Chapter 23

The Pretender

When Friday and Melanie got back to Highcrest Academy it was a hive of activity. A marquee had been set up alongside the polo pitch and an announcer’s voice could be heard on the wind describing the pedigrees of various polo ponies.

‘The polo tournament must be about to start,’ said Friday.

‘That’s going to make it hard for you to investigate the accusations against your father,’ said Melanie.

‘Not at all,’ said Friday. ‘It will make it easy because all the suspects are in one place.’

‘So, who are your suspects?’ asked Melanie.

‘It depends on the motive,’ said Friday. ‘If it was to get my father sacked, then it could be anyone on the science staff who he has humiliated with his superior knowledge and grating lack of social skills.’

‘Which is everyone on the science staff,’ said Melanie.

‘Exactly,’ agreed Friday. ‘But the motive could be simpler. It could be about money. Someone stole the goods to sell for money. And the unusable car was a convenient place to hide them. So it would be someone who needs or really, really wants lots of money.’

‘None of the students here really need any more money,’ said Melanie.

‘Except for Ian,’ said Friday. ‘It’s going to take a while for his mother to sort out her financial difficulties.’

‘It could be a member of staff,’ said Melanie. ‘Teachers aren’t paid well.’

‘The teachers here are,’ said Friday. ‘They have to be to put up with the obnoxious students. But I agree the teachers are more in need of spare cash than the students.’

‘And the Headmaster does have a gambling problem,’ added Melanie.

‘Good point,’ said Friday.

‘It could be someone who liked stealing things for the thrill of it,’ said Melanie. ‘Perhaps because they’ve seen too many reruns of Oliver, which I’ve always thought over-glamourised pickpocketing.’

‘Really, when it comes down to it, it could be anybody in the entire school,’ said Friday. ‘Even people who don’t need the money might do it out of petty spite because they’ve lived such privileged lives they have an almost sociopathic disregard for the suffering of others.’

‘We can’t search the whole school,’ said Melanie.

‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Which means we will need to set a trap.’

‘You mean like a wire cage that you use to capture a possum in the roof?’ asked Melanie.

‘I don’t think you can buy them in human-sizes,’ said Friday. ‘We’ll just have to set some bait and lure the thief out.’

‘But how will you actually capture them?’ asked Melanie.

‘I’ll worry about that bit later,’ said Friday. ‘Let’s go and check out this polo match.’

There was a carnival atmosphere down on the polo pitch. Parents carrying glasses of champagne laughed too loudly at each other’s jokes, while students lounged about, as far away from the adults as possible, enjoying an afternoon off in the sun when they would normally be inside ignoring some tedious lesson.

Parker, a third form boy, was at the microphone making all the public address announcements.

‘Why on earth have they let Parker do the announcements?’ asked Friday. ‘He’s not terribly verbose at the best of times.’

‘I think that’s the reason,’ said Melanie. ‘They let the Vice Principal do it last year, and he was such a windbag he drove everyone to despair. The Headmaster wanted someone who could be trusted to use absolutely no initiative and only say exactly what he had been told to say.’

‘I see,’ said Friday. ‘We can use that to our advantage.’

‘By “our advantage”, you mean “your advantage”, don’t you?’ said Melanie. ‘Because I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Naturally.’ Friday took a notebook and pencil out of her pocket. ‘I’m going to write a script for Parker.’ She started busily scribbling away.

‘Make sure you don’t use running writing,’ said Melanie. ‘He can’t read that.’

A few minutes later, Friday was approaching Parker in the announcer’s tent with her script in hand. Mrs Cannon, their English teacher, was sitting next to Parker as he read through the list of players.

‘Today Ian Wainscott will be riding Valiant Fury, Valkyrie and Butterfly Buttons,’ read Parker.

‘Mrs Cannon is obviously there to keep an eye on Parker,’ said Friday. ‘To make sure he doesn’t lose his head and say something outrageous.’

‘It sounds like the perfect job for her,’ said Melanie. ‘There’s no way that could happen, so she can just have a little nap if she likes.’

‘Well, you’re going to have to distract her,’ said Friday. ‘Because saying something shocking and untrue is exactly what I want Parker to do.’

‘All right,’ said Melanie.

The girls walked up to the desk. ‘Hello Mrs Cannon,’ said Melanie. ‘Friday wants me to distract you so that she can get Parker to say something that isn’t on his official script.’

‘Really?’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘That sounds intriguing. Much more intriguing than this unspeakably boring polo match. Why don’t you pretend to sprain your ankle, then I could pretend to be concerned?’

‘Okay,’ said Melanie. ‘Does that mean I can lie down?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of trying to stop you,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘I just wish I could do the same.’

‘You could say you had a fainting spell,’ suggested Melanie.

‘What a good idea,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘If you’ve got a sprained ankle and I have a fainting spell, then we can both have a nice rest on the grass.’

‘The Headmaster can’t complain about that,’ said Melanie as they both made themselves comfortable.

‘Of course not,’ said Mrs Cannon. ‘If he did I’d report him to my union.’

‘Parker, I need you to read this,’ said Friday, handing him her handwritten script.

‘Will I get in trouble?’ asked Parker.

‘If everything goes to plan, no-one will think to be cross with you because they’ll all be far angrier with someone else,’ said Friday.

‘Okay,’ said Parker. ‘That’s all right then … let’s have a look.’ Parker picked up the paper and started reading, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I will now describe the Trumpley Cup for you. It was handmade eighty years ago by Spanish craftsmen using solid gold. Apart from its incalculable value as an antique and part of our school’s cultural history, if melted down the gold alone would be worth $100,000.’

The crowd gasped. They were all gathered along the side line either side of the announcer’s tent and they turned around to look at the Trumpley Cup, which until that point had been ignored as another boring sporting trophy. The cup glistened in the sunlight. It was unmistakably golden, but people naturally assumed it was gold-plated. Here, in the heady atmosphere of a polo tournament surrounded by ridiculously rich students and parents, the idea that it was made of solid gold seemed entirely probable.

Friday scanned the crowd to see if anyone was behaving suspiciously. Several people were staring at the cup with open lust. A couple of parents had even taken out their smartphones to do a few calculations on the value, and how much they could earn if they invested the money in an illegal offshore tax avoidance scheme.

‘Is that all you needed me to do?’ asked Parker.

‘For now, yes. Thank you, Parker,’ said Friday. ‘We’ve set the trap, now we just have to wait for someone to take the bait. Come on, Melanie, wake up. We’ve got to watch the match.’

‘Can we stand by the pony lines?’ asked Melanie, yawning. ‘I like ponies. They’re like unicorns with lower aspirations.’

‘I’d better get the match started then, I suppose.’ Parker leaned into the microphone. ‘Teams, take your positions. We are ready to start play.’