A Pocketful of Eyes (9 page)

‘So what were you doing at the time Gus died?’ asked Bee. ‘The police said it was around midnight.’

‘I was in the control room,’ said Faro. ‘I make rounds every two hours, so I finished one at eleven-thirty and then made a cup of coffee and sat in the control room reading the newspaper.’ He smiled. ‘I like the cryptic crossword. I did not go out again until half past one.’

‘What do you do in the control room?’ asked Toby. ‘Are there security cameras to monitor?’

Faro nodded. ‘But here is a secret,’ he said. ‘There is no security camera in the Red Rotunda at the moment – it is faulty. So instead we lock the doors every night when the museum closes. We have the only key, so it is all safe.’

Bee raised her eyebrows. ‘So anything could have happened in there,’ she said. ‘And you wouldn’t have known.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Faro. ‘But I do not know how anyone could have got in without the key.’

‘And you definitely had the key with you the whole time?’

‘I did. There is a book where people must sign the keys in and out.’

Bee glanced at Toby. ‘Can we see the book?’

‘You can,’ said Faro. ‘I can show you now; my shift is beginning.’

They went downstairs to the control room, and Faro clocked on, put on his security hat, opened a drawer and pulled out a spiral-bound exercise book.

‘Here,’ he said, scanning the pages. ‘The Red Rotunda key was last signed out on the sixth of January, which was a week before Gus . . .’ He paused and looked more closely at the book. ‘Oh.’

‘What is it?’ asked Bee, leaning forward.

Faro held out the book and pointed. Under the ‘Red Rotunda’ column were a series of dates, names and signatures.

‘What?’ asked Toby from behind Bee. ‘What does it say?’

Bee turned to him. ‘The last person to sign out the key to the Red Rotunda was Gus, a week before he died.’

‘I was here when he came to collect it,’ said Faro slowly. ‘He said the stuffed dog in the Red Rotunda had lost an eye and he needed to replace it.’

Bee felt as though someone had kicked her in the gut. ‘That’s why he had glass eyes in his pocket,’ she said, half to herself. ‘Oh God.’

Gus
had
killed himself. He’d been the last person to have the key to the Red Rotunda – he could have easily had a copy made before returning it. And that was why he had a pocketful of glass eyes. Because he needed the right size and shape to replace the mangy old dog’s eye.

Bee swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’ve made a terrible mistake.’

She thought she’d known Gus. She thought they’d shared an understanding. Gus was like her – he liked things methodical and ordered and quiet and unemotional. But was it possible that what Bee had always seen as companionable silence had actually been miserable silence? Had Gus been depressed?

‘No,’ said Toby. ‘Bee.
No.
What about the noise we heard in the lab? Gus’s fake name? The photo of Cranston in Featherstone’s office? And who worries about replacing a dead animal’s eye on the day they’re planning to top themself?’

Bee shook her head. ‘I’m sure there’s a rational explanation for everything,’ she said, hoping she wouldn’t cry in front of him.

Toby turned to Faro Costa, who was staring at the book, brow furrowed, as if he were trying to remember something. ‘Who has access to the glass cases?’ he asked. ‘Is there a separate set of keys?’

‘The display cases in the Red Rotunda have their own unique set of keys,’ said Faro. ‘The cases were part of the Cranston Collection. They’re attached to the same keyring as the key to the door.’

‘But what about the other cases?’ asked Toby. ‘In the rest of the museum?’

‘There is one key,’ said Faro. ‘It opens every case in the museum, except for the ones in the Red Rotunda.’ He flipped the pages of the spiral-bound book. ‘And nobody has taken that key out since before Christmas.’

‘And nobody else has a copy of the key?’

‘Adrian Featherstone has one,’ said Faro. ‘His team do regular humidity checks inside the cases.’

Bee felt her heart start to hammer. ‘Featherstone?’ she said, weakly.

Faro nodded. ‘He is a strange man, a dark man. His soul is black. He walks in shadow.’ He touched the pendant hanging around his neck.

‘Have you noticed anything particularly creepy about him lately?’ asked Toby. ‘Anything that we might be able to connect with Gus’s death?’

Faro thought about it. ‘Ye-es,’ he said slowly. ‘I did see him. Last week, in the Red Rotunda. Five days before Gus died.’

Bee tried to calm her breathing.

‘Nobody else was there,’ said Faro. ‘Just Featherstone. And he was . . .
muttering
. As though he was talking to the devil himself.’

