Kensy & Max: Freefall Read online

  The boys nodded. ‘The best place to find out that information is downstairs with Alex. It would be faster than doing our own research, don’t you think?’ Max said. It had also occurred to him that maybe Alex could help with the coded note he found in Magoo’s study – but not right now. There were more urgent matters at hand.

  Kensy and Curtis agreed, although Song would be suspicious if they went down there again so soon.

  ‘Someone needs to distract Song then two of us can go,’ Max said.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Curtis volunteered. He wasn’t sure how but he’d think of something.

  The children hurried downstairs to the kitchen and family room. Song wasn’t there, but the sound of someone crooning a country love song was a dead giveaway and they soon found him in the formal dining room adjacent to the kitchen. He had a pair of wireless headphones on and was dancing around the room, singing, ‘I love the way you love me’ while putting out the place settings.

  ‘He’s getting weirder by the minute,’ Kensy whispered and rolled her eyes.

  ‘We’ll go,’ Max said to Curtis. ‘You keep him busy and if he asks, we’re upstairs reading.’

  ‘Okay,’ Curtis said and walked into the room. He tapped Song on the shoulder and the man jumped and spun around, holding a butter knife in the air. He realised who it was then took his headphones off and left them hanging around his neck. ‘Curtis, what were you thinking?’ he gasped. ‘I could have killed you.’

  Curtis suppressed a grin. ‘Not with a butter knife.’

  ‘Yes, with a butter knife!’ Song nodded. ‘And you should see the damage I can do with a dessert spoon.’

  ‘Sorry, Song. I came to see if you needed any help, you know with dinner or anything,’ the boy replied sheepishly.

  ‘That is very kind of you. What are the twins doing?’ Song asked.

  ‘Reading,’ the boy fibbed. ‘I got a bit restless, and Mum and Dad have always told me that if I’m a guest in someone’s home, I should offer to help.’ At least that was true.

  ‘Your parents have taught you well,’ Song said. ‘If you wouldn’t mind, you could get the bread and butter plates out of the sideboard over there. The small white ones. There are also some crystal water glasses for the table.’

  Song directed the lad and they chatted about mundane things like the weather and what was Song’s favourite place in the city. In the meantime, Kensy and Max were already downstairs in the control room.

  ‘Hello Master Maxim, Miss Kensington,’ Alex said. ‘I’m afraid that I do not have any results for you yet on the DNA sample.’

  ‘We’re not here for that,’ Kensy said. ‘We want to know about the people who have been targeted by the Postal Assassin – you know the person who’s sending those virus-laced letters.’

  In a matter of seconds, photographs of the four victims appeared on the screen with a bio beside each.

  ‘They must have something in common,’ Max said. ‘A reason why they’re being targeted.’

  Kensy read through the list.

  ‘Gabe McKenna, 37; he owned a mechanic shop in Denver, Colorado. Naomi Bull, age 44; an executive assistant from Baltimore, Maryland. Dexter Ellis, age 62; owner of one of the largest hedge funds in the US, he lived on Park Avenue not far from here. Lisbeth Turner, 73; an art dealer from Soho, here in the city.’

  Max looked at the dossier on each person and tried to make connections. Dexter and Lisbeth were both residents of New York City but Naomi and Gabe were spread across the country. There was nothing about their occupations that stood out either. Their ages weren’t grouped together – so the attacker couldn’t have been at school with them. Maybe it was random but why?

  ‘Are any of the victims related or known to each other – like ex-partners or siblings or distant cousins?’ Max asked.

  Alex brought up screeds more information, but there was nothing linking them together at all, at least not yet.

  ‘So some maniac is attacking people who have no connection to one another for what? For fun?’ Kensy said.

  ‘Stranger things have happened, I’m afraid,’ Alex said. ‘I think you had better be getting upstairs for dinner.’

  Max looked at his watch. They had five minutes.

  ‘Don’t worry, I can distract Song for a moment if you want to make your way without being found,’ the computer said.

  ‘I like you, Alex. You’re one of the good guys,’ Kensy said. ‘But I’m absolutely not convinced you’re a computer. You sound far too real to me.’

