A Nose for Danger a novel "Last night I dreamt I went to Manderley again."       -- Daphne du Maurier   Nobody seems to know the exact date the original manuscript was written. All we can say for certain is that it arrived at the offices of Scribbs and Scribbs Ltd of London wrapped in a plain paper parcel, with 50p postage due. The rest, as you are well aware, is history. Although it is difficult to believe now, the verse-tale of the Smellephant had a very modest initial print run. Mr. Scribbs senior was never in favor of the venture. In fact, in his estimation it was (to use his precise phrase) "pachydermic poppycock". Nonetheless the first printing sold out quickly, and then the next, and the one after that as well. What had begun as a curiosity quickly mushroomed into a genuine phenomenon. Now, of course, all former schoolchildren of a certain generation know well those opening lines:       There once was a creature who lived in a wood       Most terribly sad, and misunderstood... Yet it was not always thus. Even now, not much is known about the Smellephant's creator, the mysterious L. Ward. There is some evidence that this personage comes from Hong Kong, although other sources trace a British influence. What we can state for certain is that L. Ward's apparently simple tale has captured the hearts and minds of millions. If that were all, there would be little to add, and even less to remember. Yet recent documents have surfaced which cast doubt upon the entire matter. In full consideration of the natural curiosity of the public, we have collated these manuscript fragments into what appears to be a consistent narrative sequence. And therein begins a tale... Your humble editor, J. Wittfred Pennyglot, Esq. Chapter 1 "Elephant walks into a bar." "Yeah, I know." I downed my whiskey in one gulp and turned to face the ferret. "It's a joke to you. But you haven't seen the things I've seen. Sometimes I think," I held up the shot glass appraisingly, "that Mr. Jack Daniels here is my only friend." "You got lots of friends," the ferret said, looking around nervously. "But I don't think you'll find many of them here. This ain't friendly territory." "That's the way I like it," I shrugged. "Keeps me on my toes. Don't want to start getting lazy. Sam, hit me up with another double." "Hey, I know you're the Smellephant and all, but aren't you going a little fast with the rotgut tonight? Thought you were on a case." "Damn right I'm on a case. Otherwise why would I be hanging out with a ferret? No offense." "None taken." I looked appraisingly at the golden elixar before downing it. "Whisky helps me think. Anyway, there's nowhere near enough JD in this bar to get me as drunk as I'd like." The ferret looked at me sorrowfully. He knew better than to mention the reason I'd want to get stinko. Or even to say her name in my presence. When somebody does that, what happens next is not pretty. I tossed the drink back, knowing it wouldn't do any good. It never does. "Well my friend, what've you got for me?" The ferret looked around one more time, his eyes darting about in the darkness. He needn't have bothered. I chose this bar for a reason. "Word on the street is," he said, "the Tortoise is coming back." "How the hell would you know a thing like that? Tommy never tips his hand." "Cause a hare was found this morning. Iced." I shrugged. "You know how many hares there are in this town? No wonder, the way they multiply." "This wasn't just a rabbit. This was Whiskers." "You're kidding me. So the Tortoise finally caught up with the Hare. Damn. At this rate he's going to control all the lettuce on the south side." "That's kinda what I figured. You need anything else, boss?" "Nah," I said, paying him off. "You can go now. Me and Mr. Daniels here need to think this through." I signaled again to the bartender. When I was done, a few drinks later, I paid my tab and slipped out unnoticed. To anyone on the street I would look like an ordinary Joe -- just another elephant wearing a fedora and a trench coat. But just to be safe I took the back alleys. I needed to be damned sure I wouldn't be followed. Not tonight anyway. I finally had a lead and I was going to make the most of it. That's my job -- just ask any little kid in this town: The Smellephant follows his nose. If Tommy was back in town, he'd be needing lettuce. So my first stop was the shop of Manny the parrot. I could tell right off that Manny wasn't too glad to see me. If a parrot could go pale, he would've turned about fifty shades of white. "Well if it isn't the Smellephant. Sorry, I'm just closing up." I got my trunk in the door just in time. "Not so fast Manny." I took a quick glance around the shop, enough to tell me my hunch was right. "Looks like you're a little low on lettuce today. Got a new customer?" "Look, I don't want any trouble. You know I can't talk." "Waddya mean you can't talk? You're a parrot." "OK, you got me there. But I gotta watch what I say. I'm walking on egg shells here." "You mean tortoise shells, don't you?" "Hey, give me a break. Tommy's not a guy you want to cross. Somebody could be listening." "No chance of that," I said, "I wasn't followed. I know how to shake a tail." "All due respect Smellephant, that's not an image I want to think about." "Whatever." I was getting impatient. "You know I'm the only reason you're not doing time in the coop right now." "Hey, I'm no chicken. I'll talk, but nobody can find out where you got this from. We got a deal?" "Yeah," I said, "We got a deal." Finally he started to sing. And I could tell right away he was gonna name names. Only he got about ten seconds into it when a shot rang out. Got Manny right between the eyes. Just then somebody came through the door. I spun around, my trunk automatically reaching for the gun in the pocket of my trench coat. Then I saw who it was. "Hey Chief," I said. "Hey Smellephant." The police chief looked down at the lifeless body at our feet. "We got a call down at the station there was trouble at Manny's shop. Thought I'd check on it personally." He looked at me, and then he looked at my gun. "It's not how it looks." "It looks," he said, "like trouble was the right word." He gave me a hard look. "Trouble just seems to follow you around, doesn't it?" I knew better than to argue. So I figured the best thing to do was cut right to the chase. "Chief, Tommy's back in town." "Damn," he said. "Well, I'll need to call this in. Don't leave town for the next few days." "You really think I had something to do with this?" The Chief shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. I know a dead parrot when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now." Chapter 2 "How many elephants does it take to change a light bulb?" That's what I was asking myself as I balanced precariously on on my desk on one foot, screwing in a replacement for the burned out light overhead. It wasn't like there was much else I could do in the next day or two. The Chief had been apologetic about it, but they needed to impound my gun and suspend my license while they ran a match against the bullet inside poor Manny. I'd been at the scene, and I'd been packing heat. Rules are rules. No law though against being in my office. It's a small space, but that suits me fine. Just a door with a shingle opening onto a little side street in the sketchier part of town, but