‘Not mad?’ Officer Chortle fairly cracked himself up over this. ‘Not mad? Well, he wasn’t exactly cheerful when the mob tarred and feathered him.’
Eddie shuddered at the recollection. ‘Has my solicitor arrived?’ he asked.
‘I’ll have to ask you to stop,’ said Officer Chortle. ‘Solicitor, indeed! If you keep making me laugh like this I’ll wet myself.’
‘We are innocent,’ said Eddie. ‘Let us out please.’
‘The chief inspector will interview you shortly. You can make your confessions to him then if you wish. Although if you choose not to, I must caution you that me and my fellow officers will be calling in later to beat a confession out of you. And as we do have a number of “unsolveds” hanging about, you will find yourselves confessing to them also, simply to ease the pain.’
And with that Officer Chortle left, laughing as he did so.
‘Perfect,’ said Jack. ‘So it’s prison for us, is it?’
‘It might be for you,’ said Eddie, ‘if it’s anything more than a summary beating. You’re the meathead, after all. You have some status. It will be the incinerator for me. I’m as dead as.’
‘We have to escape,’ said Jack.
‘I seem to recall,’ said Eddie, ‘that you do have some skills with locks. Perhaps you’d be so good as to pick this one on the door and we will, with caution, go upon our way.’
‘Ah, yes indeed,’ and Jack sought something suitable.
And he would probably have found it also had not a key turned in the lock, the door opened and several burly though jolly and laughing policemen entered the cell and hauled him and Eddie from it.
Chief Inspector Wellington Bellis’s office was definitely ‘of the genre’. It had much of the look of Bill Winkie’s office about it, but being below ground level it lacked for windows. It didn’t lack for a desk, though, a big and crowded desk, with one of those big desk lamps that they shine into suspects’ eyes.
The walls were lavishly decorated with mug shots, press cuttings and photographs of crime scenes and horribly mutilated corpses. Eddie recognised the victims pictured in several of these gory photographs: the P.P.P.s who had been savagely done to death by the kindly, lovable white-haired old Toymaker’s evil twin during the exciting adventure that he and Jack had had but months before.*
Upon the floor was a carpet, which like unto Bill’s dared not to speak its name. And it was onto this carpet that Jack and Eddie were flung.
‘This treatment is outrageous,’ Jack protested. ‘I protest,’ he also protested. ‘I demand to speak to my solicitor.’
‘All in good time,’ said Bellis, settling himself into the chair behind his desk and gesturing to the two that stood before it. ‘Seat yourselves. Would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘A cup of tea?’ Jack got to his knees and then his feet.
‘Or coffee?’ said the chief inspector.
‘I’d like a beer,’ said Eddie.
Chief Inspector Bellis frowned upon him.
‘Or perhaps just a glass of water.’ Eddie arose and did further dustings down of himself.
‘You’ll have to pardon the officers,’ said Bellis, leaning back in his chair and further gesturing to Jack and Eddie. ‘Sit yourselves down, if you will. The police officers do get a little carried away. They are so enthusiastic about maintaining law and order. They do have the public’s interests at heart.’
‘They don’t have one heart between the lot of them,’ said Eddie, struggling onto a chair. ‘They’re all as brutal as.’
‘They overcompensate,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘I expect it’s just the overexuberance of youth, which should really be channelled into sporting activities. That’s what it says in this book I’ve been reading – Learn to Leap Over Candlesticks In Just Thirty Days, by J. B. Nimble and J. B. Quick. Perhaps you’ve read it?’
‘I’ll purchase a copy as soon as I leave here,’ said Eddie. ‘Do you suppose that will be sooner rather than later, as it were?’
‘Well, we’ll have to see about that. There are most serious charges.’
‘Charges?’ said Eddie. ‘There is more than one charge?’
‘You can never have too many charges.’ Chief Inspector Bellis grinned from ear to ear, then back again. ‘It’s like having too many chickens. You can never have too many chickens, can you?’
‘Chickens again?’ said Jack.
‘I like chicken again,’ said Bellis. ‘Again and again. I can’t get enough of chicken.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I am assuming that you are talking about eating chicken?’ he said.
