Thursday, 2 August 1934 0735

     We found out th' yegg's real handle.  One An'tony (Tony Tails) Volperossi.  They know 'im in Los Antelopes, an' they'd like t'have a chat wit' him.  Real bad.  Folks don't like guys leavin' a mess, y'know?  Bloodstains are hell t'get outta even a warehouse floor.  I seen a mouthpiece in wit' Tony Tails.  This ain't no Vison type, neither.  One o' th' boyos who makes an awful good livin' arguin' for the guys what ain't on th' straight and narrer.  I stands near th' door, an' Stagg, he sits down at th' table.

     Th' mouthpiece, he gets down to business right fast.  "Inspector, the reason we asked you here this morning, is that my client has certain information regarding a pending investigation that he believes would be useful to you."

     Stagg don't move a muscle.  He speaks, real quiet like.  "Ah.  Mister Volperossi's case." He shot th' mouthpiece a cold look.  "It is my understanding that the ballistics tests will be in later today-"

     Tony Tails busts in, quick-like.  "Naw, it ain't that.  It's this Lupino matter, see?"  Th' mouthpiece shushes him.  Me, I think that's an act.  I seen this 'fore.  I figger so's Stagg, so I don't say nothin'.  Stagg don't, neither, an' just looks at th' mouthpiece.

     "My client is willing to cooperate in the Lupino matter, in return for some...assistance...with his current matter."

     A d'librate blank look offa Stagg. "Surely a matter for the prosecutor's office, no?"

     "We think someone of your reputation, Inspector, could be helpful."

     Stagg raises his eyebrows, surprised-like.  "I've been on the Islands only a few days, gentlemen.  I can hardly have built up a reputation in that time."

    "Inspector, you didn't hatch out of an egg this morning.  If you know what I mean."

    Stagg gave a brief sigh.  "Gentlemen, the matter is out of my paws.  I can merely pass along any facts which come my way. Any risk will be entirely on your part."  Somethin' seemed t' occur t' him. "Incidentally, Sergeant, has the American ambassador been by to Headquarters, yet?  I probably should give them a copy of my report..."

     That's what they call onea them reetoricals.  I ain't spozed t'answer, and I don't.  He's sendin' a message t'Tony Tails, and it ain't by Nimitz Union, neither.  Tony whispers to his mouthpiece, an' then turns t'Stagg.

     "Look, straight up, copper.  You gonna tell the D.A. what I done for ya, here?"

     Stagg looks bland.  "Assuming, of course, the information checks out.  One can only imagine, Mr. Volperossi, the effect of an obstruction of justice charge on extradition proceedings."

     "Yeah.  Well, I ain't gonna tell ya nothin' that I can prove, okeh?  Lissen, there's a good reason I'm here in th' Spontoons.  Someone ast me fer, whaddya callit, "consultations," see?"

     "Who?"

     "Guy named Danny Lupino."

     Stagg don't do nothin', but scratch an antler.  Twitches an ear, tho, shows he's listenin'.  Tony Tails goes on.

     "Now, don't get me wrong.  I didn't do nothin' with th' guy, 'ceptin have a few phone calls when I gets here.  Sez to me he wants an obstacle removed, promised me 25 Gs."

     "Did he describe this obstacle to you?"

     "No.  But hell, I ain't called in to currycomb someone's tailfur, capeesh?"

     Stagg frowns, like there's somethin' smelly in th' joint.  "How did you get here?"

     "This Lupino, he spotted me the dough fer the ticket.  Got here a few days before you seen me.  Didn't meet up in person, like, but we has some talks on the phone.  Didn't come to no meetin' of the minds, see?"

     The mouthpiece interrupts right about now.  "As a token of good faith, Inspector, I have here the original of the telegram Mr. Lupino initially sent to Los Antelopes from New Hampshire, and another from here in the Spontoons."  He passes them over.  I walks over an' gives 'em a look see over Stagg's shoulder.  Nothin' that smacks th' eye in the lingo, but that ain't surprisin'.  But let's face it, like th' man sez, nobody gets a yegg like Volperossi to do up someone's tailfur.

     "Well, I'll look into these matters, gentlemen, and I'll tell the prosecutor's office what you're doing.  Will you be available if I have any further questions?"

     Tony Tails smirks.  "Dunno.  I might be on my cabana on the beach.  I'll have t'ask my social secretary."

2 August 1934 0950

     Leastways, th' telegram sent by Nimitz-Union is the real McCoy, they gots th' same copy.  So we knows Danny boy was the guy who brung Volperossi t'Spontoon.  We puts in a request t' Western Union to check out t'other one.

     "Well, St. Paul's is in New Hampshire.  The telegram, that is, the first one, must have been sent right around the time young Mr. Lupino was expelled.  I've sent an enquiry to St. Paul's to get some further information on the timing."

