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, shit 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 hell,” Bloodhound barked. “You look like a little pansy, Ècu, 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
“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, shit 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 hell,” Bloodhound barked. “You look like a little pansy, Ècu, 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
Similar Books
