"Mama, we've overslept!" Todd howled.

He stormed into the room, ignoring the stench of red wine and the sleeping cow on the bed. He was her crocodile cub, her darling, her green cuddle toy. Todd's dad was another story. Being a single mother was Anna's own decision, and she had never regretted it.

"We're going to be late," Todd cried.

"C'mon, no, it-"

"Again," he whined. "We're going to be late again again."

Anna staggered over to the bedroom window and pulled up the shade. Outside it was already starting to get cloudy.

"Have you brushed your teeth?"

"No."

"Off you go and do that," she ordered. "Now!"

Todd left the bedroom in tears, just as the cow woke up.

"What's going on? Oy. My head."

Anna ran around the bed, looking for her clothes. She found her slacks and tried to jump into them while shaking the rolled-up bedspread to see if her blouse was inside.

"Simon!" Cow h.e.l.lwig exclaimed. "Lord Magnus, he must be beside himself. I've been away all night."

"Don't call him," said Anna Lynx, just as she discovered her blouse under the nightstand.

"You're out of your mind. Of course I have to call. Immediately."

"Don't call him. He's completely-"

"I'm hungry!" Todd called, again standing in the bedroom, tooth-brushing finished. "I won't get any food. You won't have time to make breakfast!"

"I'll have time!" Anna shouted, to drown out the cub's crying.

A moment later Cow h.e.l.lwig lifted the telephone receiver on the nightstand. Anna threw herself to the floor and yanked the phone jack from the wall.

It was then that she thought of it. In the midst of this chaos she was struck by an insight. Since yesterday the thought had been gliding around in the unfathomable pa.s.sages of her brain, and now it let itself be put into words. It was a particularly poorly chosen occasion. The cow was yelling, Todd was crying, and she was lying half-dressed on the floor, with a hangover, and with a telephone cord in her paw.

The tipster.

If Vulture was still in possession of his head when Oleg Earwig left the office, and if Falcon and Bloodhound arrived half an hour later, how and when had the tipster been able to phone in the tip? If the tipster was not the secretary herself, then it must have been the murderer. Who else could have known? But why would the murderer alert the police?

"What are you doing?" shrieked Cow.

"I want porridge!" shrieked Todd.

"Anna, now you're being childish. Plug in the phone."

"C'mon, we were in agreement," Anna shouted. "Your husband is a dictator. A repressor. A fascist pimp."

"Fascist pimp?" Cow repeated and could not keep from giggling. "You're out of your mind, Anna."

"You can stay here, until you find something else."

Todd increased the volume a few notches, and it became impossible to drown him out. Anna took the phone with her under her arm and scooted the cub out to the kitchen to make breakfast.

But Todd continued to be willful. He didn't want to wear his blue shirt and he wept large tears when there was no more of his papaya-and-mango-flavored cereal. Anna fought on. Cow came into the kitchen about the same time as Anna capitulated, ironed a yellow shirt instead, and let Todd have chocolate milk, even though it was against her principles. It was impossible to talk about equality and patriarchal structures at this time. To get Todd's jacket on, Anna had to promise to take him to Circus Balthazar. There were posters up all over the city, and she had said no for a whole week.

"Stay here awhile, girlfriend," Anna called to Cow from out in the hall. "You can crash with us as long as you want, no problemo."

"Anna, my friend," Cow called back, "I'll call you this evening."

Of course it would be possible to find out exactly when the tipster called, Anna thought, seriously late, as she ran with her crocodile cub in paw down the stairs to the entryway. All incoming calls were logged.

Despite a dubious parking location yesterday evening she hadn't got a ticket, and, relieved, she pressed Todd into the backseat. On the way to the day care she called Charlie at the Technical Department at rue de Cadix. He was the best at tracing ones and zeros through copper and fiber cables. She gave him the approximate time. She theorized that the same subscriber called twice on Bloodhound's extension and once on Falcon's. She wasn't sure of that, but that was what Falcon had told her. With such a tight target range it was easier to get results. She knew how they worked. First the district was established, then the block was narrowed down, and finally, possibly, the specific telephone could be determined. If it were possible to uncover someone's direct line at Nova Park, the inspectors' work would be considerably simpler. Anna was certain that the tipster was at the office. Anything else seemed impossible, considering the tight time frame.

Charlie promised to get back to her as soon as he had something.

With screeching tires a few minutes later Anna stopped outside Todd's day care. The rain was already falling from the dark sky, and she would be forced to run across the street into the entry with Todd in her arms. The teachers abhorred wet cubs in the morning, but what could she do? It was not the first time she had brought him late, and it wouldn't be the last.

2.2.

The meeting had already begun when Anna Lynx threw open the door and burst into the room. She was still feeling stressed after having been scolded by the preschool teachers and leaving a crying Todd with the other cubs in the pillow room. In her frayed state of mind she was completely unprepared for the calm that prevailed up at WE. A kind of half-light rested over the deserted office landscape, and the broad iron pillars cast long shadows across the empty workstations; in the mornings, staffing was always at its lowest.

