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We didn’t have long to search for the model’s constant companion: on the other side of the glass window a little doggie was staring back at us. It looked like one of the Ewoks in those Star Wars movies: very tiny and very hairy.

“It looks like a rat,” said Dooley when he caught sight of the creature.

“I’m sure it’s not a rat,” I assured him.

“Or a badger.”

The doggie, recovering from the shock of this sudden and unexpected intrusion, started barking furiously, jerking back and forth as it did in a sort of full-body spasm. For a moment I thought it was going to have a heart attack, but it seemed to be the way it responded to unwanted intruders.

After what felt like an eternity, a human person appeared, and when I looked up, I found myself gazing into the face that had once been described by an astute observer as the most beautiful face in the world.

Now I’m not a human myself, of course, so I’m not exactly the best judge of what constitutes or doesn’t constitute beauty in humans, but this particular face didn’t exactly strike me as particularly beautiful. Then again, tastes differ.

Ona Konpacka, if this was her, had a sort of square face, with plenty of lumps where no lumps were supposed to be, and lips that were entirely too plump for comfort. In fact her face looked like a landscape, but with the dales and peaks in all the wrong places. Possibly a consequence of that botched cosmetic procedure.

She frowned at us a good deal, picking up Joey in the process, then finally opened the sliding glass door to take a closer look at this oddly mismatched duo.

“Did you guys get lost?” she asked. “You climbed and climbed and now you don’t know how to get down?”

As agreed, both Dooley and I started meowing piteously, clawing the air with one paw, and making the kind of pleading faces humans think only dogs can make. It prompted the kind of response we were hoping for: Ona Konpacka’s cat eyes—perhaps the result of one too many facelifts—turned moist with pity.

“Oh, will you look at these two sweeties!” she cried, as she bent down. In the process the Ewok poured from her arms and took up its barking frenzy once more. “No, Joey,” said Ona sternly. “Can’t you see you’re scaring the poor kitties?”

“Yeah, you’re scaring the poor kitties, Joey,” said Dooley.

The doggie abruptly stopped barking.“Who are you?” it demanded.

“My name is Max,” I said. “And this is my friend Dooley.”

“I’ll go and get you something to eat,” Ona announced, and wagged a warning finger at Joey. “There will be no more barking, you hear? Be nice to the kitties.”

“Yes, be nice to the kitties,” Dooley echoed.

Ona returned indoors, and then it was just us and Joey.

“So are you a girl or a boy?” asked Dooley, curious. “Or neither?”

“How can I be neither?” said Joey, plunking down on its tush.

“We met a person in Paris who was neither a boy or a girl,” Dooley explained.

“Well, if you must know, I’m a girl,” said Joey. “Though I’m not sure if it’s any of your business.” She was still eyeing us with distinct hostility, so I felt we needed to address the situation if we were to make any progress here today.

“Look, we’re not here to stay,” I told her. “Or to invade your space. We’re here because a man died last night, and we think he was murdered. And now we’re trying to figure out who could have murdered him. And since your human knew this man, we wanted to have a chat and see what she knows.”

Joey gave me a look of surprise.“Someone was murdered? Who?”

“Michael Madison,” I said. “The publisher ofGlimmer magazine?”

“I knowGlimmer,” said Joey. “Ona used to work for them a lot.”

“She was on the cover twelve times!” said Dooley, who’d listened carefully when Odelia had given us our brief for this interview. “The most times any model was featured onGlimmer—ever.”

“And Ona kept every single cover, framed on the wall of her study.” Then Joey’s furry little face sagged. “Or at least she used to. Now they’re all packed up in a crate somewhere, locked up in storage—probably forever. She removed every single photograph of herself and every single mirror from the apartment after…”

“After the incident,” I said, nodding.

Joey glanced over her shoulder.“It was a sad day when it happened, and Ona still hasn’t recovered. We used to travel the globe, you know, she and I. One week we were in Thailand for a shoot on the beach, the next in Paris for a shoot with the Eiffel Tower as backdrop, or Bermuda or Senegal or Switzerland. It was a jet-setting life and all great fun… As long as it lasted.”

“She doesn’t leave the apartment anymore?”

“Hasn’t set foot outside since… the incident.”

“Doesn’t eat out? Doesn’t receive visitors?”