"In a hurry, Derek?" asked Bloodhound. "Have you promised some little female she could play with all your fine toys down there?"

"Just tired of you, Larry," Hare replied.

"Children," said Anna, "you'd be happy in day care. In the pillow room. Tell us about Vulture's office, Derek. I know you haven't started your full a.n.a.lysis, but your impressions? Feelings?"

"The office was completely void of personality," said Hare. "I've never seen anything like it. Nothing. The only thing that fell outside the frame was the small laptop computer on the desk. His business correspondence was in the desktop computer. But there were no personal folders or doc.u.ments. We haven't got into the small machine yet. No, the vulture seems to have had gloves and a face mask on at work. What I think is strange is that the murderer seems to have been equally meticulous. Maybe we'll find something today, but up to now we haven't seen a single trace of the head. I mean, even if the murderer is a ghost, someone must have seen the vulture's head being carried out of there."

Falcon nodded. Now that Tapir had left the room, Inspector ecu regained some of his courage.

"You've already thought about this, I'm sure, but it struck me that even if we do find the head, it's not a certainty that Vulture can tell us who did it," he pointed out. "Tapir said the stroke did come from behind."

The stuffed animals in the room pondered this truth in silence.

"Surveillance cameras?" asked Anna. "Shouldn't there be some?"

"In the reception area," Hare replied. "I've asked for all recorded material since before the weekend. Perhaps the murderer's been caught on tape. We'll soon see."

Bloodhound got up.

"Well, we can't sit here fiddling with our belly b.u.t.tons any longer," Superintendent Bloodhound said. "This is actually a cla.s.sic case. A murder has been committed in a room with only one entrance. And the murderer does not seem to have either gone out or come in. Two suspects. We'll question them right away. I'm going back to Nova Park to have another chat with Cobra. Anna, you take the newcomer with you and have a visit with that inventor ..."

Derek Hare stood up leisurely.

"Does this mean I can go now?"

"Get out of here," Bloodhound barked.

2.3.

This will only take a sec," said Anna Lynx less than an hour later.

"Not when-"

"No, come on now, I just didn't have time," she nagged.

"But we're on our way to-"

"C'mon-please?"

Falcon ecu sighed theatrically and parked. Anna hurried. She threw open the car door and ran the few steps across the sidewalk into Springergaast. When she returned a few minutes later, she smelled like fresh-brewed coffee and blueberry m.u.f.fins. She handed a croissant dripping with b.u.t.ter to Falcon in a conciliatory gesture.

"My morning was a circus," she said. "But you'll see. One fine day you'll have cubs."

"Right now I'm prioritizing my work," Falcon mumbled.

"That's ridiculous," Anna laughed. "Don't become one of those bitter old guys at the station who think they made a choice at some point. They never chose."

Falcon had rolled down the window on his side, and the scent of the city filled the inside of the car once they were on the road again. The mild breeze had just blown in through the city. They took the route along orange-colored rue Leblanc, one of the quickest shortcuts through Tourquai if you wanted to avoid the main streets and avenues. The neighborhood was empty and silent; at this time of day the stuffed animals had already gone to work.

"We're just at different stages in our lives," Falcon attempted.

"What's that my ears are hearing? That I'm ancient?"

"No, no, but ... I mean, I don't even have a ... friend."

"They're not going to throw themselves into your arms automatically, if that's what you think. You have to try a little, Falcon," Anna replied.

She knew that her advice could get a bit personal, but she was looking after him.

Anna's mother was a light green Shetland pony and one of the most intelligent animals that ever lived in Mollisan Town. And not just according to Anna. She was the youngest ever to graduate from Lanceheim's medical school, and she had registered two patents for the treatment of Triklin's disease before she was twenty-four. For the past twelve years, however, she had remained secluded in her two-room apartment in south Tourquai, sedated but bitter. She never went out, she had lost all interest in the world around her, and she barely recognized her daughter on her rare visits. Instead of running with her talent and opportunities, she had fallen in love with a macho firefly who demanded she stay at home. He was going to take care of her, he was the master of the house; she would be his spoiled princess. And the hardworking scholar, the highly promising research scientist, accepted the idea. Because that is, sometimes, what love does to us.

The subtle terror already began when Anna was delivered. And year by year, Anna's brilliant mother turned into a pill-eating wreck, deprived of a will of her own. Without even trying-or trying because of that-the firefly closed the door on the Shetland pony's life, inch by inch. He spoiled her, and she grew accustomed to it. When he finally left her, she was already an addict. Years before that Anna had stopped calling him "father." She swore that what happened to her mom would never happen to her. Perhaps the idea of joining the police force was rooted there, in her mother's tragedy.

