Dead Funny (8 page)

“I don’t understand,” said Graham. “Who…?”

“Toby,” I growled.

Graham’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “But he’s so nice,” he protested.

“No he’s not. He’s a very good actor. Don’t you see? He’s going to get the whole estate. He must have been planning this for years.”

Graham paled. “So what do we do? Tell Lieutenant Weinburger?”

“No. It took enough time to persuade him it was the Punch and Judy man in the first place. It’ll take too long to convince him it’s Toby. We’ve got to get to Orangeblossom Boulevard right now.”

“Why?”

“Because if we don’t another murder will be committed!”

I
didn’t like leaving Mum walking around Baby Sugarcandy’s grounds with a murderer, believe me, but I didn’t have much choice. If Toby knew that I’d worked out what he’d been up to we’d all be done for. Plus I knew from experience that once Mum started talking about gardens she’d be at it all morning. If we were lucky she’d keep Toby fully occupied while Graham and I:

a) found Len Radstock;

b) warned him he was in danger; and

c) persuaded Lieutenant Weinburger that Len Radstock had been framed.

But first we had to escape from the grounds. The police cordon around Baby Sugarcandy’s estate was there to stop the murderer from getting
in
. I reckoned they wouldn’t be looking quite so hard for two kids getting
out
.

I could see the two cops on the gate were still talking. We crept along the boundary looking for an exit route. The wall was high, but if we could find a tree that was close enough we could use it to climb up and over. Just over the brow of the hill, out of sight of the cops, we found it – a slender, sloping pine with a branch that reached out across the wall. I started to scale the tree, arms and legs wrapped tightly around the trunk as if it were a thick rope. Once I reached the branch I clasped it and swung myself along, hand over hand, until I was dangling on the far side of the wall. The ground was about three metres below. It was a long drop, but I curled into a ball on impact and rolled sideways to soften the blow. I was dirty, but uninjured. Graham dropped down after me, white-faced and shaking, but doing his level best to keep up. The road to Baby’s estate crossed the hill in zigzags but we went straight down, slipping and sliding over scree and stones, weaving between trees and bushes, until we reached the bottom. As soon as we were on level ground I began to run, my feet pounding hard on the dry earth, Graham staggering along a few paces behind.

I’m a good runner – I’ve won medals for it at school – but by the time we reached Orangeblossom Boulevard my heart was pounding so hard that it was bruising my ribs from the inside; my lungs were threatening to burst; and I had a stitch that was practically bending me double. Poor Graham looked as if he was about to die. We paused at the end of the street just long enough to recover.

“1171’s over there,” Graham wheezed.

“Right,” I huffed back. “I’ll go in and see if I can find Len Radstock. We need to get him out of there. You stick around out here. Keep an eye on the door, OK? If anything happens, shout for help.”

I took a few deep breaths and calmed myself. Then I set off along the street. I reached 1171 and studied the door. The smart apartment block had fifteen buzzers in a column. None of them had the name “Radstock”, but then that was hardly surprising.

How was I going to find him? Once more I read the list of names next to the buzzers. They were all neatly printed and perfectly legible apart from one. The flat at the top had a label that was scuffed and the ink had run so badly that the name couldn’t be read by anyone: not pizza delivery guys, not the postman, not friends. Either it was empty, or whoever was staying there didn’t expect any visitors. Following my hunch, I pressed the buzzer. No reply. I pressed it again. Nothing.

But then he wasn’t going to answer, was he? For all he knew, I could be the police … or the murderer. I’d have to find another way of getting in.

I pressed the buzzer below and a voice barked through the intercom, “Yeah?”

It was nearly lunchtime. Worth a try. “Pizza delivery!” I yelled.

“I didn’t order no pizza.”

“Sorry, wrong buzzer.”

A stream of rude words crackled back at me, making me wince. I tried the next one down.

This time the offer of food was rewarded with, “That was quick! Come on up.”

There was a click from the lock as the person on the other end of the intercom pressed the button to release it. Pushing hard against the heavy front door, I slipped quietly into the building.

I opted for the lift, but it moved achingly slowly. I jiggled nervously on the spot as it rose through the levels, stopping at each one, finally pinging to a complete halt on the fifteenth floor.

