Running Girl by Simon Mason

of nicking them. I couldn’t bear to see you in this sort of clobber at the Old Ditch Road playground.’
    Before Garvie could answer there was a noise downstairs. A voice.
    â€˜Boys?’
    Garvie put back the last of the clothes and slid shut the wardrobe door.
    â€˜We have a problem, Felix.’
    â€˜The problem’s all yours, Garv.’
    â€˜Everything matches.’
    Felix frowned. ‘Course it matches. This is Chloe. So what?’
    Garvie sighed. ‘So when she went running on Friday evening she was wearing someone else’s shoes.’
    â€˜ What? ’
    â€˜You know what heliotrope is?’
    â€˜Yeah.’ Felix hesitated. ‘Sort of machine, innit?’
    â€˜It’s a colour, Felix. Pinky-purple. Very chic. Chloe was wearing heliotrope shirt and shorts – and orange and lime-green shoes. Orange and lime green, Felix!’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜Look at her wardrobe, man. Everything’s beautiful. Say what you like about her, she had taste. Lime-green and orange shoes? They’re ugly. And they don’t go with anything. Definitely not with pinky-purple.’
    Felix understood. ‘But if they weren’t hers,’ he said slowly, ‘why was she wearing them?’
    â€˜That’s the question.’
    As they looked at each other in silence they heard Mrs Dow coming up the stairs.
    â€˜Boys? Are you there?’
    Garvie patted Felix on the shoulder. Then, taking a calculator out of his pocket, he went out into the hall with the good news that he had found exactly what he’d been looking for.

12
    STANDING ON THE tiny square of lawn in the Dows’ garden, Detective Inspector Singh was struck again by its neatness. The trimmed grass. The immaculate flowerbeds. The newly creosoted fence. The bird bath. Only the broken fencing spoiled the air of complete control. He allowed himself a slight frown. The area hadn’t been sealed off, as instructed. Before beginning his examination, he glanced back towards the house and saw Mrs Dow looking down at him from an upstairs window. She disliked him, he knew. But he nodded politely, and her face withdrew sharply.
    A thought of that boy Smith came into his mind, and his face tightened. He made a mental note to tell Lawrence Shan not to bother interviewing him at school. He would deal with Smith himself, if need be.
    He returned his attention to the garden. A quick initial survey showed only the obvious. A few messy footprints in the soil behind the shrubs. The broken fencing. Someone had crouched there hidden for a while, then had suddenly fled, risking being caught, clambering over the fence and bringing it crashing down in the process. Why?
    Inspector Singh did not deal in the obvious. He dealt in detail. Stepping carefully around the flowers and shrubs, he began to examine the area. He worked methodically from left to right, slowly turning over leaves, twigs and the top layer of soil using a palette knife adapted for the purpose. For some time he examined the footprints by the collapsed fence, too blurred to be used for identification but suggestive at least of someone fully-grown, solid even, and the fence itself, the cracked panel hanging crookedly like a bird’s broken wing, and posts splintered to the bare pale wood where someone – someone heavy and energetic but probably not so athletic – had scrambled over. He remembered the crash that night, and the toppling outline of a figure obscured by darkness and rain. But there was nothing here to help him now. After half an hour he had found nothing of interest and he walked back onto the grass, frustrated, and stood there thinking.
    According to Sikh religious texts the truth is eternal and present everywhere. He thought of this. He also thought of the Police Manual. If you can’t find what you’re looking for there are two likely reasons: you’re looking in the wrong way or you’re looking in the wrong place.
    He went