5.30 AM
First Squawk. The Simpsons are not awake yet, so I join in with Delilah and her flock. It is not the same as doing First Squawk with Olive, but it is better than being alone.
6.30 AM
Worm Hunt. The Simpsons are still not awake. I wonder if there is a rooster somewhere nearby who could crow under their bedroom windows. I need them up and talking, and giving themselves away. Or murdering someone so I can film them.
(As long as it’s not Delilah they murder. She is a chook of taste and intelligence.)
7.00 AM
Egg O’Clock. I am not, repeat not leaving my beautiful egg where Jubilee Crystal Simpson might find it. Delilah tells me that the neighbours are nice and sometimes throw cooked rice over the fence. So I go next door and lay my egg under their letterbox.
8.00 AM
The Simpsons are awake at last! I wait until the back door is open and they are not looking, and I creep into the kitchen. The cat is asleep under the table again, so I peck its nose. Then I stare at it until it runs away.
Even Delilah is impressed by my stare.
9.30 AM
Jubilee has gone to school and Mr Simpson has gone out. It is a long, slow morning. The Simpsons are not very good at being criminals. Nonetheless, I stay in my hiding spot behind the rubbish bin, with Digby’s phone set at just the right angle to catch them if they murder someone.
1.00 PM
Still no bodies, except for the dead mouse under the fridge. I check that it hasn’t been poisoned, then eat it.
3.30 PM
Jubilee comes home from school. She sits at the table and stares at her phone.
Is that suspicious? Probably not.
I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Maybe I am watching the wrong master criminal.
Mr Simpson’s phone buzzes as he walks into the kitchen. He scowls, puts it to his ear and snaps, ‘What is it? I told you not to call me.’
His voice sounds different. The Merrycan accent has gone, and so has the friendliness.
I tap out the passcode and start recording.
‘Yes, Hennessey’s leaving tomorrow,’ says Mr Simpson. ‘And I have it on good authority that his replacement is useless … What? … No, it was the only truck I could get at such short notice … Good, we’ll move them tomorrow night … Now turn your phone off and don’t call me again.’ He shoves his phone back in his pocket.
I was watching the wrong person. The master criminal isn’t Jubilee. It’s her father!
I’m so excited that I accidentally hit the stop button with my claw, and Digby’s phone makes a little beeping sound.
Mr Simpson spins around. ‘What was that?’
‘It sounded like a phone,’ says Jubilee.
My feathers stand on end. She hasn’t got a Merrycan accent either! And now Mr Simpson is stalking across the kitchen, like Rufus when he spies a rat. His eyes are hard. His neck is stiff. He’s coming straight towards me.
There’s no time to wriggle the phone into its bag, and if I try to drag it, the noise will give me away. So I leave it where it is and dive behind the fridge with my head down.
Mr Simpson finds the phone. ‘What the—It’s been recording me!’
His anger is like the anger of a dozen roosters. He scans the kitchen, and I stand so still that an ant marches across my foot, thinking I’m just a bump in the ground. (I’m not.)
What would Inspector Garcia do in this situation? What would Amelia X do? I have no idea. I don’t remember a single episode where either of them crouched trembling behind a fridge.
‘Whose phone is it?’ asks Jubilee.
‘Digby someone. Do you know him?’
‘Show me. That’s Digby Carella, he’s in my class. He’s Olive Hennessey’s cousin.’
Mr Simpson snarls through his teeth. ‘They’re onto us. We’re going to have to cut things short.’
‘Does that mean we can leave this dump?’ asks Jubilee.
Her father is drumming his fingers on the table. ‘Shut up and let me think. I knew Hennessey was close, but I didn’t think he was this close. We’d better move that last lot of sheep tonight, just in case. And then we’ll disappear. Jubilee, go and pack.’
He takes his own phone out of his pocket and puts it to his ear. ‘Derek? … Derek, turn on your phone … No, I don’t want to leave a message. Turn on your phone!’
He snaps at Jubilee, his voice as hard and sharp as a dozen beaks. ‘I said, go and pack!’