that's never stopped cases from finding their way to my door. Seems trouble has a way of finding me. So I shouldn't have been so surprised when a voice behind me in the darkness called my name. But I was so focused on fixing that damn bulb I nearly tumbled right off the desk then and there. Which would've been a helluva way to make a first impression. Trying to recover what was left of my dignity, I finished screwing in the bulb, got down off the desk and turned to face my new client. And what a client! She was dark haired and slender, with eyes as big as saucers and legs that seemed to go on forever. She had a look all her own, and somehow the whole package fit together like God was having a really good day. I could've spent all day just drinking in the sight of her, and I probably would have, if she hadn't spoken up again. "Are you the Smellephant? Or do I call you Mr. Smellephant?" She had a lilting English accent that reminded me of tea cozies and old castles, of wild brambles and cottages by the sea. I could feel myself falling, and falling hard. But rule number one in this business is don't fall for the clients. So I pulled myself together and put on my best tough guy face. "Sister, you can call me whatever you want. How can I help you?" That's when she smiled, and I knew I was a goner. "I think I shall call you Mr. Smellephant. It suits you quite nicely. I must say you are far more handsome in person than in the picture books. And I have a case for you." "And you would be?" "My name is Rebecca. Rebecca Winthrop." "You mean the Rebecca Winthrop?" "If by that you mean the daughter of J. Chesterton Winthrop, indeed I am. Why do you ask?" I did some quick mental calculations. Winthrop was not only filthy rich, he was also filthy. I've been around enough to know that the guy was behind pretty much every crooked racket in this crooked city. All hidden by a well maintained veneer of respectability. I looked at the dame standing in my office, at the high class cut of her clothes, her haircut, the way she carried herself, and I realized that she wouldn't know about any of this. Daddy had probably sent his little princess to the finest English boarding school money could buy. Just one thing though. If all of that was true, how the hell had she made it to the office of a shamus like me? I didn't share any of this of course. It wouldn't do to make daddy mad. "No reason," I said. "Just that your dad's a great guy. Gives a lot to charity. He's kind of a hero in this town." She gave me another one of those million dollar smiles. "Yes, daddy is a wonderful man. He has helped so many people." "So what's the case?" "A missing person. I ... I knew you were somebody I could trust with this." Now I was genuinely curious. "Why is that?" "Why, because you are the Smellephant. We learned about you at school:       He is loyal and sturdy and awfully kind       Beloved wherever he goes       Whatever you're looking for, he'll help you find       The Smellephant follows his nose There it was again, that damned poem, bane of my existence. There were a lot more verses too, and it was clear my new client believed every one. Well, maybe that wasn't so bad -- being a legend could be good for business. "And who is it I'll be looking for?" "My sister." "You got a picture or something?" "She shouldn't be all that difficult to recognize, Mr. Smellephant. We are, after all, identical twins." So how come nobody knew Winthrop had two daughters, I wanted to know. He's a pretty public guy, and that kind of thing is hard to hide. There was a mystery here alright. "All I know, Mr. Smellephant, is that Louisa showed up in my life one day, nearly a year ago. Until then I never even knew I had a sister. Heaven knows why Daddy would keep something like that a secret. Mother passed away when I -- when we -- were born, so he'd be the only one who could explain it. But Louisa made me promise not to tell him anything. That took me by surprise. "Your pop doesn't know?" "Well, what could I do? Imagine finding out one day that you have a sister -- an identical twin. What would you have done?" "If I found out I had an identical twin sister? I'm pretty sure I'd be more surprised than you are." "Well, yes," she said, thinking that over, "I imagine you would. Anyway, dear Louisa had just walked into my life, and it was all so wonderful. When she made me promise not to tell, there really wasn't much to do but agree. Frankly, I was afraid..." she hesitated. "Afraid?" "Yes..." She gave me a searching look. "Afraid that if I didn't honor her request, she would simply disappear, and I would never see her again. And that ... that seems to be exactly what has happened anyway!" And then she broke down and started to cry. I hate when dames cry. Makes me feel all stupid and useless. I would've offered her a tissue, but I'm not the kind of shamus who keeps tissues on his desk. So I did the next best thing. "Sounds like a good case. I'll take it." "Oh Mr. Smellephant, you are so wonderful!" she said, throwing her arms around me. It felt good. Real good. But in this business an elephant needs to be professional. So I gently pulled her off me. "You better go home, Miss Winthrop, get a good night's sleep. I got a feeling I know how to crack this case." I saw her to the door, trying hard to ignore the part of me that wanted her to stay. I had a different kind of date planned for tomorrow morning -- with the office of county records. Chapter 3 "How many chimps does it take to type the works of Shakespeare?" "Shakespeare was a hack," Sam shot back, without even bothering to take the cigarette out of his mouth. As usual, he was typing away, one hand on his old Remington and the other flying over the adding machine he always used to check his figures. He was pretty unflappable, for a chimp. I looked around the vast and dingy space. The Hall of Records was in the basement of City Hall, showing just how much respect it got from the powers that be. But truth was, this town couldn't survive without Sam. The stacks of papers piled up from floor to ceiling of his domain, room after room, were the city's life blood, the collective memory and final arbiter of all legal questions, land disputes, contested wills, claims, writs, liens, copyrights, defamations, and assorted mayoral proclamations long forgotten. And Sam somehow kept it all in his head. Ask him about the baseball team that set up shop in this town back in 1923. The franchise lasted just six months, but if you ask Sam about any random player's contract, he could get his nimble simian fingers on the original in under two minutes flat. So I figured I'd come to the right place. "Sam," I said, "got anything about identical twins?" Sam didn't even look up. "Sure, they come around about one every two hundred fifty births. Gotta figure we'd have a few of those in this town by now." I wasn't really getting his attention. "Suppose I told you I was looking for my identical twin sister." That stopped him. "Smellephant, you been hitting the sauce again?" He sounded genuinely concerned. He was, after all, my best friend. "No. Well, yes," I said, "But it was just a joke. Maybe not a good one." Sam turned away from the typewriter to face me, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. "I know when you're like this. You're mixed up with a dame, I can tell." He didn't