The Plucker: A Beastly Crimes Book Page 8

  “Good, good. Now let go of it . . . ”

  Chief Badger carefully took the rifle away from Barbara, then bent down and picked up an ash-covered frog from the ground.

  “Ribbit!”

  “Attention all officers!” he said. “Sending a message to all officers. Urgent backup needed at the Black House. Calling all available officers, hunting hounds, and Doc Hawk. I have a plucked magpie and a suspect.”

  “But you said you already called for backup. You lied!” wailed Barbara.

  “Why are you so surprised?” Now that Barbara was no longer armed, Badger’s tone became more authoritative. “You lie all the time.”

  “I do not!”

  “Really? Then tell me what you’re doing here in the Black House, with a rifle, standing over a plucked magpie?”

  “I . . . I was only walking by and came in here out of curiosity. I had never seen an empty, burned-down burrow before. And what do you know? I had stumbled upon just that. How romantic, I thought. So I walked in, and there she was. A dead magpie.”

  “She isn’t dead.”

  “Whatever. She looked dead. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat down and thought about it. I’m scared of touching dead birds. But I didn’t want to just leave her either. And then you came in. It was dark. I thought it was probably the maniac, so I aimed the rifle.”

  “Lies,” said Chief Badger wearily. “You lie too much, Barbara. First, you lied that your father was the first badger on the moon. After we spoke, I checked the Beastly Encyclopedia. Badgers have never been in space. During your questioning, I purposefully mentioned your father in front of Super Bat. I wanted to make sure there wasn’t any secret intelligence about badgers flying to the moon.”

  “And there wasn’t,” Barbara said bitterly.

  “There wasn’t. Then, during questioning you said you fell asleep from rat poison and did not see who plucked sparrow Ro. I wanted Hawk to do a blood test, to test for traces of poison, but you refused.”

  “I’m scared of needles!” whimpered Barbara.

  “Of course. So you said. So in order to get some of your blood to run a test, I had to knock over Vulture’s bag and break his vial of lab mosquitoes.”

  “You did that on purpose?” asked Barbara, turning pale. “And took my blood?”

  “Well, technically, I didn’t take your blood. One of Vulture’s mosquitoes did. And I submitted the bug to Vulture for testing. Along with your birch cup. I asked Super Bat if I could clean up, so I could get your cup. Someone else might have thrown it away, but I wanted to examine it.”

  “Why?”

  “Badger logic. I discovered two very small dark gray spots on the handle.”

  “So what?”

  “So Vulture confirmed that the spots were ash. And only a short time before that, someone had burned the sparrow’s feathers. You said you didn’t touch Ro or his feathers. But the cup handle bore the prints of your fingers covered in ash! But even more interesting than your paw prints was your blood test. No trace of poison was found in your blood!”

  “It’s because I only took a teeny tiny bite of ice cream.”

  “No, it’s because you lied. You did not eat any of the ice cream. And you were not asleep. At the time of the crime, you were not asleep.”

  The sound of barking dogs came from afar.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. The whole truth,” Barbara resigned. “When I was little, Mama told me lots of stories about my father. About how he was the first badger on the moon. And how he died there . . .”

  “I’m sorry Barbara, but the truth about your childhood is not what’s important to me right now. I want to know the other truth: why you came to the Far Woods and what you were doing today at the time of Ro’s and Magpie’s plucking?”

  “Wait! It’s all connected!”

  “Your father on the moon and sparrow Ro?”

  “Yes . . . kind of. You see, lately I’ve begun to suspect that Mama was lying to me. So I decided to earn some cones and hire a detective to find my father. If I’m honest, I was thinking of hiring you—”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you and Badgercat. I was told you were the best detectives in all the surrounding woods. But when I arrived in the Far Woods, Badgercat was already on the run. So I was ready to hire you alone. I liked you. I thought that since you’d be retiring soon you’d have a lot of free time and would be happy to take up private investigating. So I got a job at the Tree Knot Tavern and started saving cones, so I could hire you. The tavern doesn’t pay much. I had to be very frugal. I couldn’t even afford a ticket to see dee-jay Beaver perform. I love splash’n’snap so much—”

  “Yes, quite regrettable. But I don’t see how this—”

  “So then I decided to find Badgercat. I mean the Plucker. I saw on the root-tube that the police are offering a huge reward for him. It would be enough to live on, to find my father, to go see dee-jay Beaver, and to buy Mama a present. So I borrowed the hunting rifle from Huntington Farm for self-defense . . .”

