The Case Before Christmas: Chapter VI

Hugh Hamilton

Despite the clarity of the sentence, spoken without the slightest ambiguity, Hugh did not immediately catch on. He had got as far as realising it had something to do with the couch, the couch that earlier he had noticed had been rather sloppily decorated with reddish-brown splatters, seemingly applied at random. But what the couch had to do with anything was beyond him. He nodded, in case anyone thought he hadn’t worked it out yet. A moment later he had. Rather than leap up and dry retch like a madman, Hugh kept face by deciding instead to turn calmly to his left and reveal his findings to his colleague. Theoretically, this was a sound course of action, but in practice it fell down for two very simply reasons. First, Ben had already understood the rather straightforward implication of Hillary’s sentence and any further elucidation would have been redundant. Second, he was no longer on the couch.
“So it happened way over there?” said Ben, as if Hugh alone had suffered the faux pas.
“Well, that’s where he sleeps,” said Hillary.
Ben nodded, surreptitiously feeling his clothes for traces of blood.
“Anywhere else?” asked Ben.
“Yes. There.”
“Here?”
“Well, that’s where he sits.”
“Interesting,” said Ben, choking slightly. “What about that bookshelf behind you?”
“What bookshelf?” She turned.
Ben quickly sprang up from his chair and dashed to the opposite corner.
“No, I’m sorry, that’s just a wall, isn’t it?”
She sighed. “Happen a lot, does it?”
“It comes and goes,” said Ben, shrugging. “Sad, really. I never heard the end of it in school.” He shook his head slowly. “The names I got called...”
“Names?”
“Yeah. Stuff like...” Ben stopped, wondering why he had pursued the thought. “Like... er, ‘Bad Eyes’.”
“Bad eyes?”
“Yes. Admittedly not one of their best efforts, but for the sensitive young giant of above average intelligence that I was, it was like a lash across my back. Had I mentioned I was an aspiring librarian?” Ben again wondered why he was still following this line.
“Another time, perhaps,” grimaced Hilary. “Are you two going to be much longer?”
“I’m afraid that’s as tall as he gets,” quipped Ben. “But that doesn’t stop him living a full and happy life.”
Hugh was too busy absorbing the fact he was sitting on a couch of dried blood to voice protest.
“Um, I couldn’t wash my hands somewhere, could I?” he said finally.
“There’s a bathroom just down there,” replied Hillary, pointing.
Ben gave Hugh a conspiratorial glance which proved to be entirely lost on him.
“Give you a chance to see what a wonderful bathroom they have here,” said Ben, after Hugh had blatantly mouthed ‘What?’ for the fourth time.
“I...” Hugh began, and ended.
“When have you seen my bathroom?” asked Hillary in what would have been a distrustful tone if Hugh and Ben’s behaviour had not already rendered suspicion irrelevant. As it stood, she was merely curious.
“Oh, er, I had a go while you were fixing our drinks.”
“Then what colour is it?”
Ben shrugged. “Colour-blind.”
She gave up.
“Can I go now?” asked Hugh.
“Go,” said Ben.
As he went, Hillary, still absently cleaning, stooped to fish something off the floor.
“Hold it,” said Ben.
“Holding it,” said Hillary.
“What is that?”
“Carrot,” said Hillary, at this point weary enough to omit the necessary article.
“A carrot to you, perhaps, but to us, it’s evidence.”
“Well, to me it’s still a carrot and it’s on my floor.”
“Yes. Or rather, it was. May I ask why you’re in such a hurry to keep it from my colleague and I?”
“Because carrots shouldn’t be kept on one’s floor.”
“‘Shouldn’t’? Interesting choice of word.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope, in the spirit of integrity, that you have no problem co-operating when I ask you to place that carrot in this transparent evidence bag.”
“That’s an opaque paper bag.”
“Apples and oranges, Mrs Schotolollybag.”
“Not paper bags and carrots?”
“Unclasp your hand, Mrs Schotol—”
“All right, all right.”
“Over the bag.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you. This could be the key to the whole case.”
“What could?” Hugh had returned from the bathroom.
“Not now, little one. We must away.”
“We’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God,” said Hillary.
“Can’t I finish my tonic water?”
“I’ll get you a Solo™ on the way.”
“But it’s Christmas!”
“All right, I’ll get you a tonic water then. Jesus”
“Righto.”
“Hurry, won’t you,” sneered Hillary.
Ben had the grace to be slightly offended. “Why is it the cute ones are always so cruel?”
“I think it’s because we—”
“Hugh.”
“All right, all right. Let’s get out of here.”
"Do," was Hillary's parting remark.

It was still searingly hot when they emerged from the doorway.
“Where to?” asked the little one, sensibly.