A Pocketful of Eyes (18 page)

Bee arrived home to find Angela’s bedroom door closed and low voices coming from inside. Bee made a face as she imagined what might be going on in there. She went into her room without turning on the light, and sat on her bed in darkness, thinking.

Kobayashi was right. She and Toby were the only people who had been seen in the museum that night.
They
were the key suspects.

Bee padded over to her laptop, switched it on and opened a web browser, squinting in the sudden light.

She navigated to the University of Melbourne home page, and tried to find the anatomy department. Nothing. She tried typing ‘anatomy’ into the staff search box, but also came up with nothing. A similar search for subjects also returned no results. Finally, she typed ‘anatomy’ and ‘University of Melbourne’ into Google, and found a long page about the Faculty of Biomedicine. Buried in long paragraphs of text about key course deliverables and assessment criteria, there was a line that read
the fundamentals of human anatomy are incorporated into various aspects of the undergraduate degree
.

So who was this professor of anatomy that Toby had been getting all his information from?

A list of possible explanations popped into Bee’s head, each more ridiculous than the first. Was Toby a government spy? Was he secretly working for Cranston? Or Kobayashi? Had he been promised a cut of the money too?

Bee thought about his hands on her, the way his kisses made her feel dizzy and hot and alive. She thought about his nerdy insect trivia and his cheeky grin. Then she pushed it all out of her mind. A detective had to be impartial. Clinical. Detached.

There was really only one explanation that made sense.

Toby was working for Featherstone. He’d been in on it all along. That’s how he’d found out about everything so easily.

Could it be a coincidence that Toby had started work at the museum on the same day Gus died?

He’d left her for sixteen minutes after the incident in the Catacombs. He’d got her drunk and then confused her with kissing and tigers. Then he’d disappeared.

Had Toby murdered Gus?

BEE SLIPPED IN AND OUT
of sleep, her dreams uneasy and full of stuffed possums and horseshoe crabs and the deathstalker scorpion. As soon as her alarm clock clicked over to nine o’clock on Saturday morning, she picked up her phone.

She toyed with it for a moment, then tapped out a message to Toby.

Cafe. Now. Urgent.

There was a possibility he wouldn’t come. There was a possibility that he was a murderer and Bee was going to meet a sticky end. There was a possibility she’d got it all wrong and they’d laugh it off and then hold hands and make goofy eyes at each other. But either way, she had to know.

Toby was already there when she arrived, looking rumpled, as if she’d woken him up, which she almost certainly had. The sight of his sleepy eyes behind slightly askew glasses made Bee’s heart leap, and she sternly squashed it. She had to put aside her feelings for Toby – and she did have feelings, she was brave enough to admit that. But the truth was more important.

The expression on his face when Bee slid into the chair opposite him nearly broke her heart.

‘I was hoping you’d call,’ he said, with a fluttery little smile. ‘I’ve got a lot I want to tell you.’

Bee swallowed and told herself it was all an act. Toby was trying to trick her into believing him. She’d
seen
him turn the charm on, to Kobayashi, to the severe pregnant conservators. And here he was doing it to her. She mustn’t fall for it.

‘I want to apologise,’ he said. ‘I don’t think—’

‘No,’ said Bee. ‘Wait. I need to ask—’

Toby put up his hands. ‘Let me go first,’ he said. ‘Please,’ he added, with a look that nearly made Bee crumble. She nodded as she struggled to regain her steely resolve.

‘Right,’ said Toby. ‘So, the first thing is . . .’ He trailed off and looked flustered, running a hand through his hair. ‘Penguins,’ he said. ‘I want to tell you about penguins. Penguins mate for life, and when a male Adélie penguin has found the lady penguin of his dreams, he tells her by rolling a stone at her feet. It’s like this special gift, because most of the stones are used to build walls around nests and there aren’t many spare ones. In fact, sometimes the male penguins pinch each other’s stones. Anyway. If the lady penguin accepts the gift of the stone, the two penguins stand opposite each other, with their bellies pressed together, and sing a mating song, heads thrown back, their flippers spread wide and trembling. So, what I want to say is that you should take this speech as a metaphorical stone-rolling. Because I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a dickhead and I’m sorry I said everything wrong and I’m sorry if I didn’t make my feelings clear. I like you. I like spending time with you. I think you’re funny and smart and pretty and although you’re
really
bossy and you think you’re always right, well, most of the time you are. And I would like to spend more time with you, having conversations and holding hands and doing all of that stuff that people who like each other are supposed to do. As well as the stuff on display cases and tigers, because I want to do that too.’

