Zengo could see that O’Malley was seething from the insult, but he knew they wouldn’t get anywhere by fighting. He reached out and shook her wing. “I’m Rick Zengo and this here’s my partner, Corey O’Malley. We were hoping that we could chat with you for a bit.”
“Well, Officers . . .”
“Detectives,” O’Malley interrupted.
“Detectives, whatever,” said Audrey. “I have a few minutes, but there is an important meeting coming up. I’m working on a campaign for a big mini-golf course and we’re locking down the designs today.”
“A big mini-golf course? Ha! Now that’s an oxymoron,” said O’Malley.
“What brings you two all the way to Walhalla?” Audrey asked as she sauntered over to the refrigerator she kept next to her desk. “Could I get either of you a drink?”
“No, thank you,” Zengo said.
“Sure, I’ll take a seltzer, please,” asked O’Malley. Audrey opened the fridge. There were seltzers, juices, waters—and wheels upon wheels of cheese.
O’Malley probably wasn’t even thirsty. He just wanted a chance to see what was inside her refrigerator. Hadn’t he told Zengo time and time again that clues are everywhere? Zengo scanned the room to see if there was anything else of interest. But what more did he need to find? A refrigerator full of cheese was highly suspicious all by itself. Or perhaps just strange.
“We wanted to ask you about the Dome,” said O’Malley, popping open the can of seltzer.
“Ah, the Kalamazoo City Dome!” Audrey nodded, a smile freezing on her face. “Off to a bumpy start. But mark my words: from the publicity standpoint, it will ultimately be one of my finest accomplishments. What do you need to know? I’ll tell you whatever I can, as long as you don’t ask me to reveal any trade secrets. I didn’t become the nation’s number one tourism guru by giving those away for free!”
“We’re not really concerned about your PR campaign, but about how you were chosen to run it,” said O’Malley. He stood up and paced around Audrey’s office, pausing to admire the handiwork of each scale model as he did so. “It’s just that folks from Walhalla aren’t usually quick to contribute their services to the benefit of Kalamazoo City. Why would you want to run a campaign to bring more tourism there?”
“A job is a job, gentlemen. It’s as simple as that. I didn’t get to where I am today by turning down high-profile work.”
“You must have had to beat out a lot of competition for the job,” said O’Malley as he brought his bill down close for a better look at the scale model of Kalamazoo City Dome. “This really is impressive stuff.”
“Thank you. Well, those models were created by the design team over at Robertson and Sons. Nothing but the best for this project.”
Second best, thought Zengo, thinking bitterly about his father, whose firm never even got to bid on the Dome project.
“As for landing the job, well . . . we here at Strive don’t need to compete for jobs. We haven’t bid on a job in years. No, Mayor Saunders came to us himself,” said Audrey. “In fact, Mayor Saunders is an old friend. We went to college together. So really, it wasn’t a question of if I’d get the job, but when I would start brainstorming slogans to put on billboards.”
“You went to school in Kalamazoo City?” asked Zengo.
“I most certainly did not,” she laughed with scorn, and gestured to a pennant on the wall. “Eddie and I went to Walhalla University. We even lived in the same dorm freshman year.”
Zengo caught O’Malley’s eye. “Eddie?” he mouthed.
Audrey’s office manager opened the office doors. “Ms. Davis, the Putt-Putt Corporation representatives are here to see you.”
“Thanks, Janice,” said Audrey, standing. “Please send them right in. We’re all done here, right, Detectives? Thanks for your visit. Please do feel free to stop by whenever you are in town.”
“Did we just get kicked out?” Zengo said to O’Malley as they shuffled into the elevator and pressed L for lobby.
“I can’t think of another way to interpret what happened.”
There was no doubt. They had been dissed. As they rode down in the elevator, Zengo began to spin scenarios.
“Did you see what was in her refrigerator?” he asked.
“You bet I did.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking albatrosses don’t eat a whole lot of cheese.”
WALHALLA UNIVERSITY MAIN CAMPUS, 4:45 P.M.