  Max grinned. ‘Thanks, Alex. We’ll have to come back down tomorrow to see if you’ve found anything else about that other guy – the dead one who’s not dead.’

  ‘Actually, you can contact me via your watches, should you wish,’ the computer said. ‘It’s one of my recent updates.

  ‘How?’ Max asked.

  ‘You’re a smart lad. Why don’t you figure it out,’ Alex said and promptly the buzzing soundwave line disappeared from the screen.

  ‘Come on, hurry up,’ Kensy said, as the three children scampered down the front path and onto the street. She closed the gate gently and then sprinted towards Lexington Avenue with the boys behind her. They all wore caps and sunglasses, hoping that no one would recognise them from their unexpected television appearance yesterday. It was also practical, given it was already sweltering.

  ‘Do you really think Song won’t mind us going out on our own?’ Curtis puffed as they rounded the corner.

  ‘He won’t even notice we’re gone,’ Kensy said. At least that’s what she and Max were hoping.

  Last night the children decided not to mention anything about the man at the carousel to anyone – it was easier that way, at least until they could speak to Cordelia. This morning they’d waited until their grandparents and Mim left for their outing to the Metropolitan Museum.

  They’d been invited along but begged off, preferring a quiet morning at home. The children did agree to join Hector, Marisol and Mim for lunch at the Boathouse in Central Park at one o’clock. They’d told Song they were going to tinker in the workshop downstairs then waited until he was upstairs – doing who knows what – before they headed out. They needed to find the man who was claiming to be Nick Thomas and see exactly what he was up to.

  ‘How far is it?’ Kensy asked again, wiping a dribble of perspiration from her brow.

  ‘It hasn’t changed since the last time you asked,’ Max said. ‘We’ll take the subway. There’s a station at 103rd and Lexington. I’m pretty sure that the apartment is right across the street.’

  The children trotted down the steps and purchased three tickets from one of the machines. None of them noticed the girl standing back against the red-tiled wall. She kept her distance, used to being able to make herself invisible in a crowd.

  It was only a minute or so later that the train pulled in and they hopped on board. The carriage was almost full and the children congregated around a silver pole and held on.

  ‘Did you work out how to speak to Alex via your watch yet?’ Max asked. He hadn’t even tried – there were too many other things on his mind, but he wondered if Kensy might have, given her love of gadgets.

  ‘No, I suspect I might have to take it apart, and I haven’t had any time,’ Kensy replied. She glanced across the carriage and spotted a girl reading a book they’d been studying last term at school.

  ‘What do you think of it?’ Kensy asked.

  The girl looked up but didn’t reply.

  ‘The book?’ Kensy tried again.

  ‘Sorry, were you talking to me?’ the girl said. The train pulled into a station and came to a stop. A woman who had been sitting beside the girl hopped up and Kensy slipped onto the bench seat.

  ‘I was just curious about your opinion,’ Kensy said. ‘We had to read it in school.’

  ‘Um, it’s good,’ the girl replied. ‘Actually it’s great.’

  ‘I thought so too. But my friend Autumn hated it. She loved the movie though, which is weird because
most people say the book is always better than the movie.’

  The girl nodded and went back to her reading.

  Max and Curtis were still standing in the centre of the carriage.

  ‘Do you really think we’ll find that guy?’ Curtis asked.

  Max shrugged. ‘It’s a long shot. I was researching identity theft – apparently it’s a big thing, especially when it comes to dead people. If the real Nick Thomas was some sort of recluse and he didn’t have many friends, then this guy could have taken over his whole life, but most people have someone who cares about them so it’s not likely.’

  Max caught his sister’s eye and indicated that they were getting off at the next stop.

  The girl stood up too.

  ‘Do you live around here?’ Kensy asked.

  The girl shook her head. ‘No, I’m visiting a friend.’

  Kensy nodded and gave her a smile.

