Please note: This is an uncorrected proof. It may not reflect the final version.

Brian Byrne

First published by Blue Charcoal Publishing in November 2012 Copyright 2012 by Brian Byrne Brian Byrne asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book. This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, companies and events is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without the authors prior permission.

To Mam They saved a rose just for you.

CHAPTER ONE

Marty knew something strange was going on as soon as the dirty white van pulled into the driveway of number three, Wycherly Terrace. For one thing, nobody had lived in the house for years. His dad said the last family had abandoned it after it became infested with termites. It certainly looked it. The roof was forever on the brink of collapseMarty could swear it shifted every time a crow landed on itand the window frames had disintegrated to the point that they were gradually

falling off, one by one, taking the window panes down with them. Dropping his school bag in his front yard, Marty pretended to tie his shoelace. Out of the corner of his eye he watched as a tall woman stepped out of the van and disappeared into the house. She had bleach-blond hair and was wearing the most obnoxious outfit he had ever seen: a brown fur coat with pink polka dots and a tiny leopard print skirt. Below was a pair of bright green tights and below those a pair of heels so high she looked like she might topple over at any second. As Marty shifted to his other shoe the passenger door opened to reveal a pair of very short, very fat legs. He was sure they had to be a kids until he saw what was attached to them: an equally short, equally fat man wearing a pinstripe suit and matching boater. The man was smoking a large cigar, but as he waddled his way

around to the back of the van he pulled it from his mouth and coughed out a dirty mess of smoke. His face now bright red, he gave the cigar a disdainful glare and popped it back into his mouth again. Marty stood up. Thats itthey were definitely up to something. But there was absolutely no use in standing around and waiting for something unscrupulous to happen. Hed have to cross the street and find out. Its a bit odd how bad guys always drive white vans; to be more specific, white vans with absolutely no markings on the side. Hadnt they ever watched a bad cop movie? Or read a bad thriller? The criminals were always the ones in the dirty white vans. Why didnt they try a saloon or a 4x4, or maybe even some sort of roomy sports car? Surely one of those would be more inconspicuous.

Marty reached the end of the driveway. The man was struggling with something in the back of the van. There came a loud heave and then the man turned, carrying a cardboard box so large it hid his entire upper body from view. He swayed back and forth as he walked, slowly guiding the box in the direction of the house. Taking his chance, Marty darted to the van. It was filled with electronic equipment. There were computer monitors, keyboards and dozens of strange apparatus hed never seen before. They looked like Tetris bricks, stacked in perfect straight lines and right angles from floor to ceiling. He was leaning in to get a closer look when he heard the sound of high heels hitting the front porch. He stepped back from the van, smiling innocently as the woman trotted towards him. It was surprising how many adults were easily duped by an innocent looking

kid. Martys chubby cheeks, bright red hair and freckles, when coupled with this particular brand of smile, made him look about as threatening as a toothpick. Who, said the woman, coming to a stop mere inches from him, are you? She towered over him, casting him in a dark shadow. Martys smile didnt waver. Im Marty White. I live across the street. Im here to welcome you to the neighbourhood. He held out a hand. The woman frowned a spectacular frown. She somehow managed to narrow her eyes and raise her eyebrows at the same time. Then she grabbed his hand and squeezed. Shouldnt you be in school? Doing his very best not to wince, Marty shook his head. Not yet. School doesnt start for another half hour.

Even so, said the woman. You shouldnt be rooting around in other peoples property. Its not verynice. She squeezed harder and his smile faltered. I was just wondering if I could help you move in. What? No you could not. Now if you dont mind I think you should be leaving. Actually, are you new to Violetville? I dont think Ive seen you around town before. He heard someone having a coughing fit and then the man appeared at the womans side. His face was fast approaching the colour of a tomato. Whos that? the man said, dropping the cigar and stamping it out. For the first time Marty noticed his unibrow. It sort of resembled a moustachealbeit a moustache that had somehow crawled up the bridge of his nose and settled at the base of his forehead.

