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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

NED

The phone call from the San Fernando Daily Press came in shortly after Ned arrived at work.

The wolf was in moderately good spirits. Yes, every so often the sneaking realisation that he was dating a member of the Chinese Triad would reappear in his consciousness and make him question his motivations, choosing Garrett or choosing to be loyal to his sense of good and evil, but when he really let himself remember Arkady's words about choosing the lesser of two pains, it was clear which was worse.

Just remembering the previous evening made him smile. Olympia hadn't returned until late, so he and Garrett had enjoyed a relaxed evening together, first while Garrett made homemade chicken potpies; dancing together around the kitchen to music Garrett played on his iPhone; and later, when they'd fallen into bed in a serious of kissing and caressing that ended once again with Ned's knotted cock throbbing in Garrett's backside as they panted on the bed, arms wrapped round each other, one once more.

All through it Ned couldn't entirely forget what had happened with Diego, but when he finally admitted to the coyote that he hadn't necessarily been loyal during their brief break-up, Garrett was surprisingly accepting. Oh, that wasn't to say he wasn't distressed; but after being quiet for a few minutes, the coyote had merely whispered "I guess that makes me feel better."

"What?" Ned had asked, confused. How could knowing that he had cheated make Garrett feel any better?

But the coyote had just said "You fooled around with someone who is nice, physically gorgeous, and entirely on your side of the law, and yet you came back to me."

Comments like that made Ned feel all funny inside, the 'butterflies,' or whatever, although that had been dispelled when Garrett added "Although as punishment you must tell me the details. You can't expect to tell me you've slept with the dashing Detective Redfield and not have me ask you about it...."

Ned chuckled to himself as he locked the Ford, remembering his own expression of exasperation. He was still grinning when he encountered Scarlett, who in contrast looked worried. Her eyes narrowed when she spotted him.

"Ned!" the coyote accused disapprovingly. "You've been avoiding me!"

He glanced around the office to see if anyone was watching, but those of the other officers who were present were occupied elsewhere. Scarlett would be wanting to know what he'd settled with Garrett, though, so he motioned for her to follow and went into the break room, which was empty.

Scarlett frowned, leaning against the counter next to the coffeepot. "Ned, I'm worried about you! Associating with mafia, _dating_one - you didn't go back to Garrett, did you?"

"I did" he admitted. "And we are still together."

The coyote hit a paw to her forehead. "Ned! How can you - you said he's an assasian? A thief?"

Ned was almost surprised at how calm and determined the words came. "He's all those things, but he's also a wonderful person." He was aware the words sounded conflicting, but that was how he felt, in some twisted way. "I can trust you not to report him?"

"Not report the leader of the Chinese Triad and her actor cohort?" Scarlett grimaced. "How could I not?" She's just worried about me, Ned realised, making him feel like hugging her.

"I promise I've got this under control" he insisted. "Just-"

His phone started buzzing, and strangely, so did Scarlett's. They both pulled out the phones; glanced at them. Arkady.

"This conversation isn't over" Scarlett growled as they rushed back to the main office.

The fox was calling together officers in the main station. "Dispatcher just got a call from the San Fernando Daily Press" the sergeant explained briskly. "Apparently they received a very strange email from," he gave his underlings a meaningful look, "Holly Vaughn. In it, they said, she raved about having discovered the Prophet and names his next victim."

Instantly Ned realised what was off about such a claim, but Montoya spoke first. "That doesn't figure" he growled without smiling. "That marten; she wrote for that tabloid specifically; she never would have given up an article to a newspaper, especially not for free."

"I agree" Arkady said. "Which is why we're paying Miss Vaughn a visit. Montoya, you have her hotel room?"

"366, at the Hilton" the jaguar replied.

Thirty minutes later, Ned and Scarlett followed Arkady and Nolan down the third-floor hall of the Hilton Hotel, counting off doors. A quick check with the front desk confirmed that Holly Vaughn was indeed still checked into the hotel; the maid staff reported that they had not cleaned her room yet, as a "Do Not Disturb" sign had been placed on it.