Larry Bloodhound and Field Mouse Pedersen were sitting in the larger of the two conference rooms in the department. Theodore Tapir had come from the station at place St.-Fargeau. Of Tourquai's four police precincts, only the largest station, at place St.-Fargeau, had a well-equipped forensics laboratory. Tapir had come to give the brief run-through that Bloodhound asked for yesterday, and would leave again as soon as he was finished. Derek Hare from the Technical Department was there to listen. He was more sprawled than seated in his chair and looked like he wished he were back in bed. His personnel had barely had time to start their examination of the components of the crime scene. Falcon ecu stood in front of the whiteboard on the opposite side of the room. He had a pink scarf around his neck and was wearing a powder-blue jacket over a white shirt. Compared with how the others were dressed, Falcon seemed out of place. Anna did not interrupt anything when she barged in; the run-through had not begun.

"Super-sorry," she panted.

Except for a large, severely worn conference table on which coffee cups, cigarette b.u.t.ts, and keys or knives had left ineradicable traces, there was no room for much else. A row of lightbulbs hung above the table, the seats of the chairs smelled of damp wool. In the window boxes were two potted plants that had died from oxygen deficiency. They'd been there for weeks. Why didn't anyone remove them? Bloodhound asked himself. Through the windows you could look down over the parking lot opposite. On the roof of the lower neighboring building on the other side of the street was a strikingly large, complicated ventilation system; it might have been a modern sculpture of gleaming steel.

"Not that I have much to tell," said Falcon ecu, "but may I start, if you will?"

Bloodhound nodded tiredly. He had eaten only half a grapefruit that morning and was now regretting that he hadn't had anything else.

"Nova Park is solely owned by Oswald Vulture," said ecu, who had been at work since dawn, engaged in digging deeper into the company, its owners and history.

"Was owned," Bloodhound growled.

"What?"

Falcon cleared his throat nervously.

"Are your ears plugged up? Was Was owned, I said," the superintendent repeated. owned, I said," the superintendent repeated.

"Was owned? Excuse me, but now I don't think I understand-"

"Vulture is missing a head," explained Derek Hare, who had no patience for games. "The unkind Superintendent Bloodhound means that Vulture does not own, but rather did own, his company."

"Yes, yes, of course," said Falcon, relieved. "Clearly. Excuse me, Superintendent. So stupid of me, Vulture owned owned Nova Park. He built the company from the ground up ... starting with nothing, he made his first million before age twenty-five. Rather impressive is what he succeeded in creating in a little less than ten years-a successful venture-capital firm. Vulture invested money in ideas he believed in, and got the investment back with interest, if things went well. Most often it must have gone well. Unbelievably well. Bourg Villette, where Nova Park had its offices, is-" Nova Park. He built the company from the ground up ... starting with nothing, he made his first million before age twenty-five. Rather impressive is what he succeeded in creating in a little less than ten years-a successful venture-capital firm. Vulture invested money in ideas he believed in, and got the investment back with interest, if things went well. Most often it must have gone well. Unbelievably well. Bourg Villette, where Nova Park had its offices, is-"

"Has!" barked Bloodhound.

"Excuse me, where Nova Park has has its offices," Falcon corrected, adjusting his pink scarf and trying to sound unperturbed, "is owned by Nova Park. Bourg Villette is owned by Nova Park." its offices," Falcon corrected, adjusting his pink scarf and trying to sound unperturbed, "is owned by Nova Park. Bourg Villette is owned by Nova Park."

There was whistling in the room.

"Mm," Falcon nodded, "it's at that level."

"And Vulture was someone everyone liked?" Anna asked.

"He was respected," Falcon replied. "That's the image you get. I spoke with almost everyone at the office yesterday, and got hold of a couple of the directors on Vulture's board this morning. They're shocked, of course. Everyone says roughly the same thing. Hard as flint, but not dishonorable-"

"He wasn't hard as flint," Theodore Tapir interjected.

Field Mouse Pedersen laughed curtly, but no one else cracked a smile at the tired joke.

"No one up at Nova Park has anything in particular to tell about what happened yesterday," Falcon continued. "We have to double-check with the receptionist about an electrician who apparently came and went, and of course take another turn with the secretary, Emanuelle Cobra, who doesn't seem to have seen anyone either enter or leave Vulture's office ..."

During the course of the briefing Derek Hare had been sinking farther and farther down in his chair, and now with effort he brought himself back to a sitting position so as not to fall down under the table.