  “Borrowed?”

  “Fine. Took without asking. But I was going to bring it back. And then today I was suddenly given a chance. I delivered Arctic’s ice cream to the slaughterhouse, he ate it and fell asleep. And right away Badgercat shows up and stuffs him in a sack. So I followed him. We traveled by underground rat tunnels. They lead right from the slaughterhouse to here, the Black House.”

  “Badgercat traveled by rat tunnels?” asked Chief Badger skeptically. “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Well, this time I’m telling the truth. Badgercat brought Arctic to the Black House and started interrogating him. I was here, in the basement, listening. I almost gave myself away. I was so nervous, I started chewing the charred wall and a piece of it fell off. Luckily, they didn’t hear me. That’s probably when I got ash on my paws.”

  “What were they talking about?” asked Chief Badger.

  “Badgercat accused Arctic of being the Plucker. And Arctic accused Badgercat of the same. I was rooting for Badgercat. Arctic is so shameless and phony. But Badgercat . . . he seemed so daring, so smart, and so passionate. I almost believed that he wasn’t the Plucker. That he was being unfairly accused. I even thought that, after he was absolved, I would hire him instead of you. That’s why I didn’t reveal that he was hiding in the Black House during questioning.” Barbara stared dreamily at the candle’s flickering flame. “We could even work together . . .”

  “Romantic,” said Badger dryly. “What about the sparrow? Who plucked him?”

  “I don’t know. I returned to the oak to pick up the payment for the ice cream, looked in the hollow, and saw”—Barbara shuddered—“a dead sparrow.”

  “He isn’t dead.”

  “Whatever. He looked dead. I even remember thinking that Badgercat definitely didn’t do it, because I had seen everything. He’d just dragged Arctic to the Black House and didn’t pluck anyone. But then, after I had returned here to his hideout and found the plucked Magpie, I knew I had been wrong. He’s a real maniac, that Badgercat. He probably plucked the sparrow ahead of time and put him in the hollow as he walked by it with Arctic in that sack . . .”

  “Well, I can’t deny your badger logic, Barbara,” said Chief Badger. “But I still don’t trust you.”

  The barking intensified. The shrill wailing of a police siren echoed through the woods. Ever since Starling had heard a siren at Huntington Farm, he always mimicked it when the Far Woods Police were responding to a call.

  “I don’t trust anyone anymore,” Badger added.

  CHAPTER 12: SHORT BUT TERRIFYING

  Plucking a penguin wasn’t easy. His feathers turned out to be fine and smooth, like hairs, and Badgercat couldn’t grasp them properly with his teeth. He had to use his claws to help out.

  In the light of the full moon, the penguin’s white belly reminded Badgercat of a snowball, fit for a snowman, and his beak, a rotten carrot.

  Badgercat didn’t want to pluck the snowman-bird, but t
he moon ordered him to do it.

  “The Plucker must pluck,” said the moon. “Pluck and burn.”

  The penguin’s burnt feathers smelled of the sea and of seaweed dried out in the sun.

  “Pluck and burn,” whispered Badgercat.

  The full moon shown down through the grating of the sewage cover, illuminating his dirty fur.

  CHAPTER 13: IN WHICH EVERYONE HAS THEIR OWN TRUTH

  “Magpie is a tough bird. She’ll make it,” said Doc Hawk. “She’s more likely in shock than in a coma. I’ll give her beak-to-beak resuscitation and wrap her in a wool blanket. That should help.”

  “At what time was she plucked?” Chief Badger asked Vulture.

  “My expert opinion is Magpie was plucked around 5:00 p.m. At that time we were questioning the suspect Barbara, which means there is no way she could have done it. And when it comes to the traces of ash on her birch cup, I’ve determined that it was not ash from sparrow Ro’s feathers, but from here, the Black House. Which means—”

  “So Magpie was plucked after the sparrow?” interrupted Badger.

  “Ro was plucked at 3:00 p.m. So, yes, Magpie was plucked after.”