Zengo and O’Malley sneaked into the back of an auditorium that was filled with at least three hundred students. Some were taking copious notes. Others were trying to hide their cell phones as they sent text messages to friends. Still others were fully asleep at their desks. Based on the droning tone of the professor at the front of the classroom, and the whiteboard filled with complicated equations, Zengo figured Intro to Roller Coasters 101 was not the easy A that O’Malley had assumed it would be.
The detectives took seats in the back row. Zengo tried to understand what Professor Treeger was talking about. But he might as well have been speaking in a foreign language.
“And so, a roller coaster is able to keep its passengers in their seats thanks to the centrifugal force brought upon by both the speed and the direction in which the car is traveling. Now, I wouldn’t suggest you ride without a seat belt. There are portions of a track where you most certainly will fall out and plummet to your doom. But the principles of physics that make the roller coaster so fun are also the same ones that keep the rider safe. Scientifically speaking, it would be more of a challenge to make a roller coaster car stop upside down halfway through a loop than it would be to build one that works properly!”
Professor Treeger laughed nervously and glanced up. Did his gaze settle directly on Zengo and O’Malley? He continued. “Aside from the fascinating physics involved in constructing a loop-de-loop, it makes for a heck of a thrill ride. And in the end, after all of these equations and numbers, that is what designing amusement park rides is all about.”
He quickly looked at his watch. “My, look at the time. Please read the next chapter of your textbooks and be prepared for a short quiz in our next meeting. Class dismissed; have a thrilling day, people.”
Zengo walked with O’Malley to the front of the classroom as the crush of students flowed the other way. I’d be running out of here, too. When they reached the professor, he was madly shoving too much paperwork into a too-small briefcase.
“Professor Treeger?” asked O’Malley, flashing his badge.
“Um, yes, that—that is me,” said the professor, not meeting O’Malley’s gaze.
“We were hoping to ask you a few questions,” said Zengo.
“I’m terribly sorry, but I am late, late, late,” said the professor as he threw on his coat and grabbed his briefcase.
“That’s cool, we can walk with you,” said Zengo as he strode alongside the hurried teacher.
O’Malley stepped up along the other side of Professor Treeger as they entered the hallway. “We’re mobile!” he said with a grin. “Some fascinating stuff back there, teach.”
“Yes, well, thank you,” said Professor Treeger as he pushed open the doors to the parking lot. “I’m passionate about what I do.”
“And you’re good at it, too. I’ve seen the rides at the new Kalamazoo City Dome, and they’re—”
“If you think that I had anything to do with the fiasco on the Dome’s opening night”—the professor cut Zengo off—“I can assure you that I did not.”
“Who said anything about the opening night?” asked O’Malley.
“I take pride in what I do. I—I—I am horrified by wh-wh-what happened that night.”
“We all are,” continued O’Malley in a reasonable tone. “And we’re trying to get to the bottom of what went wrong. Since you’re the guy who designed the attractions, we thought you might have some insight into what happened. We heard what you said up there, about making a roller coaster stop upside down. Do you
know that’s exactly what happened at the Dome opening night?”
“Um, I can’t say I heard that specifically, no. I read about the fires in the newspaper. Look, I’m late for a meeting with the dean.” Professor Treeger unlocked his car and opened the door. “Good evening, Detectives.” And with that, Frederick Treeger got behind the wheel, turned on the ignition, and drove off.
“Crazy old kook,” said Zengo.
“I’ll say. He was pretty jumpy.”
“Something tells me that he’s not used to dealing with detectives sniffing around his territory.”
“I’m not sure he’s used to dealing with people much in general.”
“You think he’s behind the Dome Disaster?”
“Too soon to tell,” said O’Malley as they got into their car. “And we can’t rush to conclusions just based on the fact that he was acting squirrely. I know we’ve only just started checking out the professor, but so far, I’m not seeing a clear motive.” O’Malley looked at the setting sun in the rearview mirror as they got onto the highway. “One more stop,” he said.
