"And what would be the cause of that?"

"Something that happened in the investigation. Something that happened yesterday or on Friday."

"Squirrel?" asked Lynx.

"Might be," said Bloodhound.

"So this is to save Squirrel?"

"Might be," Bloodhound growled again.

During this conversation, Falcon's grip on the armrest of the chair grew tighter and tighter, and now he shot up.

"But," he said. "Excuse me for saying this, but what are you talking about? We have to act. We have to arrest the panda. This is-"

"Sit down," Superintendent Bloodhound growled.

Falcon fell silent and stared at his superintendent. He sat down. He was quivering with frustration. After several days of mistakes and false leads, a clear, uncomplicated, and obvious suspect had been identified. What was there to talk about?

"And if it's a police officer?" asked Lynx, not concerned in the least about Falcon ecu's outburst.

"What do you mean?" growled the superintendent.

"The only one who could make their way into your office without risk is a police officer," Anna continued. "And if the tipster has been a police officer all along, it would explain how he could call our direct lines last Monday. He knew he would get you to go to Nova Park by calling Falcon."

"He called our direct extensions?"

"According to Charlie."

Bloodhound suddenly remembered that the call last Monday did not go through the switchboard. And the suspicion he had was growing to a gnawing conviction.

"Hmm," he growled.

Falcon ecu couldn't sit still any longer. He got up again.

"Please excuse me," he said. "For even though I think what you're saying is interesting, it has nothing to do with the case. We arrest Panda. I can get him to explain both the telephone calls and the mysterious pictures."

"You think that Panda put a picture of himself on Bloodhound's desk to draw attention to it?" Anna Lynx asked with surprise.

"With all due respect, Anna, I don't care who put the picture there. It's there. Look at it!"

Bloodhound dismissed Falcon's theatrical maneuvers as stupidity.

"Falcon, we're not going to do a d.a.m.n thing. One day you'll grow up and get some common sense stuffed through your beak. We are absolutely not doing a d.a.m.n thing. This picture," the superintendent growled, holding it up and shaking it in front of ecu's eyes, "hints at desperation. Believe me. We forget about this, and worse crimes than breaking into my office are going to be committed."

"But you can't-" Falcon began with a raised voice.

"Shut up!" Bloodhound growled, holding up a threatening paw that pointed at Falcon. "You do as I say. Understood?"

Falcon summoned all the self-control of which he was capable and managed to remain quiet. Intellectually he knew that he ought to nod an "understood," but that was more than he could bear. His normally white cheeks shone as pink as his throat, and without a word or a gesture he left the superintendent's office.

"What was that all about?" Bloodhound asked when ecu had closed the door.

"He didn't have time to finish scouring the oven before he came here," Anna replied to smooth things over. "He'll understand ..."

But Inspector Lynx was wrong about that.

The fatal mistake of which Falcon ecu was guilty immediately after the meeting with Superintendent Bloodhound on Sunday morning, the ninth of June, could not be excused. It was due not only-but partly-to the unfinished oven cleaning and the ignominy that the arrest of Earwig had entailed. It was due not only-but partly-to his constant feeling of isolation in combination with an improbably high level of ambition. which Falcon ecu was guilty immediately after the meeting with Superintendent Bloodhound on Sunday morning, the ninth of June, could not be excused. It was due not only-but partly-to the unfinished oven cleaning and the ignominy that the arrest of Earwig had entailed. It was due not only-but partly-to his constant feeling of isolation in combination with an improbably high level of ambition.

Falcon ecu left Bloodhound and Lynx, went with determined steps over to the stairs, and continued two floors down to Captain Jan Buck's well-swept, light-filled office in the northwest corner of the police station. Without a thought that it was Sunday morning and that Captain Buck probably wasn't there, ecu went straight into Buck's office and discovered his highest commander sitting in front of the computer, playing strategy games.