     "Bet they're gonna love that."

     Th' Inspector cracks a grin.  "Not material for the prospectus, to be sure."

2 August 1934 1020

     Buddy o' mine at th' Finance Min'stry calls me up.  (Naw, it ain't no relative.  He ain't a fox, see?)  They done th' first goin' over of th' books at Lupino's local bank.

     "Any blood on th' floor?"

     "Goddamn, they were playing it close to the wind.  Another month or so, we would have had to shut the bank."

     I raises m' eyebrows.  "Jeez.  That close?"

     "Well, we can take some drastic steps.  Lupino's death will take some of the burden off.  He had a pretty big salary, and he was drawing a lot in "expenses" and "reimbrusements" and "advances."  Bet your life we're going to have a little chat with his lawyer about that, once we figure out the exact amounts."

     M' eyes narrow.  "Livin' close, hanh?"

     "Close enough.  Lucky he didn't swipe anything from any account.  Unless you count his wife's."

     "Oh?"

     "Yup.  Wife came in, raising hell while we were doing the books.  Seems Lupino's been a naughty boy with the chequebook.  Fat chance of her getting any of that dough back.  She's going to have to wait in line behind a whole lot of folks, let me tell you."

     I tells this all t'th' Inspector.  More lil' notes.  But he ast me a question, damn, I wisht I'd thoughta it.

     "When did Mrs. Lupino bounce her first cheque, Sergeant?"

     Turns out: July 17, one cheque.  July 18, two.  July 19, two.  Bunch more after that.  Comes out t'a nice lil' sum.

     "So Mrs. Lupino, at some point, knew that her husband was stealing money from her account to keep himself afloat.  If you will pardon the use of that word, given later circumstances."

     "Yeah.  That'll make anyone fit t'be tied, I guess.  So what, now?"

     Stagg thinks, an' takes a pad an' pencil.  "I think, Sergeant, it's time for an affidavit."

      "Fer what?"

      "For a search warrant of the Lupino suite at the Marleybone."

2 August 1934 2000

     "How DARE you!"

     Yeah, the widder Lupino ain't none too happy about this.

      "You bastard, coming in like this just a few days after the funeral, and..."

     Vison is there, an' sorta touches her shoulder.  She turns 'round, glares at 'im, an' gives 'im a shove back.  Gets the message, tho.  She clams up, an' just sorta sits on a chair, glowerin'.

     Stagg told me 'forehand he didn't figger on much showin' up, given all th' time that's passed.  Still, sez he, he figgers on findin' somethin' that ain't obvious.

     The lil' bastard's room has all sortsa stuff innit.  Fer one, a whole buncha mags with femmes what ain't in nothin' but their fur.  Few bottles of booze.  Some love notes, too.  They don't leave much t'th' imaginin', neither.

     One item looks funny.  Back o' onea them large buff envelopes, gotta name on it.  Tom de Reynard, plus a hotel.  Didn't recognize no hotel by that name here.  Took me a bit, then I remembers.  That's ol' man Lupino's pilot.  Hunh.  I shows this t'Stagg.  He don't look too much at th' side I was lookin' at.  He turns it over.  Vison Brothers envelope.

     "Thick envelope, Sergeant.  I wonder what was in it, originally.  It's addressed to Mr. Lupino.  And care of the Marleybone.  Marked 'Personal and Confidential.'"

     Paw-writin' on th' back of th' envelope, it matches onea them lil' lovenotes, leastways an' outgoin' draft.  Stagg calls in Vison, an' just Vison.  An' closes th' door, too.

     "Did you send a lot of correspondence to Mr. Lupino, Mr. Vison?"

     "Of course, Inspector."

     "Do you recall anything bulky that you've sent, recently, here to the hotel, as opposed, say, to his office?"

     Vison thinks this one over.  He sees that Stagg's gots th' envelope.  He takes his glasses off, real slow, an' polishes 'em.

     "The only sizable package sent here to the hotel in the last number of months was the third draft of the new will, the one I provided to you earlier."

    "When did you send it?"

    "We sent it here on July 9th.  I recall it, since I had put the finishing touches on the draft on the Sunday, the day before, and I had had a secretary come in on that day."

     Stagg's frown gets deep-like. "So he saw the draft, then?"

     "I don't see how.  He was, to my knowledge, off the Islands from the 8th on.  I was somewhat irritated to find that I had been to all that trouble, only to have the draft sit and wait."

     "And would the draft have been sent in an envelope like this?"

     "That *is* the envelope it was sent in, Inspector.  That's my paw-writing on the front."

     Stagg nods.  "So.  Someone here opened the envelope.  The one containing the draft will."

