As Constable Lingonberry huffed up to the scene, late as usual, to cuff the suspect and recite more tired bird puns, the detective pair opened Harris’ satchel and recoiled in horror at its contents.
“Poaching ducks for sale to restaurants, eh?” the human policeman said to his scowling charge in a shockingly chirrupy tone. “You’ll be waddling into a cell tonight, Harris.”
The drake and his partner ignored the human’s callous tone as they examined the corpses. One in particular sent the detective’s mind back into action past the shock. “Steve,” he quacked softly. “This one on top. She was killed within the hour. And she has just hatched a clutch. Within the week, I’d say.”
His partner, still clutching his cap to his chest, reached out a flipper to feel the mottled brown feathers, trying to think like a doctor and a penguin instead of like an appalled citizen. “Still warm. You’re right, Duck-tective, not an hour ago. But just hatched? Couldn’t she still be laying?”
“See how thin her breast fat is, here, where a laying duck would be plumper. She’d been travelling back and forth to the water to find food for her ducklings. And look at that bulge.”
Steve palpated the corpse’s crop and emitted a low squawk of sorrow. “Full. She’d been heading back to her nest when this monster caught her.” He met his partner’s eyes, and they nodded.
Leaving Constable Lingonberry to emit more horrid bird puns and to take all the credit for the poacher’s capture, the waterfowl pair headed along the canal, retracing their culprit’s route.
The drake detective mused out loud in a low series of quacks, as much to comfort himself as to comb out the knots of the puzzle. “Not a zoo duck and not a park regular – she’s too lean, and her breast fat would be a different texture if she’d lived on bread crumbs and cracked corn. A wild visitor. So she’d seclude her nest, but within an easy walk to the shore… Steve!” The drake held still.
So did the penguin. He too heard a chorus of high shrill hunger-peeps from the brush ahead.
“Aha!” With a cry of triumph, Duck-Tective dashed into the undergrowth.
“Duck-Tective! Wait!” Steve squawked, waddling as fast as he could after his partner. “There could be a fox! Or more poachers! And if you’re not very careful, you could accidentally – “
A rustle. Steve froze again. More peeping – much happier peeping now.
And the drake emerged from the shrubbery with a pole-axed look on his face. He headed back toward the penguin. So did the trail of happily peeping ducklings waddling after him.
“…Imprint on them,” Steve finished.
“I, er… found them,” Duck-Tective said unnecessarily. His charges peeped and clustered close – ten of them, Steve reckoned, if they’d just stop milling around so he could count them properly. The look of chagrin on the normally-staid waterfowl was comical.
“They seem to be healthy little things.” Steve picked up one duckling, which clamped its little bill on his beak. “Ow. Hungry, of course. Less than a week old, I’d say. I’ll have to give them all a proper examination back in Baker Street, once we’ve fed them.”
Duck-Tective, who’d been looking around at the little fluffy peepers, whipped his neck around. “Wait, what?”
Steve looked fondly at his partner. “We’ve surely saved their lives – they would have starved or gotten eaten by predators if left alone much longer – as well as bringing their mother’s murderer to justice. That’s ten fewer duck deaths that Harris would have committed, and it’s all your doing, old chap.”
That look on Duck-Tective’s face – realisation, and relief – showed that he had not even thought of that. Steve mentally rewarded himself. It was rare for him to surprise his partner.
“You’re right, Steve old fellow.” With another rueful look the detective surveyed their peeping horde. “We’re responsible for these little lads and lasses now. I hadn’t planned on becoming a parent today.”
“At least until they’re old enough to fly away on their own.” Steve looked over the patch of canal. “There should be plenty of snails and worms for these fellows. I can watch them first while you gather.”
Duck-Tective shook his head. “Mrs. McGillicuddy will be rather put out, my dear penguin.”
“Nonsense, our landlady will dote on the dear little things.” Until they started making messes on her good carpeting, of course. “Now, go. You have children to feed.”
Steve watched his partner head to the canal to start collecting invertebrates for their new family, before turning his attention back to the hungry happy little ducklings around him. Pleasure filled him, a relief after the shock of that spring morning’s discovery and his disgust at their suspect’s deeds. There was one other upside to their inadvertent recruitment into parenthood; unlike after other cases Duck-Tective would have no chance to sink into a quagmire of boredom. Being a father to such a big brood was many things – but it would never, ever be boring.
“So,” he said to one eagerly-peeping girl. “What’s your name?”