Juan and Kaia were the first to my aid, both blabbering on, “Are you okay?” “What happened?” “I think that was Detective Pierpont.” “Why'd she run away?”
I threw pride to the wind gritting my teeth and allowed the two animals to help me up, knowing Joann would find the bruising and possibly give me her lecture again of changing my line of work. Not that she would ever propose we tie the knot to keep me grounded, and not that I would accept.
I brushed myself off and did some twists and bends then checked my pistol. With no danger imminent, I flipped on the safety and discharged the CO2 cartridge to insert a new one. Catharine arrived as I was doing this, asking again the questions Juan and Kaia had asked. I hadn't answered, partly because my mind was swatting down my own questions. Questions like, That was detective Pierpont? What the hell was she doing here? Why did she run?
I gave Catharine my best glare but included Juan and Kaia for good measure. “If you had stayed outside, my path to the open door would have been clear. With you in the way, I might have hurt you, Ms. Nelson, so I pursued her the only way still open to me.”
“I'm so sorry,” Catharine apologized.
Juan found my flat cap and gave it a wipe off before offering it to me.
“Never mind.” I replaced my pistol in its holster and gave Juan a courteous nod for my hat. “The opportunity's lost.” I looked at Juan. “You're sure that was the detective who interviewed you back at the museum about Mr. Sullivan?”
“I can't be absolutely sure, but she sure looked like her.”
“Oh, that was her alright,” Kaia said in disgust, her tail twitching, as she folded her arms to look daggers at Juan. “How you couldn't recognize her is beyond me, what with all the fawning you and the other males were doing. You'd have thought you'd never see a female before.”
Juan shook his head in denial. “That was Mitch, Filip and the males from other departments.”
Kaia stabbed Juan in the chest with a finger. “And you…”
“Your meaning is taken, Kaia,” I jumped in before a full blown argument developed. “Regardless of how they treated her, the matter will wait upon another time when I've time to inquire about Ms. Pierpont, if that's really her name.”
“What do you mean if that's her real name?” Juan asked, puzzled.
I looked the group over as I donned my flat cap. “The police do not break into anyone's home without a warrant. Nor do they do so without backup. As she chose to jump out a third story window, this leads me to believe she's either a thief or a P.I., and neither one would be so dumb as to give their real name.”
I looked at each of their faces to see if they understood me. When it seemed as if their minds were working it out, I said, “Let's have a look in Mr. Sullivan's room and see what she might have missed.”
Catharine, Juan and Kaia explored Mr. Sullivan's combined office and bedroom while I stood in its center eyeing everything to get a better feel for the fox while I allowed my olfactory to cauterize the resident smells to match them up with those I smelled in the drawer at the museum.
Around the walls were maps on maps, from paw drawn to road maps obtained in any travel agency. Penciled notations, thumb pins with yarn stretched between them to indicate routes, or off the maps linked to torn pieces of paper or photographs with names, places or objects. On chairs and a single desk were open books on books or more maps. Large standing vases held rolled old maps, some with countless holes. I found newer replicas on the wall.
By their confused expressions, none of this was for any of the archeology digs Juan and Kaia had been on. It all conveyed Mr. Sullivan's obsession with the idea that monkeys could fly. I rubbed my muzzle, wishing I had my pipe and a chair to sit down and make sense of it all.
After a few minutes, Catharine confessed, a little sheepishly, “I know this all looks kind of bad. As if my uncle really is obsessed. But it's not true,” she defended him. “He had a life, female-friends, and as you know, he's respected by all his peers.”
I nodded, as if accepting her words, for what I believed of the fox was immaterial. I approached one of the pictures on the wall and pointed it out to Catharine. “I take it this is the most recent photograph of Mr. Sullivan?” The picture I indicated was one of Mr. Avery Gatura with an arm around a fox at a black tie affair.
“Yes.” Catharine walked over and laid a finger on it.