wait for a rebuttal. "You really think that's a good idea? I mean, you're not even close to being over..." "No," I said quickly, cutting him off. I didn't like where this conversation was going. "It's a case, that's all. Client's named Rebecca. She's got me on retainer." "Rebecca what?" "Winthrop." Sam whistled. "You're hanging out with a dangerous crowd, aren't you? You'd be better off sticking to thieves and murderers. It's safer. What's she want?" "Claims she has an identical twin sister, just showed up in her life one day. I think she's telling the truth." "That's impossible. No, wait a sec," Sam got that faraway look in his eyes, the one I'd been hoping he'd get. "I remember something ... The Winthrops, about twenty years ago... I think I've got it." And with that he was gone, vanished into the back room. When I left Sam, he was still poring over a stack of birth records and old papers. He told me it would take a while to sort out, and that was fine with me. I had an appointment to keep, one that might just get me some answers. Or might get me killed. You never know. Turtle Town isn't the friendliest place, at least not when you're an elephant with a nose for danger. As I walked down its narrow twisting streets, I could feel all eyes on me. For the first time since I'd handed over my gun, I missed the feel of it in my pocket. These streets held unwanted memories, and with every step those memories were coming back. I turned up the collar of my trench coat. It was a cold night, and I had a feeling it was about to get colder. When I finally got to the old Tortoise Shell, I tried to slip in quietly, but that wasn't going to happen. The moment I stepped through the door, all conversation stopped dead. The bartender took one look at me and silently gestured to a booth in the back. The feeling in the room when I made my way through the bar was definitely not hugs and kisses. But I figured I was safe. If Tommy had wanted me dead, I wouldn't have gotten this far. "Smellephant!" Tommy's rich accented voice rang out, and as I slipped into the booth, I could hear conversation gradually resume. If Tommy wanted me there, nobody was going to argue. Nobody ever argued with Tommy. "It's been a while," I said quietly. His face broke out into a broad grin. "Too long my friend. I am old Russian tortoise, ok so I know, I am keeping all day in the shell and I hide." He gestured to the samovar on the table between us. I'm not much of a tea drinker, but this wasn't the time to argue. "I'm listening." "So what tortoise thinking all day in that shell? I'm thinking, I tell you, I'm liking this Smellephant. I got news, I should share with my old friend, yes?" I took a sip of tea, wishing it was Jack Daniels. "Yes," I said. Maybe I was about to get some answers. "Look Smellephant, tortoise, hare, everybody got the racket, no?" "No," I said agreeably. "I mean, um, yes." "Today hare beats tortoise. Maybe tomorrow tortoise beats hare. Is good for everyone." Tommy gestured expansively. "So far is all good. Is big town. Is plenty lettuce to go around." I nodded. He was making sense. "Then one day somebody new comes in, messes with things. Upsets the cart of apples." "Sure, the apple cart." Tommy looked at me sharply. "You got a problem with cart of apples?" "The cart of apples," I said hastily. No point in quibbling. He sipped his tea, looking reflective for a moment. "Whiskers and me, got long history. Is good history. Sure ok, differences between hare and tortoise. But always we work it out." "You guys went way back, huh?" "Da. This town used to be different. Honor among thieves was more than just nice words." For a moment I thought Tommy was going to lose it. "OK, what's past is past. Now hare is dead. But not from Tommy." "Yeah, I get it," I said. Tommy's old school -- if he says he didn't kill you, you can believe him. "So the hare was iced, and you're being set up. But why? Who else is in the lettuce racket?" The tortoise shook his head sadly. "Is different kind of lettuce. Whiskers was, how you say, branching out. Faking the papers." "Counterfeiting? That's a new angle." He gave me a long searching look, and I could tell he was deadly serious. "Yes, is new angle. You follow that angle and go straight. Find real killer." I suddenly thought of Manny. Maybe this is what the parrot was trying to tip me off about. Maybe I was looking for a single killer. Maybe it was time to get out of Turtle Town and find out who had really iced Whiskers. I got back to my office fully intending to get right down to work, but that's not what happened. Instead, I got a surprise. Rebecca was waiting for me. Except it wasn't Rebecca. It was like seeing Rebecca through some kind of crazy mirror. The face was the same, and the long lean body, but everything else was different -- somehow tougher, more hard edged -- the hair, the clothes, the attitude. Especially the attitude. "You must be Louisa," I said, looking her up and down, not at all minding what I saw. "I see you've been hanging out with my sister," she laughed. She sounded nothing at all like her sister. The voice was the same, but minus the posh British accent. I was starting to get the picture. One sister grew up with a silver spoon in her mouth, private schools, everything Daddy's money could by, and the other one on her own, getting the kind of education they don't teach you at St. Mary's. "You can call me Lulu," she said, tossing her dark hair and looking at me the way an elephant likes to be looked at. "Why'd you give your sister the slip?" She laughed. "You don't waste time do you? The usual reasons. I found out my dad's trying to have me killed." I hadn't figured that, but it fit. Winthrop was one cold bastard, and he didn't like surprises. "And your sister would've led you right to him." "Rebecca's a dear, but there's a lot she doesn't know about the world. Got a light?" I was starting to like this dame. I lit a cigarette for her, and another one for me. I'd quit a few months back, but right now a cigarette felt just about right. She was looking around the office. "So this is where the famous Smellephant hangs out." "You like it?" "Depends. Where do you keep the booze?" From the bottom drawer I pulled out two glasses, and one bottle of JD Single Barrel I'd been saving for a special occasion. She looked at the bottle appraisingly while I poured. "Tennessee Whiskey? I figured you more for the Macallan type." I shrugged. "Used to be." "Yeah," she said, "I get it." She took a long slow sip, never taking her eyes off mine. "Then you got your heart broken." That surprised me. This dame was sharp. I didn't say anything -- what was there to say? "She must've been something," she said. "Mind if we change the subject?" I said. "Oh, I can think of one or two things to keep us occupied." She came close, took my whiskey drink and put it down on the desk. I didn't mind. Then she came a lot closer, and I didn't mind that either. Chapter 4 "Why do elephants drink so much?" "To try to forget. Smellephant, you already told me that one. What, you don't remember?" "Yeah Sam, I remember. I remember everything. That's what we elephants do." I looked at the empty whisky glass in front of me, and I thought back on the night before. I would always remember that night, which was a good thing. I would also remember waking up alone the next morning, which was