‘Could you hear him?’ asked Toby. ‘What did he say?’

Faro scratched his head. ‘He was leaning over one of the cases in there,’ he said. ‘I could not hear what he was muttering, so I stepped into the room to see if he was all right. And I heard him say—’

‘What?’ asked Toby. ‘What did he say?’

‘He said
It’s got to be here somewhere
. Then he banged his fist on the case and turned to leave. That was when he saw me.’

‘Did he say anything else?’

‘No. He looked at me with eyes that burned, then he fled. I fear for him.’

‘What case was Featherstone looking at?’ asked Bee suddenly.

Faro Costa pursed his lips. ‘The one at the front,’ he said. ‘The low one, with the scorpion and that strange crab.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Toby, suddenly sounding very intense. ‘He was looking at the horseshoe crab?’

‘I am sure.’

Bee’s mind started to race, and she felt sick. She could barely keep up with her own emotions. Perhaps Gus hadn’t killed himself. Perhaps her hunch had been right all along. Surely Featherstone had to be involved somehow? And what about Cranston?

‘One last question,’ she said, digging through her handbag until she found the photocopy she’d made of the newspaper article about Cranston. She handed it to Faro Costa. ‘This man has been visiting the museum recently. Have you seen him?’ She pointed at the photo of Cranston.

Faro squinted at the photocopy. ‘
Idios mío!
’ he breathed. ‘Yes. I have seen him many times. I saw him on the same night that I saw Featherstone in the Red Rotunda. He was around the side of the museum, near the bins. He was talking to Gus.’

‘To Gus?’ said Toby. ‘Cranston was talking to Gus? What did he say?’

Faro shook his head. ‘I did not hear,’ he said. ‘I only noticed them from the window of the Rainforest Exhibit. But Gus was yelling at this man. He looked . . . not angry, but forceful. As if he was trying to make this man do something he did not want to do.’ He pointed at the picture of Cranston. ‘And this man was crying.’

‘WOW,’ SAID TOBY, AS THEY
walked up the stairs from Security. ‘That was . . . interesting.’

‘It certainly was,’ said Bee.

‘Can we recap?’ asked Toby. ‘I don’t know if I got my head around it all.’

Bee nodded. ‘There’s no security footage of what happened in the Red Rotunda,’ she said. ‘And the only way to get in is with the key. The only people who have had access to the key are Faro Costa, and Gus, who had it a week earlier.’

‘But he could have made a copy.’

‘Exactly. Which makes the suicide explanation more likely,’ said Bee. ‘But I still don’t buy it.’

‘What about Faro Costa himself?’ asked Toby. ‘Should we consider him a suspect?’

Bee thought about it. ‘I don’t think so. He has absolutely no motive, and he just doesn’t . . . seem like a murderer. You know?’

Toby shrugged. ‘I’m not sure anyone seems like a murderer.’

‘I suppose,’ said Bee.

‘So what else did we learn?’

‘We learnt that Cranston and Gus were seen talking a week before the murder. Gus seemed angry and Cranston was upset.’

‘That doesn’t really make sense,’ said Toby. ‘Not if Cranston is the murderer. Shouldn’t
he
be the angry one? If he was threatening Gus or something?’

‘Who knows? Maybe Cranston was upset that Gus wanted to work here instead of with him. Jealousy is a powerful motivation.’ Bee remembered seeing Cranston in the museum the morning before Gus’s death. He’d looked so
sad
. Not like the kind of man who would kill someone out of jealousy.

‘And what about Featherstone?’

‘Featherstone seems to have an alibi,’ said Bee. ‘He was seen leaving the museum just after eleven, at least an hour before the murder.’

‘But he’s the only one who could have opened the case with the mercuric chloride,’ said Toby. ‘And Faro Costa saw him in the Red Rotunda. Looking at the horseshoe crab.’

‘Yes,’ said Bee, chewing her lower lip. ‘Why don’t we stop by the Red Rotunda in case inspiration strikes?’

The Red Rotunda was as deserted as ever. Bee peered in the glass case at the horseshoe crab. ‘What are your secrets?’ she muttered to it. ‘What have you seen in here?’

The horseshoe crab ignored her, while the scorpion next to it just looked angry.

‘Bee,’ said Toby. He was over by the case containing the mangy stuffed dog and cats. ‘Look.’

He pointed at the dog. ‘Gus said he had to replace the dog’s eyes, because one of them had fallen out. But look.’

