“Meta-ecology. Didn’t get even close to that in the dictionary.”

“It won’t be in there. I constructed it.”

“Ah.”

Helga Gemein held up the rotating finger. “It means stepping back from trivial components of the gestalt that endow the system with no functional autonomy.”

Milo said, “Looking at the big cosmic machine, not the cogs.”

Helga studied him. “You can’t hope to understand because you are American and Americans are all religious.”

“We’ve got a few atheists.”

“In name only, Policeman. Even your atheists are religious because American faith is infinite. The suckling pig that never stops offering its flesh.”

“I’m not sure I’m-”

“You people have convinced yourself possibilities are endless, endings are happy, puzzles are to solved, the future is an advertising jingle, your way of life is sacred, might makes right. If Americans would tear themselves away from their twigs and their shit and use their eyes and ears and noses to dissect reality, they would alter their cognitive structure.”

Maria Thomas muttered, “And become clinically depressed like Europe.”

Helga said, “Americans are the domesticated pets of the world. Submissive and eating their own shit. Until they turn vicious and then we have war.”

Boxmeister said, “Talk about a cuckoo clock.”

Thomas said, “I’ve been to Interpol conferences. She’s just another spoiled Euro-trash brat.”

“But maybe a little whack, too?” Boxmeister nudged me. “What do you think, Doc?”

Thomas said, “Bite your tongue, Detective, and don’t answer, Dr. Delaware. It’s going to be pain enough dealing with a foreign national, last thing we need is diminished capacity.”

Milo was saying, “So burning the twigs was an act of cleansing.”

“Refuse removal.”

“Taking out the garbage.”

Helga’s blue eyes narrowed.

Milo said, “Wouldn’t altruism be a better word?”

Two sleek, black-nailed hands clenched. “It would be a stupid word.”

“Why’s that?”

“Altruism is nothing more than a mutation of selfishness.”

Milo crossed his legs. “Sorry, I’m not decoding.”

“I do what society says is nice so I can feel nice. What is more narcissistic than that?”

Milo pretended to contemplate. “Okay, so, if it wasn’t altruism, it was-”

“What I told you.”

“An act of meta-ecological cleansing. Hmm.”

“Don’t play stupid, Policeman. You have enough natural defects, there is no need to supplement.”

Boxmeister said, “Ouch. Heil, Helga.”

Milo uncrossed, scanned his notes again, edged his chair back a few inches. Removing a handkerchief from a trouser pocket, he wiped his brow. “Getting hot in here, no?”

Helga Gemein tugged at her wig. “I am comfortable.”

“To me it feels hot. I’d think that thing would make it worse for you.”

“What thing?”

“The hairpiece. Dynel doesn’t breathe.”

“This,” she said, “is genuine hair. From India.” He smiled. “So you’re not a hothead.” Helga snorted and turned away.

Milo said, “No, I mean that seriously. It’s clear to me that you rely on reason, not impulse.”

Maria Thomas leaned forward. “Yes, yes, go for it.”

Helga Gemein said, “Should I not rely on reason?”

“Of course you should,” said Milo. “We all should. But sometimes being spontaneous-”

“Spontaneity is an excuse for poor planning.”

“You’re into planning.”

No answer.

Maria Thomas was at the edge of her chair. “Easy, now.” Milo said, “Being an architect, I imagine you’d favor blueprints.” Helga turned to face him. “Without blueprints, Policeman, even chaos doesn’t work.”

“Even chaos?”

Up came the pedantic finger. “There is chaos that emanates from stupidity. Think of flatfooted policemen in brass-buttoned tunics and tall hats tripping over themselves. Then, there is corrective chaos. And that must be planned.”

“Burning those twigs didn’t result from stupidity,” said Milo. “You considered every detail.”

“I always do,” said Helga.

“Always?”

“Always.”

Maria Thomas punched her fist. “Yes!”

Helga Gemein sniffed. “This room smells like a toilet.”

“It does get a little stale,” said Milo.

“How often do you bring prostitutes here?”

“Pardon?”

“For your policeman after-hour parties.”

“Must’ve missed those.”

“Oh, please,” said Helga. “It is common knowledge what policemen do with women they’ve dominated. Down on the knees, the man feels so big.”

Boxmeister said, “I must work in the wrong division.”

Maria Thomas shot him a sharp look. He shrugged.

Milo said, “The cops do that in Switzerland?”

Helga said, “If you are interested in Switzerland, buy a plane ticket. Good-bye, Policeman. You have bored me enough, I am going.”

But she made no attempt to stand.

Milo said, “Going?”

“Twigs? Brush clearing? What is that, a penalty? I will pay you.”

“Out of that cash in your purse?”

“Since when is it a crime to have money? America worships money.”

“No crime at all. But six thousand’s a lot of cash to be carrying around.”

Helga smirked.

Thomas said, “That was pure rich kid. This one’s never been told no.”

Helga said, “What is the amount of my fine?”

Milo said, “I’m not sure of the penal code on twigs yet. We’re still checking.”

“Well, do it quickly.”

“Soon as the district attorney lets me know, I’ll get the paperwork going. Meanwhile, let’s go over this act of cleansing.”

“Not again, no, I will not.”

“I just want to make sure I understand.”

“If you do not understand by this time, you are hopelessly defective.”

“Anything’s possible,” said Milo. He shuffled papers, knitted his brows, stuck out a tongue, hummed a low tune. “You’re sure you don’t want more water?”

“I still have.” Eyeing the cup he’d brought her five minutes in.

Boxmeister said, “Garsh, Gomer, when you gonna call for a hayseed and a spittoon?”

Milo said, “Okay, you can drink that.”

Helga Gemein picked up the cup, sipped it empty. Power of suggestion.

Turning point in the interview.

She put the cup down. Eyes still on his notes, he said, “So… you planned and burned the twigs all by yourself. Tell me how you did it.”

“The fine is insufficient penance?” said Helga, smirking again. “In America, money fixes everything.”

“Even so, ma’am. We like to have all the facts.”

“The facts are: As an architect with a strong background in structural engineering, I have a thorough understanding of structural vulnerability. I located the inherent structural defects of that garbage heap, set devices precisely, operated a remote timer, and watched as everything turned to dust.”

“So you were right there.”

“Close enough to bathe in heat and light.”

“A few houses down?”

“I didn’t count.”

“But you parked the motorcycle three blocks away.”

Blue eyes sparked. “How do you know I drive a motorcycle?”

“It was spotted and reported.”

“So you know the answer to your question. So do not waste my time.”

“Like I said, we need to verify,” said Milo. “For our report, so we can let you go and be done with all this.”

“Proper procedure,” said Helga. “Enabling you to pretend competence.”

“You know about procedure.”

Helga arched an eyebrow.

Milo said, “That old joke? Hell is the place where the Italians establish procedure and the Swiss are in charge of design?”

“Hell, Policeman, is the place Americans gorge themselves to unconsciousness and delude themselves to mindless optimism.”

“Never heard that version,” said Milo. “But you have to admit, the Swiss are darn good at design-who makes the best watches? Speaking of which, let’s talk about those timers. Where’d you get them?”

“From Des.”

The quick reply caught him off-guard. He covered with a prolonged nod. “Des Backer.”