Im Marty. Id like to welcome you to Wycherly Terrace. With some effort he pulled his hand free of the womans grasp and held it out for the man to shake instead. And you are? The man started to speak but the woman cut across him. That is none of your business. Now go on, leave! Reluctantly Marty nodded, said his goodbyes and headed back across the street. Clearly, this pair wasnt so easily fooled. If he had any hope of finding out what they were up to he was going to have to take a different angle. * That evening after school Marty asked his dad for a favour. It wasnt the first time hed witnessed him positively squeal and he looked on with amusement as his dad bounded up the staircase. Moments later he was handing Marty his binoculars. Marty knew they had to be at least ten years old but they looked brand new. The

lenses had been recently polished and a new strap had been attached. I knew it! his dad said, hugging him so hard it forced the air from his lungs. I always knew youd come around eventually. You just needed time. Um, yesyes Dad, of course, Marty coughed, pulling himself free. Ive always liked, err, birds. I guess it just took me a really long time to realise it. Theyre just so, you know, feathery and stuff. Gabriel White had always loved bird watching, but ever since Martys mum had left hed been spending more and more time at it. Every second day now hed grab his trusty binoculars, fill his backpack with vegan snacks and disappear for the afternoon. A few weeks ago Marty had finally given into his dads relentless pestering and agreed to go along and see what all the fuss was about. He proceeded to follow his dad up a

steep hillside and sit on a rock. His dad spent a full day looking through his binoculars, gesturing for him to be quiet (despite the fact he hadnt uttered a word) and excitedly jotting down notes in his little black notebook. By the end of the day he was severely sunburned and made a mental note never to partake in bird watching ever again. Does Friday work for you? his dad carried on. We could go then. Or maybe Thursday. No, you know what, well do it tomorrow. Or now? Does now work for you? Surely your homework can wait until later? Actually Dad, if you dont mind, I thought Id give it a go on my own this time. For a moment Gabriel just stared at him. Then his mouth dropped open and he looked horribly

embarrassed. Marty knew hed react like this, but he needed those binoculars. More importantly, he needed

to be able to use them without his dad asking questions. We could go together next week, he added, already regretting it. His dads expression inverted. All right then, next week! He rooted in his back pocket and pulled out the familiar black notebook. He handed it to Marty like it was some sort of priceless artefact. I recommend you begin with my research on the migratory patterns of barnacle geeseits really quite fascinating! Marty promised to keep the binoculars and notebook in pristine condition before making for the kitchen. He made himself his favourite: a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a glass of milk. Then he sat in front of the living room window and began his first stakeout. *

This wasnt Martys first investigation. Not by any means. Just last week he solved the case of his elderly neighbour Mr. Uncles missing barbecue. After a rigorous search he found it upturned in the ditch that ran behind every house in Wycherly Terrace. But when he tried to return it to its rightful owner Mr. Uncles wife was angry. It turned out the barbecue hadnt been stolen at allMrs. Uncle had disposed of it because her husband burnt everything he cooked and she was sick of choking down great chunks of ash to keep him happy. One of the most important lessons he had learned from his inquests was that spying isnt nearly as exciting as it looks in the movies. It was three full days before something unscrupulous finally happened over at number three. It was just after seven when he saw it: movement in one of the windows. He adjusted the binoculars, zooming in as far as they would go. In a

narrow band of light he saw the same lampshade and patch of mildewed wall hed been monitoring for what seemed like forever. Only now there was something else. A manwho, he couldnt tellwas standing with his back to the window. He was much taller than the man from earlier. As Marty watched, the man moved to one side and there, standing in his place, was a woman. Marty barely recognised her. Gone were the ridiculous clothes and hairstyle. Now she wore a plain sweatshirt, and her hair, platted into a long ponytail, was black as coal. She disappeared from view and the man appeared again. Only this time he was facing the window. Martys eyes doubled in sizewhat was Mr. Uncle doing in the new neighbours living room?

CHAPTER TWO

Mr. Uncle ran directly into the window, crashed right through it and went sprawling into the front yard. Marty, his jaw in danger of unhinging, watched as he leaped to his feet and sprinted down the driveway. He had never known Mr. Uncle to be so agile. He had never known anyone his age to be so agile. But if he was fast the woman was faster. In a nanosecond she caught up to him and lunged, wrapping her arms around his neck. Mr. Uncles legs buckled and he brought the woman down with him. Just then the smoker appeared. He was

wearing a blue tracksuit. He hauled Mr. Uncle off the ground and dragged him back towards the house. *

End of sample. Read the rest of Martys story from November 21st 2012.