Both of the dog’s eyes were there, and they were exactly the same: scratched and dull and covered in a fine layer of dust. Clearly neither had been replaced recently.

‘Reptile eyes,’ said Bee, suddenly.

Toby looked at her questioningly.

‘The policeman said that the eyes in Gus’s pocket were reptile eyes. So they couldn’t have been for the dog.’

‘Could Faro Costa have misheard?’ asked Toby. ‘Or remembered it wrong?’

‘Maybe,’ said Bee. ‘But he doesn’t seem like the kind of person who forgets things. But let’s check all the eyes in here anyway. Just to make sure.’

They spent a good ten minutes examining every stuffed creature in the Red Rotunda. Bee studied the furry face of a quokka, feeling quite unsettled by all the staring glass eyes around her.

‘Pull yourself together,’ she whispered to herself.

‘What?’ asked Toby.

‘Nothing,’ said Bee.

‘Come and look at these,’ said Toby, staring into a glass case full of frogs and toads.

‘Did you find anything?’ asked Bee.

‘Not really,’ said Toby. ‘Well, no, not at all. But these two toads are awesome and I want to tell you about them.’

Bee sighed and went to look at the toads.

‘See this one?’ Toby pointed at a flat, brown, ugly toad. ‘It’s called the Surinam Toad. It can’t attract mates by croaking like normal frogs and toads can, so it snaps a bone in its throat, making a clicking sound. The females release eggs, and then the males sort of flip over them in the water, which embeds the eggs in the female’s back. The eggs sink into the skin and form little pockets, like blisters, and then the female carries them around, right through the whole tadpole stage, until they’re fully formed tiny baby toads, and then the blisters pop and they swim out.’

‘That’s disgusting,’ said Bee. ‘Now, did you find anything
useful
?’

‘Don’t you want to hear about the other toad?’

‘No. I’m already identifying enough with this one, what with carrying everything around on my back. What does the male toad do after he’s flipped the eggs into the lady toad? Probably runs off and spouts useless trivia instead of helping.’

Toby laughed. ‘Well, it’s funny you should say that.’

Bee groaned.

‘Now look at this midwife toad.’ Toby indicated a froggier-looking toad with brown lumps on its back. ‘The female lays her eggs in a long string, and the male fertilises them externally. Then she vanishes, off to go shopping or drink Cosmopolitans with her girlfriends.’ Toby grinned and waggled his eyebrows at Bee. ‘The male toad wraps the strand of eggs around his back legs, and then swims off with them. He’s got little poison sacs on his back to protect them, and he carries them around like that until they hatch. That’s some pretty dedicated paternal parenting.’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Bee. ‘Very nicely played. Now let’s look at eyes.’

‘There’s nothing here that looks new,’ said Toby. ‘Everything’s dusty and old. That means Gus must have lied about why he needed the key.’

‘Then what
were
the eyes in his pocket for?’

‘If you kids need something to do,’ said a voice behind them, ‘I’m sure I could find something in Conservation to keep you occupied.’

Adrian Featherstone was standing in the doorway of the Red Rotunda, holding a small cardboard box and a clipboard. He was wearing an ill-fitting white dress shirt with the buttons done up wrong, high-waisted jeans and open-toed sandals. His hair was greasy, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a week.

‘Sorry, Adrian,’ said Toby, with the easy grin that seemed to make most people comfortable. ‘We were just taking a quick break. It can get pretty stuffy down in the lab.’

The easy grin didn’t achieve its desired effect on Featherstone. Bee had a sudden flashback to Monday morning, when she had come across Featherstone sitting at Gus’s desk, scowling just like that, and rolling a glass eye between his fingers. A glass eye that Bee had guessed was a size 4 . . .

‘A reptile eye,’ she said out loud before she could stop herself.

Featherstone looked at her sharply. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Adrian Featherstone had been seen acting suspiciously in the Red Rotunda. Adrian Featherstone had been the last person to open the case containing the mercuric chloride. Adrian Featherstone had almost certainly been searching Gus’s desk on Monday. Adrian Featherstone had been holding a glass lizard’s eye that was
the same kind
as the ones found in Gus’s pocket.

‘Actually,’ said Toby suddenly, ‘that would be awesome.’

Bee and Featherstone both stared at him. ‘What?’ said Featherstone.

‘It does get really stuffy in the taxidermy lab. And I’ve always been interested in conservation. We’d love to help out in your department for a couple of hours . . . see how it all works.’

