“But the premiere is tonight!”
Both Stevie and I exchanged worried glances. It’s one thing for any ordinary human to get stabbed to death, but when it’s one ofour humans, it’s a different matter altogether.
We were still trailing our serial killer, and it now became obvious there was some urgency in bringing him to justice. We still didn’t know why this man was so keen on killing off every ‘blue belle’ scheduled to appear in the Theatrical Society’s performance of Murder in the Park, but it was paramount that he be stopped.
I was still desperately trying to come up with some way of stealing the man’s wallet, when a bit of luck came our way. Our target, who had been sauntering along, enjoying the sun and a stroll with his family, was now hailed by a passerby.
“Hey, Norbert!” said the passerby, a gray-haired plump sort of bird. “How’s tricks?”
A long and utterly boring conversation ensued, but Dana, Stevie and I didn’t hang around to follow it to its conclusion. We had a first name, and that was enough. There probably weren’t all that many Jack Mackintosh understudies going around answering to the name Norbert, so as far as the FSA was concerned, our work here was done. Next stop: Frank the Poodle.
29
Bring in the Constabulary
Dana chose not to join our tryst with Brookridge’s canine finest, and when we had finally located the sniffing sleuth, Frank seemed oddly out of sorts.
“Hullo,” he barked moodily.
Per Dana’s instructions, we had tracked the police dog down at the police station, where he liked to keep officer Bart Ganglion company of a morning. We had found him lying at Bart’s feet with his head on his front paws, staring gloomily into space, and had attracted his attention by softly mewling from the police station’s window, which had been left ajar.
Pricking up his dangling fluffy ears, he slowly raised his eyebrows to take us in, and, very reluctantly, rose to his paws and ambled over to where we sat for a t?te-?-t?te.
“Hullo,” he barked once again in that voice from the tomb.
“Frankie,” said Stevie cheerily. “How’s it hanging, dog?”
Frank gave Stevie a scornful look, but didn’t deign to respond.
“The little lady let you down?” continued Stevie, who doesn’t have a sensitive bone in his body.
Frank frowned.“What do you know about my little lady?” he said suspiciously. He then directed an accusing glance at me. ‘Have you been blabbing?’ it seemed to say.
I merely shook my head to indicate my innocence.
“Oh, my God!” exclaimed Stevie suddenly, his eyes widening. “You and Dana? You’re an item?”
I closed my eyes. What I’d forgotten was that Stevie could now read minds, and Frank’s mind was brimming with but a single thought: Dana. I could have put Frank out of his misery by bringing him the good news that the lady he loved, loved him, but decided against it. I’d given Dana my word, and my word is my bond. At least when given to cats like Dana, whom I pretty sure can kill man or beast with a single glance.
“Look, we really don’t have time to go into all of that,” I said. “We’ve got more important matters to deal with right now.”
As indeed we had. When there’re killers on the loose, the local policeman’s dog’s romantic predilections are the last thing one wants to discuss.
Stevie gazed at me with accusing eyes.“What? You knew about this? And you didn’t tell me? Me? Your partner?”
“I was sworn to secrecy, all right?” I said a little impatiently. All this talk about Dana and Frank was starting to annoy me. What was the big deal, anyway? Love knows no bounds. And even though I’d never personally experienced the big L yet, I heartily agreed with the pairing. Dana, though highly strung, was a swell girl, and Frank, though an oaf, a swell guy.
“I thought we secret agents had no secrets from one another?” Stevie said, his red whiskers twitching. It was obvious my reticence had touched him deeply.
“It’s no big deal,” I said.
“It is to me,” he said. “I tell you allmy secrets.”
“You have no secrets, Stevie,” I said, exasperated.
“I do, too,” he said huffily. “I’ve got plenty.”
But before he could start listing them, Frank interrupted.“Is there a reason for this visit? Or did you merely come to annoy me?” He spoke rather gruffly, I thought. Which was probably understandable, under the circumstances. No ardent lover likes a critic.
“We found out who killed Lucy Knicx and Jamie Burrow,” I said quickly, cutting off Stevie, who had just opened his mouth to complain some more.
This had Frank perk up visibly.“Who is it?” he said, looking from me to Stevie.
“All we know is that he’s called Norbert, that he’s an understudy for the part of Jack Mackintosh in the Murder in the Park play, and that he’s got two kids, one of whom likes ice cream.” And I proceeded to give Frank a brief account of our fact-finding mission.
“That must be Norbert McIlroy,” he said pensively.
“Is he from Southridge?” I said, wanting to put Brutus’s theory to the test.
Frank shook his head, his ears dangling to and fro.“He lives in the Friar Tuck Street,” he said. “On the other side of town.”
“So, now you go do your thing,” said Stevie, “and we can all rest easier, knowing that a vicious killer is safely behind bars.”
Since neither Stevie nor I qualified for the role of Zoe Huckleberry, I didn’t think we had much to fear from Norbert McIlroy’s murderous instincts, but Stevie was right. Brookridge would be a better, finer place without the likes of Norbert roaming the streets at night, his big, shiny knife at the ready.
Frank wasn’t convinced. “I’m not convinced,” he said. “For one thing, Norbert doesn’t have any priors.”
“What’s a prior?” said Stevie.
I could have told him, for Zack and I like to watch our cop show of an evening, but I let Frank do the honors.
“Prior arrests or convictions,” man’s most loyal friend elucidated. “Norbert’s rap sheet is squeaky clean.”
“What’s a rap sheet?” said Stevie.
“It means that Norbert doesn’t have a criminal record,” I said.
“So what?” said Stevie. “Perhaps he was never caught before. Or else he only now discovered murder agrees with him. Some people are like that. Takes them ages to figure out where their talents lie. Take Father Sam for instance. No one would have thought he had it in him to be a director. And yet he is. And doing a damn fine job of it, as well. Not a day goes buy without some ing?nue knocking on his door wanting his expert opinion on her performance. Lucy Knicx did. And so did Jamie Burrow.”
Stevie had a point there, but Frank didn’t buy it. “Norbert is a gentle soul,” he said. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“He doesn’t have to hurt flies,” said Stevie. “We’re not talking about flies here. We’re talking about women. Don’t muddle the conversation with these false arguments, Frank.”
“What I mean,” said Frank, annoyed, “is that Norbert is a family man and one of Brookridge’s most upstanding citizens.”
“What does he do for a living?” I said.
Frank hesitated.“He’s a butcher,” he finally said.
“Ha!” said Stevie. “I knew it!”
“Just whisper Norbert’s name in Bart’s ear, Frank,” I urged. “He’ll bring him in for questioning and then we’ll see what happens. I’m sure he has fingerprints or DNA or whatever, that could link Norbert to the crime.”
“And two eye witnesses,” added Stevie. “One of whom is your sweetheart.”
Frank drew himself up to his full height at these words, and I felt it imperative I speak the soothing word.“I don’t think the testimony of two cats is admissible in court, Stevie,” I said.