“May I?” I indicated I wished to remove it from the wall.
“Please…” She nodded.
I removed the thumb pin and looked at the picture. Mr. Oscar Sullivan was a lean but fit fox. He had no discerning tattoos, piercing, or marking which I could see that made him stand out in a crowd. He looked distracted in the photograph, as if he had something on his mind.
I next caught sight of a photograph sticking out from under a drawing of the lower half of the large glacier. The picture was a group shot of a clan of backward arctic wolves. Ten in all, including the alpha male and female, decked out in seal skins, spears and necklaces of teeth or claws of dangerous animals that proved the prowess of the wearer. I pulled this off the wall and flipped the photo over to note it been take seven years ago. I looked back on the photo of wolves, running a finger across the picture before snorting in irritation, and then put the two photographs together and stuffed them in my vest pocket. Stepping back, taking it all in, it dawned on me that even though the entire continent was laid out on the walls, a lot of the yarn lines dealt with places surrounding the large glacier.
“If I remember correctly, Catharine, you said your uncle's next excavation was somewhere above the large glacier?”
“That's right.” She nodded after a glance at Kaia.
I turned to Juan and Kaia. “Can either of you point out where this new dig might have been?”
“Sure.” Kaia walked up and pointed below the town of Seal Swallow, about halfway between the town and the glacier.
I noted the spot was not marked on his map. This brought up a question. “Looking on all of this, have any of his digs been to any of these sites?”
Juan scratched under his jaw. “I spent half a semester studying archeology sites before volunteering for his team. According to a required book of reading, ten of these sites are listed.” Juan pointed them out.
I looked at the dates. None were newer than ten years ago, and nowhere near the glacier. It was my time to hold my muzzle. So at first his quest had been open for all to see. But now with the schools and museum asking him to drop the issue, he's kept it to himself, except to ask for funding.
“So does any of this help find my uncle?” Catharine asked hopefully.
“I won't be sure for some time yet. I've other things to check out.” A look at a working wind-up clock told me it was seventeen hundred, and I'd yet to have a meal outside of breakfast. I turned for the door and then had a thought. I turned back and indicated the clock. “Catharine, do you have staff who'll come in here and clean?”
“What's that got to do with my uncle's disappearance?”
“Nothing, but humor me, please.”
“My brother hired a bobcat to clean every Tuesday and Thursday. He joked about it at the time he did, saying at least her tail wouldn't knock things over.”
This earned a smile from Kaia.
“But does she come in here?” I pressed.
“No,” she said, and then looked sideways in some embarrassment. “Even though this is my uncle's den, and we are his guests, my brother told the bobcat to never come into this room. Why do you ask?”
“You were worried everyone believes your uncle's obsessed with his theories. Well maybe he is or maybe he isn't. This room tells me his theories hadn't taken over his mind. Regardless of the paraphernalia around the walls, tables and shelves, this room is clean of filth. The rug is clean, there's no cups or bowls laying about with food still left in them and the wind-up clock is still working. Someone with an obsession tends to let everything about them go to the wayside while they concentrate on their goal.”
Kaia slapped Juan's shoulder. “See, I told you he wasn't crazy.”
“Ow, jeez Kaia, I never said he was,” Juan argued. “Mitch was the one who said Oscar was three sheets to the wind. I merely withheld any arguments to keep the peace.”
Catharine's ears shifted back, which made her look indignant, and she huffed. “He did, did he? Well he can expect no bank notes from my uncle's charity in funding an expedition of his own, I can tell you that.”
That admission froze me in my tracks. “What a minute, funding? What funding? I thought Mr. Sullivan was hurting for bank notes. If that's so, where are the bank notes for this charity coming from?”
“I'm sorry,” Catharine said. “I guess I never told you. My uncle isn't really rich. His parents were. They set up a trust fund to give him a modest monthly allowance, most of which goes to the bills on this den and a small portion to a charity to help fund dig sites of his choice. They did this because an expedition to a dig site can be very costly, so to make certain he didn't plow through all the family savings, or his inheritance as it became, they made certain he would always have a place to call home.”
