“It certainly did,” the chief agreed. “I was particularly fond of the roast pig. Of course, I was struck by the coincidence of the report that hit my desk of three pigs that turned up missing from the university’s animal husbandry department the day before.”
Phule cursed mentally. He hadn’t found out until the day after the feast that Chocolate Harry had been more than a little loose in his acquisition of supplies for Escrima’s efforts. If he had known, he would have refrained from inviting the chief of police, or at least insisted that the pigs be carved into less recognizable bits before serving. Until now, however, he had thought the dish had passed unnoticed.
“If you’ll just give us a few days,” he said stiffly, “I’m sure we can produce the receipts for those particular items.”
“A few days?” Goetz’s eyebrows shot up. “That supply sergeant of yours must be slipping if it’d take him more than a couple hours to crank out some forged sales slips.”
“Now, look, Chief …
“Relax, Captain,” the policeman said with a sudden, impish grin. “I’m just pulling your chain a little. Those university students liberate enough stuff from the settlement for their fraternity initiations and scavenger hunts and what all, I’m sure it would take more than a couple of pigs to even up the score. I just wanted you to know we weren’t totally … What in the hell is that?”
Phule looked where the chief was pointing and flashed a sudden smile.
“That? Oh, that’s just one of our mobilization experiments. It’s working out surprisingly well.”