‘Obviously. But it’s such a dilemma, isn’t it?’
Eddie shook his head and wondered where all this was leading to.
‘You see,’ said the chief inspector, ‘my wife makes me sandwiches for my lunch.’
‘Chicken sandwiches?’ Jack asked, not out of politeness, but possibly more as a diversionary tactic, in the hope that perhaps Chief Inspector Bellis would just like to chat about sandwiches for a while, before sending him and Eddie on their way.
‘That’s the thing,’ said Bellis. ‘I like chicken sandwiches. But I also like egg sandwiches. But you’ll notice that although you mix and match the contents of sandwiches – cheese and onion, egg and cress, chicken and bacon – no one ever eats a chicken and egg sandwich.’
Eddie looked at Jack. And Jack looked at Eddie.
‘He’s right,’ said Jack.
‘He is,’ said Eddie. ‘So why is that, do you think?’
‘Because of the eternal question,’ said Bellis.
‘Ah,’ said Eddie.
‘Ah,’ said Jack.
‘What eternal question?’ said Eddie.
‘Oh, come on,’ said Bellis. ‘What came first, the chicken or the egg? I mean, how could you eat the sandwich? You wouldn’t know which bit to eat first. You’d go mad trying. And believe me, I have tried. And I have gone mad.’
‘Most encouraging,’ whispered Eddie to Jack. ‘I can see this being a long and difficult evening.’
‘Is it evening already?’ asked Jack.
‘Let’s just assume that it is.’
‘There’s no solution to it,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis. ‘It’s one of those things that’s best left alone. Forgotten about, in fact. In fact, let us never mention the subject again.’
‘I’m up for that,’ said Eddie, offering the chief inspector an encouraging smile. ‘So, is it all right if Jack and I go now?’
Chief Inspector Bellis shook his head. ‘Not as such,’ he said. ‘In fact, not at all. There are these charges to be considered. Things do not look altogether good for you.’
‘But I am innocent,’ said Eddie.
‘That, I’m afraid, is what they all say.’
‘But Eddie is innocent,’ said Jack. ‘And I can prove it.’
‘Can you?’ Eddie asked.
‘Of course I can,’ said Jack. ‘The proprietor of the cigar store said that Eddie purchased those cigars yesterday evening, did he not?’
‘I heard him say that,’ said Eddie.
Chief Inspector Bellis perused notes upon his desk. ‘That is what he said,’ he said. ‘Shortly before eight, last evening, just before he closed up.’
‘That’s right,’ said Jack. ‘He said something about the rain and Eddie leaving puddles on his floor.’
Chief Inspector Bellis did further perusings and nodded.
‘Then it can’t have been Eddie,’ said Jack.
‘No, it can’t,’ said Eddie. ‘I have an alibi. I was in Tinto’s Bar at that time, and that’s right across the city.’
Chief Inspector Bellis made a thoughtful face. It was a very good thoughtful face and both Jack and Eddie were tempted to ask him to make it once more. But only tempted. They showed laudable restraint. ‘Well, an alibi is an alibi,’ said the chief inspector. ‘But I can see no reason why we should let that stand in the way of letting the law take its course and justice getting done.’
&
nbsp; ‘Eh?’ said Eddie.
‘What?’ said Jack.
‘Well,’ said Bellis, ‘as I won’t be following up on the alibi, it hardly matters, does it?’
‘Eh?’ said Eddie again.
And Jack did another ‘What?’ Although louder than the first.
‘Crime and punishment share a certain empathy,’ Chief Inspector Bellis explained, ‘in that both are dispassionate. The criminal goes about his work in a dispassionate manner. He cares not whom he hurts or harms. He doesn’t care about the feelings of others. And so the law behaves towards the criminal in a similar manner. The law cares not for the criminal, it simply seeks to lock him away so that he may perform no further crime.’
‘But I’m innocent,’ said Eddie.
‘And if I were not dispassionate, I would care for your woes,’ said Bellis. ‘But that would be unprofessional. I must never get personally involved. There’s no telling what might happen if I did so, is there?’