Ned had been mulling over possible reasons for why Holly would have sent such an email. The email address she'd used was credible; a phone call to FABULOUS's headquarters had confirmed that, and Montoya was right: releasing information for free was not something Holly did. People behaved in patterns, and when someone did something erratically out of context with their usual pattern, that suggested something was wrong.

The obvious solution was something Ned didn't want to consider, even given his dislike for the snobby pine marten.

Arkady and Nolan were clearing thinking the same thing, though, because when they passed room number 360, the two older officers both put a paw on their holsters and Nolan held up a paw to caution the two rookies to proceed slowly. The front desk had given them a room key, so the eased up to the door. Ned felt his body tensioning, tail poised behind him, all senses alert for anything out of the ordinary. Scarlett seemed similarly prepared, her paw also ready to draw her handgun if necessary.

Nolan raised a paw and knocked twice. "Miss Vaughn? This is SF Metro Homicide - we'd like a word with you."

No one answered, nor was the door opened.

The grey wolf repeated his knock and greeting. "Miss Vaughn? This is the police - "

"She's not there" Arkady murmured softly.

Nolan slid the room key into the slot.

Holly had rented one of the plusher suites, a luxurious affair with extravagant furniture and a carpeted floor. The door eased open slowly, releasing a heavy scent of perfume, somewhat similar to that Holly had worn at the Mayor's gala. Two large, matched suitcases stood under the coatrack, on which several trendy jackets hung.

Scarlett shivered. "Blood" she mouthed to Ned.

The main part of the suite consisted of an unmade queen bed and a variety of chairs and tables. Most of the furniture was crowded with magazines, notebook paper, empty Pepsi cans, and assorted take-out food cartons, while various clothing articles were draped over the chairs and spread around the floor. Holly was not a tidy tenant; that was certain.

The table at the far corner of the room had been used as a desk, apparently, as it was holding a laptop computer, and several more magazines and stacks of papers. Holly was sitting in the chair in front of it, her back to the door, head leaning forward slightly.

There were clearly no other people in the suite, so Arkady had holstered his pistol. "Miss Vaughn?" the fox called warily, one final plea for the marten to respond to, but as Ned walked closer, noticing the ripped shoulder of the blouse Holly was wearing, seeing the way the marten stared unblinking at her computer's black screen, and finally the jewelled dagger handle protruding from her chest, he knew that Holly Vaughn had indeed found the Prophet.

"Well, at least this time he made identifying the killing weapon easy" Scarlett muttered, as the four of them studied the body. A phone call had already been placed calling Carmen to the scene, but with the dagger still buried in Holly's breast, there was no doubt what had killed her. Her paws were folded together to the side of her laptop, the expected piece of paper predictably in her grasp.

"Not only that, but you don't see a dagger like that often" Nolan pointed out. He was right; the dagger's handle seemed to have been fashioned partly from gold and partly from some dark variety of wood, while a red ruby had been set in the centre. Moreover, the base of the handle curved to the side, like the curved knives and swords that Arab characters carried in movies set in the Middle East.

Arkady took a photo of the dagger with his camera, inspiring Ned to do the same. "We'd better look into museums or personal collections" the fox suggested. "I doubt there's many daggers like that in San Fernando."

"Maybe this is the time to read Holly's letter" Ned offered, tapping a computer key with a claw.

The screen blinked to life, displaying a typed Microsoft Word document:

Dear Citizens of San Fernando;

For the past week the people of San Fernando and the world at large have watched in suspense the events unfolding here on the California coast, after a serial killer, nicknamed "the Prophet," has claimed victim after victim in a spread of killings ranging from television star Claudia Wittmore to actor Conrad Fincher. Many, myself included, have speculated on the identity of this enigma of a man, but little did I suspect I would ever meet him face to face.

The Prophet has been labelled many things; homophobe, murderous villain, heartless killer, monster. You can then imagine my surprise at discovering that the many who is drawing everyone's attention to this coastal city of fog is in fact the most debonair of gentlemen, a man well-respected among the American populace.