This was it. I was here. I stepped into the narrow hallway. The stairs leading back down were to my right. Opposite me was the front door to the apartment Len Radstock was staying in. Or might be. I hoped I’d got it right. Swallowing nervously, I crossed the hall and knocked on the door. Not loud enough, I thought. I banged harder. No one came to answer, but I heard something inside – the faintest movement, as if someone had been startled, but had now frozen into silence. I banged again. Nothing.

So I cleared my throat and called, “Mr Radstock? My name’s Poppy. You don’t know me, but I think I can help.”

There was definite movement now. I heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door, but it still didn’t open.

“Please, Mr Radstock,” I tried again. “I know you didn’t do it. Kill Miss Sugarcandy, I mean. You have to get out of there. You’re in terrible danger.”

No answer. Just the sound of someone’s breathing – short and hard as if they’d had a shock.

“Let me in, Mr Radstock. I know who did it. I’ve worked it all out.”

At last the door creaked open and a deep, warm, American voice drawled, “You do, huh? Like I said, you’re one smart cookie.”

And as I was seized by the arm and yanked inside my eyes widened with horror. Because the man who had answered the door wasn’t Len Radstock.

It was Toby.

“You
know what my mother used to say to me when I was a kid?” asked Toby calmly as he tied me to a chair. Len Radstock was lying on the floor nearby, his thinning hair crusted with scarlet. He wasn’t moving. “‘Toby,’ she used to say, ‘You’re so sharp that one day you’re going to cut yourself.’ I never understood what she meant. I never thought it was possible for a person to be too smart. But then I met you, Poppy Fields, and now I get it. You’re so sharp you’re going to get yourself killed. Seems a pity when you were doing so well on my behalf, but there you go.”

“How did you get here before me?” I demanded, desperately playing for time.

“I could see from your face you weren’t planning to go for a swim. I figured you might work it out. So I made my excuses to your mother and drove straight here to finish the job. And now I’m almost through.”

“You don’t need to kill me,” I protested.

“Oh yes, I do,” said Toby. “Because if I don’t you’ll go blabbing to the police, I’ll get arrested and the whole beautiful plan will crumble into nothing. And I can’t allow that, Poppy, really I can’t. I’ve been working on this too long to see it fall apart now.”

“Was Sylvia part of the plan?” I asked. “You knew her, didn’t you? You were lying when you said you’d never met her.”

“Sylvia! What a sweetheart! She was so obliging: believed everything I told her so easily. She went off to work for my mother without a murmur just so I could keep an eye on Judy. You see, when my dear little sister moved back in and started spending my mother’s money I knew she had to go. And then I thought, well, why not kill them both? But I couldn’t see a way to do it. Not until Len wrote that cute little note to my mother saying he still loved her, and could they start over? I wasn’t going to allow her to squander her fortune on some old guy. But it worked out real well in the end. As soon as Sylvia told me he was a Punch and Judy man, I knew I had the perfect fall guy. She made all the arrangements for him to come and see my mother. Heck, she even booked this apartment for him to stay in. If there’s one thing I can say about Sylvia it’s that she was efficient.”

“So why kill her? She thought you two were getting married.”

He laughed cruelly. “Like I said, she was gullible. She’d outlived her usefulness. And I think I can manage to find someone more attractive than Sylvia, don’t you? A model. An actress. An heiress, maybe. Especially now I’ve got millions of dollars to my name.”

“But how did you get into the grounds?” I asked. “The place was crawling with police.”

“Sweetie, I was raised there. I know every tree, every rock, every hiding place. It’s easy to avoid attention if you know where you’re going.” He finished securing me to the chair and stood up. “That’s enough shooting the breeze. It’s been real nice talking to you, Poppy, but now I’ve got to get going. So long.” He smiled his rich, warm smile and turned towards the door.

“Are you just going to leave me here?” I yelled.

“Well, yes. I have to go and comfort your geeky friend and your poor mother for the tragic loss of her daughter.”

“You leave Mum and Graham alone!”

“No can do, Poppy. Sorry. You know, I have something special planned for you. The finale to the whole show. It’s a perfect ending, believe me.”

