The winter before, a small girl mouse, zero years old, had come to the forest. She and Detective Gordon had met while he was guarding a squirrel hole.
Afterwards she had moved into the police station, and been given the job of police assistant and a name—Buffy. (Gordon called her that because bufo means toad in Latin.) She was very talented and clever and learned everything a police officer needs to know. Later she was made Acting Chief Detective.
But what had she done before she turned up in the snowy forest? Where had she come from?
“My mother!” Buffy cried. “I lost my mother.”
Then Sune and Gertrude also began to cry. Losing a mother was the worst thing they could imagine.
“Oh, poor Buffy,” said Gordon sorrowfully. “Do tell us…”
“I can’t tell you,” she sniffed. “I’ve forgotten everything. Maybe I got a shock.”
Hmm, was it silly of him not to have asked Buffy about this before? he wondered. Police had four questions to ask when they found someone unknown:
What’s your name?
Where do you live?
What is your work?
How old are you?
Perhaps Gordon needed to add a fifth question: Where is your mother?
Except you never really knew with mice, Gordon thought. Maybe mice could leave their families and think no more about them. You couldn’t assume that everyone was like a completely ordinary toad. We animals are all so different, he thought.
Sune and Gertrude were crying harder and harder at the thought of losing their mothers. Gordon had to do something.
“Now we will solve this problem! We are two detectives and two small police. How hard can it be?”
Everyone stopped crying at once.
“First, Buffy must sit down with a pen and paper in a comfortable chair with a cup of tea and a candle. Then, Buffy, you can write about how things were in your childhood.”
“But I can’t remember!”
All three started crying again.
“Shh!” said Gordon. “Why don’t you start by writing small poems about your mother, so the memories come back. That’s what a real police officer does.”
Buffy sat in the armchair, Gordon lit a candle, and she began to write.
A little mother.
A fir tree, a hole, a root.
A soft and grassy nest.
All our songs!
Many brothers, many sisters…
“Now we’ll let her sit for a minute,” Gordon whispered to the small police. “During this time we will think about some cases. Completely normal cases. Because serious things almost never happen here. Normal police work is the norm!”
They talked about the case of the naughty child who had thrown litter onto the lovely meadow. What should be done about that?
“Catch the child,” said Sune, “and put it in prison.”
“No.” Gordon shook his head so that all his chins wobbled.
“You go to the big police and tell them to catch the naughty child,” suggested Gertrude.
Gordon continued to shake his head.
“You pick up the litter!” he said at last.
“But the police should punish the naughty child!” said both small police, upset. “At least scold him!”
“Yes, how can you tell someone off nicely so he does things properly the next time? A police officer must think!”
The small police thought.
“You run after him and catch him,” said Gertrude.
Gordon began to shake his head carefully.
“And then you give him the rubbish,” she continued, “and say, ‘Excuse me, but you might have dropped this.’ ”
“Bravo,” said Gordon. “You tell him—or her—off in a nice way so they learn.”
In the meantime Buffy sat biting the end of her pencil.
Eight little brothers and sisters
Plus eight big brothers and sisters.
Lovely.
Mama’s warm milk.
Snuggly blankets…
The next police case was about a hedgehog who had gone to sleep in the middle of the path. What should you do if you found that hedgehog?
“Go to the police!”
Gordon shook his head.
“Wake her,” said Sune. “And help her find a better place to sleep.”
“Bravo,” said Gordon. “You don’t need to go to the police for every little thing. You can simply be helpful. Everyone in the woods has to help each other. We are all citizens of our forest. We are like members of a club…”
“We are all police!” said Sune.
“Except no one has such good hats as ours,” said Gertrude.
Sleep long and warm.
Howling wind. A crash!
Roof falling…
Buffy started to tremble. Her memories were slowly coming back. Something terrible had happened after all. A catastrophe.
“And now for the last police case,” said Gordon. “Old Grandpa Badger says ‘Snot child!’ to a little mouse. What does the little mouse do? Think now like real police.”
“It wasn’t a nice thing to say,” said Gertrude with feeling. “Something needs to be done.”
“Like what?”
“Say, ‘Stupid nasty old man!’ and tell him off,” said Gertrude.
“Or say that you’re very sad,” said Sune. “And start to cry.”
Sharp claws—Fox!
Running here and there.
Waterfall, fir trees…
Running all day
Over snow, over mountains.
Everyone’s gone!
But where’s my little mother?
“Now I remember everything,” cried Buffy. “Everything came to me in the poems.”
Gordon got up and looked over her shoulder at them.
“Fox?” he said.
“Fox!” wailed both small, terrified police. “Was your mother eaten up?”
It was quiet for a moment. It had grown dark outside the police station. And it had started to rain. Drops clattered on the roof.
“Hmm, I don’t think so,” said Buffy.
“Hope she survived,” said Gertrude. “Hope, hope.”
Gordon read more of Buffy’s poem. He had a lump in his throat, but he coughed.
“Waterfall and fir tree? And far away from here? Hmm, where could that be?”
He unfolded the big police map. He looked carefully and found at last an island with fir trees and a waterfall. Cave Island, it was called.
“That island, Cave Island,” he said quietly, pointing. “Isn’t that where the fox moved to when I drove him away?”