not such a good thing. "Why can't we just remember the good parts, Sam? It would make life so much easier." "Nah," he shook his head. "We need those bad parts. Makes us human." "Last time I checked, I was an elephant and you were a chimpanzee." "I was speaking metaphorically." He took another shot. Gotta say this for him, Sam could handle his liquor like no chimp you've ever seen. The bartender set us up another round of Jack Daniels. "Sam, remember when I used to drink single malt?" "Yeah, but you were boring then. Way too happy. I kinda like you better this way." "Thanks," I said, "You are a true friend. And thanks for checking on the birth records." "No problem Smellephant. It was all right there -- two healthy twin baby girls. The weird thing is, soon after that the trail goes cold. Lulu just disappears -- no dental records, no kindergarten enrollment, none of the usual stuff." "What's your theory?" "Well, you're the shamus, but my guess is Winthrop found out Lulu was back, and hired Whiskers to make her disappear from the record." "And that way when he gets rid of Lulu..." "There'd be no paper trail. It'd be like she was never born." "Bastard," I said. "Yeah, I had it figured pretty much the same way. Except why would Winthrop ice Whiskers before the job was done?" "Dunno," Sam shrugged. "Maybe he thought the hare was finished." "Yeah, and maybe Whiskers talked to Manny before he got iced. The parrot was ready to squawk, so he also had to be taken out of the picture." "That's a big pile of maybes, Smellephant. How do we know for sure?" I downed my last shot for the evening. "I've got an idea." I had a hunch the cops knew more than they were letting on, and just maybe I could get some answers. When I got to headquarters it was late, but I could see the light was on inside. I knocked on the big brass doors, and the Chief himself answered. "Burning the midnight oil, Chief?" He looked tired. "What can I do for you Smellephant?" "Well, for one thing, I believe you've got a gun here that belongs to me." The Chief shrugged. "Follow me." He led me back to the evidence desk. It felt good to get my gun back. I don't like to use it, but I like the feel of it in my trench coat pocket, just in case. "You'll need this too," he said, handing me my license. "Everything checked out. Your gun didn't kill Manny." "I could've told you that. Got any ideas whose gun did?" "You know we don't discuss that kind of thing." "Sure Chief, whatever you say. What about Winthrop's gun?" He gave me a long look before he answered. "You're fingering J. Chesterton Winthrop for the murder of Manny the parrot? You might want to rethink that." "Oh," I said casually, "You mean it could be dangerous? And just why would that be?" "I'm telling you Smellephant, you really don't want to bring Winthrop into this." "Really? Seems to me he and I are about even. I've got this gun in my pocket, and Winthrop's got you in his." The Chief shook his head. "Look, I don't know what you think you know, but you're barking up the wrong tree." "Elephants don't bark. How can you be so sure Winthrop's not our guy?" "Well, for starters, Winthrop's dead." I hadn't figured on Winthrop getting iced. When a guy's that powerful, it's not so easy to get to him. "How'd it happen?" "That's the strange thing," the Chief shook his head, "the guy was found in his own bed, in his P.J.s for crissake." "Why is that strange?" "Because he had a bullet through his head." That surprised me. The Winthrop mansion is loaded with security -- guards, alarms, trip wires, all the good stuff. What kind of killer could get in, ice the head guy, and then get out again, all undetected? Who the hell were we dealing with here? I could tell the Chief was thinking along the same lines. It looked like there might be a new player in town, one who didn't play fair. As I made my way back to my office, I thought back to the first time I'd met Winthrop, a few years ago. By then the guy was already at the top of his game. I been summoned to the mansion because he'd heard I had a nose for danger. Wanted me to track down one of his runners who'd been dumb enough to start dipping off the top. It was a really classy place -- curving stairs, crystal chandeliers, fancy chairs lifted from the old court of some French king. That didn't bother me. It's not like the poor french bastard would be needing them anymore. It was kind of hard to face up to a guy like Winthrop, in a place like that, and say no to his face. But I've got to draw the line somewhere. I knew all too well what they'd have done to that runner if I'd tracked him down. I shuddered just thinking about it. If he was lucky, they would show him some mercy -- kill him fast and got it over with. But I also knew Winthrop wasn't the kind of guy to show any mercy. After that, Winthrop pretty much left me alone. I'd like to think he respected my principles. More likely, now that he had me figured, he thought an honest elephant could be useful some day. I was still thinking all this when Rebecca showed up at the door. I took one look at her face and I could tell she'd been crying. I gestured for her to take a seat. After she'd gotten herself together, she just squared her shoulders and fixed me an intent look. "Mr. Smellephant, I think my sister may have done something awful." By the time I'd sent Rebecca home she had calmed down a lot. It probably helped that I didn't mention my little encounter with her sister. I just told her that I had no idea where Lulu was. Which was, in fact, the truth. I needed time to think, and meanwhile, the less she knew the better. Rebecca was clearly shook up, but she would be ok. As for me, well, I can put on a pretty good show when I need to, but now that I was alone in my office again, it wasn't so easy. Sometimes the old shadows have a way of getting a little too close, and it can get hard to think with all the crowding. When that happens, I've got a system. I took out the bottle of JD Single Barrel, and put it on the desk in front of me. Then I got a clean glass and poured myself a very generous shot. After I'd tossed that one back, I poured myself another. This one I would nurse for a while, while I thought things through. Until Rebecca had made the connection, I hadn't thought of Lulu as a suspect. But it made sense -- she certainly had motive, and there was one obvious way she had opportunity: She could have gotten past all the security by posing as her sister. Once inside, a single shot with a silencer would finish the job. Then she could have gotten out the same way she came in. All very neat and easy. What bothered me more than anything was that I hadn't even thought of this angle until Rebecca spoke up. Was I getting too close? It was hard for me to think of Lulu as a killer, but the shamus in me couldn't deny the possibility. Yet there was something nagging in my gut, something that didn't add up. I just couldn't put my nose on what it was. What I needed was a little shot of wisdom. And Mister Jack Daniels wasn't doing the trick. It was time to see the owl. "What do you get when you cross an elephant with a rhinoceros?" "Who?" said the owl. "No, what," I started to explain, "It's a joke," as the owl stepped aside to let me in. Then I remembered that the owl doesn't do jokes. Might as well get down to business. "I need your advice. There's been a