The Feng Shui Detective's Casebook Part 19

'That was only like a couple of years ago, probably, am I right?'

'Two and a half, please. please.'

She laughed at his nitpicking, and then abruptly stopped laughing. Mustn't be too friendly. This boy was maybe a year younger than she was. A whole year. A whole year. He was a child. A boy. A baby. She was a working woman with an office-well, a desk, anyway. He was a child. A boy. A baby. She was a working woman with an office-well, a desk, anyway.

'What are you going to do now?' Eric said.

'Find a quiet spot and like write down what those girls said while it's still fresh. And you?'

'Thought I might get something from the canteen.' He paused, apparently working up the courage to ask her something. 'Have you . . . ? I mean, have you, like, had lunch or anything? Would you like to . . . ?'

She was impressed that a seventeen-year-old schoolboy would invite her-a real eighteen-year-old executive working woman with a real job-to lunch. 'I might. Anything good at the canteen?'

'No. It's all c.r.a.p.'

They both laughed again.

Oops, thought Wong. We did the wrong room. The princ.i.p.al's home was straightforward and unremarkable in feng shui feng shui terms, but the man's office was a whole different story. How on earth could he work in a room like this? This was the place that was really in need of urgent examination and adjustment. terms, but the man's office was a whole different story. How on earth could he work in a room like this? This was the place that was really in need of urgent examination and adjustment.

The geomancer had gone to visit Lawrence Angwyn Waldo to give a preliminary report on their findings about room 208A. Joyce McQuinnie had disappeared without trace.

The head teacher's office was filled with mementoes of visits to other countries. There were spears and shields from Irian Jaya, an antique musket of some sort, probably from the United States, and some sort of curious bamboo thing with ropes and a sharpened end. Wong couldn't work out whether it was a musical instrument or a weapon. He decided, after staring at it for some minutes, that it might be a headhunter's tool from northern Borneo. The entire room was full of spiked or pointed objects, most of which were a.s.sociated with violence.

The room was terribly cluttered, suggesting that the user was not a clear thinker, and the piles of papers on the filing cabinet indicated that it was not a productive working environment. Some drastic changes were needed. If he were doing this room, first, he would . . .

His thoughts were interrupted as the door swung open and Lawrence Waldo stepped in. He swung nimbly into his large, leather chair. 'Sorry to keep you waiting. Departmental staff meeting. Bane of my life. Never mind. Where's the young lady?'

'Er, not sure. Maybe she is having long lunch break.'

Waldo pressed a b.u.t.ton on his intercom. 'Amanda, Mr Wong's a.s.sistant has gone AWOL. Can you ask the usual suspects if they've seen her? And then get her sent to my room?'

The secretary's voice came out of the speaker: 'I think she's in the student canteen. I saw her going in with one of the sixth-formers.'

'No problem,' said Waldo. 'I'll get her myself.' He leapt out of his chair and trotted out of the room, moving remarkably quickly for someone so large.

To pa.s.s the time, Wong mentally rearranged the room. First, he would throw out all the junk-every last bit of paper and decoration. Then he would move the furniture so that the princ.i.p.al was sitting in the northeast of the room, facing east. The ch'i ch'i energy of the northeast would motivate the man to get his life in order, and the freshness of the eastern energy would inspire him to make a new beginning. The telephone should be moved to the southeast, to enhance communication. The objects of violence would be reordered so they could keep out negative influences. energy of the northeast would motivate the man to get his life in order, and the freshness of the eastern energy would inspire him to make a new beginning. The telephone should be moved to the southeast, to enhance communication. The objects of violence would be reordered so they could keep out negative influences.

Less than four minutes later, the princ.i.p.al returned, gently pushing Joyce along with a hand in the small of her back.

'The wanderer has been found,' the head teacher said.

Joyce had a big-eyed, surprised look on her face, but was silent.

Again, Waldo threw himself into his seat, and then asked curiously: 'So tell me. What do we have to do? Do we need to install a magic goldfish or something in 208A?'

'Magic goldfish?'

'No, I'm joking. I shouldn't be flip about all this. It's a serious matter. Tell me, do I need to do something to minimise the effects of that ghastly event last week?'

'There are some strange things about this incident,' said Wong. 'First: the four pillars of destiny for Ms Ling and Ms Briggs are both negative for that day.'

