Chapter I.III

It's not hard to guess that Pharqraut wanted to get off the topic of the late saleswoman as quickly as possible. Undoubtedly, the fact was that, being a bachelor, it was difficult for him to answer the mister chief inspector's questions regarding items of women's clothing. Therefore, he immediately moved on to describe the succeeding accident.

- Next we will talk about thirty-two-year-old Alexander O'Brent, - he continued his speech. - He was, to put it mildly... - Pharqraut paused, searching for words.

"Who was this person in life if the policeman feels embarrassed when he tries to describe him?" thought Galbraith, absentmindedly listening to what was happening in the chief inspector's office.

- He was a conductor of night-walkers, - speaker squeezed out.

Galbraith realized what profession his friend meant and decided to come to his aid.

- Pimpf, he was pimpf, - for the first time during the entire meeting he raised his voice.

All those present turned their heads together and stared in amazement at the inspector. There was silence in the office, but he just smiled into his moustache.

- You probably misspoke, - Maurice remarked with a quiver in his voice.

Galbraith didn't answer the medic, he just nodded in Pharqraut's direction, as if telling the others to listen to his friend, and he had nothing to do with it. Placing his hands on the table, inspector thought that if anyone present shared his preferences in music, then no one would have thought to be surprised by his phrase.

- I want to add, - after a minute's pause the speaker continued, - that prior to this, mister O'Brent came from Atlanta, state Georgia, where he worked as a cashier at Chick-fil-A.

- Huh, - Nelissen suddenly interrupted him, - at first this dropout was selling fried chickens, and then switched to different chicks!

Apparently, the young lieutenant wanted to defuse the situation with this vulgar joke, but he failed to achieve success in this - everyone sitting at the table remained silent and looked disapprovingly at the young man. Pharqraut was the most dissatisfied - it seemed just a little more and he would approach the lieutenant and grabbed him by the neck. But to Galbraith's relief, his friend was able to control himself.

- Determining what Alexander O'Brent died from was an easy task, - Pharqraut continued. - His body was found in the room of Eastside Lodge, where he was called by one of his subordinates.

- Name of light-o'-love? - Schaeymoure said, hammering out the words.

- Miss F... - Pharqraut was began

Suddenly a high and piercing "Ahcho-o-o!" was heard throughout the entire office. This was once again lieutenant Nelissen. Covering his mouth with his left hand, the young man wiped the tears from his eyes with his right. It seemed that he deliberately sabotaged the inspector's speech. With great effort, Nelissen gave his face a calm expression and looked at everyone present with a guilty look.

- S-s-sorry, pleas-s-se! - lieutenant said nervously under the frowns of the others.

Inspector sighed heavily. "I understand you, buddy", Galbraith thought regretfully, "It's not easy when you are constantly interrupted". 

- On what issue did fille de joie call mister O'Brent? - Schaeymoure asked as if not noticing anything.

- It was a trivial point, - Pharqraut perked up, - She came across a nervous client who categorically refused to pay.

- Name of client? - mister chief inspector asked questions with the indifference of an automaton.

- Thirty-four year old Eugene Woods, we have not yet been able to establish his place of work, - replied Pharqraut.

- Try harder, - Schaeymoure said with a fatherly intonation.

- As a matter of fact, - inspector ignored this remark, - O'Brent met his death in his motel room. The client fell into a state of passion and right in front of the fancy woman stabbed pimpf in the ribs with a knife, and when he fell to the floor, mister Woods began to kick him in a rage.

Galbraith was pleased that his friend used his phrase to describe the profession of the deceased. "At least someone benefited from this band", he thought ironically.

- When the police arrived at the crime scene, then Alexander has only a terrible bloody pulp left in place of his manhood, - inspector said.

Once again the young lieutenant let out a cry of horror, but no one cared about his phobia - especially Galbraith, who was much more worried about the fact that when Pharqraut spoke about the death of Alexander O'Brent, there was such an impulse in his voice that it seemed as if the inspector was unwittingly encouraging the actions of the murderer. "What bad did this man do to my friend if he hates him so much?" he wondered.

After these words, Pharqraut took a breath - it seemed that he was glad that he had finished the story about a man of an ignoble profession.

- The last victim was Dennis Lang, - saying this name, inspector involuntarily smiled. - He was an entomologist living in the Portland suburbs. Generous heart...

- You're starting to drool, - medic reprimanded the inspector

- He died as a true altruist, - Pharqraut continued. - Dennis gave his life to save another person.

- Mister Maurice is right, - Schaeymoure interrupted him. - You should focus on the facts, not the personality of the deceased.

- All right, - the speaker reluctantly conceded. - Lang was once walking near his house and saw a little boy running away from a mad dog with heart-rending screams.

- You speak as if you were an eyewitness to what happened, - Galbraith couldn't resist commenting.

- These details were given to me by his neighbour, missis Taggert, - his friend answered casually. - In general, the entomologist rushed to help the baby, but unfortunately he tripped on a stone and fell right in front of the hound's nose, which did not deny itself the pleasure of attacking the man lying in front of him.