murder." "Who?" "Good question. J. Chesterton Winthrop. In his own bedroom." Owl just shook his head sadly. I went on to fill in the details, the death of the hare and the parrot, what Sam found in the hall of records about the two Winthrop girls. I hesitated for a moment, and then decided to admit that I had moved beyond an, um, professional relationship with one of the sisters. Owl fixed me a disapproving look. "Who?" "Lulu. I'm not even sure Rebecca goes in for that kind of thing. I can't say I'm sorry about it. Of course, if Lulu turns out to be the prime suspect in a murder, a certain party is going to step in and take over, sooner or later." "Who?" "The chief of police. And he's going to tie it back to the murders of Whiskers and Manny. But there's one thing I can't figure: Why would she tip me off like that -- about her own sister?" "Who?" the owl asked politely. "Rebecca. You'd think she'd keep a thing like that to herself. You know, maybe there's bad blood between those two. Say, just talking about this is helping me think everything through -- it's all starting to make sense. I knew I came to the right bird!" "Who?" said the owl, with a faint smile. "You of course. Don't be so modest." While talking with the owl, I took a look around. As always, his digs were simple. The room was empty except for two cushions, with a low wooden table between them. There were no pictures on the walls. Nobody knew for sure, but I'd heard the owl came from somewhere in the Far East. Seemed like as good a guess as any. The lack of clutter was helping me think, and now the pieces were starting to come together in my mind. If Rebecca was pointing the finger at Lulu, what did that say about Rebecca? Maybe she wasn't as innocent as she looked. I needed to figure out a way inside her head. "Owl, what do you think is the biggest mystery about these murders?" He didn't hesitate. "Who." I nodded. "Yeah, that's it, the big question: Who's our killer? Is it really Lulu, or am I being played? Something's going on between those two sisters, and I've gotta find somebody with the right angle to help me dig out the truth." The owl seemed to think deeply before replying. For a long time he just sat upon his cushion in silence. Finally he looked at me, and uttered a single word. "Hu." "That's it, of course!" I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of this angle before. "Hu, down at the crime lab. Hu owes me a favor, and is one of the few people I can rely on to keep quiet. Owl, you're a genius." The owl looked please, but wisely chose silence. "Before I go," I asked, "is there anything else you think I should know?" There was another silence, even longer than the one before. Then the owl spoke. "Smellephant," he said, "as an anthropomorphic personification representing a genre archetype, you necessarily exist within a specific dialectic framework. Rebecca and her counterpart Louisa personify the antipodes of this dialectic, inasmuch as they comprise two intrinsic and complementary aspects of a single unifying principle. Your essential quest is to find the unity within these apparently antithetical forces, thereby achieving a state of clarity and balance that will serve to illuminate your very existence." "Yeah," I shrugged, "I already knew that." The owl was a smart bird, but he could say the most obvious things. Guess we all do sometimes. I got up to leave. But it looked like the owl had one more question for me. "What do you get," he asked, "when you cross an elephant with a rhinoceros?" "Hell if I know." It was time to go. I put on my trench coat, drawing it tight against the cold, pulled down the brim of my fedora, and stepped out into the night. I'm not the neatest elephant you'll ever meet. Sometimes it can take me up to a week just to wash the dishes. Not saying I'm proud of this, just telling it like it is. But on this occasion, I made sure to have a clean cup and saucer for my guest. "Good morning Mr. Smellephant." Rebecca greeted me with a big smile. "I'm glad you wanted to chat. It's a bit early in the day for you, isn't it?" "I'll manage," I said brightly, trying to look more awake than I felt. I had a long day ahead of me. "Can I offer you a cup of tea?" "That would be lovely, yes." She sat prettily while I boiled some water. When at last we were sitting down -- tea for her, strong coffee for me (with an added shot of something even stronger, and very uncoffee-like) -- I went over the progress of the case, and the search to find the whereabouts of her mysterious sister. Omitting, of course, the inconvenient fact that at one point I had known her sister's whereabouts rather precisely. After seeing Rebecca to the door, I carefully wrapped the teacup in a clean white cloth. I'd already wrapped up the glass Lulu had used earlier in the week. It was time to test my theory. The coffee was already clearing my head, and a good brisk walk to the crime lab finished the job. "Smellephant, it's always great to see you." Hu was her usual chipper self. Surrounded by beakers and lab instruments and various mysterious pieces of glassware, she seemed completely in her element. "You're in a good mood today," I observed. She laughed. "I'm often in a good mood when I see you. You bring me interesting stuff." I put the two wrapped items on her desk. "Think you can pull prints from these?" She carefully unwrapped the two bundles. "Sure, it's what I do. I like this real crime stuff. Better than filling out reports all day. When do you need them?" "How soon can you get them?" "Sometime later today I think. Shiny things are easy. What are we looking for?" I smiled. "Don't want to influence you. You'll tell me, ok?" "Sure thing! Did the owl send you?" "Yeah. How did you know?" "For some reason he ends up steering a lot of work my way. Lord knows why. Maybe it's my winning personality." "Yeah Hu," I nodded, "that must be it." I went back to my office around noon, and made myself useful, putting things in order. I had a feeling I'd be spending a lot of time here until I found the killer, and I wanted my office to be a place where I could think clearly. I even did the dishes. The phone rang a few hours later. I picked it up eagerly, figuring Hu had the print results. But it was Sam. "Smellephant, you'll never believe this. I dug up some more evidence in the city records. This really ties things all together -- Whiskers, Manny, Winthrop, there's a pattern. And I think it's all one perp. One very clever perp. You've gotta see this for yourself. When can you get here?" "Hu in the crime lab is running some tests for me -- mums the word. I told her I'd wait for her call. Just give me until five, and then I'll come over." "It's not like Hu will be upset," Sam said. "Pandas are always happy." "Wait, Hu's a panda?? I knew she was from China. But I thought she was a bear." "Technically," Sam said, "A panda is a bear. Unless you're talking about a red panda." "Maybe," I said, "we should stay away from politics." "Um, sure," he said. "fine with me. Anyway, come over as early as you can." "Don't worry. I'll be there soon. Thanks for staying on this. I'm looking forward to seeing your evidence." Hu called about half an hour later. "Guess what I found?" she asked with her usual cheerfulness. I wasn't feeling so cheerful. "Like I told you, I've been hoping you'd tell me." "Whoever they are," she said, "the