Authors: Gabrielle Lord
September (16 page)
‘Like making a negative and then printing a positive from that,’ said Boges. ‘You make a negative of the fingerprint?’
‘Correct. By repeating the exact same
process
, I’ll end up with the right imprint. I hope.’
‘Then you attach the film to the top of your finger and fool the scanner?’
‘That’s the theory,’ I said. ‘That will give us
a good fingerprint which I can use to access the scanner at the bank. Well, not me actually. I was thinking of Winter. Can’t you imagine her
wearing
a big red wig, purple sunglasses, high heels and a long leopard-skin print scarf?’
‘In theory it sounds good … but I really don’t know if it can be pulled off. How are you going to get her fingerprint?’
‘I need to follow her, and I need to borrow your bike again.’
‘OK. Look I’ve gotta go, Mum’s calling out to me. Let’s figure this out later?’
Boges had found me a place to stay for a few nights, in between staying at Winter’s.
I’d been spending my days trailing Oriana on Boges’s bike, trying to find information, and trying to come up with an idea on how to get hold of her fingerprint. Whenever she went out in her dark blue Mercedes, I would emerge from my hiding place in the garden across the road, jump on Boges’s bike, and follow her, keeping my distance. Once she was on foot it was easier. Her thick, red hair and her swaying way of walking in her high heels made her stand out in almost any crowd. The purple suit and
leopard
-print scarf fluttering in the breeze helped, too. Sometimes she’d go to Estelle’s Hair Salon, sometimes to her city office, sometimes on
business
lunches with clients, sometimes it was a trip to the shops. And sometimes I lost sight
of her car in seconds, missing my chance
altogether
.
Another problem was that Sumo was never very far away.
‘You’re back,’ she said, letting me into her flat. I could feel a smile growing on my face, especially at the excitement in her voice. She’d phoned to tell me she had news that couldn’t wait. ‘Quick, sit down.’
She hopped down, cross-legged on the couch beside me, her computer in her lap. Sparkles in her long, wild hair flashed—something I hadn’t seen in a while—and the turquoise eye shadow she was wearing made her dark brown eyes look softer, lighter.
‘I have something to show you,’ she said. ‘Take a look at this.’
I watched her while she pulled up a website and opened it, clicking on images. I leaned closer to see that the screen was filled with thumbnails of Queen Elizabeth the First. Winter enlarged
one of them and pushed the laptop in my
direction
. Her face was flushed with excitement.
It was a portrait of a girl—the Queen—with red-gold hair streaming over her shoulders, wearing a dark blue dress covered in tiny roses. I reckoned she must have been about my age.
Around her neck were several strings of pearls, while pearls also hung from her ears.
But it wasn’t the jewellery Winter wanted me to see.
In the crook of the girl’s arm, looking up at her with its small, cute, almost human face was a white monkey with a golden collar, holding a tiny golden ball. He was just like the animal Dad had drawn!
‘It’s the monkey!’ I said. ‘You found him!’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said, smiling proudly. ‘It’s the young Elizabeth,’ Winter explained, ‘before she became the queen. See—“Portrait of Princess Elizabeth, 1547”,’ she read.
In her right hand, the princess held a white- and-gold covered book, embroidered with a decorative ‘E’ while her left hand held an enamelled and jewelled locket. Winter heard my sharp intake of breath as I focused on this—the long white fingers gracefully cradling a locket decorated with a rose, just like the Ormond Jewel.
‘Uh-huh,’ she said again, nodding. ‘It’s the same as the reverse side of the Ormond Jewel. A rose. Like the boy is holding in your dad’s other drawing.’
‘How did you find it?’
‘I knew it was familiar, somehow. But I couldn’t remember where I’d seen it—the white monkey, I mean. Then it finally came to me. I’d seen it in an art catalogue.
‘From time to time one of the great houses belonging to the English nobility has to sell some of its artworks to help pay taxes and upkeep. Sligo’s been receiving catalogues from these high-end auctioneers—lately, he’s become very interested in art.’
She must have noticed the dubious look on my face. ‘Not in art itself,’ she said, ‘but in its value. Actually, I think he’s already “acquired” some valuable paintings.’
‘Acquired?’
‘Stolen, probably. I called in to see him the other night and all these paintings were being carried in the back. It must have been almost midnight. What sort of people deliver paintings at that hour?’
I couldn’t help but feel weird about her being at Sligo’s place at that time of night and I tried to work out when it might have been.
Winter continued. ‘Anyway, I love looking through the auction catalogues—there are some incredible paintings in there—and I must have seen this one and then forgotten about it. I went back in search of it and read that it came onto the market about a year ago. Until then, hardly anybody knew of its existence.’
I studied the portrait of the girl again. What was she telling us? What was Dad trying to tell me in his drawing of the boy and the rose?
‘I wish we had the Jewel here,’ I said. ‘The locket she’s holding in the painting looks the same. The same gold around the edges, the same shape and size.’