“So his parents are dead as well?”
“Yeah. They were on the same ship that sank with my parents.”
I looked off into space, postulating. Both Mr. Sullivan and Ms. Nelson's parents were well off, and coincidently both sets went down on the same ship. Not at all truly suspicious, but when bank notes are involved… I let that trail off, as that was another matter.
“So what do we do now?” Kaia asked.
“We…do nothing.” I looked at each of them. “You two go back to the museum and continue whatever it was you were doing before I arrived, and you”—I indicated Catharine—“go back to your studies in college. It's now up to me to check on a couple of things on my own.”
“But I want to help,” Catharine objected, her eyes pleading that I let her continue to follow me around.
“Believe me, you have. All of you have, but I work alone for a reason, one of which went out that window when we arrived.” I pointed out the window as I started for the door, willing to leave them to their own speculations as I worked out which lead might bear better fruit.
Juan followed me out while the girls remained inside talking. He ran a paw over his head and glanced up at me nervously. “So, ah, if you need anything…”
“I know where you are, thanks, Juan.” I left Juan outside the gate signaling for a rickshaw as I put my paws behind my back and started off in the direction that might promise a café or restaurant. Not that I could really afford much on this side of town, but it would tied me over while I did some thinking.
A good half hour later I came across a promising diner. It was just on the cusp of being on the wrong side of the street, save the hired help who worked the housing behind me as maids or gardeners or repair-animals needed somewhere close by where they could get a bite to eat. I pushed open the glass door to see a room full of blue collar workers, most of whom were talking dirt about their employers while winding down after a long day slaving away for the well-off. I will admit there had been times I was so desperate for work I'd hang out in such places to gain prospects for jobs. Besides, with a careful ear, a private investigator could glean many a good tidbit in such places as this.
I noted a barstool at the counter open and sat to look up on the simple fare offered on a menu board above the order window.
“What can I get you, honey?” A well-endowed Brown Fish-owl asked of me.
“What's fresh?” I asked, since I didn't like the taste of frozen meat.
She leaned on the counter, forcing her apron to work overtime to keep her endowment covered and whispered, “In truth, I'd have the fried ground squirrel. Every time I open the icebox, the damn things keep propositioning me.” She stood back up with a smile on her beak, enjoying her own humor indicating the squirrels were real fresh.
I grinned, understanding her joke, very much glad some animals never took the path of growth and intelligence, as eating one whose ancestors developed into modern, upstanding animals gave me nightmares of bygone days when I was a pup. “Ground squirrel it is.”
She nodded, “Good choice.” She made a note on her order pad and turned to the window that separated the diners from the kitchen. “Harold, dunk a GS.” She also picked up a bottle of BBQ and ketchup and set them before me. “And to drink?”
I was about to ask for milk when the glass door opened. Two street patrol Dobermans came in and surveyed the place.
The Brown Fish-owl looked over and set a feathery paw on her hip and snapped, “What the hell do you two want now?”
“Keep your girdle on, Nastya,” the skinnier of the two said without humor. “We've had a complaint from an animal someone's walking around waving a pistol about.”
Oh, for crying out loud… I moaned within as my ears rotated back in a show of annoyance, for I recognized the skinny street cop. As I expected, once his beady black eyes landed on me his ears stood tall. He grabbed his utility belt, gave it a tug to set it better in place, and then walked in.
“Well, well, well,” he said loud and clear so all would pay him attention. “Look what the weasel dragged in on my turf.”
I turned my face forward and snorted in annoyance. Had I known Azzo Fulke worked anywhere near here, I would've left the area as quickly as possible. Not that I was afraid of him, not by a long shot. No, sometime back, a little before he passed the police academy course, I was on a job that proved his father, then a well-liked sergeant on the force, was taking bribes. This single embarrassing event in his young life made it harder on him. Not that it was my fault his father was on the take, but he had never seen it that way.
