Mister Poo-brain

I'm thinking of going to Central Queensland, after this, says Gaius.

Me too, says Terence.

What for? asks Victor.

See the Kroombit tinker frogs for myself, says Gaius. 

Oh yes, says Victor. Any particular reason?

Twenty eight captive-bred Kroombit tinker frogs are soon to be released, says Gaius. 

Frogs, says Victor. Mm.

I have the feeling you're not really listening, says Gaius.

I am listening, says Victor. 

He is, but not for frog information. 

Has he heard a car?

Is it Camus returning?

It is. Camus parks his electric car in the car park and walks down to the beach with a brown paper bag labelled M.

Anyone for a burger? asks Camus. Or a Macmuffin?

Good that you chose to come back, says Victor. I'll have a Macmuffin.

Nothing for me, thanks, says Gaius.

Is there anything for me? asks Terence.

No, says Camus. . 

I was beginning to think you'd done a runner, says Victor.

Decided against it, says Camus. You'd have traced me.

I wouldn't, says Victor. The case is now closed. Roo-kai has volunteered to take the blame for the scratches.

Good for him, says Camus. 

He unwraps a Big Mac.

Gaius is thinking of going to Central Queensland, says Victor.

Why? asks Camus. 

To count Krummy frogs, says Terence.

Kroombit tinkers, says Gaius.

Count me out, says Camus.

You're not even a frog, says Terence.

He is, says Victor.

Camus scowls. This is poor form from a policeman.

I might ask Pierre-Louis, says Gaius.

So I'm free, says Camus. I don't suppose you've reconsidered?

Reconsidered? asks Gaius. 

The penguin pie, says Camus. The reason I came with you in the first place.

You have been helpful, excluding one or two mis-steps, says Gaius, but I won't admit to something I haven't done.

No, you mustn't, says Roo-kai.

YOU did, says Terence.

Birds are different, says Roo-kai.

Not that different, says Camus.

How about this? says Gaius. You may publish your story about me eating a penguin pie if you use a pseudonym.

What's that? asks Terence.

A fake name, says Victor. 

Like a Poo-brain pie? asks Terence.

Not the pie, says Camus. The eater.

Mister Poo-brain, says Terence. 

Certainly no one would ever guess that was me, says Gaius.

I'm not calling you Mister Poo-brain, says Camus. It's a serious article. Vello would never approve it.

Wouldn't he? We're about to find out.

Camus's phone rings.