Nevada didn’t call in for me on her way to school the next morning, so I could only assume she was still in a major huff with me, despite the fact that I was the one who now had more reason to be cross with her. But the strange thing was that, instead of feeling angry with Nevada for lying to me about my mother, I actually felt quite relieved. It wasn’t that I had stopped feeling excited about the message hidden inside my mother’s jewellery box. It was just that I was starting to think that maybe Nevada’s psychic powers had gone as far as I wanted them to. After all, if she was actually capable of bringing my mother’s spirit even closer, it would not only be an incredibly big deal, but . . . let’s face it . . . an incredibly scary one.

I met Holly as I approached the school gate. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happened,’ I exclaimed as I greeted her. I started to explain about how Matty was being blamed for painting our neighbour’s van even though I was almost positive he was innocent. ‘The trouble is, Matty won’t tell Dad where he was at the time the crime was committed,’ I told Holly, ‘which means he’s got no alibi.’ Of course, when I told her where Matty had really been, Holly was all for telling Dad the truth at once – even if that meant Matty wasn’t going to be able to see Jennifer again for ages. But I had another idea. ‘I’m going to find out who really did it and make them confess,’ I told her.

‘How are you going to do that?’

‘I’m going to treat this like a proper criminal investigation. Dad isn’t doing that, see, which is why he’s already accused the wrong person. First I’m going to check out the crime scene, then I’m going to interview Ian, since he’s my chief suspect.’ I paused. ‘I don’t suppose you want to help, do you?’

Holly grinned. ‘Of course! Anything to help Matthew!’

‘That’s great. Let’s start today after school.’

I immediately felt heaps better, and when I spotted Nevada on her own in the playground, waiting for the bell to ring, I felt a surge of friendliness towards her.

Without consulting Holly, I went over to speak to her. ‘Nevada, you know how you said that when you grow up you want to be the sort of psychic who helps detectives with their investigations?’

‘Yeah. So?’ She gave me a wary look, as if she was trying to decide if I was making fun of her or not.

‘Well, there’s something that Holly and I really need your help with – it’s to do with my brother.’ I told her what I had just told Holly – although she knew most of it anyway, since her uncle was one of Matty’s chief accusers. Then I told her my plan to expose the person who had really painted the van.

‘But Matthew actually admitted he painted my uncle’s car,’ Nevada said.

‘I know. It’s just that he didn’t do this, even though it looks like it must be the same person. You see, I reckon this is what’s called a copycat crime.’ And I went on to outline my theory that the person who had done this crime was trying to set my brother up.

‘OK . . .’ Nevada began slowly. ‘If you say so . . . But how do you want me to help?’

‘You sensed all that stuff when I showed you my mum’s jewellery box, didn’t you? So maybe if we show you the crime scene you might sense something useful there.’

Holly had joined us and she was staring at us as if we were both nuts. ‘What did Nevada sense about your mum’s jewellery box, Esmie?’ she wanted to know.

Nevada glared at me threateningly.

‘Oh . . . well . . . she sort of guessed . . . well sensed . . . what was inside it,’ I mumbled.

‘And what was inside it?’

‘Jewellery,’ Nevada replied before I could speak.

‘Right. So that was really difficult then,’ Holly said sarcastically.

‘It was pretty cool actually,’ I put in hastily. ‘Which is why I’ve asked her to help us now. She’s going to come to the crime scene with us and see if she can get any psychic vibes off the fruit-and-veg van.’

‘Yeah . . . right,’ Holly said.

‘We’ll look for fingerprints as well,’ I added. ‘And other evidence. After school we can pick up my Crime-Buster Kit and get started.’

‘What’s your Crime-Buster Kit?’ Nevada looked interested now.

I started to tell her what was in it, and when I got to explaining about the stick of chalk, Holly began to snigger.

‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded.

‘Well, you always say that about it – that you’re meant to use it to draw round dead bodies – but I reckon it’s only in those detective programmes on TV that they do that!’