Azzo strolled up behind me and leaned on the counter. “If it isn't the convict Braxton Snow.”
“Fulke!” Nastya snapped, folding her arms. “If you don't quit harassing my customers—”
“Stow it, Nastya,” Azzo pointed a finger at her. “Or I'll start checking work cards. You wouldn't want me to start doing that, now would you?”
The threat didn't faze Nastya. She took a deeper breath, making herself look even bigger, shifted her head side to side and snapped, “You'll do no such thing if you want to keep walking the streets here about.”
Translation, I worked out her threat, the well-off animals living in the nearby homes don't like losing their under-the-table labor and will demand the local police department transfer Azzo somewhere else.
Azzo had started to turn his attention on me when she announced that threat. Azzo's lip curled in irritation at his own folly but decided to ignore her for better sport…me. “Convict, you wouldn't by any chance be packing?” Azzo picked my flat cap off my head and let it fall behind me onto the floor.
“Careful, Azzo,” I warned. “A badge on your breast doesn't mean you're untouchable.” My temper was showing, and it did me no good.
“That statement could well be perceived as a threat!” Azzo growled and stood straight. “Paw it over, convict!” Azzo held out a paw, having either seen or smelled my pistol.
At this point I held no choice. Part of the legal deal to carry a pistol was that any officer, no matter who it was, could ask for my weapon at any time. Still, I'd rather not give it to him, but a glance at his partner behind and right of me showed he was ready to pounce if I did anything threatening. And that would give Azzo cause to arrest me. Knowing this was his ultimate goal, I planted both paws on the counter and said, “It's under my vest on your side.”
Azzo gave me a hateful smile and pulled the vest. He found my vest buttoned up and planted a paw on my shoulder. With the other, he took hold of my best vest and yanked hard, snapping off the buttons.
I closed my eyes to this, regretting the bank notes it would take to either repair or replace the vest.
“Now don't move…” Azzo warned unnecessarily. “I wouldn't want my partner to misinterpret any move you make, convict.”
I'll admit his calling m
e “convict” was getting on my nerves. So I spent a week or so from time to time for minor infractions of the law in the city jail, they never amounted to anything, as my lawyer could attest.
Azzo reached in and began to slowly pull my pistol, breathing down my neck on purpose.
Unable to keep my mouth shut any longer, I hinted he was an idiot. “I believe you need to retake a refresher course on criminal proceeding. Only those sent to a county jail for a violent crime are called convicts. I've never been there. So unless you want to face defamation of character charges, you'll address me by my last name, or not at all!”
“Tsk, tsk.” Azzo pulled my pistol out and held it a second where I could plainly see that he activated the CO2 cartridge, while others might not. “So you want to play with me do you?” Azzo stood back away from me and showed his partner. “It's loaded and the cartridge is activated.”
To prove his point, he pointed the pistol up and pulled the trigger. A measured amount of air was released and a tranquilizer dart in a cylinder flew out the muzzle to stick in the ceiling.
I ducked my head, shaking it. I was angry over the situation, but more so at myself for goading him.
“Just look at that, illegally carrying a charged weapon around public streets. That'll cost you thirty days in the pen and the loss of your weapons license.” Azzo leaned into my ear at that point and whispered, “You want to keep fucking with me, I can arrange for more charges to be brought up.”
By force of will, I kept my mouth shut.
Azzo stood back. “I thought not. Now stand up slowly and put your paws behind your back. You're under arrest for carrying a charged weapon on a public street.”
With nothing I could do but add real charges to his bogus one, I did as told and felt his partner lock the cuffs in place.
“Hey!” Nastya directed her anger at Azzo. “He ordered a meal, you going to pay for it?”
Braxton Snow P.I. (The Snow Adventures Book 1) Page 7