My brain was working frantically, wondering what Toby meant. What did he have in mind? How was he going to finish me off? What was the last scene of the Punch and Judy show?

Before I could ask him anything, he was gone. Stepping over the corpse of Len Radstock, he walked up the narrow hallway. The front door slammed. There was silence. And I was left in an empty flat with a dead Punch and Judy man.

Panic rose in my chest like a great bubble, swelling into my throat and threatening to choke me. I had to get out of there!

I began to wriggle in the chair. I’d dimly remembered that old circus escapologist’s trick and tensed my muscles when Toby tied me up. I relaxed and could feel the ropes slacken a little. But only a little. I sighed. Circus escapologists were big, brawny men with massive biceps. I didn’t have enough muscles to give me the slack I needed.

Perhaps I could reach the door. If I leant forward I could edge the chair across the room. My ankles were tied to its legs, but if I wobbled from side to side I could probably make slow progress. Quite how I’d open the door when I got there I didn’t know. I’d work that out later. But first there was the obstacle of Len Radstock’s body blocking my way. How would I get across him?

I looked at his lifeless form, and a wave of pity and despair washed over me. I began to cry. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should have got here sooner.”

“Not at all, my dear,” a voice replied in a crisp English accent. “I would have said your entrance was perfectly timed.”

Jaw dropping, I stared at the body. An open eye stared back at me. For a moment I couldn’t decide which was worse: sharing a room with a corpse, or sharing it with a member of the living dead.

But then Len Radstock prised himself off the carpet, and I realized he wasn’t a zombie. He was alive, unharmed and untying the knots that bound me.

“But…” I croaked. “How…?”

“We’ll do explanations another time, shall we? I think first we’d better both get out of here, before the final curtain falls.”

“But you’re bleeding…”

“Ketchup,” he said briefly. “I was eating a hot dog when Toby walloped me. I lay still, hoping he’d think I was a goner. Then you turned up and he didn’t think to check whether I was still breathing.”

When the last knot was untied we both ran for the door. As we reached it an image came into my head. Mr Punch. The devil. A big fight. Punch winning – sending Satan back to hell in a puff of smoke.

It all flashed through my head a split second before a mobile phone rang, and the room was ripped apart by a violent explosion.

The
blood was real this time, and Len’s eyes wouldn’t open no matter how loudly I yelled at him. We’d been thrown through the front door and across the hall by the force of the blast. Len had smashed his head on the metal lift doors and slid down, smearing a scarlet stain all the way to the floor. I’d been behind him, and he’d cushioned my fall, although my back had taken more of the blast. I could feel lacerations across it and on my legs. I knew I was injured, but at least I was conscious. It was up to me to get us both out.

The apartment behind us was ablaze and already flames were licking out of the front door and edging towards us.

I tried again. “Len! Mr Radstock! Can you hear me?” I screamed. “Wake up!”

He gave a faint groan, but that was all. I’d have to drag him.

I knew better than to use the lift. Graham had once told me that lifts stopped working in fires, and we’d be trapped inside like chickens in an oven. If we were going to escape it had to be by the stairs.

I took an arm and tugged, but he was so heavy; so awkwardly floppy. I couldn’t shift him. Flames had reached the soles of his shoes and for a moment I was tempted to leave him – to run away and save my own skin. But if I left him to die, I’d be no better than Toby.

I bent down and tried again. Sliding my hands under his armpits I laced my fingers together across his chest and heaved. He moved. Just a fraction, but enough to give me hope. I tugged again and dragged him towards the stairs. Pulling for the third time, I tripped over something and fell backwards. Pain tore through me but I got up and yanked him away from the flames.

We were fifteen floors up. We’d never get down the stairs at this rate. The building would crumble before we were even halfway!

Then I noticed what I’d tripped over. The door to the flat. It had been blown off its hinges. If I could get Len onto that it might be easier to move him.

I rolled the Punch and Judy man onto the smooth wood. Then I shoved it to the top of the stairs. The flames were roaring now, eating into the roof behind me. Timbers were crashing down, and I didn’t have time to think. I gave a hard shove and gravity took over. The door – with the insensible Len Radstock lying, singed and bloody, on top of it – took off down the stairs like a bobsleigh.