Silver Arrows Kennels wasn't a place that readily welcomed visitors, Zana thought as she eyed the massive gate that cut across the road; for those visitors who didn't get the hint, a sign informed them that this was private ground, and any trespassers would be prosecuted.

Well, it actually said that trespassers would be shot, but Zana refused to believe that anyone but the watch had the authority to do that. Still, she didn't want to try her luck, and had obediently rung the bell.

She was still waiting for someone to come to the gate.

In the meantime, she tried to get an idea of the kind of person the owner of Silver Arrows was, by what she could see through the bushes behind the gate. They said that your home was the mirror of your personality, after all.

This home said two things that she could discern from this distance - one, that whoever had built it had money to spend, and had had no qualms doing so, and two, that they were traditionalists: the house was nesting in the crown of a huge candler oak. Considering the size of the house, Zana wondered how they had stabilized the tree crown. Behind the tree and its house, an artificial hill shielded the arboreal estate against the winter storms, a construction that canceled out the point of living close to the sky somewhat.

If its owner was anything like this house, Zana thought wryly, he was someone who liked to flirt with the idea of 'proper apedom', but was too squeamish to really walk the talk. They'd probably judge anyone else who didn't meet those standards, though.

Urko would scoff at that hill. For a fleeting moment, Zana wondered what the general's house must look like.

Her musings were interrupted by the crunching of gravel under quickly approaching boots, and the glare of an elderly Chimp face that appeared on the other side of the gate. "Yes?"

"Good evening, sir," Zana said politely. "I'm here to see Padraman Vilam."

The scowl on the Chimp's face deepened. "And I'm sure you have an appointment with Master Vilam?"

Zana hesitated - if she said no, the old grump would certainly chase her away. "No," she admitted. "I haven't had opportunity to meet him yet, but," she flicked a glance to the treehouse, "I've heard so much of him that I just had to try my luck. He's the most famous kennel owner in Sapan, after all!"

The Chimp chewed on that for a moment. "Your luck that you didn't try to swindle your way past the gate," he finally growled, but made no move to open it. "Now that you've seen me, you can turn around and totter all the way back to Sapan." He made a shooing motion when Zana didn't move.

Zana decided for a frontal attack. "Don't you want to show me your famous kennels? They are the most famous item of Sapan!"

Vilam stared at her. "No, I don't want to show you my kennels, you crazy woman! Now bugger off!" He halfway turned away, then stopped to gauge if she was retreating as ordered.

Zana stayed where she was. "I must've misremembered. I think the guide said they're the only remarkable thing about Sapan. Or maybe they said that about 'Blue Lightning Kennels'? I'm so bad with colors..."

Vilam snorted. "There is no 'Blue Lightning Kennels' anymore. The owner's gonna hang, and I'm gonna buy up his racers."

"News travel fast around here, I see," Zana said evenly. "You sure profit from Levar's bad luck."

The Chimp coughed, and spat. "Luck has nothing to do with it. The fool just couldn't control himself, not that I blame him. Someone had to take out that cancer, sooner or later. 'twas just a question of who'd crack first. I'm glad it wasn't me."

"Well, nobody saw him kill Felga, or lay her in a ditch," Zana pointed out. "So I wouldn't be so sure that this case is closed. As soon as the police gain new information, they might arrest someone else. Unless you have witnesses to your whereabouts in that night, I wouldn't feel so safe."

Vilam narrowed his eyes, and grabbed the topmost bar of the gate. "Are you accusing me of something, Miss?"

"Am I?" Zana asked innocently. "I'm sure you have nothing to fear, sir. Where were you in the night of Felga's death, though?"

"I was in a business meeting with director Olman, not that it's any of your damn business."

"You're right," Zana said sweetly, "it's none of my business. And since I'm not the police, I won't ask you how much you paid that Olman to give you an alibi."

It was a gamble; for all she knew, Vilam could really have been in a business meeting... in the middle of the night... Or maybe he had spent that night with cider and keppa, and one of the feisty Chimp ladies from the seedier pubs in town, and was just too coy to admit it.

The burly Chimp gaped at her. Then he drew a deep breath; Zana took a cautious step back.

"That's Director Olman of Tall Timber for you, you stupid cow!" Vilam bellowed. "He's got more money than any of us will ever earn in a lifetime, he doesn't need anyone's money to make shady deals! He's got so much money that he's doubling the size of the Sapan Androdrome, and that's what he and I had been talking about! And now get out of my sight before I shoot your smug face off!"

Suddenly, Zana was staring into the barrel of a gun. "I'm not trespassing on your ground," she protested.

"You're trespassing on my afternoon," Vilam growled. Zana could hear the familiar ratcheting sound as he worked the lever of his gun. "And I cherish my afternoons!"

Zana didn't look back once, but she felt that gun in her back all the way to town.

"So, who did Levar point his finger at?" Rogan rose to refill Zana's glass, and she used the pretense of inhaling the wine's bouquet to delay her answer. She had a feeling he'd scoff, no matter which ape she named.

They were back at Rogan's favorite tavern; Zana wasn't surprised that the waiters were greeting her by name now. She didn't want to imagine what they told their wives at home, and what those wives chatted at the market...

"Another kennel owner named Vilam," she said at last.

Rogan snorted, just as she had predicted. "Of course he would," he murmured, and sat down again.