     "So it would appear, Inspector."

     "I am going to request, Mr. Vison, that you keep this conversation confidential."

     Vison bites his lower lip, an' nods.

     Lupino's study has a whole buncha letters innit.  Folks dunnin' him fer dough.  Looks like someone wuz tryin' t'organize it all.  In th' middle of th' mess on th' desk, unner some bills, there's somethin' that ain't in place.  It's th' manual fer Lupino's plane.  I don't mean onea them books like they gots at Sup'rior, fulla them squiggly lines.  This is fer th' rich guys what owns th' planes.  Nice, simple stuff.  One page is marked wit' a burned match.  Yup, you guessed it.  It's the section showin' th' rear o' th' plane.  One other sheet o' paper wit' Georgina Lupino's name writ over an' over on it.

     Stagg asks where th' punk is.  His ma bristles.

     "I'm sure I don't know, Inspector.  No doubt fornicating with some young hussy."

     I sees, outta th' corner of my eye, Vison's tailfur goin' all bottly at that.  Somethin' tells me Vison ain't gonna be doin' much more work fer th' Lupinos, real soon.

     The draft of th' will?  It ain't 'round nowheres.  We does find th' blue-back, though.  All crumpled up an' ripped.  Someone shot fer th' wastebasket, an' missed.  Their bad luck.

    Ain't nothin' too odd 'bout any o' th' clothes of Mrs. Lupino an' the brat.  All of th' clothes of Art Lupino, they've been tossed.  Real fast.  Makes ya wonder.

Friday, 3 August 1934 0700

    Stagg's been sendin' another telegram, urgent rate.  Ciss Lopp (she's the Chief's sec'tary) gives me th' warnin' that folks are startin' t'notice all the dough we're spendin'.  She's a good sort, though, an' offers t'help by shufflin' th' expense report down at th' bottom of th' pile.  Ciss is good people.

     This one went t'that hotel in L.A.  Yeah, Stagg guesses that it's there, figgerin' since that's where th' plane wuz, that's where th' pilot wuz.

     No telegrams sent t'Reynard.  But he did get one long telephone call.  From th' Spontoons.  22 July, billed t'his room.  Yeah, I'll bet ol' man Lupino liked payin' that outta his pocket. 

     We checks wit' th' phone company here.  Yup.  Phone call placed outta the Marleybone on the 22nd, matches our phone call.  Yup.  It's the Lupino suite.   No info on who placed it, tho.  They're gonna try t'run that one down.  Gotta figger, though.  Dan's paw-writin', pilot's name...?

     "What next, Sir?  Y'wanna haul in th' punk, an' play 20 questions?"

     "Not just yet, Sergeant.  I want just a bit more background.  Let's hunt down the valet, again.  No man is a hero to his own valet, as the cliche goes.  I'm sure he has something interesting to say."

3 August 1934 0910

     Turns out Short is now short one job.  The dame gave 'im th' sack two days ago.  Cost-cuttin', she sez.  He takes it philosophical, like.

     "Someone in my profession, gentlemen, is always in demand.  While I'm sure I will have some issues getting a letter of recommendation, given the circumstances of my client's fate, I am sure there are furs who will be understanding.  What can I tell you further about Mr. Lupino?"

     "He seems to have been a rather argumentative fellow, Mr. Short."

    "Ah.  Well.  You see, he was under a great deal of strain with his affairs.  There was a lot on his mind.  He had been hoping, in particular, that the deal with the Germans would prove lucrative."

     Stagg nods.  "So the matter of young Mr. Lupino was, no doubt, ill-timed."

     Th' valet nods.  "To say the least, Inspector.  We were in Gnu York, and Mr. Lupino had to delay an important meeting to meet with the headmaster at St. Paul's.  The meeting, of course, was not successful."

     "Were you there?"

     "No, I remained behind in Gnu York.  I got the gist of it, when Mr. Lupino returned, followed a day or so later by young Mr. Lupino.  The latter was sent on to the Spontoons.  Under guard, I might add, of a representative from Minkerton's.  Another wolf, rather huskier."

     Stagg takes more notes.  "Was there what one might call a "scene," Mr. Short?"

     "Indeed, sir.  Things came very close to blows.  Young Mr. Lupino made the time-honoured threat to "fix" things for his father."

     Stagg looks interested-like. "Did anyone witness this?"

     Short shakes his head.  "Only myself, sir.  The young ladies who were Mr. Lupino's secretaries chose to be at a distant restaurant at that time.  Wise, I should think.  Emotional young ladies."

     "As opposed to you."

     "I am used to Mr. Lupino's tempers.  I was still employed when the end came.  Unlike Mr. de Reynard."

     An eyebrow raised.  "Another argument, then?"

