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Authors: Simon Cheshire
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‘I’m brilliant.’
‘If you say so,’ he said flatly.
‘I need to ask you some questions. I assume you’re sticking to your story? You’re still claiming you stole that computer?’
‘Yup.’
‘Any chance of you telling me where it is, then?’
‘Nope.’
‘Any chance of you giving it back?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’ve still got it hidden somewhere, have you?’
‘Yup.’
‘You’re going to have to give it back at some point, you know.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He went back to his reading.
He was starting to annoy me. Just a teeny tiny little bit.
From the angry embarrassment that was flushing his cheeks and turning his bushy eyebrows into a sharp frown, I got the distinct impression that he didn’t know where that computer
was. Which backed up the idea that he was innocent. (Unless, that was, he’d either already sold the computer or he’d stolen it on someone else’s behalf and handed it over to
them.)
I shook my head. Stop it , I told myself, I’m going to start thinking in circles if I’m not careful! I decided to try a different line of enquiry.
‘Your friends,’ I said. ‘Matt, Jack and Anil. I’m very puzzled. Why didn’t they say anything to the police on Monday, right after the theft? Why did they wait until
Tuesday?’
Nat glanced at me, then back at his textbook, then back at me again. ‘They knew what I’d done on Monday. But they’re my best friends. They gave me a chance to own up first. Do
the right thing.’
‘And you did own up,’ I said. ‘But then you wouldn’t hand the computer over. You said you’d hidden it. You’re still saying you’ve hidden it. So the
police came to a dead end. And then, let me get this straight, your three friends came forward and told the police what they’d seen. How kind of them. You wouldn’t give the police proof
that you’d stolen the laptop, so your friends stepped in and made sure the police had three witnesses and therefore enough evidence to charge you. You’d think they wanted to make
sure you’d be charged.’
Nat suddenly slapped the e-reader down on his desk.
‘ Enough! ’ he shouted. ‘Shut up and get out! I don’t want some stupid kid hanging around me!’
For a moment or two I was too shocked to speak. Then I started with, ‘But —’
‘But nothing! Go on, get out! It’s got nothing to do with you! I stole a computer, I’ll take the consequences and that’s the end of it! Get out! ’
Without another word, I scuttled quickly out of Nat’s room and back down the stairs. Mrs Hardyman had heard the shouts and came hurrying along, apologising for her son’s rudeness and
assuring me that he was a good boy who’d never been in trouble before in his life. I told her not to worry and that I would now go and carry on my investigation. No matter what Nat thought
about it.
I went over to Muddy’s house. My great friend George ‘Muddy’ Whitehouse was St Egbert’s School’s Number One Mr Fixit, and I needed to borrow one of his gadgets.
I found him working away in the garage attached to the house – or his Development Laboratory, as he prefers people to call it. Whereas Nat’s room was what you might call
‘neatly cluttered’, Muddy’s laboratory was what you might call ‘disgustingly heaped with every sort of spare part and broken machine you can imagine’.
He was turning dials on a piece of electronic equipment, making a circuit board attached to the wall shoot out flashes and showers of sparks.
‘Woohoo!’ he beamed. ‘Nice one!’
‘Isn’t that thing appallingly dangerous?’ I asked nervously.
Muddy shrugged. ‘Well, only if you touch it, or go near it, or you aren’t wearing rubber boots. Otherwise, it’s fine.’ He took off the plastic goggles he was wearing to
reveal clearly defined clean patches around his eyes. He looked like a panda in reverse.
We chatted for a while and I told him all about the Hardyman case. ‘Do you have a small
‘If you say so,’ he said flatly.
‘I need to ask you some questions. I assume you’re sticking to your story? You’re still claiming you stole that computer?’
‘Yup.’
‘Any chance of you telling me where it is, then?’
‘Nope.’
‘Any chance of you giving it back?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’ve still got it hidden somewhere, have you?’
‘Yup.’
‘You’re going to have to give it back at some point, you know.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He went back to his reading.
He was starting to annoy me. Just a teeny tiny little bit.
From the angry embarrassment that was flushing his cheeks and turning his bushy eyebrows into a sharp frown, I got the distinct impression that he didn’t know where that computer
was. Which backed up the idea that he was innocent. (Unless, that was, he’d either already sold the computer or he’d stolen it on someone else’s behalf and handed it over to
them.)
I shook my head. Stop it , I told myself, I’m going to start thinking in circles if I’m not careful! I decided to try a different line of enquiry.
‘Your friends,’ I said. ‘Matt, Jack and Anil. I’m very puzzled. Why didn’t they say anything to the police on Monday, right after the theft? Why did they wait until
Tuesday?’
Nat glanced at me, then back at his textbook, then back at me again. ‘They knew what I’d done on Monday. But they’re my best friends. They gave me a chance to own up first. Do
the right thing.’
‘And you did own up,’ I said. ‘But then you wouldn’t hand the computer over. You said you’d hidden it. You’re still saying you’ve hidden it. So the
police came to a dead end. And then, let me get this straight, your three friends came forward and told the police what they’d seen. How kind of them. You wouldn’t give the police proof
that you’d stolen the laptop, so your friends stepped in and made sure the police had three witnesses and therefore enough evidence to charge you. You’d think they wanted to make
sure you’d be charged.’
Nat suddenly slapped the e-reader down on his desk.
‘ Enough! ’ he shouted. ‘Shut up and get out! I don’t want some stupid kid hanging around me!’
For a moment or two I was too shocked to speak. Then I started with, ‘But —’
‘But nothing! Go on, get out! It’s got nothing to do with you! I stole a computer, I’ll take the consequences and that’s the end of it! Get out! ’
Without another word, I scuttled quickly out of Nat’s room and back down the stairs. Mrs Hardyman had heard the shouts and came hurrying along, apologising for her son’s rudeness and
assuring me that he was a good boy who’d never been in trouble before in his life. I told her not to worry and that I would now go and carry on my investigation. No matter what Nat thought
about it.
I went over to Muddy’s house. My great friend George ‘Muddy’ Whitehouse was St Egbert’s School’s Number One Mr Fixit, and I needed to borrow one of his gadgets.
I found him working away in the garage attached to the house – or his Development Laboratory, as he prefers people to call it. Whereas Nat’s room was what you might call
‘neatly cluttered’, Muddy’s laboratory was what you might call ‘disgustingly heaped with every sort of spare part and broken machine you can imagine’.
He was turning dials on a piece of electronic equipment, making a circuit board attached to the wall shoot out flashes and showers of sparks.
‘Woohoo!’ he beamed. ‘Nice one!’
‘Isn’t that thing appallingly dangerous?’ I asked nervously.
Muddy shrugged. ‘Well, only if you touch it, or go near it, or you aren’t wearing rubber boots. Otherwise, it’s fine.’ He took off the plastic goggles he was wearing to
reveal clearly defined clean patches around his eyes. He looked like a panda in reverse.
We chatted for a while and I told him all about the Hardyman case. ‘Do you have a small
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