Bee felt as if she was going to burst into tears. But she swallowed and had a few stern words with herself.

‘Stop,’ she said. That seemed like a good start.

Toby looked a bit taken aback, as though he’d expected his penguin speech to have a different effect. It gave Bee the strength to go on.

‘I need to ask you a few questions,’ she said. ‘About the night Gus was murdered.’

Toby blinked. ‘Go on.’

‘When you said you were going to Security,’ said Bee. ‘After we were in the Catacombs. Where did you go?’

Toby broke eye contact with her for the first time since she’d sat down. Bee’s heart sank. So it was true.

‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘I went to Security.’

Bee shook her head. ‘No, you didn’t. Faro Costa said he was there that whole time. You said you didn’t see anyone. Where did you go?’

Toby said nothing. A tear slid down Bee’s cheek.

‘You did it, didn’t you?’ she asked. ‘You killed Gus.’

He didn’t deny it. He just sat there, his face frozen, his eyes locked on his hands, which were folded on the laminex table.

‘Oh my God,’ whispered Bee.

How could she have been so blind? It had been Toby all along. And here he was, practically admitting it.

Finally he raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were so full of hurt and sadness that Bee thought she might break apart.

‘Is that . . . really what you think?’ he said, his voice very low. ‘You think I killed Gus?’

Bee bit her lip.

Toby’s face darkened. ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘It seems that . . .’ He shook his head. ‘I think you underestimated me. And I think I overestimated you.’

He put his hands up and rubbed his temples. ‘Fine. You want the truth?’ He nodded, as if having an internal conversation with himself. ‘The truth, then.’

Bee felt herself tense.

Toby leaned forward. ‘I’m not a second-year med student. I’m actually doing a PhD.’ He saw Bee’s reaction and gave an ironic grin. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t lie about my age. I’m nineteen. I’m . . . really good at science. I did university-level biology when I was in high school, and when I graduated I got fast-tracked into a PhD. I’m studying the phylogenetic significance of microsatellites in monotreme chromosomes. Anyway. The Dean of Zoology at my uni is my supervisor. I’ve known him since I started going to the university when I was thirteen, so we’re pretty good mates. He’s quite a famous scientist, and he’s a Fellow of the Royal Society in the UK.’

Toby was talking fast, looking at his hands. Bee wondered if she could trust him. She really, really wanted to. But was she just letting her feelings get in the way? It was a classic detective’s mistake. Get involved, lose your objectivity. It never ended well.

‘So the Dean asked me for a favour. The Royal Society were conducting an investigation into a renegade scientist called Adrian Featherstone, who had stolen some important research twenty-five years ago and sold it to a pharmaceuticals company. There’d been reports that he’d recently made contact with some shady organisation that pays big money to sell on research to the pharmaceuticals industry, and the Royal Society wanted to know more, without spooking him. The scientist happened to now be working at the museum. I was young, unknown and inconspicuous. The Dean knew he could trust me. So he asked if I could go to the museum posing as a volunteer needing extra credit, and see if I could find anything out.’

‘So you’re . . . a spy?’ Bee’s hormones were waging an out-and-out battle with the rational part of her brain. She didn’t know what to think.

Toby shrugged. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘Without the disguise or the concealed weapon. That night, the night Gus died? I didn’t go to Security, you’re right. I went to Featherstone’s office. I thought it might be a good opportunity to do some snooping. But I ran into Kobayashi in the corridor and had to turn back.’

Bee couldn’t think of anything to say.

Toby sighed. ‘I don’t really care if you believe me or not. You don’t ever have to see me again.’

Bee felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. ‘Why?’