     "I only heard one thing relating to that.  When we got to Los Antelopes, prior to the final, fatal flight, Mr. Lupino went into the hangar where the plane was.  I could hear some yelling from the distance, but nothing of substance.  Later on, I heard Mr. Lupino dictating a letter of termination for Mr. de Reynard, effective with the arrival in the Spontoons."

     Now, ain't that cosy.  Wunner why I didn't get that bit o' news before.

     "More cost-cutting?"

     "I do not know, sir.  I do know the plane was due to be kept in service, as there was a flight to Honolulu due the next morning, if Mr. Lupino had survived.  A pilot, of course, would have been necessary."

    I opens my yap,   "But you didn't see nothin' weird durin' th' flight, hanh?"

    "No, sir.  That is, if you discount the tension."

    "I hear ya."

    Walkin' out, Stagg stops, an' leans 'gainst a lamppost, thinkin'.

    "Th' punk, now?"

    "No, Sergeant.  The pilot."

    "More background?"

    "One or two bits more of colour, Sergeant."

3 August 1934 1335

     de Reynard's prolly not on any flight plan.  We picks 'im up, gettin' hammered at a gin joint on Eastie.

     'bout the first half-hour of th' conversation is mostly whadda bastard Art Lupino is.   Valet's story checks, leastways, de Reynard is consistent wit' Short.

     When he finally runs outta steam, Stagg asks real quiet.  "So, Mr. de Reynard, what was the subject of that telephone call on the 22nd?"

     Now, see, Stagg ain't a fox, so he ain't gonna pick up on stuff I can.  Stagg asks that question, I get a scent outta de Reynard.  Fear.  Folks can be real good actors wit' their faces, an' their paws, an' their tail, but scent's gonna give ya away.

     "I don't know what you're talking about."

     I leans on th' table, an' goes muzzle t'muzzle.  "Hey.  Don't play dumb, see?  We finds out that there wuz a phone call, from th' Marleybone, t'yer hotel.  We know it went out, we know it got received.  Whatcha talk 'bout?"

     de Reynard crests at me.  "What the odds were on Speed Week comin' up."

     "Yeah.  Yeah.  You're real funny, mister.  Real funny.  Hey, I gotta vaudeville act of my own, see?  It's sorta a magic trick.  Watch."

    I flicks my wrist, an' in a lil' blink of an eye, out pops Headache Maker.  "Nice lil' toy, ain't it?  Folks who crack wise wit' me get a few cracks back at 'em."

     de Reynard folds his paws 'cross his chest, an' don't say nothin'.  All ya can hears is Headache Maker bein' tapped 'gainst my paw.  I'm just 'bout five secs from dimplin' his skull, when Stagg asks a real quiet question.

    "When did you first have intimate relations with Mrs. Lupino?"

     Back comes th' scent, doubled.  I sees Stagg's nose wrinkle.  Means he can smell it, too.  He wrinkles it again, just so's de Reynard can see.  de Reynard crests again.

     "Little bastard.  Is that what he's been telling you?"

     "Who?"

    "Who do you think?!  The Crown Prince himself.  Goddamn little sneak.  Worse than his old man."

    "It is true, then."

     "Yeah, it's true.  And if you want my opinion, gents, Lupino was a dumb-ass.  His wife was great."  He leans back in his chair, an' smiles real broad.  "Almost a year, right under that bastard's nose.  Almost made up for not getting a Christmas bonus."

     "And young Mr. Lupino knew?"

     "Yeah, the punk calls me up -- collect, I ask you -- and starts making comments that if I didn't play ball with him, he was going to rat on me to his old man."

    "Did you take him seriously?"

    "Hell yes.  If old man Lupino had found out I was screwing his wife, he'd have had the crap beaten out of me.  Probably do the job personally.  More likely, watch, while one of his shady buddies did the number on me.  Not to get his precious paws dirty, you see, but still get the kick."

     "What did you do?"

    "Told the little bastard to go to hell."

    "Anything else?"

    "Yeah, I told him where he could shove the part of the body he's most proud of, too."

     "And Dan Lupino's reaction?"

     "He sorta laughed, and said we'd be in touch."

     "Were you?"

     "Hell, no.  Like it did me any good.  Old man Lupino finds out about the call, he figures it's a love message.  I tell him it was from his kid, and did he think I was screwing his son?  Old man blows a fuse, gives me the sack."

    "Ain'tcha ever heard 'bout speakin' ill o' th' dead?"

     "Who cares?  Lemme know when ya arrest th' guy what did it.  I'll shake his paw."

     Kinda funny, y'know.  Real confident it's a he, ain't he?

     Out in th' street, Stagg turns t'me.

     "Get th' punk, now?"

     "Yes.  Now."


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