‘No it’s not!’ I protested. ‘That is what you’re meant to use it for. It shows you in my detective-in-training pocket book.’

To my surprise, Nevada started to giggle then too. ‘I know! We could use the chalk to draw round the van!’

Holly laughed even more at that, and for the first time she actually seemed to forget that she didn’t like Nevada. ‘Esmie’s mad about all this detective stuff,’ she told her in a confidential tone. ‘Did she tell you about the time she borrowed my mum’s blonde wig and sunglasses to wear as a disguise, so she could tail Lizzie?’

‘Shut up, Holly,’ I snapped, because that story is way too embarrassing to have repeated.

Still, I thought, at least she and Nevada finally seemed to be getting on well enough to share a joke with each other – even if it was at my expense.

After school Holly and I both rang our parents and got permission to go back to Nevada’s house. When we got there, Nevada told her aunt we were going outside for a bit and, as soon as we’d dumped our school bags in the hall, we headed out again. Nevada and Holly waited on the pavement while I let myself into my house to fetch my Crime-Buster Kit from my room – plus a couple of torches because it was already getting dark outside.

The fruit-and-veg van was still parked on its driveway, and luckily nobody else was around as we approached it.

‘So what do you want us to do exactly?’ Holly asked as I handed her a torch and shone my own on to the side of the van where the letters had been changed.

‘Look for evidence,’ I said.

Holly moved closer to examine the paint. ‘You can see the brush strokes. I wonder whether we can use them to tell whether the culprit was right- or left-handed.’

‘There can’t be any brush strokes,’ I told her. ‘It’s spray-paint.’

‘No it’s not. Look.’

So I got out my magnifying glass, shone my own torch closer and inspected the paint that had been added. Holly was right. If you looked closely there were definitely brush strokes. ‘This hasn’t been spray-painted at all!’ I exclaimed.

‘Told you so,’ Holly said.

‘Yes, but don’t you see? It’s a different MO so this means it’s pointing away from Matty and Jake being the ones who did it.’ When both Holly and Nevada looked blank, I explained, ‘MO stands for modus operandi. It’s Latin or something. Anyway it’s the term detectives use to describe a criminal’s way of working.’

‘How do you mean?’ Nevada asked.

‘Well, say lots of murder victims were all found drowned in the bath with safety pins in their noses, but the last body was found in a swimming pool with no safety pin, well that would be a different MO and it would mean that the last murder was probably committed by someone else.’

‘You think up really gory things, Esmie,’ Nevada said.

While I was talking, Holly (who’s used to my gory stories) was licking her finger and rubbing at the red paint on the van.

‘Be careful, Holly,’ I warned her. ‘We’ve still got to check for fingerprints, remember.’

‘Don’t you have to have some sort of special equipment for that?’ Nevada asked.

‘It says in my crime-busters book that you can use dusting powder or tape,’ I told her.

‘Give me your keys and I’ll go and get some Sellotape,’ Holly offered. ‘I know where it is. I’ll get some talcum powder from the bathroom as well.’

‘Thanks, Holly.’ As she left, I turned to Nevada. ‘If you concentrated really hard like you did with my mum’s jewellery box . . . do you think you might get some kind of psychic vibe about the person who did this?’

Nevada looked doubtful. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You can touch the paint if it helps . . . we can always take your fingerprints afterwards, to exclude them.’

‘Well, I can try . . . but I’m not doing it in front of Holly.’

‘Do it now then – while she’s gone.’

So Nevada placed one hand, palm-down, over the lettering on the van and closed her eyes. After a minute or two she looked at me again and said, ‘I’m getting a really strong feeling that the person who did this doesn’t want to be found.’

I sighed. ‘I guess that figures. You didn’t get any sense about the colour of their hair, did you?’

Nevada shook her head, looking uncomfortable as she stepped away from the van.

A few minutes later Holly came back, holding a roll of Sellotape and the tin of talc I’d given Dad last Christmas. She handed the Sellotape to me and kept hold of the talc. ‘So what do we do? Just sprinkle the powder over the side of the van or what?’

