an act. He’s greedy and nasty, but he’s weak. He might have killed Cranston, but it wasn’t for revenge. Murderous revenge is too . . . old-school for him.’

Toby laughed. ‘More like Old
Testament
.’

‘But in any case,’ said Bee, ‘it doesn’t fit together. Featherstone left the building that night at eleven. And what about the fake mercuric chloride? Why would Featherstone pretend to kill Gus with a museum chemical? And how
did
he kill him, anyway?’

She slurped up the rest of her noodles, which were starting to go cold.

‘I just feel like there’s some trick to it all,’ she said. ‘Like we’re looking at the whole thing from the wrong angle.’

‘What do you mean?’

Bee laid her chopsticks neatly across the top of her empty noodle bowl. ‘There’s this guy, right?’

‘If you say so.’

‘And he and his dad are driving in the country one day. They’re going fishing or something. And they take a bend in the road too fast and slam into a tree.’

Toby winced. ‘That’s no good.’

‘The father is killed instantly. A passing car sees the accident and calls an ambulance. The son is seriously injured and is rushed to hospital. When he gets there, he’s immediately wheeled into surgery. The doctor takes one look at him and says “Oh my God, it’s my son!”. How is this possible?’

‘Um. Is the guy adopted? Or is his dad gay?’

Bee shook her head. ‘The doctor is his
mother
.’

Toby looked a bit ashamed. ‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Yeah. I see what you mean. Looking at it from the wrong angle.’

‘It’s just so easy to make assumptions.’

They walked together through Chinatown towards the train station. Silk-clad women tried to entice them into restaurants and the air was full of the smell of frying garlic. It was a muggy evening, and the air felt heavy and still, as though the city was waiting for something. Bee was tired after her long day and large meal, and she felt small and vulnerable. She wished Toby would put his arm around her shoulders. It’d be nice to have someone tall and warm to lean on, even though she was already rather damp from the humidity.

She wondered what William Cranston was doing. Was he alone on his enormous Healesville property? Was he missing Gus? She imagined Cranston and Gus sitting together in an old-fashioned kitchen, playing cards on a huge wooden table and drinking whisky. She remembered Cranston telling her that neither of them had any family. And now Cranston didn’t even have Gus. How strange it must be to have someone in your life for so long, until they’re like a part of you, and then one day . . . nothing.

‘Do you believe people have souls?’ she asked Toby.

Toby smiled. ‘An eighteenth-century anatomist called Robert Whytt thought that the soul was split into several parts, each of which served a different function. He thought life-force was in saliva. He did an experiment where he decapitated a pigeon and then dribbled his own spit onto its heart to bring it back to life.’

‘Did it work?’

‘What do you think? Thomas Edison had some weird ideas about the soul, too. He said that thousands of teeny-tiny creatures live inside you and make you a person. And the reason why sometimes you can’t remember stuff is because the little creatures work shifts, and maybe none of the ones who experienced a particular moment are currently on duty.’

Bee laughed. ‘You haven’t answered my question.’

Toby turned and looked at her. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes, then put them back on again. ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t believe people have souls. I believe people have hearts and lungs and blood and neurons which make them function, and I believe they have brains which make them into people. Everything else is just excuses.’

‘You don’t believe in anything supernatural?’

‘I think the world is quite full enough of mystery, horror, beauty and questions. I don’t feel the need to make any more up.’

Bee nodded. ‘Occam’s razor,’ she said.

Toby walked Bee to her platform, and they paused.

‘Well,’ said Toby. ‘See you tomorrow?’

Bee nodded, and there was an awkward moment where she wasn’t quite sure if they were supposed to hug, or even kiss. Then Toby shrugged and smiled and started to walk away. The air seemed so humid that Bee felt as if she was breathing in water. Sweat trickled down her lower back.

‘Wait,’ said Bee. She wasn’t ready to lose the feeling of being close to Toby.

He turned around. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Let’s go back to the museum,’ she said. ‘Faro Costa’s on duty tonight. We could walk it through. Maybe it’ll help us figure out the next step.’

Toby looked puzzled. ‘Are you sure?’ he said. ‘You’ve had a pretty big day.’

‘I’m sure.’