Zengo opened his laptop. “Maurice Robertson is building that new MegaMall on the old Walhalla-Kalamazoo City Byway.” He shook his head. “Isn’t one MegaMall enough for this cheesy town?”
O’Malley smirked. “Since when has that ever stopped anyone?”
ROBERTSON AND SONS CONSTRUCTION SITE, OLD WALHALLA-KALAMAZOO CITY BYWAY, 6:00 P.M.
“Look at the size of this construction site!” said Zengo when the signs emblazoned with the Robertson and Sons logo came into view.
O’Malley brought the car to a crawl. “Quite the MegaMall.”
“Pretty upscale, based on the stores they’ll be putting in,” said Zengo, motioning to the logos on the coming-soon sign. “People in Walhalla must have cash to burn.”
O’Malley stopped the car and threw it in park. Both detectives stepped out onto the scene. The sky was growing darker, but floodlights lit the construction site like it was noon on a summer day. Workers crawled over the landscape like ants at a picnic, carrying supplies, running construction vehicles, and building a consumer’s dreamscape brick by brick.
“Do you think Maurice is here?” asked O’Malley. “Or in a comfy office somewhere?”
“Oh, he’s here all right,” said Zengo, gesturing to a large black SUV with tinted windows and a Walhalla University bumper sticker. “I’d know that gas guzzler of his anywhere. It’s in all of the publicity shots for Maurice’s projects.”
They walked over to a trailer compound. “I’ll bet our boy is in there somewhere calling the shots,” said O’Malley.
“Unless he’s already headed home to his mansion,” said Zengo.
O’Malley gave Zengo a sideways glance. “Well, we haven’t been to his house; we don’t know how big it is. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
For the second time that day, Zengo clamped his bill shut. At least O’Malley hadn’t called him rookie that time.
They found the construction magnate standing at a long table outside the largest of the trailers. Maurice Robertson loomed over a set of blueprints and barked orders to a ragtag group in hard hats. “I want that drywall installed in the south end of the mall before the end of the week!”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said O’Malley. “We plan on working overtime, so long as we get time and a half for wages.”
Maurice looked up to find two Platypus Police Squad badges in his face. “Mall’s not open yet, guys. Come on back in a few weeks.”
“A few weeks? Seems like an awfully quick turnaround to get an entire mall up and running,” said O’Malley.
“That’s what we do at Robertson and Sons Construction. We get it done, on time and on budget.”
“You mean you cut corners and use cheap materials?” said Zengo.
Robertson glared at Zengo. “You’re Zengo’s kid, aren’t you?” he said. “The resemblance is unmistakable.”
“So what if I am?” said Zengo. “That’s not why I’m here.” He was going to say more, but he caught O’Malley’s warning look.
“I’m sorry, but I have a mall to build. I don’t have time to sit and chat.” Maurice strode off toward the construction site. His team hustled after him, Zengo and O’Malley hot on their heels.
“You seem like you’re kind of in a hurry,” said O’Malley, panting as he kept pace. “That’s pretty typical for you, isn’t it?”
Robertson stopped, turned, and glared at O’Malley. “What are you getting at, copper?” he said.
“Detective,” corrected O’Malley. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of what went wrong opening night of the Kalamazoo City Dome. And who better to ask than the guy who built it?”
“Most of that falls under the heading of trade secrets,” said Robertson. “And I’m not about to give away any of those to Zengo’s kid.” He guffawed and punched Zengo in the shoulder. “But then again, who am I kidding? What is your dad going to do? Build a six-story pyrotechnics tower into his next kitchen project?” The guys in hard hats chuckled. Zengo remained silent, but didn’t break eye contact with the construction mogul.
“You sure get a lot of high-profile jobs,” said O’Malley, nodding to the in-progress shopping mecca. “How do you find time to get all of them built, on time and on budget?”
“I land a lot of projects because I’m the best. I’m sure Zengo’s old man could tell you that, right, Detective?”
Though Zengo was getting hot under the collar, he kept his cool.