‘Except that on the reverse side of the Ormond Jewel there’s an extra bud. Apart from that, it looks identical. Maybe there was a pair of them. It’s pretty exciting! Anyway,’ Winter said, looking at the clock, ‘want some help collecting Oriana’s fingerprint?’
We tracked Oriana down in a café I’d come to learn was one of her regular haunts. We were looking through the window of a surf shop
outside
, when Oriana suddenly emerged from the café and headed down the street away from us.
‘Mind the bike?’ I asked.
‘Yep, go after her!’
I’d considered dashing into the café and grabbing the cup she’d been drinking from, but dropped the idea. I had to be sure that I’d get a good fingerprint of her right index finger.
Oriana stepped into a fashion boutique around the corner and I pulled up, watching her through the display of handbags and shoes in the front window. She was wandering around inside,
picking
up handbags, examining them, and putting them down again. This was my chance.
I walked into the shop, hands in my pockets, trying to go unnoticed. Luckily the sales
assistant
had focused all of her attention on Oriana. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Oriana pick up a brown patent leather bag. She gave it a good squeeze while she was opening it, and again when snapping the clasp shut. Perfect, I thought. On the side of that shiny, brown patent leather, there would be a nice fat fingerprint.
The assistant, who’d been hovering around Oriana, pointed out a silver handbag high on a shelf in the corner. The pair moved away, giving me a clear run.
I had my target. With a swift move, and
careful
not to touch the side of the brown handbag, I snatched it up and bolted from the shop.
As soon as I ran through the security stands
that covered the doorway, the alarm started going off.
I leaped out into the street.
‘It’s the Psycho Kid,’ someone shouted.
I could hear the shopkeeper and Oriana de la Force screaming after me as I raced around the corner and saw Winter jump to her feet.
‘Don’t touch the side of this!’ I yelled, tossing her the patent leather bag. ‘It has the print on it—quick! I’m being chased!’
Winter caught it by the handles.
I threw my leg over the bike, preparing to cycle away like crazy, when I looked back and saw Winter’s eyes widen with fear.
‘Behind you!’ she shouted.
But it was too late. Just as I was taking off, someone crash-tackled me from behind and I fell heavily to the ground.
When the red and black tiles came into focus through my aching eyes, I realised with a sick feeling that I was in big trouble.
As my brain groped its way to consciousness, a voice floated around my head.
‘This little grub has been nothing but trouble. Why is he still here?’ Oriana’s voice screeched. ‘There are little more than three months left
and I can’t make head or tail of what we have so far! The cryptographer is costing me a fortune and he’s not getting anywhere! And we still have this,’ she said, kicking my foot, ‘getting in our way! How hard is it to get rid of a boy?’
I kept still on the floor, wildly trying to think of a way out of my situation. But when I went to move, I realised my hands and feet were tied.
Tied up, two times in one month …
Suddenly, I was seized around the neck and dragged to my feet. Oriana had wrapped her leopard-print scarf around my throat and was pulling it tight.
‘You’re choking me!’ I croaked, struggling to free my airways.
‘That’s the idea!’ Oriana screamed, jerking on the scarf harder. I gasped for air. Her furious face was almost the same colour as her hair and she sprayed me with spit as she screamed. ‘Here, Kelvin,’ she said, releasing me. I fell
forward
, coughing and spluttering, sucking down air. ‘Pat it down. Make sure it’s clean.’
She was calling me ‘it’!
‘I’m going to get rid of you once and for all,’ she said, picking me up again after Kelvin had checked me over. She gripped me by my hoodie. ‘You’re going to go somewhere you’ll never, ever return from! You’ve cost me a fortune! Your
interference is finally over—for good!’
With that, she slapped me across the face. I was shaking with fear and my head throbbed even worse. I could barely stand because of the way my feet were tied. ‘My friends know where I am,’ I bluffed, wondering why she wouldn’t just finish the job right then—kill me and be done with it. ‘You won’t get away with this,’ I threatened.
‘Oh, I am so scared!’ she squealed
sarcastically
, and then turned on Kelvin.
‘You’re dumping him in Dingo Bones Valley. Where you disposed of that other bag of … bag of
waste
.’
‘Dingo Bones Valley? Do I have to? Boss, that’s—’ Kelvin started to say.
Oriana swung around and slapped him. ‘That’s exactly where you’re dumping him! I don’t want to hear any complaints! You’re paid to do what I tell you!’
‘But boss, how’s he expected to—’
‘Expected to what?’ she snarled. ‘Expected to nothing! He’s going to be dead when you dump him—well and truly dead—do you hear me? Can you get that through your thick skull?’
‘You can’t do that!’ I said. ‘You have
everything
you want! You’ve stolen the Jewel and the Riddle. You have my dad’s drawings! What else do you want?’
She shoved me towards Kelvin, ignoring my pleas entirely.
‘And you’d better be more efficient than those two hopeless fools you hired to do the
swap
with the little girl,’ she said to Kelvin. ‘I don’t want anything like that happening again. If you mess up this time, I’ll throttle your other cat. Got it?’