Falcon had found out that Earwig was a denizen of honey yellow Carrer de Carrera in north Yok. Rue Leblanc led down to Western Avenue; after that it was only a matter of driving through the Star and into the southeast part of the city.

"I did a little research this morning," he said as he stopped at a red light. "Nothing to speak of, but I thought it would be good to be prepared. Oleg Earwig is thirty-eight years old. He has no criminal history, has never been arrested, and, apart from a few parking tickets many years ago, the authorities have never been interested in him. According to his tax returns, the last few years have been meager. Even a police officer earns more. Earwig owns shares in the company he has with Nova Park, but they're almost worthless."

"Hard to be an inventor," Anna commented, taking a drink from her still-hot coffee as Falcon put the car in first and accelerated.

At the next red light Anna took the opportunity to drink up before she spilled. In the car alongside sat a peac.o.c.k, looking straight ahead and putting on his seat belt without letting on that he was doing so. The sight of a police car instilled guilt in most. The peac.o.c.k hesitated when the light turned green.

"I was forced to search eight years back before I found traces of the vacuum-cleaning wall in his tax returns," Falcon continued.

"Do you mean you've searched through eight years of tax returns already this morning?"

Falcon sat quietly. During his career this was the third murder investigation he had ever taken part in. This was major. Coming in early this morning and sitting hunched over a computer a few extra hours was the least he could do.

"I took the opportunity to look in the Patent Office's registry a little, too," Falcon admitted.

"Lunatic. Did you ever go home last night?"

"I got home before midnight," he lied.

"I don't want a partner who spends the nights on research and then isn't sharp when we need it."

"I know," said Falcon.

Anna shared Larry Bloodhound's sense of priorities. Police work was something you did out on the streets; cowardly bureaucrats sat behind desks.

Falcon turned out onto the bloodred avenue and increased speed.

"And the Patent Office?" asked Anna after a moment of silence.

"Oleg Earwig has four new patents being processed right now. He has registered a hundred inventions since 'the wall.' But apart from the self-cleaning oven, none of them seems to have been a success. At least I've never heard of any of the others."

"So, an earwig hungry for cash and recognition," Anna summarized.

"Hmm. Might be right," ecu agreed.

A few minutes later they drove through the golden Star, Mollisan Town's geographic center and the roundabout from which the four avenues ran. You might get the impression that these broad streets had been the starting point for the city planners when the city was divided into districts, but nothing was farther from the truth. On the contrary, the fact was that before the four independent towns of Amberville, Tourquai, Lanceheim, and Yok grew together, political boundaries were the scene of battles for centuries. Today these boundaries were reduced to multilane expressways; only scattered monuments were a reminder of history. they drove through the golden Star, Mollisan Town's geographic center and the roundabout from which the four avenues ran. You might get the impression that these broad streets had been the starting point for the city planners when the city was divided into districts, but nothing was farther from the truth. On the contrary, the fact was that before the four independent towns of Amberville, Tourquai, Lanceheim, and Yok grew together, political boundaries were the scene of battles for centuries. Today these boundaries were reduced to multilane expressways; only scattered monuments were a reminder of history.

Western Avenue separated Amberville in the south from Tourquai in the north; Eastern Avenue separated Lanceheim in the north from Yok in the south. When Falcon turned into the poorest part of the district's labyrinthine swarm of cramped, discolored streets and squares, as usual he could not avoid wondering what it would be like to work down here. Larry Bloodhound was the toughest police officer the falcon had ever met, but Bloodhound was also sitting safely in north Tourquai, where things were actually pretty good. The superintendents who worked at the police stations in Yok were made of different stuff. In these neighborhoods you never asked first.

When they arrived, the address on Carrer de Carrera proved to consist of a large, freestanding warehouse, built of corrugated sheet metal, without windows, and bombarded with graffiti. Falcon chose to park a short distance away so as not to attract attention.

"How much of the car do you think will be left when we leave here?" he asked worriedly as he locked the doors.

"Falcon, now you're not thinking right," Anna replied with a broad smile. "You know, the secondhand market for police-car wheel rims is rather limited."

Obviously. The Volgas that the police drove were specially made. The spare parts only fit other police cars. Falcon swore to himself. Every time he tried to drop a comment that he thought sounded police-like, he only revealed his lack of experience. Who did he think he was fooling? Nervously he adjusted his pink scarf again.

There was a doorbell, but after trying it they pounded on the door instead. Nothing happened.

"Do we have the right address?"

Falcon nodded. He was certain.

They decided to see if there was an entrance at the back and went around. The building covered the entire block. On the other side there were tall windows and the sheet-metal walls were exchanged for wooden planks. From inside, the sound of continuous pounding was heard.