prints are definitely not from the same individual. So, am I telling you good news or bad news?" "I'm not sure," I said slowly, thinking. "It's definitely, um, interesting news." With my best theory blown, it looked like I might be back to square one. Now I had to hope that whatever Sam had dug up would give me some solid answers. "Sam?" I didn't hear any answer, and Sam wasn't at his usual place between his adding machine and typewriter. This didn't surprise me, since sometimes he can get lost in all those stacks of records. That's one of the things I like about him. Sam's got the curiosity of a chimpanzee. Which makes sense, when you think about it. Eventually I got tired of waiting and wandered in. Still no sight of him. Seemed like as good a time as any to take a stroll among the stacks. I kind of like them, the years and years of records of everything that has happened in this crazy town. In a way, I thought to myself, a city is like a person. Layers upon layers of history, and everything ends up in a back room somewhere, filed away, until one day it all comes out. Then everyone wonders "where the hell did that come from?" Sam didn't seem to be anywhere. I was thinking maybe he'd wandered out, maybe he thought he had time to go for a coffee before I came around. I was actually about to leave when I finally thought to look down. And there was Sam, unconscious, lying in a pool of blood. I rushed to his side, felt for a pulse. The chimp was still alive, but not much more than that. A bullet had caught him in the right shoulder, had spun him around till he landed on the floor. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered that our perp was not a crack shot. But that could wait until later. Right now, I had other things on my mind. For one thing, my best friend seemed to be dying. The strange thing was that his left hand, the one attached to a working shoulder, was reaching up, resting on the keys of the adding machine. Curious, I looked at the adding machine, and that's when I saw what was written there. Chapter 5 "What did the adding machine say to the chimpanzee?" "I give up," the chief said. "What did it say?" "You can count on me." "Oh, that's bad even by your standards, Smellephant. Let's hope we can count on what this adding machine has to tell us. To me it just looks like string of digits." "I'm telling you Chief, if Sam typed it, it's gotta be something. He's one smart chimp." "I don't know. You've been running your own private investigation," the chief said. "Do you think that's a good idea?" "I thought it was. A private eye can go places the cops can't go." "And how is that working out for you?" I looked down at the spot where I had found my friend lying unconscious. "Right now I'd have to say I'm not so sure. Maybe if I'd worked with the cops -- with you -- Sam would still ... " I didn't finish the thought. "Sorry Smellephant, I shouldn't be taking this out on you. None of this is your fault -- it made sense to try doing this on the low down. I'm just frustrated because we've got dead bodies piling up, and nothing to go on but some numbers from an adding machine." "Sam's not dead," I said quietly. "Sorry. Look, I know you two were -- are -- good friends, and we all want Sam to pull through. But we've got a chimp in a coma, and we're not going to be getting any answers from him for a while. Meanwhile, the killer might strike again." "Not if we can figure out Sam's message first." "Yeah," the chief nodded, "if you can call it a message. It would have been so much better if Sam had been shot in the left shoulder. Then he could have used the typewriter." "It would have been so much better if Sam hadn't been shot." "Yeah," the chief said, "very good point. What's that number again?" "I've got it memorized: 451614295". "That's a nine digit number. What do we know about nine digit numbers?" "Social Security?" I suggested. "The first thing we thought of, had it checked out this morning. That's not a valid range for social security numbers." "Good point Chief." I nodded. "Besides, It's not like Sam would have that kind of thing in his head. Whatever he was thinking, it had to be something he could come up with right then and there." "Yeah," the chief added, "even after he'd taken a bullet." "Maybe it's the beginning of a phone number. He could have passed out before he got to the last digit." "We checked on that too. No such area code. Nearest number is 450 -- Quebec." "Somehow," I said, "I doubt Sam was fingering a perp in Quebec. So where does that leave us?" "A kind of substitution code maybe. But a code needs a key." the chief shook his head. "There's something missing." "Maybe if we could see the files Sam told me about." "Our men looked thoroughly. No files left lying around. Very neat. Maybe too neat. Whoever the killer is, he sure did a good job of cleaning up the crime scene." "Or she did," I said, under my breath. "What was that, Smellephant?" the chief said. "I didn't catch that." "Oh nothing. I just remembered I have an appointment." I grabbed my hat. "You'll keep thinking about this right? We've got 451614295 reasons to catch this killer." "Yeah, lots of reasons Chief," I said, thinking about my friend Sam. "But I only need one." When I got back to my office Rebecca was waiting. Which wasn't surprising, since I had asked her to drop by. I needed to know what she knew. "You wanted to see me Mr. Smellephant." "Yeah, I'd like to talk to you about your sister." "You've found Louisa?" "You could say that." "Then I assume you can tell me where she is." "Well, not exactly. You could say I found her and then I lost her again. But that's not what I wanted to talk to you about." "Mr. Smellephant, you have a strange way of conducting a missing person investigation." "Sister, you don't know the half of it. Don't worry, you'll get your money's worth. Meanwhile, I've got a question for you." I took a folded piece of paper out of my pocket. "Of course, if there's anything I can do to help with your investigation. I suspect my sister is in trouble, and I believe she might even have killed our father. She may require our help." "Yeah, maybe. We might have a clue in the murder case. What do you make of this?" I held out the piece of paper. Rebecca took the paper and unfolded it. She stared at the nine numbers and scowled. Then she looked at me with an unreadable expression. "What is this supposed to mean?" "It seems to mean something to you." "What it means to me," she said, after a pause, "is an unreadable string of digits. Is this all a big joke to you?" "No, I..." She didn't let me finish. "My father is dead, my sister remains missing, and you are playing games with numbers. Do you take me for a fool?" I wasn't sure what to say. What could I say? "Can I offer you a drink?" I knew she didn't drink, but it was the best I could do. She sank slowly down into a chair, crumpling the paper into a ball. "I'm sorry Mr. Smellephant, I ... I don't know what came over me. The stress, I suppose. These recent events have been very difficult. Have you ever lost someone near to you?" "Yeah," I said. "and I know how hard that can be." "Thank you for being understanding. I believe I will take that drink. Please make it -- how do you say it -- a stiff one." Whiskey has a different effect on everybody. Some it makes happy, and others it makes sad. Still others just go right to sleep. I once met a mongoose in a dive bar outside Phoenix who started singing Puccini after his third drink. Which would have been ok, except I've never known a mongoose that could carry a tune, even when sober. It wasn't pretty. In Rebecca's case, drink made her talkative. It was fun for a while, watching Rebecca under the influence. I was surprised how little time it took her to get smashed, until I remembered that she never drinks. Some dames really can't hold their liquor. Although one thing I hadn't expected was that she'd start reciting poetry.       