"Why?" Zana felt compelled to ask. "There are a number of apes who Felga had... scrutinized in her articles."

"True." Rogan picked up the menu and pretended to study it. "But Levar and Vilam go way back. If I had arrested Vilam, he'd have claimed that Levar framed him."

"Really?" Zana didn't touch her menu card. She wasn't hungry anyway. "How come?"

Rogan glanced at her over the edge of his card. "Aren't you going to order something?"

Zana shrugged. "I'll take whatever you have."

Rogan dropped his gaze to the menu again. "As you wish. Though I warn you that I'm not going to order a salad."

"Levar and Vilam," Zana reminded him.

"Hmm." Rogan's eyes rapidly scanned the card. "Vilam is old money," he said at last, and dropped the menu on the table. "His family has been breeding racing humans for generations. They were the uncontested favorites of every race. The most interesting thing was who'd come in second or third place, because the first ones always came from the Silver Arrows Kennel." He shrugged. "And then Levar came out of nowhere, basically, and kicked them off their throne. Vilam never really got over that humiliation."

"Levar's not from Sapan?" Zana asked.

"Oh, he is," Rogan said. "But his family were woodworkers, like almost everyone around here. They were losing money in the races, not making it. Betting on humans - or horses - is the main way of saying goodbye to your hard-earned money here in the mountains."

The waiter arrived to take their orders, and Zana used that interruption to add Rogan's information to her memory of the man who had brushed her off so rudely, when she had tried to talk to him after her visit with Levar.

"So," Rogan continued, startling her out of her reverie. "Young Levar was meant to buy himself an apprenticeship, but instead, he took the money and bought his first human." He chuckled at the memory. "Man, that was one scrawny cub! No idea where he picked up that one. Anyway, to say that his old man was outraged is an understatement. He demanded that Levar sell the creature and start his apprenticeship at the ironware shop downtown. Levar grabbed his human and took off into the woods. They were gone for three years."

"He sounds very... dedicated," Zana murmured. "Does he still have that human?"

"No." Rogan took a sip from his wine. "After his first wins, he sold his whole kennel, vanished for another year, and then returned with a whole new batch of humans. Turns out he went way, way South; they have another breed of humans down there, very dark skinned, very sleek - you can't beat them. Best racers I've ever seen. I don't want to imagine what he paid for them, but ever since he returned with them, Vilam hasn't been able to win a single race. Nor has anyone else." He looked up and smiled a slow, ironic smile.

"Of course, with their owner arrested and soon to be executed, they won't run in any of this year's races. And after they've taken down the gallows, the platform will be reused for the big auction. I guess Vilam will buy a few of Levar's racers, too."

Zana reached for her own glass. Felga had called the stable owners 'murderous bastards'. They seemed indeed to be like a pack of hyenas. "So Vilam did have a strong motive to get both Felga and Levar out of the way," she murmured.

"Oh yes," Rogan admitted candidly. "And so had every other kennel owner from here to the Pokhle valley." He leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I know what you're trying to do, Alta, and it speaks for you. But if you have dozens of suspects, it's easy to lose sight of the most obvious solution."

"And what if the obvious solution is the wrong one?" Zana asked. "What if it's been arranged for you, so that you just have to pick it up, without looking further?"

"Most of the time, the simplest solution is the right one," Rogan said. "Zarvis' razor."

"Most of the time isn't good enough, when a man's life is on the line," Zana retorted. "You need to be absolutely certain."

Rogan stared at her. "I am certain."

"Absolutely certain?"

Rogan continued to stare at her, drawing his lip through his teeth. "Have you talked to Vilam?"

Zana picked at her napkin, not meeting his eyes. "Not really. He was very rude. He did claim to have an alibi - he met with someone named Olman. A business meeting, something to do with the racetrack here?"

"Ah, yes - the big Five Valleys project. Olman is its biggest sponsor. It's his dream." Rogan shrugged. "I have no idea what Vilam could've wanted to discuss with him in regards to that stadium, though - maybe he wanted to convince him to sponsor his kennel, too. He sure could use the money."

He broke off when the waiter arrived with their meal - something with meat again, and mushrooms. "Ah. Finally. We should eat, Alta, and maybe talk about more pleasant things."

But Zana wasn't finished yet. "But this Olman isn't another kennel owner, is he?" Somehow, Tall Timber didn't sound like a kennel name. It lacked a color, too.

Rogan looked at her with big eyes. "Olman?" He laughed. "Oh, no. Olman isn't a simple kennel owner. Racing is a hobby for him, nothing more. He's the head of the Tall Timber Trading Company." He waved his arm, encompassing the whole tavern. "He basically owns these mountains."

She would have to check Vilam's alibi with the most powerful ape of the region, Zana realized. If he deigned to meet with her at all. Contrary to the police, she had no authority to force people to talk to her.

Rogan had been watching her face, or maybe his sharp eye had caught her sagging shoulders. "Just leave the police work to the police," he said softly. "We didn't just grab a random ape from the street, believe me. We did our homework here, and I assure you, we got the right guy."

Zana smiled tiredly at him. "I never thought you were anything less than meticulous in your work, Constable Rogan. And you're right - we should talk about more pleasant things."

Rogan smiled back and raised his glass to her. "I approve of that sentiment."

Zana raised her glass, too, and took a sip from her wine.

Maybe she could catch Olman tomorrow, at the race.