"Check it out," said Falcon, nodding.

Through the windows they saw an earwig in a white coat running back and forth in front of a machine that resembled a printing press, but with more indicator lights and gauges.

"C'mon, look, the door's open," Anna noticed, pointing.

They went in. What they had not been able to see from outside was the impressive ceiling height of the s.p.a.ce. Mechanical apparatus and technical gadgets were everywhere.

"If I were five years old and imagining an inventor," Anna whispered to Falcon, "it would be exactly like this."

The earwig stood with his back toward the door in front of a ma.s.sive machine that rattled, hissed, and puffed. What the machine was doing was a mystery. The inventor held an oilcan in his hand, and he could not possibly have heard them arrive.

Anna took a few steps forward, holding up her police badge.

"Oleg Earwig?" she asked.

Without taking his gaze from the oilcan and the machine and without turning around, Oleg shouted back.

"That's me, that's me. Come back later. Come back tomorrow. Or next week. Next week. Right now I'm busy."

"Mr. Earwig," Anna shouted to be heard above the noise, "we're from the police department."

This had a certain effect. Earwig lowered the oilcan and twirled around. He was disgusting to look at, with long, hard feelers that stuck out from his head and razor-sharp fangs that hardly fit in his mouth. Arms and legs were poking out in all directions, it seemed. He was completely black, and the blackness was in sharp contrast to the white coat he was wearing.

"This won't take long, Mr. Earwig," said Falcon. "We only want to ask a few questions."

"Don't you see that I'm busy? Busy!"

"We are, too," Anna replied. "Do you have a place where we can sit down?"

"Sit down? Sit DOWN? This is a cardan filibrator that's about to explode. Explode! I can't sit down!"

"Turn off the machine for now," Falcon ordered. "Otherwise you can come along up to the station. We can talk there instead, if you want."

"The station?" said Earwig, taking a few steps backward, astounded at this lack of respect.

"C'mon, knock it off!" Anna insisted.

Earwig looked from the lynx to the falcon and back again. He realized they were serious. Under protest, he turned off the hissing machine, muttering about irreversible processes and days of work that were now wasted. Then he led the police officers through the mechanical garbage dump that was his place of work. Among piles of potting soil, cans of fertilizer, and clay flowerpots was a round table where he sat down. With a preoccupied gesture from one of his many legs, he invited the police officers to be seated. He explained that the dirt on the floor was the remains of the unbelievably successful work he'd done on the organic toothbrush-on which new bristles grew by themselves.

"Oswald Vulture," said Anna, without revealing that she had never heard of such a toothbrush. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"Vulture?" Earwig repeated. "Oswald Vulture? Does that mean anything? To me? A bigger fraud than Oswald Vulture has never walked the streets of Mollisan Town. A more cold-blooded liar has never been fabricated! He is a disgrace to his breed, a disgrace to all breeds, to our society. Oswald Vulture should-"

"Someone cut Oswald Vulture's head off yesterday morning," Falcon interrupted.

"Good!" Earwig exclaimed with feeling. "Amazing! Not a day too soon. Not a single day. It should have been done a long time ago. I should have done it myself! A long time ago."

"That leads us to the next question," said Anna without changing expression. "Where were you yesterday morning?"

"Me?" Earwig was offended. "Me? Where was I? That's none of your d.a.m.n business!"

"I must remind you that a murder has been committed," said Falcon. "You seem to be taking this lightly."

"He's missing a head, you say?" Earwig continued. "He's truly missing a head? Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned. Not a day too soon. Not a day. I have an alibi, don't worry about that, sweet little cat."

"I am not a-"

"Headless, headless, headless," the inventor sang. "Yes, what the h.e.l.l ..."

"Hasn't Nova Park invested considerable money in your company?" asked Falcon.

Oleg Earwig was not listening.

"How did they cut his head off?"

"For investigative reasons we can't comment on that," Anna interjected before Falcon said too much.

"No," Earwig replied, nodding. "No, that doesn't matter. Yes, the company. Yes, can it be any more rotten than that? He betrayed me, that SWINE! He betrayed me. I was in the middle of great, revolutionary work on my Dry-o-plex, and-"

"Dry-o-plex?" asked Falcon.

"The drying cabinet," Earwig explained. "I was in the process of transforming our dreary drying cabinets into four-dimensional cinemas! Instead of standing there, drying for hours, you have flat screens around you, above your head and under your claws. You're standing on the movie! The experience is ... it can't be described. Not a single wet stuffed animal in this city is going to want to be without a Dry-o-plex."

Earwig fell silent and considered this. Then he nodded in agreement with himself.

"It sounds ..." Falcon began, uncertain of how it sounded.