  The children exited the station and headed up to the street. It was a very different neighbourhood to downtown. Mostly seven-or eight-storey blocks of apartments with fire escapes blemishing the facades and shops underneath. Diagonally across the intersection there was a meat market and a Mexican restaurant. On the opposite side of the road was an old church with a row of bicycles chained to the fence. Given the rubbish blown against them and the rusty handlebars, they must have been there a while.

  ‘So where is it?’ Kensy asked.

  Max pointed up the avenue to a white doorway with a grey arch around it. He was right about it being close to the station. An ominous ‘No Trespassers’ sign hung above the doorway and there was an intercom system with a couple of numbers but no names.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it will be easy to get inside,’ Curtis said. Then he remembered who he was with.

  Kensy took out her hairclip and was about to attack the lock when a man with thick tufts of dark hair and a droopy moustache barrelled through the door. He yelled something in Spanish as he exited the building, ignoring the children. The sound of salsa music blared from somewhere upstairs. It was loud as if there was a party going on.

  ‘Hello,’ Max said to the fellow, but he didn’t get a reply. As the door was about to close the boy pushed against it and the three children scurried inside.

  They didn’t notice the girl. She was standing in the shadows outside the church, wondering what they were up to. This didn’t seem like the kind of neighbourhood Dame Spencer would want her grandchildren visiting.

  In the foyer several rows of letterboxes clung to the wall.

  ‘How does the mailman get in?’ Curtis asked. The other two had been thinking the same thing.

  Max checked the box marked 7C. It was locked and wasn’t overflowing with junk mail like a couple of others.

  ‘Looks like someone lives there,’ he said.

  Kensy peered up into the stairwell. A woman was shouting and the music suddenly stopped.

  ‘Come on,’ Curtis said. ‘What are we waiting for?’

  Kensy looked at her brother. ‘You know we probably shouldn’t just knock on the guy’s front door. What about we try one of the other apartments and see if they know anything about Nick Thomas?’

  Max nodded. ‘Good idea. Curtis, you stay here and if the guy comes in, then give us a signal and we’ll get out of the way.’

  ‘What sort of a signal?’ the boy asked. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of being down here on his own, but if he was going to be a proper spy, then he needed to pull on his big boy pants.

  ‘Can you whistle?’ Max asked.

  Curtis gave a shrill blow.

  ‘Be back soon,’ Max said with a grin. ‘And don’t worry, we got away from that guy yesterday; we can do it again if we have to.’

  Max bounded up the first two flights of stairs, with Kensy behind him, when a door opened and a tiny woman with brunette curls and wearing an apron over the top of a red dress charged out into the hallway brandishing a wooden spoon. She shouted something in Spanish and waved the spoon about, then launched into a verbal tirade so fast that even if they could speak the language, they doubted they’d have been able to understand a word. She was gesticulating wildly and stamping her left foot when suddenly she stopped and looked at the children blankly.

  ‘You are not Rosa and Luis,’ she said, placing her hands firmly on her hips.

  Kensy and Max shook their heads.

  ‘Have you seen them?’ the woman asked. ‘They were supposed to be home an hour ago.’ The twins shook their heads again.

  ‘Then what use are the two of you if you do not know my children and you do not know where they are?’ the woman said with a dramatic flourish.

  ‘We were actually looking for someone,’ Max said.

  ‘You are English, no?’ the woman replied, trying to get her head around the boy’s accent.

  ‘Sort of,’ Max said. ‘We were looking for Mr Thomas in number 7C.’

  Immediately the woman’s face began to crumple and tears sprang to her eyes. ‘You are his family?’

  ‘Distant relatives,’ Kensy said, earning herself a glare from Max. ‘Visiting from England and we thought we’d say hello.’

  ‘Bambinos, I am so sorry to tell you, but Mr Thomas, he pass away in an accident last year. It was so sad. His cousin came to take over the apartment, but he is hardly ever here. He works very hard for the USPS,’ the woman said.

  The twins looked at one another. Max was running the acronym through his head. USPS – United States Postal Service.

  ‘Mr Thomas’s cousin?’ Max said.

  ‘Yes, you know him?’ she asked. ‘Javier. He is a handsome man. He makes my heart skip like a rope.’