  “So I’m no longer a suspect?” asked Barbara.

  “So he doesn’t pluck them in order,” mumbled Chief Badger. “Or something prevented him from following the sequence . . .”

  “I don’t understand,” said Vulture pulling a thick glove over his beak. “Who ishn’t fowowing fot shequensh?”

  “Could you please take that thing off your beak?”

  “I’m wearing this thing to work actually,” said Vulture after pulling off the glove and waving it at Badger. “So I don’t hurt myself on the quills of the Hedgy-graph!”

  “But I can’t understand you with it on. ”

  “I said, ‘Who isn’t following what sequence?’ What are you talking about?”

  “Our Plucker is inspired by ‘The Ballad of the Mad Hamster.’ Listen!” Chief Badger opened the charred copy of Forest’s collected works to the bookmarked page. “Devoured before our eyes: Cuckoo and Magpie! Sparrow, Hawk, and Warbler, Wolf, Raven, Hedgehog—the horror!”

  “Hedgehog?” Hedgy perked up.

  “Please hold still.” Vulture frowned. “You almost poked out my eye!”

  “In the poem, the sparrow comes after the magpie. But we have the opposite. Which means the Plucker isn’t following the sequence,” concluded Chief Badger. “We’ve got to assign guard dogs to Doc Hawk and raven Sarah right away. Warbler is already under guard—”

  “I don’t have that many free dogs,” said Vulture. “The raven will have to do without.”

  “Assign a guard to every bird mentioned,” repeated Badger sternly. “Any of them could be the next victim.”

  “Why only birds? What If I’m next?” Hedgy’s quills stood on end.

  “Well, you’ve done it! Jabbed me right in the beak!” yelped Vulture. “I doubt that even the maddest maniac would think of plucking you! Now freeze. Don’t move! I think I’ve found a trace of someone’s fur on one of your quills.”

  “Pardon me, I’m just on edge,” said the hedgehog. “I’ve had quite the day. First, two maniacs catch me: a cat and an arctic fox. Then one of them sits the other one on top of me. Then the maniacs let me go—but the police catch me. And now I find out I’m on the hit list! I’m doomed.”

  “Ow! You stabbed me in the chest! No, I can’t do this without protective gear.” Vulture pulled the glove on to his beak and removed a clump of white fur from one of Hedgy’s quills. “Phoksh phor!”

  “Phoksh,” repeated Starling.

  “What?” said Badger, Hedgy, and Barbara in unison.

  “Fox fur!” Vulture triumphantly pulled the glove off his beak. “The Hedgy-graph doesn’t lie. Arctic Fox really did sit on him.”

  “When Arctic was sitting on me, he said that Badgercat was a psycho and a maniac. That Badgercat suffered from memory lapses and demented thoughts. And that Badgercat is the Plucker!”

  “So this means Badgercat really is a maniac?” asked the alpha dog Count.

  “No, it doesn’t,” said Chief Badger.

  “Why not?” Vulture tilted his head, deep in thought. “The Hedgy-graph is a lie detector. No one ever lies when they sit on him. Which means Arctic was telling the truth.”

  “Arctic told the truth about what he thinks about Badgercat. But that doesn’t mean Arctic’s opinion corresponds with reality. The truth and someone’s perception of the truth are not always the same thing.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Count, cocking his head to one side.

  “What don’t you understand, you bonehead?” shrieked Super Bat suddenly, completely blending in with the black ceiling of the Black House. “Chief Badger is covering up for his partner. It couldn’t be clearer!”

  “How did you get in here, special agent Super Bat?” asked Count, looking all around in disbelief. “We didn’t see you. Or hear you.”

  “But I saw and heard all of you.” Super Bat dropped from the ceiling and began zooming in the predawn haze. “This isn’t an investigation. It’s a beastly embarrassment! Instead of putting all your efforts into catching Badgercat, you’re pecking around, falling asleep on the job, and guessing at the truth.”

  “Do you know the truth?” asked Chief Badger, squinting into the haze.

  “Of course,” said Super Bat confidently. “The truth is Badgercat is the Plucker.”

  “And you’ve come to this conclusion without a single shred of direct evidence and relying exclusively on your and other animal’s speculations!”