‘You might free the innocent and convict only the guilty,’ was Eddie’s suggestion.
‘The distinction between guilt and innocence is a subtle one.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Eddie. ‘You’re either guilty or you’re not.’
‘I’ll thank you not to confuse the issue. Charges have been made and you have been arrested. End of story, really.’
‘This is outrageous,’ said Jack. ‘I demand to speak to your superior.’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary.’
‘Oh yes it will,’ said Jack. ‘I will see justice done. I really will.’
‘You tell him, Jack,’ said Eddie.
‘You’ll tell me nothing,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis, ‘because I am dropping all the charges.’
‘You are?’ said Eddie.
‘I am,’ said Bellis, ‘because I know you are innocent.’
‘You do?’ said Eddie.
‘I do,’ said Bellis. ‘And upon this occasion I am prepared to let the fact that you are innocent stand in the way of letting justice be done.’
‘You are?’ said Eddie. ‘Why?’ said Eddie.
‘Because in return for this, you are going to do something for me. Something that I surmise you are already doing and something I wish you to continue doing.’
‘I am now very confused,’ said Eddie.
‘I believe I am correct in assuming that you have returned to your old profession,’ said Bellis, ‘that of detective.’
Eddie nodded.
‘You see, I know that it was not you who purchased those cigars with the mysterious combustible currency.’
‘You do?’ said Eddie once more.
‘I do,’ said Bellis once more. ‘You see, I have these.’ And he drew from his desk a number of plasticised packets and flung them onto his desk.
Eddie took one up between his paws and examined it. ‘Cigar butt,’ he said.
‘Eleven cigar butts,’ said Bellis, ‘one found at each of the cymbal-playing monkeys’ resting places. All over the city. Eleven cigar butts. The twelfth you showed to Smokey Joe. You went there to enquire whether he recalled who he sold it to, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ said Eddie.
‘And the twelfth monkey?’
‘Dead in Bill’s office,’ said Eddie.
‘Intriguing, isn’t it?’ said Bellis. ‘And they all died within minutes of each other. And I do not believe that you ran all over the city on your stumpy little legs wiping each and every one of them out – did you?’
Eddie shook his head.
‘And now you are investigating these crimes?’
‘Yes,’ said Eddie. ‘I am. We are.’
‘And I would like you to continue doing so.’
‘Really?’ said Eddie. ‘You would?’
‘Twelve monkeys,’ said Bellis. ‘All the cymbal-playing monkeys. Annoying blighters they were, I agree, but they were our kind. They were toys. The murderer must be brought to justice.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Eddie.
‘About justice?’
‘Well, I understand about that. Or at least your concept of it. Which is as just as.’
‘Did you read the paper?’ asked Bellis. ‘The crimes made page thirteen. I requested of my “superior” that I be allowed to put a special task force on the monkeys’ case. The memo I received in reply stated that it was a low priority.’
‘Typical,’ said Eddie. ‘Disgusting, in fact.’
‘I do so agree,’ said Bellis. ‘I blame it on that mad mayor we had.’
‘Now just hold on,’ said Eddie.
‘Yes?’ said Bellis.
‘Nothing,’ said Eddie. ‘Go on, please.’
‘You,’ said Bellis, ‘you and Mr Jack here are going to act on my behalf. You are going to be my special task force. You will report directly to me on whatever progress you are making. Do you understand me?’
Jack nodded. ‘Up to a point,’ said he. ‘So we will report directly to you to receive our wages, will we?’
Chief Inspector Bellis made a certain face towards Jack. One that Jack did not wish to be repeated.
‘Would there be any chance of a reward, then,’ Jack asked, ‘if we could present you with a suitable culprit?’
Eddie now gave Jack a certain look.
‘Sorry,’ said Jack. ‘The real culprit, then? The real murderer?’
‘Exactly,’ said Bellis. ‘And in return for this public-spirited action I will forget about all the trumped-up charges that we have piled up against the bear.’
‘But I’m innocent,’ said Eddie.
‘I think we’ve been through that,’ said Bellis. ‘you and Jack will be my secret task force. You will find the murderer.’