Toby took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘Because I’m done. My investigation is over. That was the other thing I was going to tell you. And you can choose not to believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway and then I’ll get out of your life and you can decide whether I’m a murderer or not. I’ll even leave you my address in case you need to send the cops over.’

Bee felt like the very filthiest kind of rat. The objective side of her was starting to agree with the hormonal side. Toby wasn’t a murderer. The relief that started to seep through Bee was drowned out by a wave of misery. Toby looked so hurt and betrayed. And he’d just said that he never wanted to see her again.

‘The Dean called me last night,’ said Toby. ‘He said that Cranston had submitted a paper to the Royal Society and the Nobel Committee. It was the results from all his latest work. Cranston has been doing this top-secret research using scorpion venom. It contains a bunch of neurotoxins that are not usually life-threatening to a normal healthy adult, but can send a child or an old or sick person into anaphylactic shock. But there’s one element of the venom, called a chlorotoxin, that Cranston’s been concentrating on particularly. Because his research has shown that this chlorotoxin attacks cancerous cells in the brain before it attacks healthy ones. Cranston’s been working on a possible cure for cancer.’

‘Oh,’ whispered Bee.

‘So that’s it,’ said Toby. ‘I’m done. If Featherstone was planning on stealing Cranston’s work, he’s too late.’

He stood up and threw a five-dollar note onto the table next to his empty coffee cup. Then he left without saying another word.

Bee stared down at the laminex table. Everything was wrong. Toby wasn’t the murderer – but she’d ruined everything with him. Any chance of a possible romance or friendship.

And to make matters worse, Bee had about forty-seven hours left before she had to go back to school, and she was no closer to solving the mystery of Gus’s death.

The Celestial Badger was coming out Bee’s front door when Bee arrived home at quarter past eleven.

‘You were up early,’ he said, then looked at her properly. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Bee. She wasn’t fine, but the last person she wanted to talk to about it was her mother’s boyfriend. Okay, maybe not the last. She couldn’t really bear the thought of talking to Toby, either. Or Featherstone or Kobayashi. The Celestial Badger was maybe the fourth-last person she wanted to talk to about it.

What she really wanted was to talk to Maddy. Maddy wouldn’t be able to solve any of Bee’s problems, but she’d listen and ask the right questions and then say something funny to make Bee see that perhaps things weren’t that bad after all. But Bee couldn’t talk to Maddy, because Maddy was with Fletch. And Fletch was a cheating idiot, which made Maddy the kind of girl who would ditch her best friend for a cheating idiot. Not exactly the kind of person you wanted to take advice from.

‘You don’t look fine.’

Bee was surprised to find herself still standing on her own porch, the Celestial Badger hovering around and looking worried.

‘I’m just tired,’ said Bee, then burst into tears.

The Celestial Badger flushed red with embarrassment, then tremblingly put an arm around Bee, making sure none of his torso touched hers. ‘There, there,’ he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

His tone of voice suggested that he vehemently hoped she didn’t.

‘No,’ said Bee. The Badger looked relieved.

Then Bee started talking, almost against her will. And not about Cranston and Gus and Featherstone, or even about Toby. She started talking about Maddy and the whole mess with Fletch.

‘I just really miss her,’ she said. ‘I wish there was some way we could be friends again.’

‘Isn’t there?’

Bee looked at the Celestial Badger and tried to see what her mother found attractive. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you
want
to be friends again. And so does she.’

‘But she’s dating my ex-boyfriend. Which she started doing
before
he was my ex-boyfriend.’

‘So?’

Bee shook her head. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘No, I don’t. If you both want to be friends, and you’re not angry at her anymore, then who cares who she’s dating? Isn’t friendship supposed to be more important than boys?’

Bee didn’t say anything. Was it possible that the Celestial Badger was right? Could it be that simple? She stood up.

‘Thanks for listening,’ she said. ‘And . . . thanks for looking after my mum.’

‘It’s my pleasure,’ he said with a somewhat goofy smile. ‘Enjoy your Saturday, and make sure you get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel much better tomorrow. Like a whole new person.’