The Big Over Easy

Briggs was at the door. He didn’t look quite as angry as Jack had supposed he might be.

“Yes, sir.”

“I could have sworn you told me yesterday it was suicide.”

“I made a mistake. I’d spoken to you before Mrs. Singh’s initial report. There’s a copy on my desk—”

“I’ve read it, Jack. So he was shot—by whom?”

Jack outlined what had happened in the investigation so far, which wasn’t very much. Briggs didn’t seem bowled over with enthusiasm, but then Briggs never was. The three pigs he had never been keen on, and the emperor’s-new-clothes fraud inquiry had similarly been looked upon with tepidity. Even so, his answer surprised Jack.

“Well,” he said as soon as Jack had finished, “seems like you’re doing fine. Keep me informed of any developments, and if there’s anything you want, anything at all, just call me.” He paused and then added, “As long as it’s not extra manpower, overtime, funds or… anything else I don’t agree with. I’ll have my secretary prepare a list. I meant what I said earlier about fast results. The budgetary meeting is next week, and an early arrest would do a lot towards continued funding. And listen: This doesn’t mean you’re excused from the Sacred Gonga security duties. I’m short-staffed as it is, and we’ve overspent this year already.”

He thought for a moment.

“One other thing: I’ve just spoken to the Chief. He’s had a call from Solomon Grundy himself, who lambasted him for half an hour about your threats. Do you seriously expect me to believe that Grundy is behind all this?”

“It’s possible, sir. Winsum and Loosum are set on owning all Spongg’s foot-care remedies. Dumpty blocked a takeover bid and then seemed set on some kind of a plan to save Spongg’s.”

“What sort of plan?”

“I don’t know, but with Dumpty out of the picture, there is no barrier to Winsum and Loosum’s eventual takeover of Spongg’s. They have the best motive I can see, and what’s more, Solomon himself lost two million in Humpty’s Splotvian mineral-rights scam.”

“The one in 1990? Fourteen years ago?”

“Yes,” said Jack, “that one.”

“And the proof?”

Jack stared at Briggs.

“That’s what the search warrant is for, sir.”

“What search warrant?”

“This one,” said Jack, holding the request up a bit weakly.

Briggs glared at him, took the application and tore it in half.

“Sorry, Jack. You’re going to have to do better than this. Words burnt into the wall. Voices from burning bushes, three witches around a cauldron. Anything. No hearsay, no suspicions and definitely no hunches. You don’t pester Mr. Grundy or Winsum and Loosum until I see that proof and sanction it.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Jack. The answer is no. We’ve got the Jellyman coming to town, and that’s a big deal. Grundy’s forty million to keep the Sacred Gonga in Reading is going to be a big tourism pull for the city—why would anyone want to visit Reading without the Sacred Gonga?”

“The river? SommeWorld? The Friedland Museum? Castle Spongg? Shopping?”

“It’s no joking matter. Think of the big picture. Think of Reading.” He lightened and laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but it’s politics. Seventh floor. Don’t forget, if you get any proof, come to me first.”

He looked at his watch. “Are you going to attend the press briefing, Spratt?”

“I didn’t think I’d bother, sir.”

“I think perhaps you should.”

“Because they might be interested this time around?”

“Not at all. It just allows Friedland to shine with greater luster.”

“Then how could I refuse?”

“Good. And I want a full report on my desk ASAP and not a Jack Spratt keep-the-NCD-going-at-all-costs special.”

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them happily.

“Right. Well, I must speak to Friedland before he goes on. Solved another one this morning, y’know—remarkable fellow!”

Briggs gathered up his papers and strode off.

“Well,” said Mary, who had returned to Jack’s side, “are we still on the case?”

“It seems so,” said Jack with furrowed brow, “but Briggs wasn’t his usual shouting, screaming, threatening-to-suspend-me self. I hope he’s not unwell or anything—or perhaps he’s just happy with the way things are going. What do you think?”

Mary felt herself swallow, and her mouth went dry. It could easily be explained. She knew that Friedland was poised to take over the inquiry, and it would be with her help, too.

“I… I have no idea, sir.”

“Me neither,” muttered Jack, “but I’m not complaining. Any news on Mrs. Dumpty?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“We can’t search through Grundy’s boardroom minutes, so do some background delving, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. What is it, Gretel?”

“Skinner sent down a report.”

He read it carefully.

“The cartridges didn’t match,” announced Jack, handing the report to Mary. “The Marchetti did belong to the woodcutters, but it wasn’t the one used to kill them. That’s a relief. I wasn’t keen on having to wade through one of Friedland’s old cases. And I was a fool to think he might be wrong.”

He walked from the room.