Chapter 2

Inside the House

Friday wasn’t allowed into the house until she was decked out in a full crime scene suit, which included white paper coveralls, white booties, a face mask and shower cap.

‘You do realise that my fingerprints, hair and skin cells will be all over the house already?’ said Friday. ‘I did live here for eleven years.’

‘When it comes to evidence, you can never be too careful,’ said Detective Summers, leading Friday up the front path. When she reached the front door she stopped and turned to Friday. For the first time Detective Summers had a look of compassion on her face. ‘Before we enter the house, I should warn you – what you see will be upsetting. Whoever took your mother made a real mess. The house has been completely turned over. They must have been searching for something. Your mother’s research notes, perhaps. I know it can be distressing to see your family home violated.’

A lump formed in Friday’s throat. She nodded because she didn’t think she could trust herself to speak. It wasn’t until now it occurred to her that the kidnapper might have handled her mother roughly.

Her mother might not have been the world’s best mother. But she wasn’t a bad person. It’s just that Dr Barnes just lived in the theoretical world – she spent all her time inside her own mind, so to trick her into getting into a stranger’s car would have been the easiest thing in the world. All you’d have to do is say, ‘Get in the car, Dr Barnes, I’m here to take you to a conference’ and she’d be halfway to Mauritius before it crossed her mind to wonder where she was going.

Friday hoped the kidnappers hadn’t hurt Dr Barnes. Apart from being one of the world’s leading scientists, she was Friday’s mum. And she only had one mum. And she’d rather have a distracted, self-absorbed mother than no mother at all.

Detective Summers held open the front door and Friday stepped inside. She walked down the short corridor to the living room and then stopped. Three white-suited crime scene investigators were taking samples in the room, which was strange enough. It looked like aliens were paying an afternoon visit to her home. But as Friday looked about, she noticed the total dishevelment. There were papers and periodicals strewn everywhere. Cupboards hanging open, a broken mug on the kitchen floor, breakfast cereal trodden into the carpet and a chair was overturned.

Friday took it all in.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Detective Summers.

‘Of course I am,’ said Friday. ‘This is what the house always looks like.’

‘It is?!’ asked Detective Summers.

‘Well, not always,’ said Friday. ‘When I lived here, I used to tidy up after Mum and Dad as much as I could. But if I ever went away on a school camp or stayed with Uncle Bernie for a couple of days, the house would always look like this when I came back.’

‘But it looks like it’s been ransacked,’ said Detective Summers.

‘I know,’ agreed Friday. ‘Mum and Dad don’t have very good life management skills. I really should have arranged some sort of careworker to look after them when I moved out. What they really need is a nanny – someone to tell them when to eat, when to brush their teeth and when to go to bed.’

‘Well, your mother’s still missing,’ said Detective Summers. ‘Plus your brothers and sisters. There must be something going on. If five of the nation’s leading physicists have been kidnapped, that is going to be a huge deal.’

‘Are you sure she has been kidnapped?’ asked Friday. ‘Perhaps there’s another explanation.’

‘Yes, we’re sure,’ said Detective Summers. ‘I didn’t want to distress you or your father, but there was a note.’

‘From Mother?’ asked Friday.

‘Yes,’ said Detective Summers. ‘Whoever took her allowed her to leave a brief message.’

‘May I see it?’ asked Friday.

Detective Summers looked doubtful. ‘You’re a child. I don’t want to do anything that might traumatise you. Police departments are forever getting sued for things like that.’

‘I won’t sue,’ said Friday. ‘For a start, I’m not in touch enough with my emotions to be traumatised. The Barneses are big on suppressing all emotion. Just show me the note; I promise I’ll be fine. At least, for the foreseeable future. If I have any psychological repercussions, I’m sure they won’t become apparent for years.’

‘All right,’ said Detective Summers, taking a plastic evidence bag out of her notebook. It looked like a sandwich bag, but it didn’t contain a sandwich. It contained a crumpled handwritten note.

Friday took the bag carefully by the corner and inspected it closely.

‘As you can see, the handwriting is barely legible,’ said Detective Summers. ‘She was clearly extremely distressed when she wrote it. Perhaps she had to do it hurriedly while her kidnappers weren’t looking.’

Friday peered closer. The letters barely looked like the standard Roman alphabet. It was as if they’d been furtively stabbed into the page, literally tearing up the paper fibres and blotting ink as she wrote.

‘Can you make out what it says?’ asked Detective Summers. ‘Our cryptographers have been working on it but they haven’t had much luck yet.’

‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘It reads, They are taking me away now. I tried to argue. They leave me no choice. I am being forced. Farewell.’

‘The poor woman,’ said Detective Summers.

‘Hmm,’ said Friday. ‘May I have a look around to see if anything is missing?’

‘Of course,’ said Detective Summers. She followed Friday into the bedroom. The bed was unmade. The drawers were hanging open and clothes were strewn about.

‘You’ll never be able to tell what’s missing in all this mess,’ said Detective Summers.

Friday opened the wardrobe. There were very few clothes hanging inside there. Just a couple of shirts. The wardrobe was mainly full of old scientific periodicals, which had been untidily stacked on the floor up to waist-height.

‘That’s interesting,’ said Friday.

‘What?’ asked Detective Summers.

‘Her dress is missing,’ said Friday.

‘Which dress?’ asked Detective Summers.

‘Her only dress,’ said Friday. ‘Mother has no interest in clothes or fashion. She owns one navy blue dress. For weddings, formal dinners and things like that. And that one dress isn’t here.’

‘What does that mean?’ asked Detective Summers.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Friday. ‘Let’s have a look in the kitchen.’

Friday led Detective Summers to the kitchen, where she opened a cupboard and took down a canister that said ‘sugar’ in blue print.

‘What’s sugar got to do with this?’ asked Detective Summers.

‘My mother doesn’t believe in processed sugar,’ said Friday. ‘She never has it in the house.’ Friday opened the canister and looked inside.

It was empty. ‘This is where she keeps her passport,’ said Friday.

‘So the kidnapper took her passport?’ said the detective. ‘This is serious. If she’s been missing since yesterday, she could be anywhere in the world by now.’

Friday was staring into the canister. ‘I’ve got a suspicion where my mother might be.’

‘Where?’ asked Detective Summers.

What’s the date?’ asked Friday.

‘Sixteenth of October. Why?’ asked Detective Summers.

Friday sighed. ‘Because the tenth of December is Alfred Nobel’s birthday and the traditional pre-ceremony lecture tour of Europe takes about six weeks.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ asked Detective Summers, looking baffled.