She runs out of the kitchen, while I crouch even lower, trying to make myself as small as possible. Mr Simpson’s going to move the sheep. He’s going to get away, and I can’t stop him. Without Digby’s phone, I can’t even tell Olive what’s happening.
‘Derek? Derek! Turn your phone on, blast you!’
Another person talking about explosions. I hope Mr Simpson doesn’t have a bomb. He’s terrifying enough without one.
4.30 PM
Mr Simpson’s Merrycan accent is back, and so is his friendliness. ‘Shirley?’ he says into his phone. ‘It’s Ernie Simpson here. Sorry for the short notice, but can you work the bar tonight? I’ve had some bad news about my mom ... Pneumonia ... Yes, it’s a worry being so far away ... That’s a kind thought, Shirley ... Just leave the key in the usual place ... You can’t beat a small town for honesty, can you … Thanks, Shirley.’
I have to tell Olive what’s happening, but Mr Simpson is prowling around the kitchen, phoning Derek over and over again. If I try to sneak away, he’ll see me. If I run round in circles squawking with fright (which is what I really want to do), he’ll see me. If I do anything at all other than crouch behind the fridge, he’ll see me.
5.30 PM
At last Mr Simpson summons Jubilee and says, ‘I’m not waiting any longer. We’ll catch up with Derek on the way. Go and get your suitcase.’
Jubilee hurries out of the room again, and her father follows her. As soon as he’s gone, I dash out the back door and run round in circles squawking, to relieve some of my terror. Then I stop. I must do something. But what? Mr Simpson is so big and fierce, and I am so small.
Delilah has seen my distress, and comes over to ask what’s wrong.
‘Everything,’ I tell her. ‘The rats are worse than I thought, and now they are escaping.’
‘That’s good,’ she says. ‘We’ll be rid of them. They’ll steal someone else’s eggs instead of ours.’
I want to agree with her. I want to cower behind the woodshed until Mr Simpson is gone, and I am safe again. But I am supposed to be a detective. I am supposed to be on the side of truth and justice.
‘They might come back,’ I say. ‘It would be better if we could stop them altogether.’
Before I can say more, the back door slams shut, and Mr Simpson and Jubilee hurry across the yard towards their yellow car, carrying suitcases and coats.
‘Where are the rats?’ asks Delilah.
In Episode 8 of Death in the City, Inspector Garcia had a moment of sheer desperation. Now I know how she felt.
I mean, I know how she would have felt. If she was real.
‘The rats are in the suitcases,’ I say quickly. ‘I have to get into that car without being seen. Wait until the humans open the car doors, then make a fuss. A big one!’
Without waiting to see if she agrees, I edge towards the car. The Simpsons don’t even look at me – after all, I am only a chook.
They put their suitcases in the boot. Mr Simpson opens the driver’s door. Jubilee opens the door behind him and tosses in a coat …
Delilah lets out an earsplitting squawk. ‘Mouse! I’ve got a mouse!’ And she begins to run around the car.
Every chook in the yard races after her. ‘Mine!’ they shout. ‘Give it to me!’ ‘Mine mine mine!’
‘What the—’ says Mr Simpson, backing up against the car.
Jubilee hides behind her father. While their attention is elsewhere, I hop up onto the back seat and squirm under Jubilee’s coat.
Delilah and her sisters run around the car three more times, then Delilah squawks, ‘Oh no, it got away.’ And the noise and the shouting stops as suddenly as it began.
Mr Simpson climbs into the driver’s seat, snarling, ‘I hate chooks. Next one I see, I’m going to wring its neck.’
Jubilee gets in the back, and her father talks to the car. ‘Come on, you stupid thing,’ he growls. ‘Start, or you’ll go to the wreckers.’
He is not at all polite, but the car starts anyway. Jubilee watches the back of her father’s head for a moment or two, then takes out her phone and puts white plugs into her ears.
My heart is beating so fast I can hardly think. I huddle down and don’t make a sound as we roll out of the yard and away from any chance of safety.