"What the-?" Buck exclaimed in irritation, failing in an attempt to click up another doc.u.ment in front of the game.

As Falcon ecu told his story, however, Captain Buck's astonishment turned to readiness for action, and when the inspector was done, Buck had already put on his jacket and taken the pistol from the regulation drawer.

"Show me," he asked.

Ten minutes after Falcon ecu had rushed out of Superintendent Larry Bloodhound's office, he returned. This time with Captain Jan Buck in tow. ecu had rushed out of Superintendent Larry Bloodhound's office, he returned. This time with Captain Jan Buck in tow.

Anna Lynx was again sitting at her workstation. From a distance she heard Falcon approach with his sententious steps breaking the silence of the office area. She immediately read the situation and understood that her colleague was beyond saving. In a way this mortified her; she had invested both time and concern to get him to fit in. But the matter was clearly hopeless, and the countdown of Falcon ecu's days at rue de Cadix had begun. If he left tomorrow or in a week, it was impossible to guess, but once you stuck a knife in Larry Bloodhound's back you could count on being paid back in the same currency. At best Falcon ecu would be offered a job as a traffic cop, but nothing else.

"Superintendent?" ecu cleared his throat outside Bloodhound's door.

Captain Buck, however, did not intend to wait to be invited. He squeezed past the inspector, opened the door, and stepped into Bloodhound's burrow.

"Larry," Buck said, "I hear you've fished up a new prime suspect in the Vulture case."

Bloodhound looked up from his desk with surprise, flabbergasted and wondering for a few seconds how Buck turned up in front of him, but then he caught sight of the falcon outside the door and understood what had happened.

"Captain," he began, "I-"

"Do you have the picture here?"

"I have the picture here. But I don't think that-"

"May I see it?"

It was impossible to refuse him, so Bloodhound dug in his wastebasket and found the picture. He handed it over to Buck, who only gave it a confirming glance and nodded.

"Good," he said. "Let Squirrel go and issue an arrest warrant for Panda. Search the whole city-I want him here no later than this afternoon."

"Captain," Bloodhound growled with restraint, "with all due respect and without trying to be an a.s.s, I don't intend to do that. I'm rather certain. My suggestion is that we wait."

"Why?" asked Buck, without seeming interested.

"Because I believe that the pile of s.h.i.t who put the picture on my desk has a few things to tell. And he's soon going to tell them."

"Really?" said Buck. "And what 'pile of s.h.i.t' are you talking about, Superintendent?"

"That ... I'm not quite sure of yet," Bloodhound admitted.

"You're not sure?" Buck repeated derisively. "Well, I'm sure. Release Squirrel. I've already talked with the prosecutor. It's Panda we're going to bring in."

"You've talked with the prosecutor?"

"I gave you a chance, Bloodhound," Buck explained. "You didn't take it. You've despised me since the first day I installed myself here at rue de Cadix. You think you're better than everyone else. But I'm a professional. So I gave you a chance. You should view me as a role model. I'm taking over this investigation, Bloodhound. As of now. We'll have to figure all this out when Vulture's murderer is sitting behind lock and key."

And with these words Captain Buck turned his back on the superintendent and left him behind his desk.

7.3.

Casino Biscaya in northwest Tourquai.

At the blackjack tables stands a dealer with wings crossed in front of his chest, waiting for the bouncers to do their job.

"Counting can't be prohibited," the young player at the table says. "Keeping track of the cards can't be prohibited. This is a game of skill. It's not roulette. You can't accuse me of anything."

The young animal does not understand that the owner of the casino can do whatever he wants. No evidence is required. Anyone who wins a suspiciously large amount during the evening is the object of extra attention. And if the player in question keeps winning, he gets thrown out. It's no more complicated than that. But the naive mouse doesn't realize that.

"I haven't done anything wrong."