‘We’ll certainly try,’ said Eddie.
‘Oh, you’ll do more than that. You will succeed.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Or you’ll feed the boiler.’
‘Ah,’ said Eddie.
‘Ah indeed,’ said Bellis.
‘Hm,’ went Eddie. ‘Well, we’ll certainly do our very, very best to succeed. You can be assured of that.’
‘Nice,’ said Bellis.
‘But the trouble is,’ said Eddie, ‘that the only clue we had was the cigar butt. And that just led to a case of mistaken identity. So I have no idea what to do next.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ said Bellis.
‘I’m not too sure,’ said Eddie.
‘Brrrr,’ said Bellis. ‘Is it cold in here, or is it just me?’
‘Ah,’ said Eddie.
‘Ah indeed,’ said Chief Inspector Bellis.
5
‘That Bellis is a monster,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m fuel for his boiler for certain.’
‘Look on the bright side, Eddie,’ said Jack. ‘At least we have our freedom.’
They’d had to walk all the way from the police station to the cigar shop to pick up Bill’s car, but now they were back in Tinto’s Bar and Tinto was pouring them a number of beers.
‘I’m doomed,’ said Eddie.
‘You’re not,’ said Jack. ‘He wants the case solved. And he knows that if anyone can solve it, then you are that someone.’
‘Thanks for that,’ said Eddie.
‘Well, you can,’ said Jack.
‘Not for that,’ said Eddie. ‘For calling me someone rather than something.’
‘I’d never call you something,’ said Jack. ‘You’re Eddie. You’re my bestest friend.’
‘So we’re definitely back in business together? You haven’t let this first day out put you off? You’re not going to quit on me?’
‘As if I would. But it is a mystery, isn’t it? Twelve monkeys dead, seemingly within minutes. And the cigar butts. And the cigar man thinking you’d bought the cigars from him. What do you make of it all?’
‘Dunno,’ said Eddie. ‘Something very odd happened last night. I thought I saw something in the alleyway where I was dossing down in a dustbin, but the timing
is all wrong. I do have to say, Jack, that I have no idea at all what is going on. But whatever it is, I don’t like it very much.’
‘How are those beers coming, Tinto?’ Jack asked.
‘Slowly,’ said the clockwork barman. ‘Could you see your way clear to giving my key a couple of turns – I think I’m running down here.’
Jack leaned across the bar and did the business with Tinto’s key.
‘Thank you,’ said Tinto.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Jack.
‘Let’s drink the beers,’ said Eddie. ‘It has been a long and trying day.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Jack. ‘And it’s definitely evening now.’
‘So we should drink beers and get drunk. That is my considered opinion.’
‘And the case?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Eddie, taking up a beer between his paws and moving it towards that portion of his face where many beers had gone before. And, ‘Ah,’ said Eddie, when he had done with his beer. ‘That does hit the spot.’
‘You drink too much,’ said Jack.
‘Too much for what?’ said Eddie.
Jack shrugged and said, ‘I dunno.’
‘Then don’t presume to,’ said Eddie. ‘Just drink.’
‘You don’t think that you should be applying yourself to the case in hand?’
‘Not right now,’ said Eddie. ‘And nor should you. I seem to recall that you were supposed to be meeting up with a certain dolly from Nadine’s Diner tonight.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Jack. ‘I’d quite forgotten about her.’
‘Bad boy,’ said Eddie. ‘Very bad boy.’
Jack perused his wristlet watch. The time was eight of the evening clock. Jack held the watch against his ear: it was ticking away like a good’n and he had no cause to doubt its accuracy. Mind you, Jack had taken that watch to pieces a couple of times to see just what made it run, as Jack knew all about clockwork. Inside that watch there was nothing to be found except for a couple of cogs that connected the winder to the hands. There was no evidence whatsoever of a conventional mechanism.
But then that in a watchcase was Toy City. It still made little sense to Jack. Watches without mechanisms that kept perfect time. Telephone receivers connected by pieces of string. Wooden folk and folk like Eddie, a bear all filled with sawdust, yet a bear that walked and talked and thought and felt. And Jack felt for that bear.