"Going to be hard to get a judge to believe in ghosts," Derek interjected. "But if neither the receptionist, who sits right across from the elevators, nor the secretary, who sits outside Vulture's office, has seen anyone come or go-"

"Excuse me, Derek, but that's not really the whole story," Falcon resumed, blushing at the same time over having interrupted the experienced Hare. "We have the inventor, Oleg Earwig, who was the last one to see Vulture alive. Earwig and Vulture have worked together for a few years. It started with the vacuum-cleaning wall ..."

"I have one of those walls," forensic physician Theodore Tapir admitted.

"Well then, s.h.i.t on you! Does it make you happy?" Bloodhound was seldom sarcastic, but when he was, it hurt.

"All new houses have vacuum-cleaning walls," Falcon clarified. "The wall was a great success. Earwig became the hottest inventor in Mollisan Town, and he formed a company with Nova Park and Vulture. They called it earWall Inc. There were a few more patents, not equally successful, but ... in recent years his ideas have been meager, and a few months ago Vulture broke off his arrangement with the inventor."

"Just like that?" asked Anna.

"In the most recent reissue-"

"Reissue?" asked Tapir. "Explain so a medical doctor can understand."

"You issue new shares and sell them on the market to bring in capital. Despite the fact that Vulture was the largest shareholder, he didn't take part in the reissue. And then of course no one else dared to buy, either. EarWall Inc. was out of cash, and Nova Park made a bid for the inventor's shares. They said they would consider taking them over without paying anything, or else the company would go bankrupt and Earwig would be stuck with the debts."

"Can you do that?" asked Tapir.

"Vulture would never do anything that was in violation of the stock exchange rules. Or of any other rules, if I've understood who he is."

"But you're saying that ethically the issue is debatable?" said Tapir.

"That must have been what Oleg Earwig said during their meeting that morning," Falcon noted drily.

"Go to h.e.l.l," Bloodhound barked. "You look like a little pansy, ecu, but this shows that you shouldn't judge everyone by their clothes."

There was giggling. Falcon nodded. He had never been praised by Bloodhound before, and it made him confused and proud. He sat down.

"Theodore?" barked the superintendent.

"Yes, well," Theodore Tapir began, as he stiffly positioned himself so that everyone could see him, "it seems like everything is pointing in the same direction. Cobra or Earwig. Anything else doesn't seem possible. But when things are too obvious, I become wary. As far as the forensics report is concerned, I will return tomorrow with a more complete description. But so far, I'll start with the cut. The one who separated Oswald Vulture's head from his neck knew what he was doing. A single cut, from side to side, with a sword or a long knife. More conviction than force. If the edge is sharp and the angle correct, the stroke is like a good golf swing. It's not the strength in the arm, it's ... the zing in the swing. The murderer stood behind Vulture, either accustomed to the movement or with plenty of time."

"Excuse me, but do you mean that someone sneaked up on him? Or that it was someone he knew well and turned his back on?" asked Falcon.

"My friend with the pink scarf, I don't know who you are," said Tapir, "but that was a stupid question. How would I know that?"

Falcon stared intensely down at the conference table and decided not to say anything else.

"On the other hand what I would ask myself," said Tapir, "was how the murderer concealed his weapon from the victim when he or she entered the room. It must have been a rather bulky object."

"And there was an attack alarm in the desk," Derek Hare pointed out. "If Vulture had sensed trouble he could have easily called for help."

"A brand-new invention?" Anna proposed. "C'mon, Earwig could have possibly pretended he was carrying around some contraption that was a new patent."

Tapir shrugged his shoulders to show that he was not convinced.

"The curtains," said Anna, changing tracks, "are another idea. The crazed animal could have hidden himself behind the curtains already the day before."

"Shut up now," Bloodhound asked. "The question is when did the murder occur?"

"Ah, but that's more difficult," said Tapir. "I prefer to wait for the autopsy before I give any definitive statements."

"If Cobra is telling the truth," said Anna Lynx, "there's not much to talk about. Earwig left, we came, in between someone trimmed the head."

"That doesn't need to be wrong," nodded Tapir. "That was actually what I wanted to say. That doesn't need to be wrong at all."

Tapir never took any risks, and Bloodhound knew that the doctor wouldn't say even this much without being fairly certain.

"Thanks," said the superintendent. "You can go now if you want to, Tapir."

"I do," said Tapir.

The elderly doctor left the room.

"For any of you who think that as usual it's the widow who's guilty, you can get that thought out of your head," the superintendent stated. "Apart from the fact that she was genuinely surprised, suitably dense, and generally incapable of action, she thinks the vulture has swindled her out of all the cash. Rambled on that he was going to donate the fortune to some foundation. Still remains to be seen whether that's true, I a.s.sume, but the point is this: she a.s.sumes she has less money now than when he was alive."

"But that isn't-" Anna began, but was brusquely interrupted by the superintendent.

"For a hag like Flamingo, I can promise you, money is everything."

Hare squirmed impatiently in his chair.

"Was there anything else?"