The Ruby Redfort Collection: 4-6: Feed the Fear; Pick Your Poison; Blink and You Die. Lauren Child

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      ‘That I don’t know, I spoke to the detectives but they didn’t mention anything. That’s what we need to check out next.’ Blacker paused before adding, ‘So what lesson were you planning on being late for?’

      ‘You’re asking me to cut class,’ said Ruby.

      ‘Rube, you know I’d never interfere with a kid’s education.’

      ‘I’ll meet you there,’ she said. ‘I’ll just go find Hitch, he might wanna come along.’

      ‘He’s in with LB,’ said Blacker. ‘He’s been at Spectrum for most of the night.’

      ‘What’s happened?’ said Ruby.

      ‘Beats me,’ he said, ‘but something’s going down.’

      Ruby skateboarded downtown, skitching a ride from a yellow cab and then a garbage truck (which didn’t smell too pretty).

      She met Blacker on the sidewalk outside the apartment building.

      ‘Geez Redfort, did you switch perfumes or did you fall into something unmentionable?’

      ‘I skitched the wrong ride,’ said Ruby.

      ‘Huh?’

      ‘Never mind.’

      Mr Grint, she was pretty sure it had to be Mr Grint, was in the lobby watching folks come and go. He watched her and Blacker as they made their way to the elevator and pressed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. The elevator was not in the first flush of youth and it made horrible groaning sighs as it climbed. They stepped out and walked along the corridor until they reached Mr Norgaard’s door. Blacker handed Ruby gloves and shoe covers; these looked ridiculous but served to preserve the crime scene from cross-contamination.

      For a while, the two agents simply surveyed the scene. It was not a disorganised apartment, not especially untidy either. There were piles of books on the floor, piles of scripts too, but they were not without order. It was clear that Norgaard wasn’t a big entertainer because most of the chairs were also occupied by books, notebooks and paper-stacks – the furniture was more of a filing system than somewhere to sit.

      There were a few papers strewn across the floor under the desk, but as Blacker suggested, perhaps the wind had caught these when the thief wrenched open the window. Apart from that it was all very orderly. It wasn’t at all obvious what had been removed from the apartment but it was safe to say something had been, for there on the desk was a little white calling card.

      ‘Bingo,’ said Blacker.

      ‘Only thing is,’ said Ruby scanning the desk, ‘what’s missing?’

      They both looked at the desk. On it was a spider plant, a cactus, a pen pot, a stapler, a hole punch, a reel of sticky-tape in a tape dispenser, five paperweights on top of five different piles of papers, some envelopes, some cheques, some A4 typewritten sheets. There was a tin of lip balm, an eraser, a glasses case and a sheet of stamps.

      ‘A telephone?’ suggested Blacker.

      ‘Seems unlikely a thief would steal the telephone,’ said Ruby.

      ‘Seems unlikely a thief would steal a not so valuable book,’ said Blacker.

      ‘True, but still, a telephone?’ said Ruby.

      ‘I agree, unlikely,’ said Blacker. He pressed the transmitter button on his watch, no answer, so he tried again and this time the call connected and he spoke into the tiny speaker. ‘Hi Buzz, I am trying to locate Froghorn – could you get him on the line? I appreciate it.’ A pause. ‘Froghorn, could we ask the neighbour about the phone, I mean just to be sure, did he have one and if so where?’

      They waited. After a few minutes they got their answer.

      ‘Mr Norgaard’s neighbour said Norgaard never had a phone on the desk,’ Blacker relayed, ‘because he didn’t want to be disturbed when he was writing.’

      ‘What does he write?’ asked Ruby.

      ‘He’s a scriptwriter,’ said Blacker.

      ‘No, I meant what does he write? TV? Film – anything I woulda heard of?’

      ‘Nothing I have ever heard of,’ said Blacker. ‘I’m not sure how successful he is, maybe not as successful as his father.’

      ‘His father is a scriptwriter?’

      ‘Was,’ said Blacker. ‘He wrote the screenplay for The Storm Snatcher and The Silent Scream.’

      ‘Two of Mrs Digby’s favourites,’ said Ruby, impressed. She looked again at the desk. ‘And the paperweights?’ she said. ‘What a lot of paperweights Mr Norgaard does have.’

      It was the papers under the desk that made her think of it. Everything about Norgaard’s room was ordered, cluttered with scripts and papers, but all in order, except for the sheets under the desk – just why were they there?

      ‘What did the detectives say about the window?’ asked Ruby.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Just. . . did they say anything about it?’

      ‘Well, that’s an interesting thing. . .’ said Blacker. ‘They said that the intruder would have had no problem opening it because it was used regularly, slid up and down with no trouble at all. Unlike our friend Mr Baradi, it seems this guy liked fresh air, never had air-con installed.’

      ‘Which would explain why he used paperweights, not just decorative things but actually there to stop paper blowing around.’

      ‘That would be logical,’ agreed Blacker.

      ‘So. . . the papers under the desk don’t make sense – they don’t fit with the way Norgaard does things,’ Ruby said. ‘Look at the piles.’ Blacker looked. Every pile of papers was secured by a paperweight.

      Blacker smiled. ‘You think one of his paperweights is missing.’

      ‘I do,’ said Ruby, ‘but which one?’

      ‘No way to know,’ said Blacker, ‘not without talking to Norgaard and who knows when he’s going to resurface?’

      ‘Yeah,’ said Ruby, ‘it’s too bad.’ She took her Polaroid camera from her backpack and started snapping pictures of the desk.

      ‘You know the TCPD will pass on a complete set of photographs, they took about a zillion of the apartment,’ said Blacker.

      ‘I know,’ said Ruby. ‘But I’m only really interested in the desk and this way I can look and look until I see the answer; it’s probably staring me in the face.’

      She was right about this in a sense, but she was missing the big picture and without it she was never going to see what she needed to see. . .

       ‘So I see from reading

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