The tracks are as they have ever been. A bit more worn, perhaps. Fortunately, the street…

The tracks are as they have ever been. A bit more worn, perhaps. Fortunately, the street sweeper still hasn't noticed their presence.

"This is where I started off with my motor carriage... before sinking it in the sea."

"No wonder the cafeteria manager seemed frustrated when he was giving us directions to the yard."

"Well," he gestures toward the gaping hole in the fence, "you did provide us with a very convenient access point to the crime scene."

"Yes, it is. Well," he gestures toward the gaping hole in the fence, "you did provide us with a very convenient access point to the crime scene."

I think I got it. [Leave.]

"A car drove through the fence."

"You are correct. This is a rather motor carriage-friendly city."

Somehow that makes you feel... scared. You don't know why.

"This is the point of departure of the vehicle that crashed into the Samaran Butter sign."

The lieutenant follows the tracks with his gaze. "That's plausible. A similar... reckless abandon seems to be in evidence."

"Is this connected to the case?"

"I'm not sure... there are plenty of traffic accidents waiting to happen in Martinaise. With the jam right here on the roundabout. I would keep them separate."

You could follow the tracks south. There seems to be a canal there. See where they went. (If you find the time.)

This is where I started off with my motor carriage.

Yes. And ended up half-sunken in the sea. You must have been drunk when you left off.

This is significant somehow.

Maybe. Probably.

An ominous warning of bad things ahead.

This is the point of departure of the motor carriage that crashed into the Samaran Butter sign, right?

Why yes it is! Good connection.

You see a set of tyre tracks in the brown slush that covers the plaza mosaic.

Why am I looking at this?

Cop habit. You look at everything.

This isn't case-related, you think.

Reconstruct the movement.

The tyre tracks were left here by an unknown event that took place some days ago. It's a message, written in the language of burnt rubber.

Some of that rubber stuck to the tiles right in front of the Whirling-in-Rags. This is point A. The driver started there...

...and then accelerated straight into the fence.

What happened next?

The driver proceeded to back out of the yard, barely stopping before hitting the adjacent building...

...before heading south. Must have been in a hurry.

The hole in this fence doesn't look that huge.

Okay. What happened next?

Damn bartender.

He was exaggerating. People blame cops for everything that goes wrong in the world. This has nothing to do with you.

As a matter of fact, you don't even know why you stopped here. You would never drive recklessly like this. And you don't have a car.

The hole is not that impressive.

No, these tracks are not interesting at all. Let the street sweeper just sweep them away.

Not now. [Leave.]

What kind of vehicle drove through here?

Hard to say.

Hard to say. Your vision is blurred and you are having difficulty concentrating thanks to your relentless hangover.