He's admired and loved, although misunderstood       By all of the creatures that live in the wood.       They know they are safe, for wherever he goes       The Smellephant follows his nose. This went on for quite a while -- there are a lot of verses to that damn poem. By the time she got to that particular verse she was standing on the table with her shoes off. I gotta say I'd never heard the poem in an English accent. It didn't sound half bad either, if you go for that sort of thing. After that, it didn't take long before Rebecca passed out on my office couch. I thought of waking her and sending her on her way, but then I figured maybe the poor kid needed the rest, after all she'd been through. I got a blanket for her, made sure she was nice and tucked in, and turned down the lights. She'd be ok for a while. Quietly I put on my trench coat and fedora. I slipped out the back way, through the alley, so I wouldn't be tailed. I needed to check out a hunch, and it would be a lot better if nobody knew where I was going. I had several places to go, but first I stopped off to check in on Sam. The chief and I had agreed to keep his whereabouts on the lowdown. Somebody had wanted the chimp dead, and we figured it was safer not to let on that he was still alive, let alone where he was. So as far as anyone else knew, this was just another chimpanzee in a hospital ward. By this point I was fairly convinced our perp was Lulu, as much as I hated to admit it. There were just too many threads pointing to her. The murder of Winthrop was an obvious clue -- I was starting to think that was more than self-defense. For one thing, the shooting of Whiskers, given that I now knew him to be a forger, suggested an attempt to change Winthrop's will. Only Sam, keeper of the records, would know for sure, and he wasn't talking. Then there was the death of Manny the parrot -- just about to sing when his wings got clipped. None of this would have swayed me, until Sam got shot. It wasn't just that my best friend was now lying in a coma, with the evidence he'd found gone missing. It was also just one too many shootings for all of this to be a coincidence, and the Smellephant does not believe in coincidences. And it all led back to one place -- Rebecca's elusive sister. I was starting to think Lulu had been taking me for a ride. A great ride, sure, but one that wasn't going anyplace I wanted to be. If only I could figure out how that sequence of numbers fit together. I was still adding up the angles in my head, trying to piece it all together, when the chief came in. "Smellephant?" he said. "Yeah Chief?" I said, lost in my thoughts. I hadn't been expecting any visitors. "Sorry to do this, but I've got to bring you in." "For what, Chief?" "For the murders of J. Chesterton Winthrop, Whiskers the hare, and Manny the parrot. As well as the attempted murder of Sam the chimp. Smellephant, you're under arrest." While I was cooling my heels in the town jail, I had a lot of time to find out from the chief why they brought me in. It seems they got an anonymous tip earlier that evening. While I was wandering the streets, lost in my thoughts, and then visiting Sam in the hospital, the cops had gotten a warrant, entered my office, found a gun, done a ballistic match, and had concluded that it was the same gun that killed Winthrop, Whiskers and Manny, as well as wounding Sam. I was impressed they'd moved so fast. Well, I figured, the good news is we now know there was a single gunman. The bad news is the cops think it's me. There wasn't any point telling the chief I'd been framed. They had me fair and square on planted evidence. No, I was going to need to find a way out of here so I could crack this case, prove my innocence, and nail the real perp. I asked the chief if they'd seen Rebecca, and the answer came back no. Seems she'd woken up by then, left me a note, and gone on her way. The chief was nice enough to hand me the note: Dearest Mr. Smellephant, Thank you so much for your kindness and consideration earlier this evening. Partaking of your proffered "medicine", unorthodox as it was, has certainly served to calm my nerves, which is a great blessing in this time of trials and ordeals. I shall endeavor not to make a habit of indulging in such medicine in future, tempting as it may be. That being said, it is wonderful to know that you are such a thoughtful and constant friend. I remain yours, as ever, Rebecca Winthrop I remember thinking, while I read the note, that Rebecca was a sweet kid, and it was a shame that she had to be messed up in this kind of nasty business. Meanwhile, I had problems to solve. It wasn't just that I needed to prove my innocence. It was also the problem that sooner or later the killer would find out that Sam was still alive. If that happened while I was still stuck in this jail cell, I had a hunch Sam wouldn't be alive for much longer. "Chief," I said, "you know I would never do anything to hurt Sam." "Right now I don't know anything, except where we found that gun." The clock was ticking, and I didn't want to stay in this jail cell one minute longer than I needed to. Sooner or later the killer was going to figure out Sam was still alive. "Suppose," I said, "I could prove to you it wasn't me." "I'm listening Smellephant." "The evening Whiskers got shot, I was at the Crow Bar, drowning my sorrows. I was there until closing time that night, running up a tab. You can check it out." Fortunately the chief was smart enough to send somebody to check out my story. And that was all it took. Since all the murders were from the same gun, I needed only one solid alibi to knock me out of the running for everyone's favorite murderer. For another thing, the chief knew me long enough to know that at the end of the day, I would never shoot Sam. And that, I figured, might count for even more in his book. It took a few hours, but eventually I got my name cleared, and I was a free elephant. But that wasn't the end of things. It was just the beginning. Because now the finger was pointed squarely at Rebecca. After all, somebody had to plant that gun in my office, they did it just around the time she was sleeping on my couch. Which meant there were several possibilities: One was that Rebecca was our murderer. Another was that somebody had planted the gun in my office to frame her. The chief and I talked it out, and we went over all the angles. In the end, we figured the best thing was to bring her in and let her talk. One way or another, we would find out something. Chapter 6 "How do you know elephants are afraid of commitment?" Rebecca just stared at me. I don't think she was in the mood for a joke. Fortunately the chief saved the moment. "Because," he jumped in, "wherever they go, they take their trunk with