“Well, with all due respect to my partner’s dad, yes, your reputation precedes you,” said O’Malley. “But what would a proud Walhallian want with a job in Kalamazoo City? When there’s clearly so much business in Walhalla?”
“What contractor wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to construct a playground like the Dome? Not to mention the spectacular challenge of constructing a retractable roof to make the park accessible year-round? This was a contractor’s dream.”
“Well, reports are coming in that the roof actually doesn’t work,” said O’Malley.
“Nonsense!” replied Maurice defensively.
“It’s true,” O’Malley continued. “Word on the scene was that the cause of the smoke and fire damage was the roof’s failure to properly retract.”
“Listen,” said Maurice, his face turning red, “I build these sites based on what I’m given in the blueprints. Maybe you should be talking to that loony bin of an engineer who designed the park! My craftsmanship is unparalleled!”
“Hey, man, don’t shoot the messenger,” said O’Malley coolly. “I thought you were a part of a Dream Team.”
“Ha! Dream Team? Sure, we’re all from Walhalla, but that doesn’t mean all of us know what we’re doing.” He checked his watch. “Listen, I don’t have time for this. If you want to set up a meeting, call my secretary. I’m on a job right now, and time is money. Besides,” said Maurice, tapping his hard hat, “this is a hard-hat-only area. Good evening, Detectives.”
The largest member of Maurice’s crew stepped forward. “Shall I escort them off the property?”
Zengo waved him off. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.”
Zengo and O’Malley turned and made their way to the car.
“Sure doesn’t like criticism, does he?” said Zengo.
“Nope,” said O’Malley. “And when push came to shove, he sure didn’t hesitate to throw one of his colleagues under the bus. Come on, it’s been a long day. Let’s get some shut-eye and put all these pieces together in the morning.”
PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD HEADQUARTERS, 8:30 A.M.
O’Malley had his feet up on his desk as he sipped his fourth coffee the next morning. Zengo sat across from his partner at his own desk, clicking through websites as they talked. Diaz and Lucinni flanked the detectives on either side. For once, they weren’t hurling insults at one another, but laying out possible motives of the suspects that they had.
“The problem,” Lucinni said, “is
that we don’t have any way of tracking down the guy from the photo. Dome security tells us he isn’t one of the rats that works for them. The uniform must have been counterfeit.”
“Speaking of rats, why would Audrey fill her office fridge with cheese?” pondered O’Malley.
“She could just really like cheese,” said Diaz.
“But in her office? It must have been for someone visiting her.”
“Maybe some of her clients are mice?” suggested Lucinni.
“None that I can find,” said Zengo. He had already combed through Strive’s website and looked at their client list. “Still, it’s far from conclusive. She has too much to lose if the Dome fails. Why would she take the risk of hiring this guy to sabotage it?”
“She knew the mayor in college. Maybe they had a falling-out?” suggested O’Malley.
“Speaking of Walhalla U, what about the college professor?” asked Lucinni. “He sounds like he was acting rather sketchy.”
“But amusement-park rides are his whole life,” said Zengo. “How often does he get the chance to build a project of this scale? It’s his reputation on the line if the thing goes south. And I’m not seeing any sort of motive here.”
“Except . . .” said O’Malley, taking the last sip of his coffee. “Do you remember when he talked about the challenge of making a roller coaster stop upside down? Maybe he decided to turn the park into his own little physics experiment.”
“You think?” Zengo asked.
“Not sure. It’s a little thin, I’ll admit. Now, I do think that Maurice Robertson has a thorn or two in his side about our hometown, more so than any of the other Dome players.”
“Yeah, he sure had a short fuse,” said Zengo. “But would he sabotage the Dome’s opening? It seems like he has as much to lose as anyone.”
“I don’t know about sabotage,” said O’Malley. “But we know he’s been cutting corners with his work for years. Maybe it finally caught up to him when the Dome broke down, and now he’s trying to push the blame onto anyone but himself.”
Platypus Police Squad : The Ostrich Conspiracy (9780062071675) Page 6
