DEPARTMENT OF INSANITY, 7.5 HA HA ROAD, LONDON
TIME REMAINING: 23 HOURS, 49 MINUTES
W aiting for Inspector Dormouse inside the Department of Insanity’s office, I can’t help but ask the Pillar about the street name where the department is located: “Ha Ha Road?”
“Would have sounded better if it were Bonkers Road, Fruitcake Alley, or Lala Avenue.” The Pillar keeps gesturing at police officers while we talk. He seems to enjoy being among them too much—not bad for a serial killer. “But I checked it on Google Maps. It’s a legitimate street name. Maybe that’s why they built the Department of Insanity here.”
“The sign says Crimes of Insanity, but everyone prefers to call it Department of Insanity.”
“Well, you can’t really call it Crimes of Insanity. If a person is mad, it can’t be a crime. Thus the diversion, but I like it. Here he comes.” He cheers at Inspector Dormouse, arriving with his beady eyes.
“Sorry, had to take an afternoon nap,” the inspector says and sits across from us.
“It’s not afternoon yet—” I swallow the sentence when the Pillar kicks my foot under the table.
“We need your help, Inspector,” the Pillar says. “Remember my request on the phone?”
“I do.” Inspector Dormouse’s belly ripples to his sigh. “You’re looking to meet the so-called March Hare.”
“Yes. We have evidence that he is connected to several cases of animal crimes,” the Pillar says. “We’d like to interrogate him.”
“But the March Hare has been locked up for years,” Dormouse says. “He is a very dangerous man.”
“We have evidence he organized a crew of animal offenders before he was locked up.” The Pillar does all the talking. I can barely grasp how the March Hare is talked about so openly. “It would be a big favor if you helped us meet him. He might lead us to how to stop the rabbit from exploding.”
“But no rabbit is going to explode anymore,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Can’t you see? We’re past the deadline of 666 minutes. It was all a hoax by a crazy magician in a cheap circus.”
“Again, we have evidence the deadline has been extended for another twenty-four hours,” the Pillar says.
“What evidence?” Inspector Dormouse suddenly seems alert. “Can I see it?”
“It’s classified,” the Pillar says.
“I’m the police. Nothing is classified to me,” Inspector Dormouse says.
“You’re the Department of Insanity on 7.5 Ha Ha Street,” the Pillar remarks in a slightly mocking manner. “I’m sorry, but you’re not really the police.”
“You’re right.” Inspector Dormouse waves his fatty hand in the air. “I hate my job. We haven’t solved one case since we were hired a few years ago. How am I supposed to catch a madman and convict him of a crime? A bomb inside a rabbit. Huh.”
“I suppose you could help us, then,” I offer. “We promise you’ll get the credit if we catch the rabbit.”
The Pillar cranes his head with admiration toward me. “She always keeps her promises,” he tells Inspector Dormouse, as he flashes a thumb at me. “I assure you, she’s not mad like all those criminals you chase. Not in the slightest. She doesn’t even own a Certificate of Insanity.”
“You look like a fine young woman,” Inspector Dormouse says. “My daughter would look up to you. She likes animals and likes saving them.” He takes a moment to think it over. His head falls onto his chest as he thinks. He is about to sleep again. “So.” Inspector Dormouse comes back from sleep. “What were we saying?”
“The March Hare,” I say. “We’d like to meet him.” We have to meet him, and soon.
“Ah, that.”
“Why is he called the March Hare, by the way?” I ask.
“Because he is as mad as a March Hare.” Inspector Dormouse chuckles.
“Mad as a March Hare?” I am really confused about this. I thought the saying was “mad as a Hatter,” although I know now that the Hatter was never described as “mad” in the book.
“It’s an old saying, young girl,” Inspector Dormouse says. “In my days we used to say things like ‘you’re mad as a March Hare ’ or ‘mad as a bag of snakes. ’”
“Or ‘mad as a box of frogs, ’” the Pillar offers.
“See, Professor Petmaster knows.” Inspector Dormouse yawns.
“Mad as a casket in the basket.” The Pillar can’t help it.
“Mad as the holes in socks. ” Inspector Dormouse stands up and high-fives him.
“Mad as a parrot with a carrot!” the Pillar says.
Officers around turn their heads at the two loons I am talking to.
“Mad as the man in the van. ” Inspector Dormouse looks wide awake now. No coffee needed.
“Can anyone tell me why he is called the March Hare?” I almost yell in frustration. Seriously, why are all these people not locked away in an asylum?
“Hmm...” Inspector Dormouse adjusts his loose tie and sits back. “Well, young lady, it’s because he is usually nervous, unable to relax, always feeling anxious, and everything around him is a conspiracy.”
“Did you know that?” I turn and look at the Pillar.
“I heard about him.” He cocks his head.
“So, does he have a real name?” I ask the inspector.
“Certainly,” he says. “His name is Professor Jittery March.”
“He is a professor?”
“An exceptional Scottish scientist, indeed,” Inspector Dormouse says. “A theorist, architect, and landscapist.”
“Wow, all that,” I say. “I bet he is nicknamed March Hare for all his talents.”
“Not at all,” Inspector Dormouse says. “Professor Jittery March is now locked in a high-tech asylum. He is the maddest of the mad.”
“Asylum?” I look at the Pillar.
“Top-level high-tech asylum, if I have to repeat myself,” Inspector Dormouse says.
“Why?”
Inspector Dormouse takes a long breath and then says, “A few people are allocated to such secure asylums. They say he has gone mad looking for doors to Wonderland.”