them." She looked from me to the chief and back again. "Was that supposed to be clever?" "I'm not sure clever is the right word," I shrugged. After all, maybe I was afraid of commitment. Some joke. "We asked you here," I said, attempting to move on, "to figure out what happened the night that Sam got shot." "I really don't know what you are talking about. Of course I am saddened that your friend was killed, but I cannot see how that has anything to do with me." I had to hand it to her, either she was innocent or she was a very good liar. "I asked you the other night if you recognized the sequence of numbers 451614295. Got anything to say about that?" "I told you Mr. Smellephant, it's just a meaningless string of digits." "I figured you might say that. I asked the ferret here to get a certain book. You might recognize it. After all, it's got your name on it. Also the last message of a shooting victim." The ferret was only too eager to hand her the book. The publisher was Victor Gollancz of London, the author Daphne du Maurier, the title "Rebecca". It was a first edition too, 1938, original dust jacket. I'd had the ferret bring it here from the city archives. Maybe that was my real idea of a joke. She turned it over in her hand, like she was afraid to open it. "Go ahead," I said, "read the first line." "Last night," she said slowly, reading the words aloud, "I dreamt I went to Manderlay again." When she looked up there were tears in her eyes. "Sam didn't have the use of his right arm," I said, more to the chief than to Rebecca. "All he could do was type a sequence of numbers on the adding machine. But maybe that was good enough to finger a perp." The chief looked at her. "451614295, perfect match for the letter count of the words in the opening sentence. Not much chance it's a coincidence. Rebecca, you got anything to say for yourself?" "As you have already decided that I am guilty of these murders, what would be the point of speaking in my own defense?" "Look, Rebecca," I said. "You had motive and opportunity. As your father's heir, you stand to gain the most from his death. The gaps in your sister's records suggest you were in the process of planting false info about her, which you hired Whiskers to forge. Then you killed the hare to cover your tracks, and Manny because he got wise to what was going down. It would have been a perfect crime if Sam hadn't found some records you missed. The chimp is the missing link." She shook her head. "I am sorry that Sam is dead. I ... I know he was your best friend." "Well, I guess the truth can come out now. Sam's still hanging in there, although he's in a coma. We don't know if he'll wake up." "Hey Smellephant," the Ferret asked, "I don't mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I go? I don't need to be here for the dramatic parts." I nodded. What was coming next probably wouldn't be pretty. "Miss Winthrop," the chief said to Rebecca, "I'm afraid I've got to formally charge you with these murders." "Yes," she said, "but which Miss Winthrop do you mean?" Suddenly I realized her accent was gone. In fact her whole way of carrying herself had transformed. Right before our eyes, Rebecca had turned into Lulu. "So," I said, "you've been the same gal all along." "Apparently," Lulu explained, "I am a classic case of a split personality. That's what the doctors say anyway. Rebecca doesn't know. This personality comes out in times of stress." "Yeah," the chief said, "I can see how being arrested for homicide can be stressful." I had to admit I was glad to see Lulu. I'd kind of missed her. But the chief looked troubled. "Hu showed me the lab report." "Who showed you the lab report?" "Yeah, exactly. And the prints didn't match. So how does one dame," the chief said, looking hard at Lulu, "have two different sets of finger prints?" The chief took us down to the station. I wore a fedora, Lulu wore handcuffs. The desk sergeant started processing the precinct's number one murder suspect. "By the way," the sergeant said, "those lab results came back." He handed the chief a folder. After studying it for a moment, the chief stared at me long and hard. "When I heard you had those prints lifted, I sent them down to central for a full ID check. Just standard procedure. Guess who prints were on that glass, Smellephant?" "Ok, I give up," I shrugged. The chief nodded toward Lulu. "This gal's dead dad." I gave him a steady look. "What are you implying?" "Isn't it obvious? This puts the victim at your place, and we know you and the dame have been playing patty cake. We also know she's been impersonating her sister." "Chief, are you're saying..." "You know exactly what I'm saying. You two were in this together, killed Winthrop for his dough." "But I'm the one who brought the prints to Hu in the first place." "Thought you were being cute bringing in that glass and teacup, didn't you? We find the same prints on both, and everyone thinks there's only one dame. But you got unlucky -- you picked up the wrong glass." "But why would Winthrop come to my place?" "Not for me to say. I guess that part of the story died with him. But it connects you to the murder. Looks like you outsmarted yourself this time, Smellephant. Sarge, book him." Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. "Sorry chief," an officer said, poking his head in. "This tortoise here claims he's an old friend of yours. I think he's some kinda foreigner. Says he's got a present for the Smellephant." "It's ok, let him in," the chief nodded. It was Tommy, and he was holding a gun. The pointy end of the gun was aimed at a very upset looking ferret. "He's got no right to do this. Tell him chief." Tommy ignored the ferret's outburst. "Was like you say, Smellephant. Ferret shows up at hospital, looking for Sam." The tortoise was looking very pleased with himself. "Finds me instead." The chief turned to me. "Well well. Looks like the ferret went straight for the chimp, as soon as he heard Sam was still alive. You know what this means, right?" "I think," I said, "it means you can uncuff the lady." "Thanks," Lulu said, flashing me a big smile. "I don't know how I can ever thank you. Or maybe," she said slyly, "I do." "So the ferret was behind everything?" the chief was starting to put the pieces together in his head. "Nah, ferrets don't read du Maurier, everybody knows that. He's just a hired hand, working for the real perp, the one that created a false paper trail, then killed Winthrop, Manny too when the parrot was about to sing, and paid the ferret to plant Winthrop's glass at my place to implicate me. Then shot Sam when the chimp got wise to the forged records, and used that number sequence to make sure the trail would lead back to Rebecca." "So who's the perp?" "Someone who knows how to forge documents well enough to make a pile of money once Winthrop's out of the picture. Someone we all thought was dead -- because the ferret told us he was. But our mastermind couldn't resist leaving a signature -- the first animal mentioned in the novel "Rebecca": A rabbit! "So," the chief said, "it was Whiskers all the time! Now that we know he's the one behind this harebrained scheme, we'll catch up with him soon enough. But Smellephant, how could you remember something like that, an old book mentioning rabbits?" "Haven't you heard?" Lulu said, "An elephant never forgets."   THE END