“One important thing is that the police must always investigate,” said Detective Gordon.
His speech became a little formal when he’d finished stamping a piece of paper.
“We must investigate!” said Police Assistant Buffy, with a salute. “Yes, Chief!”
She always became a little formal, too.
Then she said happily: “Perhaps we could dress up? In aprons. I could dress as a little dancing, singing mouse who runs around. And you could dress as a very, very old woman limping with a stick.”
Detective Gordon felt a little dismayed.
“Hmmph,” he said. “A second important thing is that police are always proper and correct.”
The two police put on their police hats. Gordon had a Chief of Police hat, which was large and round with a shiny brim. Its big gold emblem bore a royal crown and two trees. Buffy’s was a small sailor’s hat with a little gold dot on it.
Then they went out to investigate. It was a beautiful summer’s day.
Gordon went first. He clasped his hands behind his back, as police do. He stood with his legs apart, rising on his toes a little, which is also what police do.
Buffy did the same. She clasped her hands behind her back and went up on her toes. She badly wanted to be a proper police officer.
First they saw a mouse digging a deep hole.
“What have we here then?” asked Gordon, because police usually ask that.
“What have we here then?” Buffy also said.
The little mouse stopped digging for a moment and wiped the sweat from her brow. “I’m going to make this hole very, very deep. Mice have to keep out of sight…”
The mouse looked around anxiously then scuttled into the hole and went on digging.
“How are the other forest animals these days—nice and kind?” asked Gordon.
He took out his notebook and a pen.
“Ha, ha, ha!” said the mouse from down in the tunnel, where her voice echoed spookily.
Gordon didn’t bother to write down her answer.
The two police continued through the forest towards the lake in the south, an area they didn’t often visit. There they came upon a rabbit who had just found a carrot. Actually, he looked a bit frightened and sad. And he rushed off because he didn’t want to talk to the police.
“Something is wrong,” said Gordon. “You’re absolutely right, my good Buffy. We must investigate further. A third important thing is that police divide up the job of investigation. One has to climb trees. And one has to swim in the lake.”
“I’m no good at swimming,” said Buffy.
“But I am!” said Gordon, pleased with himself.
“What? Fantastic! I didn’t know you could swim.”
“I am in fact a toad! Humph.”
He took off all his clothes but kept the Chief of Police hat on. Then he swam calmly and steadily out into the lake.
Buffy watched him float like a solid ball away from the beach. A real police officer, she thought as she scampered up the nearest oak tree.
Gordon first swam over to some lizards sunning themselves on an island. Lizards are friendly cousins of toads—but they do tend to be very quiet.
Then he swam alongside a family of ducks: a mother with seven downy ducklings. But they just jabbered confusingly, all at the same time.
After a lot more swimming, he finally came upon a snake hunting for breakfast.
Gordon didn’t really like snakes. An elderly relative of his had disappeared into a snake’s belly. Snakes were skinny and slinking, with big mouths, nasty tongues, and cold eyes. Gordon was pleased that today in particular he was wearing his police hat.
“All well?” he asked.
“Absssolutely not,” hissed the snake. “Sssadly, they’re sssaying nasssty thingsss.”
“That is certainly not permitted,” said Gordon. “What sort of nasty things?”
“That sssnakes have big mouthsss and are ssskinny and ssslinking…”
“Hmmm,” said Gordon, blushing a little. “It’s certainly not permissible to say such things. But who is it that…”
“Sssee you!” was all the snake dared say before slinking away.
Gordon had a think.
There was a bad atmosphere in the woods and in the lake. In his police district. And that he could not tolerate.
But who was it saying such unkind and nasty things? Who?
Meanwhile, Buffy had climbed as high as she could up the oak tree. She hadn’t met anyone to interrogate on the way.
But on a dead branch at the top sat a shabby bird. It was a crow with her head hanging down.
“Croak,” the bird called forlornly to the world.
“How are things here then?” asked Buffy, with a salute.
The crow looked at her gloomily. Her feet were rough and knobbly, and her beak was big and sharp.
Buffy felt uneasy. A little frightened, in fact, even though she was a police officer. She saluted once more, mostly to point to her police hat. Eating police was sure to be a serious crime.
But suddenly the crow began to cry. Buffy had never seen a crow cry before. The bird made a croaky, sobbing, hoarse, coughing cry. Large tears rolled over her shiny beak.
“There, there,” said Buffy, stroking the big crow cautiously on her head. “Please don’t worry. The police are here and can solve whatever it is.”
A large drip dropped from her beak, and Buffy had to jump aside to avoid being soaked.
What do you say to comfort a crow? Should you use baby-talk?
“There, there, lovey-dove, it’ll all turn out fine,” said Buffy.
The crow leaned her heavy head on Buffy’s tiny shoulder. The bird smelled vaguely of mud, rain, and rotting leaves.
“You wouldn’t say that I’m all gray and scrappy?” moaned the crow. “Or that my babies are ugly bits of rubbish…”
“Who says that?” Buffy burst out. “You’re black and stylish, with splendid wings.”
It felt a bit strange to be saying such things.
“Who’s telling you all this?” the police assistant asked again.
The crow abruptly stopped crying and flew from her perch without a word.
Buffy got no answer.
When Gordon and Buffy bumped into each another a minute or two later, the detective was puffing, he was so tired. He held up his large notebook for his friend the police assistant. In it he had written a single word:
WHO?
Buffy showed him her little notebook. She’d written a few lines here and there.
Just then a big black and white bird flew over the field.
Black and white, thought Gordon. Didn’t I dream of something black and white?
