Free The Amazing Mind of Alice Makin by Alan Shea

playground with a few play things in it. Really they’re for little kids. They’re mostly old and beat up. Three swings with shiny, worn wooden seats. A big wooden roundabout with chipped green metal holding-on bits. An umbrella that no matter how hard you push when you jump on it still limps around lopsidedly like a one-legged tortoise. And one of those long metal rocking things that have a horse’s head at one end and something that’s supposed to look like a tail at the other end. There are little metal seats which you’re supposed to sit on, although when we were little kids we used to stand up on the running boards and work up really hard so that the whole thing jerked up and down like a rodeo horse. It’s better if you sit at the horse’s head and hold on to the neck. Then you get thrown all over the place.
    As I look across I see a familiar figure. Norman comeshere a lot. Like I said, it’s supposed to be for younger kids but he doesn’t care. He’s sitting on one of the swings. I wave. He waves back. He looks lonely. I turn to Reggie.
    â€˜I’m just going over to see Norman for a minute.’
    â€˜All right. I’ll go and s-see if I can find Charlie. I’ll be at the lake when you’re ready.’
    I cross the little road that runs through Vicky Park and go into the playground.
    â€˜Hello, Norm.’
    He smiles. ‘Wotcha, Al.’
    â€˜What you doing?’
    â€˜Swinging.’
    â€˜I can see that. I mean, what you doing here on your own?’
    â€˜Nothing, just thinking.’
    â€˜You’ve got all blood on your knee, Norm.’
    â€˜Yeah, I know.’
    â€˜How d’you do it?’
    â€˜I fell off the swing. I’m always doing that.’
    His arms are cradled around the metal chains that hold the seat, so that he’s more rocking on the seat than he is swinging. I’m about to ease myself on to the one next to him.
    â€˜Hold on.’
    He reaches across and wipes the seat with the sleeve of his jacket.
    I get on. Start to swing slowly.
    â€˜So, what you thinking about?’
    â€˜I saw you and Reggie coming into the park and I was thinking I wished I was you.’
    â€˜Don’t think you’d fit into my dresses.’
    â€˜No, I mean I wish I was clever like you.’
    â€˜I’m not clever, Norm.’
    You are.’
    â€˜Why d’you say that?’
    He thinks for a while. Starts to swing slowly.
    â€˜Well, when you make things up all the teachers and everybody say nice things about you; what a good imagination you’ve got, and that. When I do it they just shout at me and tell me off.’
    I’m still rocking. The thing with Norman is that it sometimes takes a while to work out where he’s going. Sherlock would do it by subtle questioning. Craftily deducing what was going on in Norman’s head by logic.
    â€˜How d’you mean?’
    As he’s swinging he lets one foot trail in the dirt, scuffing the toes of his shoes. Good job my mum isn’t here.
    â€˜Like the other day in class. You made up a story and got a prize. But when I made one up I got told it was a lie and a venial sin and sent to Sister and had to miss play.’
    First piece of evidence. I have to be careful how I handle this. Mustn’t disturb the scene of the crime. Leave my prints all over Norman’s feelings.
    â€˜Was your story the one you told Mr O’Cain? About your dad being a secret service agent working for MI5?’
    He scuffs some more.
    â€˜Yeah. That was it.’
    â€˜Thing is, your dad’s a milkman, Norm, and he delivers milk to Watney Street, which is where Mr O’Cain lives.’
    â€˜So?’
    â€˜So, Mr O’Cain knows he’s a milkman, not a secret service agent.’
    Norman pushes off, keeps pace with me.
    â€˜Maybe my dad’s undercover and he’s really going round tracking down escaped German prisoners of war and poisoning them