“How did this happen?” Bill asks. “In broad daylight!” We’re surrounded by shards of broken glass and staring at the empty pedestal where the Loch Ard peacock used to be.
“Somebody must have seen something,” Annabel says. “The peacock’s not small. The cops’ll get it back.”
“In how many pieces?” Bill asks miserably.
Annabel moves away from the pedestal, crouches down and stares at something on the floor.
“What is it?” I ask, joining her. She seems to be studying the silver lock. The halves of the lock lie side by side. They don’t look damaged, but one wouldn’t expect them to be, since the thieves shattered the case rather than forcing the lock.
Before Annabel can respond, the police inspector sticks his head around a display. “We’re done here,” he says. “I’ve got a couple of officers interviewing the neighbors to see if anyone saw anything suspicious. Forensics is still dusting for prints, so don’t touch anything, but as soon as he’s done you can begin cleaning up.”
“Thank you,” Bill says. “Do you have any leads yet?”
“Too early to know. We’ll review all the interviews and see what that tells us, and forensics will narrow fingerprints down to those that don’t belong to the staff. It’ll take time.”
“I suppose so,” Bill says. “Thanks again.”
We move through to the staff room. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Sturridge,” Penny says as we enter. “I should have seen something.”
Bill pours himself a coffee and we all sit at the table. “I know you’ve probably had to tell the police everything three or four times, but could you go over it once more for me?”
“Of course, Mr. Sturridge,” Penny says. She’s tiny, no more than five feet one or two, and so delicate that she looks more fragile than the peacock did. Her short hair is dyed jet black. Her face is red from crying. “I was just coming out of the washroom when I heard a crash from the museum. I thought something had fallen over, you know, after the storm last night.” Penny sniffs and blows her nose loudly.
“Did you go straight through?” Bill asks.
“No, I went back to the front desk to make sure everything was all right there first.”
“Was it?” Bill asks.
“Yes. The front doors were locked, and there was no one in the parking lot.”
“No suspicious vehicles?”
Penny shakes her head dejectedly. “Then I went though to the museum. It was like you saw it—glass from the smashed case everywhere and the peacock gone. I’m afraid I screamed.”
“I would have as well,” Annabel says gently. “Were the electricians still here?”
“No. They left about half an hour before I heard the crash. They said the alarms were fixed and not to forget to arm them when we left.”
“So it was just you and Pete here?” Bill asked.
“Yes. Ms. MacAuley called in sick.”
“I know,” Bill said thoughtfully. “She texted me this morning. Did you hear the crash, Pete?”
“I heard Penny scream. I was on the balcony having a smoke. When I came in, she was standing by the broken case.”
“And you didn’t see anyone suspicious round back?”
“No.”
“This is impossible.” Bill stands up. He’s talking loudly and almost shaking with anger. “The peacock’s a meter and a half tall and weighs forty-five kilos. It can’t just vanish. I want this entire place searched. Sam, will you help?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Good. I’ll search the museum. The four of you split up the village. Search every space big enough to hide the peacock. Don’t forget Reggie and Rowitta. I want to be absolutely certain that the peacock’s not on this property.”
“So, it’s not here,” Annabel says. We’re sitting on Reggie’s deck, tired and confused. Penny has gone back up to the museum, and Pete is sitting sullenly on the dock across the pond from us. I have an uncomfortable feeling that something is wrong, but I can’t figure out what. Pete flicks a cigarette butt out over the water, stands and, without a glance in our direction, heads back up to the museum.
We have searched every building in the heritage village. Annabel and I have even double-checked some of the buildings in Pete’s search area, since we felt he wasn’t taking the job seriously. Nothing. We’re both certain the peacock isn’t hidden anywhere in the village.
“So where is it?” I ask. “Like Bill said, it’s impossible.”
“It happened, so it’s obviously possible,” Annabel says. “We just need to think it through rationally.”
“Pi’s not going to help us here,” I say more harshly than I intend.
“Probably not,” Annabel says, showing no sign that I have offended her. “But what Pi represents—science, rationalism, clear thinking—will.”
“How?” I ask glumly. The excitement from the morning’s discovery and Annabel’s accident has vanished. It’s midafternoon, and it’s hot. I’m hungry, thirsty and fed up, and my bandaged hand is throbbing. “Science can’t explain everything.”
“Maybe the Loch Ard peacock was taken by aliens.” I turn and stare at Annabel. She looks serious. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps you’re right. If aliens can travel across space, they probably have the technology to take the peacock without breaking the case. How about ghosts? A lot of people died on the Loch Ard. Maybe all their ghosts got together to take the peacock back. Or superheroes? Thor could have smashed the case easy, and the Flash could have taken the peacock away so fast, no one could have seen him.”
“This is stupid,” I say, drifting back to the idea that Annabel is insane. “None of those suggestions makes any sense.”
“Exactly,” Annabel says with a smile. “So what are we left with? Someone very human, who stole the peacock in a way we haven’t yet been able to work out. The only way we’re going to solve this is by thinking logically—the kind of thinking that produced Pi. Now, we can sit here feeling sorry for ourselves, or we can examine what we know.” Annabel is right. I have been feeling sorry for myself. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s look at it rationally. But can we do it somewhere that sells Coke and French fries?”
Annabel laughs and stands up. “I know just the place.”