Bee had not thought it possible for Featherstone to look
more
sour, but it seemed Toby’s words had achieved it. ‘Fine,’ he said shortly, and stalked out of the room. Bee scurried after him with Toby trailing behind her.

‘What are you
doing
?’ hissed Bee. ‘You don’t want to know more about conservation! You said yesterday how terrified you were around all those pregnant women.’

‘I want to know more about
him
,’ whispered Toby, leaning in so his breath tickled Bee’s ear and made her tingle inside. ‘You said yourself he’s involved in this. We need to find out how.’

The Conservation lab was blinding, all white walls and stainless steel benches. A heavily pregnant woman gave Bee and Toby a stern glance before stripping off her latex gloves at one of the many handwashing stations, and pumping anti-bacterial handwash into her palm. She washed carefully from just above her wrist, giving each fingernail special attention, before drying her hands on a disposable towel, picking up a cardboard archive box, and stalking out of the room. Bee wasn’t sure who the conservator disapproved of more: her and Toby, or the sloppy untidiness of Adrian Featherstone.

‘Do you know what the word
entropy
means?’ asked Featherstone. The harsh fluorescent lights showed up the pockmarks in his skin. He clearly hadn’t shaved for a few days.

Bee shook her head.

‘Isn’t it something to do with thermodynamics?’ asked Toby.

‘Yes,’ Featherstone said testily. ‘It comes from the Greek
entropia
, which means
a turning
. And it
is
used in thermodynamics.’ His face assumed its usual air of condescension. ‘But more broadly it refers to the tendency of things, when left to themselves, to descend into chaos.’

Bee and Toby exchanged a glance.

‘Everything,’ Featherstone continued, ‘regardless of whether it is natural or manufactured by humans, is in a constant state of decay. From the day you are born, you start to die. Some things simply take longer than others.’

Bee thought of Gus and shivered.

‘Decay is unavoidable. Every piece of wood is rotting. Every piece of metal is rusting. Every stone is eroding. Every living creature takes a step closer to death with every breath and heartbeat. Nothing can be done to stop this. There is no way to cheat death.’

‘Cheery,’ remarked Toby. ‘Do you give this speech to all the work-experience kids?’

Adrian Featherstone ignored him. ‘My job,’ he went on, ‘is not to prevent entropy. It cannot be halted. My job is to control it. To limit decay.’

‘You’re a hero,’ said Toby under his breath.

‘You’re obviously very good at your job,’ said Bee, trying to seem friendly. ‘Very passionate.’

‘Yeah,’ said Toby. ‘Have you always been a conservationist?’

‘A
conservationist
,’ Featherstone said icily, ‘is a kind of hippy. People who work here are
conservators
. But I am a
scientist
.’

‘So how can we help you today?’ asked Bee, shooting a warning glare at Toby to behave.

‘We’ve recently received a shipment of preserved animals that are to be part of the upcoming new exhibition,’ said Featherstone, looking bored. ‘They’re from a museum in Canberra, and some of the specimens are over a hundred years old. This means they’re riddled with bugs and dangerous chemicals such as arsenic, DDT and mercury.’

Bee’s ears pricked up. Gus had been killed using a form of mercury.

‘It’s our job to strip the specimens of their unwanted chemicals and creatures, and then restore them to exhibition standard.’

‘Great,’ said Bee. ‘Where do we start?’

‘The specimens are very valuable and fragile,’ said Featherstone. ‘They can only be handled by trained professionals. You will be inputting the notes from our conservators into our online database.’

‘Data entry?’ said Toby, crestfallen.

‘Records and observations are vital components of preservation and conservation,’ snapped Featherstone. ‘As I said before, we work hard here. Don’t expect me to mollycoddle you the way Gus did.’

Bee bit back a sharp retort. Sniping at Featherstone wasn’t going to bring Gus back, or help them find out who killed him. She remembered the newspaper clipping that had been in Featherstone’s office. He knew that Gus was really Gregory Uriel Swindon. He knew about his connection with William Cranston. But what
else
did Featherstone know?

Toby was clearly thinking along similar lines, because he turned to Featherstone with a casual air. ‘So you haven’t worked in science since you left England?’

Featherstone bristled. ‘Conservation
is
a science,’ he said stiffly. ‘And you shouldn’t be so quick to assume knowledge about someone from their accent. For all you know, I could have lived here since I was a boy.’