I frowned. In the last TV programme I had seen where the detectives had dusted for fingerprints, I was sure they’d used what looked like a big make-up brush to apply the powder. Lizzie had a brush like that which she kept in her make-up bag in the bathroom, but before I could say anything, Holly had prised the lid off the talc and was chucking the whole lot at the van’s side.

Suddenly a car pulled up at the end of the driveway and to my horror I saw that it was Dad. He must have come home early to check up on Matty or something. He didn’t even park properly before opening his door and striding over to me with a face like thunder. ‘Don’t tell me you’re turning into a vandal too, young lady!’

‘No, Dad, of course not!’ I exclaimed. ‘We’re just dusting the van for fingerprints. I know Matty and Jake didn’t do this, so I’m trying to prove it.’

‘That’s right,’ Holly backed me up firmly. ‘And it can’t be them because it’s a different MO.’

‘Look at this, Dad,’ I explained quickly. ‘This isn’t even the same sort of paint Matty used before. This was painted on with a brush.’ I shone my torch directly on to the side of the van so Dad could see what I meant, but there was so much talc there that it was difficult.

He used his hand to rub off some of the powder. (I guessed I might as well forget about getting any fingerprints after this). ‘You’re right,’ he said after a moment or two. He sounded surprised. ‘I didn’t look that closely yesterday. None of us did. It was dark and I just assumed it was the same paint.’

‘A good detective must never just assume things, Dad,’ I reminded him.

He let out a snort. ‘Yes, well, apparently I don’t always think as much like a detective as you do, Esmie.’

‘Shall we see if it washes off?’ Holly asked.

‘If it’s emulsion it should just come off with water,’ Dad said. ‘Otherwise I’ve got some white spirit in the garage that might do it. But we’ll have to be careful.’

Dad sent the three of us into the house to fetch a bucket of water while he went to find the white spirit, and after we’d been waiting outside with the water for a good five minutes, I decided to go and see what was holding him up.

I found him at the far end of the garage with the light on, staring at something on the floor I got the feeling he’d been standing there for a while.

I walked inside and as I got closer I saw that he was looking at a small tin of red paint, next to which was a paintbrush. The brush had dried red paint on its bristles.

I gasped. ‘Is that . . . ?’

Dad nodded. His voice was strangely tense and quiet as he said, ‘At least it’s emulsion. I suppose that’s something.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Detention should be finished soon. I think I’ll go and meet Matthew from school.’

‘Are you sure it’s the same paint that was used on the van, Dad?’ I asked.

‘It looks like it to me,’ he said.

‘Yes, but couldn’t you take a paint sample off the van to make sure?’

Dad looked faintly amused. ‘Send it in for forensic testing you mean? I don’t think that’s a particularly good use of police resources do you, Esmie?’ He sighed loudly. ‘Listen, it’s time you girls stopped messing about out there. Matthew can wash the van when he gets back.’

I felt puzzled as I headed back to where Holly and Nevada were waiting. I couldn’t believe my brother would lie to me like that. I had been so certain Matty was innocent and that Ian had set him up. Unless . . . And that’s when I had a sudden thought about the pot of paint in the garage.

The thing was, our garage door had been open for ages the previous evening, because Dad had made several trips to and fro, putting Matty’s TV and other stuff inside. Ian could easily have planted that paint pot then – and because he had placed it at the very back of the garage, Dad wouldn’t have noticed it when he’d finally locked up. And if I was right, then both the pot and the brush would have Ian’s fingerprints on them, rather than Matthew’s.

I rushed back into the garage to find Dad holding the paint pot in one hand and the brush in the other. ‘Dad, why aren’t you wearing gloves?’ I wailed. ‘You’re destroying all the evidence!’

Dad looked at me as if he didn’t have a clue what I was on about. ‘What evidence?’ he asked.

I mean, honestly, at times like these it’s hard to believe that my dad is a real detective.