I asked the Prophet why he has taken this task of death upon his shoulders, but he just smiled and replied that "that would be telling." He did relent to giving the name of his next intended victim, a member of America's Congress: Representative Friedrich Van Holling. Van Holling is scheduled to appear as a speaker this week in San Fernando, but, the Prophet told me, the congressman will be lucky to leave the event alive.

To the people who desire his capture, he has only one thing to say: "With God at my side and a noble cause to pursue, I am unstoppable. San Fernando has brought upon itself the judgement of the Lord; a judgement none can escape. Do not think of me as a criminal, but as your saviour, for I have been sent to show you the error of your ways before it is too late."

The letter ended abruptly.

"He must have held her at gunpoint and forced her to type this before he stabbed her" Scarlett suggested, glancing at Arkady in apparent hope that her sleuthing skills would be validated.

"That's my guess as well" the fox agreed, "although I can't imagine why she didn't scream. Unless...."

Ned had a sudden thought. "What if the Prophet is someone Holly trusted?" He swept a paw around the room. "You know, I don't see any evidence of a scuffle."

"That wouldn't go with our theory of a religious killer...." Nolan countered, examining the contents of one of the tables, "not with her being a lesbian who works for a gay magazine. However..." slipping on a glove, he held up a glass, which appeared to have a small amount of red residue in the bottom of it. He sniffed it. "Wine."

Scarlett's ears flew up, and she briskly walked to the refrigerator, looked inside. "No wine in here. Just...ugh." She grimaced. "Holly had terrible taste in food."

A quick check in the suite's cabinet showed two identical glasses, which Arkady drew their attention to. "The hotel wouldn't supply an odd number. But I don't see the fourth."

"Or a wine bottle." Ned walked back over to Holly's body, hesitated. Anything in the name of solving a mystery, right? He leaned in so his muzzle was near the dead marten's, and sniffed. For a moment all his nose caught was the scent of death, so strong he wanted to gag, but then...there it was. "Wine" he announced, glancing up. Predictably, Scarlett looked mortified, but the two experienced cops were wearing expressions of approval.

Nolan indicated a paw to where Holly's purse had been carelessly tossed on the bed. "So let's say Miss Vaughn did know the killer. We'll say they met before she came back to her room."

Ned pointed his muzzle at the corpse. "She's dressed like she'd been out. Dressy slacks, and that top looks spendy too. Not in pyjamas, or casual clothes."

"Exactly. Let's say the killer offers to share a bottle of wine. They come back here, he gets her partly or completely drunk, then -" the grey wolf hesitated. "The problem with this is, even if she was drunk, why wouldn't she have screamed when he pulled the gun, or knife, on her? Someone in an adjourning room would have heard."

They got their answer to that much later, once Holly's body had been removed and taken to the lab. "She'd been gagged" Carmen explained. "I found evidence of cotton in her muzzle - a sock, maybe."

"He gagged her, then forced her to type the letter" Arkady nodded. "It checks out. Anything else?"

The vixen glanced at her notes. "Nope, except that she had a blood alcohol reading of .09. I'd wager she not as alert as she might have been under less influence."

Arkady had already dispatched Milo and Jason to interview hotel staff and guests in the hope that someone else might have seen Holly Vaughn entering the hotel room. The first thing they'd checked had obviously been the hotel's hall security cameras, but unfortunately, while they had certainly captured Holly and a visitor, Holly's companion was only visible at a distance and was wearing a hood, which hid his face, and for all accounts, his species. They were able to discern that the man did not have much, if any, of a tail; and that he was of average height and build - although that may have been influenced by what he wore.

Nolan was already busy calling museums and knife experts in relation to whether a unique Arabic dagger had been stolen or sold recently. Extraction of the weapon from Holly Vaughn's chest had revealed that the blade too was curved, indicating it was definitely of Arabic origin. Ned called two of the museums himself, but both curators reported no knowledge of such a dagger having ever been part of their collections, so the search was fruitless. Nonetheless, the morning's events had Ned feeling pleased. He and Scarlett had both, he felt, behaved like true detectives that morning, leading the trail of clues and reading the scene in Holly's room to plot out the events during her last hours. Not to say that the scene had been pleasing. Holly Vaughn was the first victim Ned had spoken to himself, and while his feelings for the marten had been less than friendly, considering what a bitch she'd been, he still would never wish that she end up stabbed to death in a hotel room. Granted, Holly had more or less brought it upon herself, with the way she'd proclaimed herself as the primary writer reporting on the case...maybe the Prophet had tired of her speculations with time. At any rate, she'd gotten the publicity she wanted; now that she was number eight on the Prophet's list of Ten Commandments.

