The Secret Key. Lena Jones

by a motorbike?’ He shares a look with his colleague. ‘She’s lucky not to be more seriously hurt.’

      ‘Pretty unlucky to get hit at this time of the day in a park, mind,’ says the other paramedic.

      ‘Luck has nothing to do with it,’ I say. ‘This was deliberate.’

      I give the paramedics my home address and say I’m happy to talk to the police. I think about offering to ride with the professor to the hospital, but before I get the chance the ambulance leaves, and I stand there feeling as though I’ve woken from a dream. But this was no dream, and when I reach into my blazer pocket – yes! – there it is – the folded sheet of newspaper.

      ‘Thank goodness for that,’ I breathe. There is a strange tingle behind my eyes. In the spotless blue sky above me, clouds are starting to form. Not just any clouds – they are spelling out words.

      The clouds form and dissolve away just as fast. My heart is racing. I pick up my satchel and start to walk, replaying the events in my mind, and several images refuse to fade.

      I think of the biker, whose face was hidden by the dark helmet. I think about the business cards from the Royal Geographical Society. And, most of all, I think about the key tattoo, in its silvery ink. I’ve never seen that symbol before. I pause – or have I? There’s something at the back of my mind, just niggling away at me …

      I stop, feeling frustrated.

      I’m already late for school, so surely it can wait another minute. I sit down on a park bench and open my satchel, taking out my current casebook. I’m so excited; it might as well be the first one – this is a new beginning. I flip open the notebook to the opening page and cross out the details about the local shopkeeper’s parking violations. I write the heading: ‘Hit-and-Run – Hyde Park’, underlining it a couple of times. Then I jot down some quick notes –

      1. Old lady knocked down in Hyde Park. The path was wide. Was this deliberate? What could the motive be?

      2. Her perfume was expensive, and she had an unusual tattoo (sketch overleaf). Something seems odd here – what is her story?

      3. Business card says she is a member of the Royal Geographical Society – do they know more about her?

      I look over all those exciting question marks for a moment, puzzling it over.

      Something is afoot, of that I am sure.

      ‘So, you saw an old lady knocked down in the park by a motorbike, and now you want us to investigate?’

      Liam is staring down at my notebook and frowning. We’re in form class, before lessons. ‘Don’t people get knocked down all the time? What makes this one any different?’

      I glance to the front. Mr Laskey is behind his desk, reading the newspaper, and it’s hard to tell whether he’s sleeping or not. The rest of 8C are chatting noisily, so there is little chance of our conversation being overheard. Still, there isn’t much time to tell Liam everything that has happened. Brianna Pike, one of the three CCs, is sitting on the desk next to us, but she’s too wrapped up with doing her make-up to pay us any attention.

      ‘Not just an old lady getting knocked down,’ I whisper. ‘There was something funny about it. This didn’t look like an accident. There were … unusual circumstances. Comprenez-vous?’

      ‘You mean –’ he glances around at our classmates before continuing in a whisper – ‘you think someone might have targeted her?’ He sounds more excited than normal about one of my cases.

      ‘Exactly! And if you come with me to the Royal Geographical Society, I’ll prove it to you.’ I hold out the professor’s business card.

      He takes it and reads. ‘Professor D’Oliveira, Senior Fellow, Hydrology Studiesd—’

      ‘We need to get going – now,’ I say, cutting him off. ‘Time is of the essence.’

      ‘Whoa, hold up! We’ve got school. What’s the hurry?’

      ‘I need to solve this before the police do.’

      ‘But we have a maths test! And you almost got expelled yesterday! Just wait till we’re finished.’ His voice is plaintive – Liam loves maths tests. He runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at strange angles. I resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. I catch the eye of two girls, who seem to be staring at Liam. That’s been happening a lot lately, since his growth spurt. They scowl at me and I shoot them a sweet smile as they start whispering to each other.

      I lower my voice. ‘I’m going now. Are you coming or not?’ I hiss. I draw my notebook back towards me across the desk and stare down at it, trying not to be influenced by the pleading look in his eyes.

      He sounds strained. ‘Erm … not.’

      ‘All right. But you can still help out with something.’

      He brightens. ‘What?’

      ‘On the woman’s wrist, there was a symbol.’

      ‘A symbol?’

      ‘Well, a tattoo. I feel like I’ve seen it somewhere before. I need you to find out what it means.’

      ‘Sure. What did it look like?’

      ‘I’ll draw it for you.’ I take my fountain pen and draw from memory the eye-and-key tattoo. ‘I was thinking you could check Masonic symbols first, then alchemical, witchcraft …’

      ‘OK … I’ll scan it into my laptop and run some image-recognition algorithms to—’

      ‘Yes, yes. Whatever you have to do.’ I should have mentioned before that Liam is a computer genius. When he gets going about techy stuff, I have no idea quite when he’ll stop.

      ‘Right, I’d better be off then.’

      Liam shrugs. ‘You’re going to be in so much trouble if you’re caught, Aggie … Oh, wait! Hang on a sec.’ He reaches into his bag and pulls out a black box, which he holds up to my mouth. ‘At least if I’m here I can cover for you. Say “here”.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Just do it.’

      ‘Here.’ I repeat into the box.

      He takes the box away and presses a button.

      Here, says the box in my voice.

      ‘I can hide this at the back of the class and remote control it with my phone when they call the register.’

      ‘Can’t you just say “here” for me?’

      ‘Do you think my impersonation of you is that good?’ Liam raises an eyebrow.

      ‘Point taken. Now, I really need to go!’

      ‘How are you going to get out? They’ve already locked the gates.’

      ‘Well, it’s a Thursday, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yeah, so?’ He looks blank.

      I smile.

      ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell you later.’

      Getting out of form class is as easy as excusing myself to use the loo. From there on, things become complicated. When I woke this morning, my brain felt grey and heavy, like an old wash rag that needed wringing out. But now I’m full of energy, which is good – I’ll need