  “It seems Vulture has not informed you that the piece of claw that you yourself found in the bark of the oak belongs to Badgercat.”

  “He did inform me.” Badger glumly nodded.

  “But even Badgercat’s claw doesn’t convince you? His claw right next to the hollow in which sparrow Ro was found! Or Badgercat’s paw prints? Or his bite marks on the trunk?”

  “I am only convinced by direct evidence. Neither the claw, the prints, nor the bite marks on the trunk indicate that their owner was the one who plucked the sparrow or any of the other birds. And, actually, Vulture has yet to confirm whose bite marks they are. . .”

  “I cannot believe that you are truly that thickheaded, Chief Badger.” Super Bat smirked crudely. “It seems that your friend Badgercat means more to you than the truth.”

  “The truth—”

  “Irrelevant!” Super Bat cut him off. “We have plenty of evidence of Badgercat’s guilt. And, by the way, I just got a victim’s testimony. A victim has spoken up. And he directly accuses Badgercat. So there’s nothing left to discuss.”

  “Which victim?” asked Badger.

  “The owl.”

  “Chuck?”

  “No, Chuck is still not making much sense. He only says, ‘Br-br-br.’ I’m talking about owl Huck. Huck has spoken.”

  “But Huck already gave his testimony,” said Badger, surprised. “He accused Badgercat of plucking his wing. But then he accidentally let slip that it had been dark and the perpetrator was wearing a mask. That’s to say he didn’t see his face. So his accusation was unfounded.”

  “No, this time Huck had something new to say. He remembered that at one point the perpetrator pulled off his mask. And it was, indeed, Badgercat.”

  “Oh, really? He just happened to remember this out of the blue?” Chief Badger looked Super Bat in the eye. “Or maybe someone pressured him during questioning?”

  “What are you implying?” trilled Super Bat, switching to ultrasound.

  “My head,” said Magpie weakly and began to moan. “My head is ringing. . .”

  “Dear Magpie! You’re awake!” exclaimed Doc Hawk. “All because I chose the right treatment: a warming procedure and beak-to-beak—”

  “Who plucked you, Magpie?” asked Chief Badger quickly. “Can you tell us who is the Plucker?”

  “Badgercat . . . ,” whispered Magpie.

  “What about
Badgercat?”

  “Badgercat is the Plucker. I was coming to him with good intentions, with information, and he attacked me from behind! He hit me over the head with a blunt object, plucked my precious feathers—”

  “He attacked you from behind?” asked Chief Badger. “Did you see his face?”

  “I’ve seen his shameless face a hundred times!”

  “I mean today. At the time of the attack. Are you sure it is was Badgercat?”

  “Enough, Chief Badger!” squealed Super Bat. “You are a sorry excuse for a police badger. You are dismissed from leading the questioning. I will ask the questions!”

  “Oh my! Why are you yelling? So feisty, this one!” said Magpie, staring hazily at Super Bat.

  “The message you were delivering to Badgercat, who was it from?” asked Super Bat coldly.

  “The message . . .” Magpie furrowed her bare plucked brow. “From . . . what’s his name . . . Ping Pong . . . no, King Kong . . . no, wait, Steven King . . .”

  “King Ping?” asked Super Bat. “The missing penguin?”

  “Yes, yes! Him! From King Ping! He sent a message to Badgercat. The two of them had business together!”

  “What business could the penguin have with Badgercat?” Super Bat zoomed wildly along the Black House’s ceiling. She squinted painfully as she repeatedly flew into the golden rays of the rising sun beaming in like sharp spikes through the cracks of the burnt walls. “A bird with the Plucker? A potential victim with a criminal? What was this business that caused the penguin to disappear without a trace? We’re losing them! We’re losing birds one by one! And then finding them plucked! He’s always one step ahead!”

  “Is King Kong even a bird? He can’t fly . . .” Magpie tried to follow Super Bat’s movements, but it caused her head to spin and her eyes to go cross-eyed.

  “What was the message? I need a clear, lucid answer!”

  “The message?” Magpie was frightened. “Um . . . I don’t remember . . . the message . . . I forget . . . My head is ringing! I was hit! Hit with a blunt object!”

  “You’re the blunt object, Magpie!” screamed Super Bat. “I’m flying to the top at once! Emergency meeting!”