In the mouse's jacket sleeve are four aces of spades. Philip Mouse is twenty-five years younger than when he sits in the kitchen at Jasmine Squirrel's and sees her taken away by the police; he is naive, but not so naive that he doesn't understand that if the bouncer discovers the extra cards, it will no longer be a case of simply being thrown out. Philip stands at the center of the attention; the players around the table observe him tensely. It is impossible to get rid of the aces right now. It is impossible to explain that he needs the money he's bet, and that he's not going to use it for himself.

Casino Biscaya is not one of the larger gambling establishments. At Biscaya, drinking is just as important as betting, and the drinking is attended to with the same pa.s.sion and consideration. Mouse has chosen this casino because he thought it would be easier to cheat at a place like this. It's dark in the room. In the background is the gurgle of elevator-music arrangements of cla.s.sics by the old masters. At the bar a couple of guests are arguing about who has made the all-time most free laps on the Lanceheim Lasers, and around Philip Mouse there is a vacuum. The dark, varnished wood on the edges of the blackjack tables is sticky with old liquor.

"I haven't done anything," he repeats. "And I don't intend to leave. No farther than to the bar. You misunderstood."

But the dealer is already tired of the player, and finally the bouncer shows up. He's a big ape, as he should be, an orangutan with wild reddish hair sticking out in all directions. Without thinking, Philip raises his paw from the sticky table and puts it around his jacket sleeve. It is a guilt-laden gesture, and many of the surrounding players understand immediately what is about to happen.

The orangutan stops and stares. Not at Philip but at his jacket sleeve.

"Stand completely still," says the ape. "Completely, completely still."

Philip stands still while the orangutan slowly approaches.

When a yard or even less remains, something unexpected happens. Out of the clump of animals that has formed around Philip Mouse a squirrel separates herself. She is beautiful in a simple way and radiates a self-a.s.surance that takes him by surprise. She places her paw behind his neck, draws his head next to hers, and kisses him right in front of all the stuffed animals.

"Darling," she says. "We're leaving now."

And naturally he follows her, so close that he can hear her whisper to the orangutan, "He's with me."

Philip Mouse had Jasmine Squirrel to thank for his life. Neither more nor less. They went home to her place that night so many years ago, and he realized in the dawn that he would never get a better answer to the question of "Why?" than what she had already given him. Squirrel to thank for his life. Neither more nor less. They went home to her place that night so many years ago, and he realized in the dawn that he would never get a better answer to the question of "Why?" than what she had already given him.

He had looked so defenseless as he stood waiting to be unmasked. She had never experienced a stuffed animal so wide open to attack, so unaware of how he could fend off life.

That was her explanation. The words she used: fend off life.

That was something she herself was occupied with, day and night.

Back then Jasmine Squirrel lived in a two-room apartment: from the sidewalk you went down a short stairway to the outside door, and facing the courtyard you could open double doors onto a little garden. It was not unusual that bas.e.m.e.nts were turned into apartments in the most densely built-up areas in south Lanceheim.

Jasmine Squirrel had so many pieces of furniture and colorful rugs and curtains and pillows that there was hardly room to move through the two rooms, but Philip was prepared to exchange his bachelor pad in a moment. He had celebrated his twentieth birthday with a big party a week earlier, and had still not cleaned up. Maybe that was why he didn't go home after that first night; maybe it was due to something else altogether.

Not once during all the years he had known Jasmine Squirrel had he dared ask her how old she was. But she was much older than him, especially then, at Casino Biscaya. He worshipped her from the very first moment. She was no teacher, however; she had no such ambitions. She didn't share her experiences, she didn't tell him about life; he had to draw his own conclusions.

And when he did, she shrugged her shoulders.

The same thing at night. She was no adolescent fantasy, not an older, experienced lover who instructed young adepts. She concentrated on herself and her own enjoyment, and Philip often felt expendable. Yet there was an intensity in her manner, a force in her pleasure that he would never experience with anyone else.

