I’m in the bathroom. Something sad and dark keeps thrumming through my veins. I don’t want to know Mrs Kostas’s time of death.
It’s cold here. Cool enough to calm me down. But my face is burning. My heart races and it doesn’t stop. Panicking. Wobbly. Sad. I let out a squeak of a sob.
Dr Chandra’s calming voice comes to mind: ‘Deeply inhale and exhale. One, two, three times.’ So I do. I feel less wobbly. ‘If that doesn’t work, repeat a mantra. I will be OK. While you’re doing that, focus on what you can see, smell, hear, taste and touch.’ I say the words to myself twelve times. My senses – I can’t see anything because my eyes are closed. I can smell air freshener. Taste metal bitterness. I can feel the basin and the droplets of water in the sink. ‘Don’t worry if you’re still panicking. Look around. Centre yourself. Find three things. Focus on them.’
Bathtub. Basin. Toilet. Weird as it sounds, focusing on those things slows my heart.
I will be OK. I wipe a stray tear away, splash some water on my face and out I go.
As soon as I re-enter my room, I see Riri fidget. ‘I’ve got the time of death.’ She pauses. It takes me a minute to realise that she wants me to give her the go-ahead. I nod. ‘4.30 p.m. the day we found her.’
It feels like my heart is shattering all over again. What was I doing at 4.30 p.m. whilst Mrs Kostas was taking her last breaths?
I can’t remember. Somehow, that’s worse.
Riri must see me spiralling because she comes closer. Whispers, ‘Bear in mind, this might not be accurate – the battery could’ve died or it could’ve glitched.’
‘But it’s close enough. Where are we with our to-do list?’ I hand her my scribbled to-do list.
TO-DO LIST
• Find out the time of death then check footage
• Confirm who was inside the cafe at the time of death
• Create a timeline
• Create the suspect list
• Establish motives
• Begin questioning suspects
• Verify our timeline with each suspect
Unfortunately me and Riri finished something that isn’t on our to-do list: chores.
But it’s helped to unlock a memory.
I lay on my bed, spreadeagled. In my hands is my old iPad case that reminds me of what I was going to recount to Riri before. ‘I might as well speak about the thing with Mrs Kostas’s past I was going to “tell you later”. Later is now.’ It’ll feel weird to share it as I had thought it laid the foundation of mine and Mrs Kostas/Dimas’s relationship. Really it was a major red flag about her real identity.
‘Two years ago, when Cafe Vivlio first opened, Mrs Kostas was becoming my favourite adult in the world in a matter of weeks – she was that great. Always happy and nice to me. Within its first month of opening, Mrs Kostas reported a theft of that day’s money in the till. I sat at my table, reading manga and eating karidopita. Because she was insured she was promised the money back. She should’ve been happy but she closed the cafe early, which wasn’t like her. She was still inside so I crept in to see if she was OK. Well, and because I had left my iPad in the cafe. With this case.’ I hold up my old iPad case for her to see. ‘Mrs Kostas politely told me to go away but I noticed a painting near the till, unhung. It was small and fancy. Frameless. A sneaky Google search told me that the painting was worth millions. It was Poppy Flowers by Van Gogh!’ Riri gasps and her eyes widen as she fangirls over Van Gogh. ‘I asked her about it and she said it was a ghost of her past. I didn’t know what it meant so I left it alone. Anyway, my shoelace came undone so I tied it. Stuffed under the counter, far from anyone’s sight, was a big wad of cash.’
‘Whoa.’ Riri gapes like a goldfish.
I pause to take in Riri’s shell-shocked expression.
‘Days later, the painting kept bugging me. I had a feeling it was real. If it wasn’t, could it really shake her up so much? Maybe. I did more research and stopped by her flat. She tried denying it until she couldn’t anymore. She admitted to me that it was real.’
‘No way,’ Riri whispers.
I ignore her and continue, ‘I asked her where the painting came from and she refused to answer. Someone from her past must have planted that painting, to shake her up. Maybe to let her know they knew where she’d ended up. Friend or foe, I don’t know. Or maybe she faked the robbery then called the police. The ghost from her past –’
‘Ghosts don’t exist so why don’t we say person from her past?’
‘Pfft, how boring does that sound?’
