The Big Over Easy

“It all makes sense. Don’t you see? The Sacred Gonga Visitors’ Center is the ideal place to spread the verruca virus. Air-conditioned and with precise humidity control—and everyone having to walk with reverential bare feet. Ordinary verrucas are bad enough, but this monster is capable of anything.”

“Professor Hardiman was expecting ten thousand visitors this afternoon and more than a million over the next six months,” observed Mary, dialing feverishly.

“And every single one of them taking home ultrainfectious superverrucas to spread around their homes. No wonder Humpty was confident he could pledge fifty million to St. Cerebellum’s.”

“So who killed Mr. Dumpty?” asked Brown-Horrocks.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jack replied. “Dr. Carbuncle. They were partners. Humpty buys the shares, and Carbuncle supplies the virus. Only Carbuncle gets greedy. He kills Humpty in order to keep all the shares for himself. Winkie tries to blackmail him, so Carbuncle kills him, too. Then we get too close for comfort, so he wires the Zephyr. He was good, but not quite good enough.”

Brown-Horrocks ticked a few boxes and scribbled a note. “So who did Humpty marry?”

Jack stopped and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Not sure about that yet—but when we find Carbuncle, we’ll find her, too.”

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order,” said Brown-Horrocks. “I’ll be honest. When I first met you, I thought you were a complete imbecile. But now I’m very glad to be present at the conclusion of what must have been at times a very tricky investigation.”

“Well,” said Jack modestly, “it was touch and go for a moment there.”

“Sir?” said Mary in a hoarse whisper.

“Not now, Mary. So, Mr. Brown-Horrocks, how does your report read?”

“I’m really not at liberty to discuss it, Inspector, but—”

“Sir!”

“Excuse me for a moment.”

Jack went out into the corridor and joined Mary. “What is it?”

“It’s Dr. Carbuncle.”

“Where?”

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the second bedroom. “In here.”

Jack glanced at Brown-Horrocks, but thankfully he was engaged in making some notes. Jack stepped into the bedroom and stopped. Lying on the floor with a single bullet hole in his chest was Carbuncle.

“Shit! Are you sure it’s him?”

“Quite sure. Look at the picture.”

He compared it to the photo Professor Tarsus had given them. There was no mistake.

“Blast! I’ve just told Brown-Horrocks that it was Carbuncle who killed Humpty!”

“Problems?” asked Brown-Horrocks, who was wondering what they were talking about.

“Not really,” said Jack, “I just might have been a little over-hasty with the summing up I gave you.”

“It’s Carbuncle in there, isn’t it?”

There didn’t seem any point in hiding it, so Jack gave up on the possibility of becoming Guild and had a good look around the house. In the room where they found Carbuncle, there was also Humpty’s bed, a large divan with an oval cut out of it. There were magazines scattered about, a lot of copies of The Financial Toad and several prospectuses that outlined the St. Cerebellum’s rebuilding appeal. He pulled up the mattress and found a few love letters from Bessie Brooks but not much else. He walked despondently outside to await SOCO and the biohazard team. Brown-Horrocks was making some notes, and Mary was on the phone. Jack still wasn’t there yet. He had missed something. But what?

He looked up at the sky, which was covered by a thick layer of stratus clouds that moved slowly across the landscape. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen the sun. Then, to the south, a small hole opened up in the cloud and a beam of light spilt to earth, warm and welcoming after the prolonged winter and dismal spring. The pool of bright sunlight fell to earth two fields away, startling some sheep who had forgotten they possessed shadows. Then the hole closed again, and soft, directionless light once more settled on the earth.

“He lied to us,” said Jack quietly to himself as something clicked in his head. “He lied to us all along. He had all the motive anyone would ever need. I was a fool not to see it!”

He turned, took Mary’s phone and hurriedly dialed the NCD offices. If he was right, then he knew who had killed Humpty—and Carbuncle.

The little Austin Allegro sped along the narrow country track with Jack in the passenger seat, Mary driving and Brown-Horrocks folded up in the rear. Despite the misdiagnosis, Brown-Horrocks seemed determined to see the whole thing through, if not for anything but a strange sort of curiosity to watch what Jack would do next. They left Carbuncle’s smallholding as soon as an officer arrived to keep the area secure; Briggs had called Jack to confirm that the Sacred Gonga Visitors’ Center had been cordoned off. Chymes, thought Jack, must be kicking himself—he’d never had anything as dramatically complex as a biohazard incident.