Many times he wondered whether it was the lack of demands she offered by being so strong, so willful and self-sufficient. She did not need him during the day or at night, thus freeing him from responsibility. In his twenties this was a major liberation. Perhaps for the first time in his life he experienced that there were no expectations, no one critically observing his way of being or thinking.

Is this what it's like to be an adult? he sometimes wondered at night.

And later, many years later, when he was an adult, he realized that it had never been about anything other than Jasmine Squirrel.

She became his first great love, from that first night in her two-room apartment.

After a few months she threw him out. It was a long time, for Jasmine Squirrel. Philip had not had any expectations; he was neither surprised nor bitter. He stuffed the few things he had smuggled into her apartment into a plastic bag and returned home to his own loathsome studio.

She gave him no reasons.

With a father who abandoned the family early on and a mother who was an alcoholic, Philip Mouse was deprived of his final sense of security in his teens when his big brother was sent to King's Cross after a failed postal robbery. abandoned the family early on and a mother who was an alcoholic, Philip Mouse was deprived of his final sense of security in his teens when his big brother was sent to King's Cross after a failed postal robbery.

It was an old aunt who needed the money he tried to get through trickery at Casino Biscaya, an operation on a nasty tear she couldn't afford, and the young Philip had tried to help out. But there had been desperation in the act, as if the need to practice charity toward his aunt was a subconscious attempt to compensate for the whole family's dysfunctional history.

Even after Jasmine threw him out, his love still remained. During the year that followed, Philip Mouse made a courageous but clumsy attempt to find his way back to the squirrel's heart. It was doomed to fail. She was never cruel to him, she might even spend the occasional night with him, but she made it clear that it was no more than that.

He was so young.

When Philip Mouse started at the Police Academy, he realized it had to do with his upbringing, but he didn't know whether the Academy was a protest or a confirmation. He didn't care. Several years had pa.s.sed since the night at Casino Biscaya, and his life was going nowhere. He was desperate, and the Police Academy seemed to provide a certain outlet for the fury he kept stored up inside himself.

Six months into training, he dropped out and decided to start working as a private detective instead. He pretended it had something to do with attracting females. Despite repeated attempts with Jasmine, he got nowhere. So he decided to forget her. He courted a number of young stuffed animals and was involved with several others. That was why he could state with such certainty that "private detective" had higher standing than "police officer," at least in the eyes of females. At one of his regular haunts he met a young, beautiful shrew with the longest eyelashes he had ever seen. She summarized the general perception.

"It's the uniform or the mystique," she said. "And I prefer the mystique."

Philip Mouse was not cut out to be a police officer. He didn't share the reverence for rules and hierarchies, he wasn't interested in power. The females were an excuse.

Along with his love relationships, Philip Mouse was slowly building a life for himself. It happened without his realizing it. He had luck with his a.s.signments, soon he could provide references, and he could barely keep up with his intensive social life.

The years pa.s.sed, and one day there were routines, and friends, and Daisy Hippopotamus. Daisy kept him on a short leash, and Philip came to feel a sense of responsibility for her, although it more likely appeared to be the other way around.

What built his reputation as a private detective was his ability to show discretion-to the border of disinterest-along with his well-developed contacts within the police. The insurance companies in Mollisan Town became repeat customers and were the main reason that, in time, Philip was able to move the office to baby blue Knackstra.s.se up in Lanceheim. He also was able to abandon his stuffy studio and buy a condo on Fischergrube, no more than ten minutes from the new office. The moving-in party coincided with his thirtieth birthday, and he could not refrain from inviting Jasmine Squirrel to the festivities. He hadn't seen her in over four years but still had a hard time not thinking about her.

When she showed up, late at night after most of the other guests had already gone home, the sudden reunion was so emotional that the mouse was forced to crouch down for a moment. It was not joy he felt, it was pain. His eyes were filled with tears, and he embraced her long and hard.

"Happy to see me?" she whispered in his ear. "Or are you trying to kill me?"