'That's not strange, surely? Both of them suffered very negative outcomes from what happened that day.'

'Yes,' said the geomancer. 'But not so straightforward as that. There's a shar shar by the window of room 208A.' by the window of room 208A.'

Joyce, suddenly coming to life, decided to insert a footnote at this point. 'A shar shar is an area of bad fortune. Like I pointed out when I was in your flat?' is an area of bad fortune. Like I pointed out when I was in your flat?'

Waldo nodded. 'It seems rather obvious that the window did prove to be a point of bad fortune for Ms Ling on that day.'

'But the shar shar is a is a shar shar of two. And that is the negative number for Ms Briggs, not Ms Ling. The of two. And that is the negative number for Ms Briggs, not Ms Ling. The shar shar for Ms Ling is at the other side of the room.' for Ms Ling is at the other side of the room.'

'I don't understand,' said the head teacher. 'What are you getting at?'

Wong shook his head. 'I don't know. Conclusion is very strange. But I think each of the two women-it is like each one has the birthday of the other one.'

'What? I'm not following this.'

'I think maybe the two birthdays got mixed up in the files,' the feng shui feng shui master said. master said.

Waldo smiled. 'That is the conclusion you came to? Very odd. Well, I'll ask Amanda to check. That's my secretary. Sometimes the files do get mixed up, although we keep teachers' records and pupils' records separately, so I don't see how that could have happened.'

'I explain it in detail,' the geomancer said.

Waldo looked less than excited at the thought, although he said nothing.

'Following the flying stars school of feng shui feng shui, I made these charts.' Wong pulled out two sheets of paper covered with lines, arrows and tiny Chinese characters. 'Number one, indicating blood, located in west. We also find number six in same square, indicating head. Blood and head. In west of room 208A, where window is. We also have a two, which means someone is not well. Two is shar shar of sickness.' of sickness.'

The princ.i.p.al peered down his long nose at the unintelligible scribbles. 'If that's really what that chart says, it seems to have got the fate of Ms Ling down pretty accurately.'

'Yes. But this is not chart for Ms Ling. This is chart for Ms Briggs.'

'Oh.'

Wong warmed to his theme. 'Numbers on birth charts give us a lot of information. Number seven, metal, indicates a young girl. Also a.s.sociates with eyes. But number nine, fire, links to eyes. Now if we look at this chart -'

Lawrence Waldo looked at his watch. 'That's fascinating, Mr Wong. I hope you get to the heart of it. I'm running late this morning, and I do have a lunch appointment with the chairman of the school trustees board, so I am going to have to run. Anything else I can help you with?'

'No,' said Wong. 'I will do some more work in 208A in the afternoon.'

'Fine. I hope you'll . . .' The head teacher began to say something in a more serious tone, but then his voice trailed off.

'Yes?'

The man stood up and placed his knuckles on the desk. He spoke with gravitas. 'I hope you'll help me get things back to the way they were. I am very fond of both Sasha Briggs and Alma Ling, and value them both as members of this school community. Ideally, I would like to turn the clock back to where it had been at the beginning of last week. But if that cannot be done, I need above all to make sure that this school continues its unblemished record as a school of peerless standards. Do you understand? The school comes first. The greater good of the majority . . . That's what's at stake, here.'

Both visitors nodded.

Waldo shook hands with them and rushed off to his meeting.

Wong turned to Joyce. 'You okay? You very quiet just now.'

'Yeah,' she replied. 'I was just thinking . . .'

He rose to his feet and picked up his case.

'You know, CF . . . When Mr Waldo came to get me just now?'

'Yes?'

'He came to the canteen where I was sitting talking to a guy, and then he escorted me up the stairs and over to here. The odd thing is . . .'

'What?'

'Well, just as we turned the corner to come in here, he patted my bottom.'

'Oh.' Wong wasn't sure how to react to this. He knew that s.e.xual hara.s.sment was considered a serious offence these days, but there was no way he would allow a complaint by Joyce to get in the way of a deal with a paying customer. He spoke tentatively. 'You want to complain or something?'

'No,' said Joyce. 'It wasn't a big deal. But it just made me think. I mean, he comes across as such a good man. But that's not what you expect a headmaster to do, is it? Pat a girl's bottom?'

