By Oboroten
About twenty minutes after receiving Officer Freeman’s call, Charlie finally got inside Vicky’s place. The street outside was a total mob scene, swarming with anxious fursons, human reporters and police, all gathered around a taped-off section of the road. Although the corpse had been hauled away earlier, some blood could still be seen pooled on the pavement. The killer must have been particularly vicious to commit such a crime, Charlie thought, absolutely full of rage, having the ferocity of one of the tiger-morphs.
"What took you so long?" asked Officer Freeman, brusquely escorting the tired coyote-man into a nearby room. "Kit Kat said she saw everything that happened last night. That’s how our suspect was identified."
"Uh-huh," mumbled Charlie, trying to hold himself steady. His head still ached from carousing at the Stray Dog Café, making him wish he’d gone directly home. Or better yet, that he’d trailed Howard Hare when the lapine bolted out the bar’s door.
"Your sleuth hound was wrong," purred Kit Kat, who was now dressed rather demurely. But that was hardly surprising, for Vicky had told her girls to wear something modest, as the last thing she needed was reporters nosing about her place. "That was no kangaroo. None of them have ears that big."
"Could you please start from the beginning?" Officer Freeman requested, taking out a small microphone so he could record Kit Kat’s report. Even though the story was all over Capital City by now, he wanted to get an official copy. It was all so hard to believe, especially as there was no trace of the alleged murderer.
"If you insist," sighed Kit Kat, blinking her ashen-blue eyes at Charlie and batting her long eyelashes. "But I’m sure Mr. Coyote can fill you in about the details of Vicky’s business. She’s been my landlady for a few months now, charging very reasonable rates. It’s so hard for an honest girl to get a few credits hear in Beast Town."
"I’m ready now," continued Officer Freeman. "Just tell us about what happened before the congressman was attacked. Which way was he walking, for example? How were you able to identify his attacker so easily? Wasn’t it before dawn?"
"The streets usually aren’t lit very well at night here," started Kit Kat. "Capital City doesn’t like to spend much money on Beast Town. But last night, we had a full moon. There were no clouds, so I could see everything out the window after I finished,"
"Finished with what?"
Kit Kat paused for a moment, licking her whiskers, but then resumed speaking, "I saw Congressman Collins walking out the door. After last night, he came back to talk to Vicky about the attack, convinced he’d been set up by some gang."
"He didn’t have any guards with him?" Charlie asked.
"You’d think a sensible man would think about his own security," added Officer Freeman, stopping his machine. "Why would he just walk out on the street in the middle of the night? It doesn’t make any sense. Didn’t he know he’s hated in Beast Town?"
"I just know what I saw," replied Kit Kat, scratching a small sandboard with her right claw in frustration, "Maybe he was expecting to talk to someone outside. Just before he turned the corner to go to Border Street, I saw a strange shape coming toward him, wearing outlandishly big clothing."
"What do you mean by big? Please be specific?"
"He had on a normal coat, not unusual as it was a bit cold, but the sleeves were dangling down below his knees. Above his feet, which really stuck out, you could see his trousers were rolled up many times. Everything he wore was several sizes too large. It would almost be funny but, uh, I just can’t forget what happened next."
"When he walked up to Collins, they started talkin’. I couldn’t hear what was said, but guessed it wasn’t very nice. Then, his hat fell off, revealing big, floppy ears."
"Aren’t there a number of morphs in Beast Town with large ears?" asked Charlie.
"But I know Howard Hare," insisted Kit Kat. "He’s done some odd jobs for Vicky and used to have the master key to this building. I don’t know why she ever trusted him! But Vicky made him give it back yesterday, so you can be sure he wasn’t in here. It was so horrible! To think that he would kill someone . . ."
"Please continue. Start right after the hat fell onto the pavement," requested Officer Freeman. "How was he able to attack Collins? Did he use a weapon?"
"He had this big stick. Or maybe it was a cudgel? It had a shiny white handle, lit up by the moon. I’d never seen anything like that before, but I bet it was stolen. He grabbed the stick by the handle and stamped his feet several times, yellin’ something I couldn’t make out."
"What happened next?"
"Collins stepped back, like he was surprised, but the crazy rabbit leaped into the air, holding the stick in front of him. He whacked Collins on the side of the head with it several times, thrashing him down to the ground. Then, he just kept hitting him, again and again, causing the body to roll on the pavement with each blow. As my ears pricked up with fear, I could even hear the bones cracking as he went into a killing frenzy."
