Part 7 (1/2)
”But that SWINE pulled out. That SWINE! He betrayed me. Betrayed me. Pulled the rug out. I was there yesterday morning and talked with him. I'm sure you know that. He let me fall. I fell. I'm falling. But now ... now I'm falling with a smile!”
”And your ... alibi?” asked Anna. ”You may have been the last person to see him alive. As you know, it's hard to determine exact times during the latter half of the Morning Weather. Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday morning?”
Oleg Earwig stood up.
”Of course I can. Foolishness. Now I have to get back to my cardan filibrator,” he explained. ”I don't have time for this. Arrest me, if you want!”
He held out a pair of his arms theatrically. Anna shook her head.
”No, exactly,” said Earwig triumphantly. ”I didn't think so. I refuse to disclose what I was doing yesterday after the meeting with the cursed Vulture. I have personal reasons. Personal! But Balder Toad will vouch for me. I spent the rest of the morning together with Toad. For personal reasons I'm not saying more. But that should be enough. Toad is my guarantor.”
Falcon recorded the toad's name in his notebook.
”You've put me in a very good mood, little cat!” Earwig said to Anna. ”This may turn out to be a good day!”
And he disappeared behind the sc.r.a.p iron. Soon the racket of the big machine was heard again, and ecu and Lynx left the inventor's peculiar world on Carrer de Carrera.
2.4.
Superintendent Larry Bloodhound went straight back to his office after the morning meeting with Tapir, Hare, ecu, and Lynx. He shut the door to the office area; the shades on the window were already lowered; it was mid-morning but it could have been any time of day. He sat down behind his desk, belched audibly, and looked around. The office was claustrophobic. The thought of how many hours of his life he had spent in there overwhelmed him. All those papers. Carelessly spread out, piled in collapsing heaps, wadded up in little b.a.l.l.s, or stuck into coffee-stained plastic folders. On the cheap bookshelves behind him were white, gray, and black binders he had inherited from whoever had been in the office before him. The bloodhound's own contributions to the bookshelf were of a different type. Half-consumed mugs of coffee. Concealed, half-eaten lunches so moldy they no longer smelled, and too disgusting for the cleaning people to dispose of. A novel or two testified to cultural ambitions; heaps of crossword-puzzle magazines suggested melancholy. On the only empty wall in the office hung a large, framed piece of art: a blurry charcoal drawing possibly depicting a barn, which he'd won when he was a member of the station's art club. The musty odor in the room-Larry's aftershave mixed with bacon and stale beer-had forever settled into the black-and-white-striped carpet.
He took out paper and pen and decided to calculate how many carbohydrates he had put away yesterday-to figure out what he could allow himself today. But before he could even begin, he remembered the piece of chocolate he'd eaten en route to the widow Flamingo. He put the pen aside. His thoughts went to yesterday evening and the cocaine that kept him from drinking up the cream in the fridge. If it hadn't been for the struggle against weight, he would never have started using the drug. Besides, the first few months had been successful. He'd lost a lot of weight, and the urge for sugar disappeared. But then, after about a year, the desire for food slowly returned. Despite c.o.ke in the evenings-and sometimes at lunch-he again started fantasizing about warm syrup, caramel sauces, and meringues. It was inexplicable, but true nonetheless.
Perhaps a different strategy. Phasing out. Instead of counting carbohydrates, would it perhaps be enough to simply eat less today than yesterday? Start a slower but perhaps more realistic journey toward the perfect body? In the lower right-hand desk drawer he expected to find the remnants of a honey-glazed pineapple, but the drawer was empty. Larry sighed and got up. Might as well head out to Nova Park and have a serious talk with the cobra. Maybe he could stop on the way and pick up a little something?
In Bourg Villette's entry hall the frog recognized the superintendent. After an astoundingly rapid elevator ride sixty-one floors up through the building's incomprehensible metal body, Bloodhound got out at Nova Park's office. He went up to the young goat in reception, smiling broadly. hall the frog recognized the superintendent. After an astoundingly rapid elevator ride sixty-one floors up through the building's incomprehensible metal body, Bloodhound got out at Nova Park's office. He went up to the young goat in reception, smiling broadly.
”You remember me, right?”
”Quite frankly ... ,” the goat replied, looking embarra.s.sed, ”I believe so ... Don't say a word. I'll think of it-”
The superintendent took out his identification. ”Magnus gives to some and takes from others,” he growled. ”What's your name?”
”Goat Croix-Valmer,” the goat replied.
”Croix-Valmer,” Bloodhound repeated as he wrote down the goat's name in his book. ”Good. Listen up, Croix-Valmer. I'd like to speak with Emanuelle Cobra first. Is she here?”
Goat nodded toward the corridor.
Bloodhound found Emanuelle Cobra at the desk where she had been sitting yesterday. Today she was wearing a turquoise top not quite as revealing as the blouse she'd had on the day before. at the desk where she had been sitting yesterday. Today she was wearing a turquoise top not quite as revealing as the blouse she'd had on the day before.
”Bloodhound,” the superintendent barked as he entered the office. ”We've already met, of course. I have a few questions.”
Cobra inspected him up and down. He wore a large-checked s.h.i.+rt under a jacket so stained and tattered that its filth couldn't be described. His jeans were worn smooth even on the thighs, and the heavy boots might possibly have been suited to a nighttime walk in the forest. Bloodhound suddenly felt uncomfortable.
”I've already answered questions, my friend,” said Cobra.
”And you're going to answer more questions, 'friend,' ” Bloodhound barked angrily.
Cobra sighed, but didn't contradict him.
So as not to be at a disadvantage, the superintendent avoided the vacant chair across from the secretary, sitting instead on the edge of the desk. But in doing so he knocked over a penholder, which fell to the floor with a crash.
”Do you want to watch me pick it up?” asked Cobra, smiling derisively. ”I can do it really slow.”
Bloodhound was ashamed. Partly about how clumsy he'd been, partly because she'd embarra.s.sed him. He decided to go on the offensive.
”You realize of course that you're in a bad situation,” he began. ”Someone cut the head off your boss while you're sitting outside, and you maintain that no one has gone in or out. Then, my little dear, there's only one suspect.”
”Nonsense,” Cobra answered.
”Nonsense?”
”Nonsense,” she repeated firmly. ”Besides, I told the falcon everything. Both Earthworm and Earwig were in to see Oswald yesterday morning.”
”Those were just regular meetings?”
”I have no idea what sort of meetings they were,” Cobra replied. ”Oswald never has the door open. You can ask Earthworm, he's here today. As far as that inventor is concerned, I've always thought that he was disgusting.”
”Did Oleg Earwig visit often?”
”Before. But yesterday was the first time in a long while. Maybe six months?”
”Did you speak with Vulture after Earwig had left?”
”No.”
”Did you see Vulture when Earwig left?”
”Yes,” said Cobra less certainly. ”Yes, I think so. We didn't talk to each other, but I think I saw him through the doorway.”
”You think? You have to know whether you saw him or not.”
”I saw him,” Cobra repeated.
But it was apparent that she had lost interest in the conversation. After the initial provocations, she now seemed almost bored.
”And how long was it between the time Earwig left and we arrived?” Bloodhound continued.
”I don't really know,” Cobra answered. ”Half an hour maybe? An hour? It's always hard to say before lunch.”
What she was saying was true; the weather and therefore time were impossible to interpret in detail before the Lunch Breeze because nothing changed.
”And you still maintain that you were sitting at your desk the whole morning?” the superintendent asked.
Cobra sat silently awhile, considering how she should answer. Then she decided, met the superintendent's gaze, and nodded.
”Yes,” she said. ”Yes, I was.”