SIXTEEN

“Who the hell are you, kid?” Greasy-Hair growled. “And what were you doing listening outside the gym door?”

The room we were in was not much bigger than a closet and smelt of disinfectant, musty mops and dust. Probably a cleaner’s store-room. If only I could wriggle out from under his bulldog grip, I could yell for help. Failing that, I might be able to reach forward with my leg and kick the door to attract someone’s attention.

I squirmed and kicked out, but his hand, digging into my cheekbones, pressed down even harder. Swearing under his breath he pulled me further into the room until his back was pressed up against the wall.

“Shhh!” he hissed. “Not a sound or we’ll both be dead meat.”

Like I believed that.

“Were you following me, kid? Or did Fingers put you up to this?” he asked, each whispered word a tickle of spit in my ear.

I grunted and rolled my eyes. Under his hand, my breathing was growing ragged and my nose and eyes were watering. If he wanted answers, we’d either have to talk in eye-rolls or he’d have to give me some breathing space. I tried to snag a deep breath and couldn’t. What if my nose blocked up altogether and I couldn’t breathe at all?

He must have seen the panic in my eyes because his hand loosened a little. “Look, kid. I’m the good guy. I’m a policeman working under-cover to investigate an egg smuggling ring.”

Yeah. Right. And I’m a fairy princess!

Once again he must have read my thoughts because he snatched his police badge and card from inside the top of his boot and shoved it under my nose.

“Now, if I take my hand away from your mouth will you promise not to make a sound? They’re bad guys out there and wouldn’t think twice about doing away with a nosy kid as well as a cop.”

I nodded. Cop or killer—I needed air.

The rough authoritative voice I’d heard before drifted under the door. “I’ll be in the gym for quite a while, Marcia. No phone calls. No disturbances. And if you hear any screams or strange noises—ignore them. Understand?”

“Of course, Mr. Simpson.”

“That’s the boss.” Arty screwed up his face—made him look like he’d bitten into a wormy apple and swallowed the worm. “If he finds us—we’re toast.”

Seconds after the footsteps passed our door, Arty dug his hand into an inside pocket of his coat then turned to me. I felt a lump rising in my throat, tasted fear in my mouth as my eyes fixed on the black handled revolver in his hand.

“It’s okay, kid. Don’t be scared,” he soothed, squeezing my shoulder. “This is just insurance—in case I have no other way of getting you out safely.”

He inched the door open a crack, snuck a quick look outside, then closed it again. “Can’t escape that way. Marcia’s standing outside her office flirting with the foreman.” He turned to me, eyebrows dragging downwards. “You didn’t tell me who you are and how the hell you got here.”

“I’m Chiana—I’m a sort of friend of your grandfather. I caught a ride here in the back of his ute.”

He looked confused. “Why?”

“Why?” I repeated slowly. Good question. With killers on the outside of the door and a guy with a gun standing beside me, I couldn’t work out why either. “I—well…I thought you and your grandfather were egg thieves.”

“Egg thieves?”

“Remember—you bumped into me at the museum just before the dinosaur egg went missing. And what about the professor? He has all those weird eggs in his shed, so I thought—”

“Grandpa and his obsession with that dinosaur egg,” Arty broke in. “It belongs to him, you know. His father, my great-grandfather, Cyril Goodenough, discovered the fossil while digging in the Adelaide hills and donated it to the State museum. Of course, when Grandpa heard the egg had been stolen, he went ballistic. And when he found out Eric Simpson, the boss of this company, intended smuggling his precious Therizinosaur to a client in Japan, he insisted I get the egg back.” Arty ran his hand through his hair. “Now—between you and him—you’ve messed up the entire police operation.”

“Sorry. I didn’t know—”

A noise that sounded like a door being ripped off its hinges or two rhinos wrestling sounded outside the door. “Search every room! Tear everything apart! That traitor, Goodenough, can’t have gone far.”

“Yeah, boss. No worries. I told Arty you wouldn’t like him bein’ in your office. Didn’t know he was nicking the egg though.”

“Shut up, you moron, and go get him. Sugar says she saw him talking to some big knob detective yesterday and they were acting real friendly like. He’s either a cop or a grass. I’ll get Gonzo to make a nice pair of cement boots in Arty’s size then we’ll drop him in the river and see how far he can swim.”

Arty, his face a mask, moved over to the cleaner’s cupboard and pulled open the door.

“Get in here, kid,” he whispered. “And stay there until this is over. They don’t know you’re here.”

“But what about you?”

I could hear heavy footsteps getting closer. Another door slamming. Muffled grunts and more loud swearing.

“Don’t worry about me, kid. Just do exactly as I say.” He thrust a small parcel into my hand. “This is the dinosaur egg. Give it to Grandpa then ring the police. Ask for Detective Inspector John Gilman. Got it? John Gilman. He knows all about the operation. Tell him where I am and what’s happened.”

“But—”

“God, you’re as stubborn as that cantankerous old man out in the car. Stay hidden in the cupboard. Then, when they take me away, get yourself out of the warehouse and follow my orders. Can you do that for me, Chiana?”

I put on my ready-for-anything P.I. face and stepped inside the cupboard. “You got it,” I assured him as he closed the door behind me.

Two seconds later I heard an ear-splitting crash, a loud Oof, lots of yelling, then something or someone being dragged from the room.