Free Tourquai by Tim Davys Page A

Superintendent Bloodhound said. “This is actually a classic case. A murder has been committed in a room with only one entrance. And the murderer does not seem to have either gone out or come in. Two suspects. We’ll question them right away. I’m going back to Nova Park to have another chat with Cobra. Anna, you take the newcomer with you and have a visit with that inventor . . .”
    Derek Hare stood up leisurely.
    “Does this mean I can go now?”
    “Get out of here,” Bloodhound barked.

2.3
    T his will only take a sec,” said Anna Lynx less than an hour later.
    “Not when—”
    “No, come on now, I just didn’t have time,” she nagged.
    “But we’re on our way to—”
    “C’mon—please?”
    Falcon Ècu sighed theatrically and parked. Anna hurried. She threw open the car door and ran the few steps across the sidewalk into Springergaast. When she returned a few minutes later, she smelled like fresh-brewed coffee and blueberry muffins. She handed a croissant dripping with butter to Falcon in a conciliatory gesture.
    “My morning was a circus,” she said. “But you’ll see. One fine day you’ll have cubs.”
    “Right now I’m prioritizing my work,” Falcon mumbled.
    “That’s ridiculous,” Anna laughed. “Don’t become one of those bitter old guys at the station who think they made a choice at some point. They never chose.”
    Falcon had rolled down the window on his side, and the scent of the city filled the inside of the car once they were on the road again. The mild breeze had just blown in through the city. They took the route along orange-colored rue Leblanc, one of the quickest shortcuts through Tourquai if you wanted to avoid the main streets and avenues. The neighborhood was empty and silent; at this time of day the stuffed animals had already gone to work.
    “We’re just at different stages in our lives,” Falcon attempted.
    “What’s that my ears are hearing? That I’m ancient?”
    “No, no, but . . . I mean, I don’t even have a . . . friend.”
    “They’re not going to throw themselves into your arms automatically, if that’s what you think. You have to try a little, Falcon,” Anna replied.
    She knew that her advice could get a bit personal, but she was looking after him.
    Anna’s mother was a light green Shetland pony and one of the most intelligent animals that ever lived in Mollisan Town. And not just according to Anna. She was the youngest ever to graduate from Lanceheim’s medical school, and she had registered two patents for the treatment of Triklin’s disease before she was twenty-four. For the past twelve years, however, she had remained secluded in her two-room apartment in south Tourquai, sedated but bitter. She never went out, she had lost all interest in the world around her, and she barely recognized her daughter on her rare visits. Instead of running with her talent and opportunities, she had fallen in love with a macho firefly who demanded she stay at home. He was going to take care of her, he was the master of the house; she would be his spoiled princess. And the hardworking scholar, the highly promising research scientist, accepted the idea. Because that is, sometimes, what love does to us.
    The subtle terror already began when Anna was delivered. And year by year, Anna’s brilliant mother turned into a pill-eating wreck, deprived of a will of her own. Without even trying—or trying because of that—the firefly closed the door on the Shetland pony’s life, inch by inch. He spoiled her, and she grew accustomed to it. When he finally left her, she was already an addict. Years before that Anna had stopped calling him “father.” She swore that what happened to her mom would never happen to her. Perhaps the idea of joining the police force was rooted there, in her mother’s tragedy.
    Falcon had found out that Earwig was a denizen of honey yellow Carrer de Carrera in north Yok. Rue Leblanc led down to Western Avenue; after that it was only a