‘And then what happened after the robbery, Ani?’
‘A week later, I asked her what happened to the painting. Said she anonymously donated it to a museum. I’m sure I heard Rodolfo say something about Poppy Flowers but he was far away, in the kitchens. I didn’t see who was with him.’
‘Should he be a suspect?’
‘If he was near the crime scene at the time of death, and we find a motive, maybe to do with this painting, then yes. Anyway, Mrs Kostas told me to never speak about it again. But promises expire after death. Except for the promises of twins.’
‘You’re referring to my TUSC induction, when you made me sign a waiver promising to not rise from the dead and sue you if an investigation resulted in my death. Aren’t you?’
I start pacing as I think back to the BBQoBN. ‘The day before she died, she was uncharacteristically jumpy. I was just too angry to notice before.’ I grit my teeth to suppress a sob. Riri mumbles to herself. ‘Would you shush? I need to finish my log.’ I pause as I resume recording. ‘Supersleuth’s log. I’m here with my Sleuth-In-Training, who can’t be named due to confidentiality laws. Before we go further, let’s go through our three main theories. Here, take this printout.’
Three main theories for Mrs Kostas/Dimas’s murder:
1) Random
2) Relating to Mrs Kostas’s life in Castlewick
3) Connected to her secret past
I point at Riri. ‘Do you think we could eliminate one? What does your SIT gut say?’
Riri squirms, looking like she’s been called out by a scary teacher. ‘Um . . . it could be random . . . but then it might not be. And it might be about her life in Castlewick . . . but she might’ve gained a lot of enemies from her past.’ She blushes, trying to think. Then excuses herself to go to the bathroom.
Now, I’m alone. How I like to be, with my thinking cap on. We have Mrs Kostas’s backstory and her time of death. But I still need more information.
Only two people can get me that.
I unlock my phone. Go on my only iMessage group chat. It’s called ANImals. Get it?
Helin was my first ever SIT. But then I learned that she doesn’t do so well under pressure. After that, I enlisted LaShawn. He’s squeamish about death. And bugs, leaves, puddles and reptiles. Even so, they both have their strengths. In fact, they’ve helped solve a few TUSC cases.
My phone buzzes. LaShawn replied first, then Helin.
I change the group chat’s name to ‘ANImals of the TUSC’.
Then I get in bed and fall fast asleep.
‘Supersleuth’s log,’ I say, mid-yawn. ‘7 a.m. Director Ani Tariq and her SIT are in a state of FBFB. Meaning, we have fresh breaths and full bellies. Ready for the day ahead! The mission is to call in reinforcements.’
Riri nods. Then gets the notepad and starts reading.
‘Shush, because I’m going to make one very important business call, so be quiet.’
TUSC report: very important call #1 at 7.20 a.m.
Five rings later, it’s answered. ‘Hi, Helin.’
‘Hey, Ani. How’s the investigation going?’
‘We’re making progress.’
‘When can you come over?’
‘Hopefully soon.’
‘Great. So, remember how you’re the school journalist and our star runner?’
Helin makes an ‘mmhmm’ sound.
‘Well, I need you to use your athletic insides –’
‘I think you mean instincts.’
‘If that’s your inner athlete talking, then I’ll accept the correction. I need you to prepare for an ultra-secret undercover mission.’
‘Hmm. Will I interrogate people? Imagine me riding my future horse over to suspects and getting confessions out of them. Can animals be SITs?’
‘Whoa, Helin, calm down. No and no – interrogation is my thing. You just need to start preparing your body – do some running and jogging. No horse-riding is required for this investigation. If your parents ask, say you’re preparing for a killer race –’
Riri gasps, cutting me off. ‘Excuse the pun.’
I glare at Riri. ‘Helin, can you do this?’
‘Yes.’ Her mom shouts in the background. ‘I’ve gotta go.’
‘Is she calling you down for breakfast? If you have any leftovers, you know where to bring them.’ Might sound gross, but I eat Helin’s leftover Persian breakfast sometimes. Halim (porridge with wheat and meat!), flatbread, feta cheese, olives, eggs, cucumbers, adasi (lentil soup), honey and jam. Delicious.
‘Deal. See you later.’ Helin hangs up.