PLATYPUS POLICE SQUAD HEADQUARTERS, 6:10 P.M.

The squirrel fidgeted in his seat. The chair wasn’t designed to be comfortable. It wasn’t even built for his size—his head barely made it to the top of the table. The room was dark, the only light cast by a single lamp that hung down from the ceiling over the table. It was quiet—except for the sound of a ticking clock.

A door hinge squeaked. In walked Detectives O’Malley and Cooper.

“So . . . whoever you are,” said O’Malley.

The squirrel did not look up.

“You think you’re pretty clever, withholding your name,” O’Malley continued. “But we have ways of making you talk. And once we run your paw prints through the system, I’m willing to bet we’ll be able to ID you. Even though you’re nothing more than a punk kid, I don’t think this is your first time in a police station.”

The squirrel did not look up.

“What I particularly want to know,” said O’Malley, getting right in the squirrel’s face, “is what you’ve been up to this past week. Specifically, where were you two nights ago . . . and yesterday evening?”

The squirrel leaned on his fist and mumbled something.

“What was that, punk?” said O’Malley. “I couldn’t HEAR you.”

“Like I’m gonna tell you,” sneered the squirrel.

A loud popping sound made both O’Malley and the squirrel look up. It was Cooper, cracking her knuckles. As though she was getting ready to mean business with her fists. She eyed the suspect with a glare of steel. “There are ways to make you talk,” she said in a voice of deadly calm. “And most of them aren’t pretty.”

“Not another word, A.J.!” shouted an all-too-familiar voice as the interrogation-room door burst open with a bang. It was Doug Raskin, Kalamazoo City’s most notorious lawyer.

“Why should he start now?” asked Cooper cuttingly. “Glad you’re here, Raskin. Maybe you can persuade your client to open his mouth.”

“He has nothing to say!” said Raskin. “Your case has more holes than a fishing net! How dare you throw your boomerangs around at Nutter’s Nuts Factory and then haul an innocent worker away?” He put a protective wing around the squirrel. “Come on. We’re getting out of here. And I’m going to file an enormous lawsuit against the Platypus Police Squad.”

O’Malley recovered quickly from this surprise. “Raskin, maybe you can tell me how a factory worker can afford a high-priced lawyer like you? I bet he doesn’t make enough in a year to cover the down payment on the new car you drove into our lot.”

Raskin glared and pulled the squirrel’s chair back. “You leave my car out of this,” he said fiercely.

But O’Malley wasn’t going to be sidetracked. “Are you going to tell us who really hired you?”

“I hired Mr. Raskin,” said a furious voice. In walked a squirrel with wild gray hair and a mustache. He was tall—well, tall for a squirrel—and wore goggles and a lab coat.

“Professor Nutter, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but this is official police business,” said O’Malley.

“Professor Nutter? That is a made-up character! I am Jacob Nutter! The president of Nutter’s Nuts Factory! How dare you arrest my grandson!”

Plazinski was hot on Nutter’s heels, his angry vein popping way out on his forehead.

Hoo boy. O’Malley had to pull himself together. Nervously, he tucked in that part of his shirt that always popped out and stood up straight. In spite of the tense situation, he gave a nervous laugh. He couldn’t believe how much the real Mr. Nutter looked a whole lot like the crazy cartoon mascot.

Plazinski glared at the detective. “There is nothing funny going on here, O’Malley. You better have a dang good explanation as to why you arrested A. J. Nutter.”

“Um . . . the perpetrator . . . I mean, the suspect here . . .” He indicated A.J., who had replaced his sullen expression with a smirk. “He was acting quite shifty when we saw him at the factory. We kept catching him staring at us. So, naturally, we began to watch him as well. We are charged with trying to find the criminal who twice made an attempt on the life of Frank Pandini. And after we were tipped off that Pandini had canceled a big contract with your factory . . . we thought there might be a motive. So we were investigating. And your grandson’s behavior was beyond suspicious.”

“Who told you that Pandini canceled a contract with us?” said Mr. Nutter. “That is privileged information. And in any case, there’s a big difference between being upset at a business deal falling through and ordering an attack on someone!”

“Besides,” said Raskin, “didn’t I see on TV that the assailants were reportedly flying squirrels?” He indicated A.J.’s skinny little squirrel arms. “Look for yourself! This kid can’t glide!”

“Yeah,” said A.J., “and I ain’t never worked a catering job in my life, neither.”

Plazinski had heard enough. “Please accept our apologies, Mr. Nutter. A.J., you are free to go. I can promise you that both of these detectives will be reprimanded.”

Raskin and Mr. Nutter lifted A.J. from his chair by the elbows and hustled him out of the room. “Ta-ta!” said Raskin over his shoulder.

As soon as they left, Plazinski laced into O’Malley and Cooper. “What were you thinking, arresting someone without a shred of evidence? And of all people, the grandson of one of the most prominent people in town! Have you lost your minds?”

“We had ample cause,” said Cooper. “I saw A.J. pull a move that put a small child’s life at risk. The kid might have drowned in peanut butter!”

O’Malley glanced gratefully at his partner. “Besides,” he added, “we found out that the perp we are looking for was only disguised as a flying squirrel. Zengo hit the assailant in the wing with a boomerang at KCU and nothing happened. He was wearing fake gliders.”

Plazinski was not convinced. “Even so, that doesn’t prove that anyone at Nutter’s Nuts was involved. What other leads do you have?”

O’Malley and Cooper looked at each other. “That was our only lead, Sergeant,” said O’Malley.

“Well, you better get another one, quick!” said Plazinski. “This case is going nowhere, and we’re all going to be sent back to walking the beat if there’s another attempt on Pandini.” He stalked off to his office, probably to throw a few things.

O’Malley turned to his partner. “Thanks for having my back there, Cooper.”

“You know, I thought you were making a big mistake, going after that little squirt in the factory . . .” said Cooper.

“I know, but—” said O’Malley.

Cooper cut him off. “What I’m saying is, I thought you were wrong at the time, but I don’t anymore. A.J. said that he’s never had a catering job in his life. How did he know that the squirrel who attacked Pandini at his penthouse was dressed as a member of the catering staff? Nobody knew about that except for the few people who were there.”

“That’s right,” said O’Malley, relieved and excited that Cooper was with him on this one. “That kid knows something. I feel it in my bones.”

“I’d be willing to bet someone at Nutter’s Nuts is behind these attacks.”

O’Malley pondered the situation. There was no way they could get back inside the factory to dig up more information. But there must be some other angle.

“We need to talk to Zengo,” he said.