Wong was relieved that she wasn't taking it seriously. 'You're right. Now I go back to 208A.'

'I'm going back to the playground.'

'You're Rebecca Smiley, aren't you? Can I call you Becky?'

'Go away.'

'I only want to -'

'I said, go away.'

Joyce suppressed a sigh. What could she say to make Rebecca understand that she was not the enemy? She had gone back to the playground to find that the former friend of Sasha Briggs had disappeared from her wallflower spot in the upper school playground.

But it hadn't taken Joyce long to find her. Having been a loner herself, it was easy for her to scan the school playgrounds and see the natural places to which someone with a lack of social skills would gravitate. There was a small seated area to the left of the main playground, where some quiet kids were reading books. There were also some benches in front of the school tuck shop. And there was a small alley with a park bench behind the bike sheds. It was in the last of these that she found Becky Smiley, sitting alone with her book.

'You don't have to talk to me. But do you mind if I talk to you? There are things about this thing with Sasha Briggs that have me kinda worried.'

'I'm not listening.'

'I'm not a policewoman. Really, I'm not. Do I look like a policewoman?'

'I don't care.'

Looking away, Joyce mused out loud: 'Hey: You know what this whole awful situation reminds me of?'

Becky didn't move.

Joyce continued: 'Track three of That Guy's Belly's third CD.'

The girl tensed.

Joyce knew she was listening intently. 'The bit in the chorus where they sing: "It's back-to-front and upside-down, the voices in my head they pound-pound-pound . . ."'

She noticed the younger girl turning her head slightly, so continued to sing: '"But I can't explain, I'm in such pain, the world's not fair, whoa, whoa, whoa, yeah." That is such such a cool song.' a cool song.'

Becky nodded in spite of herself. 'Yeah.'

'The lyrics are like, like, pure poetry.'

'Yeah. They really are.'

Joyce paused and patiently counted to ten in her head. Then: 'I don't suppose poor Sasha ever heard That Guy's Belly.'

'Heard them? You kidding? She had every alb.u.m they ever made. You should see her bed -' Becky suddenly stopped. She turned her head away again, evidently upset that she had been tricked into talking.

Silence returned. Joyce decided that she had no choice but to try a long shot. 'You don't have to talk to me. But I've got this theory that everyone has got it all wrong about this Sasha and Ms Ling business. Still, my theory-it's not much use. I'm probably the only person who thinks that. Who's going to listen to me?' Joyce stopped and waited. Again, she counted silently to ten.

Slowly, Becky turned to face her. 'Really?' she said in a tiny voice.

Am I about to tell a lie? Joyce asked herself. Then she looked at the girl's face and decided that what she was about to say was not untrue. There was was something odd about this case. It was just a feeling she had. She found herself staring at the younger girl's features. As soon as the dark cloud of hostility had disappeared, Becky Smiley's face had an open, honest expression. something odd about this case. It was just a feeling she had. She found herself staring at the younger girl's features. As soon as the dark cloud of hostility had disappeared, Becky Smiley's face had an open, honest expression.

'Really,' said Joyce. 'Like totally. I mean it. I really think that there's like a real possibility that people have got it all wrong.'

'Are you really an investigator? You look . . . you don't look like an investigator.'

'I'm a sort of consultant, that's all. Just someone trying to help.'

'Oh.'

Quietness returned. Joyce decided to let it be. Someone started playing tennis at a court nearby. There was a steady thwack thwack sound as the volleys lengthened. She could hear some children arguing in the distance. 'Give it back,' somebody yelled. sound as the volleys lengthened. She could hear some children arguing in the distance. 'Give it back,' somebody yelled.

Becky was hiding something. Could it be an important bit of information about the case? Although Joyce had never been good at holding her tongue, she forced herself to remain silent.

After a minute pa.s.sed, the young girl spoke again. 'They have have got it wrong. I'm sure they've all got it all wrong.' got it wrong. I'm sure they've all got it all wrong.'

'Yeah. That's what I'm beginning to think, too. But what really happened?'

'I don't know. I wasn't there.'

'Why do you think they've got it all wrong?'

'Because . . . Just because.'

'That's not a very helpful answer.'

'What does Sasha say about it?'

'She's not speaking to anyone.'