"The stick finally broke down the middle after he’d pulverized his victim, smashing every bone in Collins’ body. So much blood! Then, the vicious hare grabbed the handle in his paw and ran off toward Border Street, slowed a bit by all the bulky clothing he was wearing."
"Do you expect me to believe that a rabbit morph could do this? Everyone knows lapines have really weak arms. Howard Hare might be bad, but he isn’t crazy."
"I had no idea he was psychotic," said Kit Kat, "Maybe it’s some of the bad stuff the dealers sell around here. But I know what I saw - it was terrifying!"
Stopping the tape, Officer Freeman turned to Charlie, "I still like your kangaroo theory. When we found the body, it was incredibly mangled. We found the stick Kit Kat mentioned, or, at least a fragment of it, rolled down into the gutter. There were also a few splinters of wood scattered in the blood on the pavement and on Collins."
"Was anything stolen?" Charlie asked, tilting an ear as he looked carefully at Kit Kat. Her story just didn’t seem right. It was so out of character for a herbivore, especially one as small as Howie.
"Nothing. Collins had his wallet, gold watch, keys . . . oh, and also a letter from Dr. Foster. He seems to have been reading it when he was first struck. When they took the corpse off to the morgue, we kept all of his personal details, hoping to get prints from them. But I’m afraid it doesn’t look good."
"Why?"
"There’s no sign that anything on the victim was moved. It looks like he was beaten to death, for no good reason, and then the killer rabbit ran away. Or hopped. Or shuffled away slowly, if you can believe her story."
"I don’t know what to think," said Charlie, scratching his head. "Have you checked out Howard Hare’s place? I’m still worried about that key from last night. Maybe someone is trying to frame him for this murder. It doesn’t make any sense."
About half an hour later, they arrived at the dingy, basement apartment where Howard Hare lived. Of course, there was no trace of him now. The place swarmed with police, checking every corner for possible tracks.
"When we got here," Officer Freeman started, "the room was a mess: clothes strewn everywhere, piles of paper on the floor, some of them burning. It had been ransacked just before we arrived. But not thoroughly enough, because we found piles of credits in one corner, along with some gold and silver coins."
"Were you able to read any of the papers?" Charlie asked, sniffing the acrid fumes that still filled the air. He also smelled something else, an odd aroma that he couldn’t recognize. It seemed to be coming from the far side of the room.
"Yeah, a couple of them could be salvaged. We’re going to run handwriting analysis to see if Howard Hare had any conspirators. Or whoever was involved in this. They might have burned the documents to cover their tracks."
Walking toward the source of the odd smell, Charlie saw a series of wine bottles along the wall. By their age, he quickly presumed that they were quite expensive. But it wasn’t the alcohol that had set off his nose.
"Lookin’ at the booze?" asked Freeman. "Some of that stuff’s worth a thousand credits! It must be why he had triple locks on the door, for it’s more valuable than anything else in this room."
"Why did you want me to come here?"
"To get some clues. Any hint of kangaroo in the air? Rabbit?"
Making sure that no one was looking his way, Charlie hastily inhaled again, staring down at the wine rack. "Nothing. I can’t smell anything," he lied.
Yes, the intriguing smell was definitely coming from here, but none of the bottles were open. Then, he spotted a small glass jar on the rack, a bottle only big enough to contain a few shots. Whatever was inside it sure wasn’t water, judging by the slightly green color of the fluid.
"Are you sure about that? He must have left some sort of scent mark."
Quickly popping the top back on the vial, Charlie grabbed it and stuck it in his jacket hastily, making sure no one saw him stash it. For some reason, he felt this must be an important clue, especially because he could usually identify any sort of drink by smell, even yards away. "No. The place reeks of alcohol, but I can’t smell anything else but sweaty humans. No fursons at all."
"That’s surprising. I was sure there would be something out of the ordinary."
"Sorry, but I just can’t help you, Frank. But if you need a tracker in Beast Town, I’m ready to go. That is, unless the curfew is in effect there too."
"No, no sleuth hounds today," said the policeman firmly. "The only way he, or they, could have fled from this apartment without being spotted was by going across Border Street into Capital City. We staked out the crime scene and blocked several blocks on either side of it. There’s absolutely no way any morph could have evade our checkpoint. They’ll be captured soon."
Somewhat dejected, Charlie walked outside, wondering why he’d been unable to detect anything in the Hare’s room. Maybe he had been drinking too much last night. But if his nose was clogged, why had he smelled the liquor so strongly? Feeling the small bottle in his pocket with the tips of his claws, he figured Howie must have saved the best stuff for himself. Well, at least this should be worth a few credits.