  Kensy grinned then remembered the circumstances and frowned instead. ‘When was he last here?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I have not seen him for weeks, but I collect the mail for him. There are so many letters for Nick – the government is stupid that they do not stop. The poor man is dead, for sake of heavens.’

  Max remembered that Curtis had taken a photograph of the guy from the carousel. He’d shared it with him and Kensy so they all had copies.

  He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the picture.

  The woman peered at the screen. ‘Javier! You know him. Why he not tell you about Nick? Is he sleeping on the carousel?’

  ‘He was trying to be funny – oh, and that picture was taken years ago,’ Max said of the snap, quickly blanking the screen. The woman wasn’t stupid – it wouldn’t have taken too much to realise that they looked exactly the same in the photo given it was from yesterday.

  Kensy felt sick. But at least they had a name. Javier. ‘We’re very sorry to hear about Nick, but we’ll leave a message for Cousin Javier.’ The lies were coming thick and fast at this point.

  Max wondered what she was up to.

  ‘Do you want to go and write a note?’ She made googly eyes at her brother. ‘Except we don’t have any paper or a pen so perhaps Mrs . . .?’ she looked at the woman expectantly.

  ‘I am Mariana,’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps Mariana can help you and I’ll go and tell our other brother. He’s waiting downstairs,’ Kensy said.

  Max nodded.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Mariana said and ushered Max inside her apartment.

  As soon as they were gone Kensy raced to the end of the hall and whipped out her hairclip. Trouble was there were at least four locks on this door and she had to get every one of them open before Max reappeared.

  Her heart was pounding as she heard footsteps on the stairwell, but they didn’t stop at the landing and continued further up. Kensy fumbled for the last lock and fiddled with the two pins then heard the click. She was in.

  She opened the door and was hit by an overpowering smell. The apartment was stifling and Kensy hoped the odour was garbage and not something worse. She dashed inside the dingy hallway and into the main room where she flicked on a light. The place was a mess. There were unwashed dishes stacked on the floor beside the couch and when she peeked her hea
d into the tiny kitchen the bin was overflowing with something resembling a green smoothie trickling down the side. She held her nose to stop from gagging and wondered how the pong hadn’t made its way to the rest of the building. But then she saw why. There was a window open to the fire escape. The gauze curtain was blowing in the breeze.

  There were discarded clothes strewn over the furniture too. The place was unloved and she couldn’t imagine Nick’s ‘cousin’ Javier had spent much time here at all. There was a pile of mail on a small side table. Kensy riffled through it – bills, junk mail, nothing interesting. She headed into the bedroom. The bare mattress bore the sort of spreading stains you didn’t even want to think about. Kensy was about to leave when she spotted a closet in the corner. She scampered around the edge of the bed being careful not to touch anything then opened the door.

  ‘Are you serious?’ she gasped. There on the floor was a biohazard box – the same as the ones they’d seen in the shed at Cherry Tree Farm in Australia. This guy, Javier – was he the Postal Assassin? He had the perfect cover. And he had to be working with Dash Chalmers – how else would he have got his hands on the diseases.

  Kensy looked at the box. It wasn’t the kind of thing you carried in the street – someone would notice for sure. She looked around the room and remembered the clothes on the couch. Kensy was headed there when she heard a key in the lock. There was no time to get the box. She turned off the light and made a run for the open window, climbing out as quietly as she could onto the fire escape.

  Meanwhile inside Mariana’s apartment Max had finished writing his message to ‘cousin’ Javier. He folded the note and placed it inside an envelope the woman had given him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said and passed it to her. Outside in the hallway there was a loud commotion – feet on the floorboards and the sound of salsa music starting up again.

  ‘Ay, caramba, that woman will be the death of me!’ Mariana waved her fist towards the ceiling then opened the apartment door. Two dark-haired children, a little younger than Max, rushed inside.

  ‘Where have you been?’ the woman screeched then proceeded to berate the pair in Spanish. Max took this as his cue to leave. He made a hasty retreat, leaving the family to their feud.