Additionally, if his theory that Holly had known or at least recognised the Prophet without seeing him as a threat....now that could take the case in a totally different direction.

Ned had stepped into the kitchen area to fetch a drink, bounce in his step, but the bounce vanished when he discovered that Diego was already there, munching on a hamburger. "Hey, Ned! Heard you had fun down at the Hilton this morning."

He stuck a Styrofoam cup under the tap and turned the knob, watching the cool water flow into the cup. "I don't know if I'd call it that."

"Probably not." Diego's tone was about the same as he'd ever talked to Ned, but the wolf was still slightly wary that the wolfdog might have decided their little encounter had meant more than it had. Perhaps he should settle things just to be sure.

"Garrett and I made up" he said simply, drinking. He never quite adjusted to the city water here, different than the well water at his parent's house in Montana, even if it had been seven years since he'd left home.

Unexpectedly, Diego grinned. "I'm really glad to hear that. Like I said, you were a cute couple."

Ned must have looked surprised because the wolfdog laid a paw on his shoulder. "Look, Ned" he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one else was near, "I won't deny I had fun with you, and I'm not like to forget it for a long time. But I'm not going to keep you from your coyote if he's your man."

The wolfdog looked so sincere that Ned couldn't help but believe him. Maybe with finding Garrett's and Olympia's secrets, I'm becoming too cynical, he thought. Sometimes he had to remember that not everyone had a secret agenda, and that here and there, genuinely nice people did exist - like this wolfdog.

"Thanks for that" he gave a friendly tail wag.

"Don't mention it" Diego said, looking up. "Uh oh. You're in trouble, dude."

Ned followed the wolfdog's gaze and saw Scarlett had followed him in. "Will you excuse us?"

Diego nodded and left.

"You look like you have a lot on your mind" Ned observed.

Scarlett flicked her tail, leaning against the counter. "At least we can cross Holly off our list of possible suspects."

"True." The coyote was avoiding his eyes, frowning. "Are you ok?"

"I don't know!" she snapped. "This case is crazy, person after person dying. You know, I'd be really happy right now - things are so great with Nolan...." Her ears splayed out, but not before Ned saw the pink tint on their inside. "I think he is planning to propose..."

"That's amazing!" Ned hugged her. "I mean, that's what you wanted, right? You two fit each other."

"I guess so" she muttered doubtfully, "but that's not it. How can I be happy when I have to worry about you constantly?"

Oh. Well, he couldn't have expected her to let him off that easily. "Because of Garrett."

Her eyes rolled. Gosh, how did coyotes do that so easily - she looked just like Garrett. "No, you idiot, I'm worried about your lack of fashion sense. Of course it's because of Garrett! You're dating mafia, Ned!"

She gave him a defiant look, expecting an argument, maybe, but he sighed. ".....I don't need to be reminded of that."

The coyote didn't look convinced, so he continued. "You think I like knowing that my boyfriend is....well, you know? It still tears me up inside, knowing what he does, but....I can't quit him." How could he make her see that he'd felt the same way she did; still did, to some extent, but somehow, what he had with Garrett went beyond that...

No such luck. "Oh Ned, can't you see what you're doing?" She turned away from him, fidgeting with her tail, pulling at the bushed-up fur with clenched fingers. "This is the kind of thing where sooner or later one or both of us get murdered!"

"Oh, please."

"You think they wouldn't do it?"

"Not Garrett!"

"Ok, Olympia then. We're talking mafia, Ned. Real life, fucking mobster mafia. Not bullies on a playground."

"I trust Olympia" Ned said, suddenly. The words felt strange on his tongue, but he'd realised with startling clarity just why he believed with certainty that neither Olympia nor Garrett intended either he or Scarlett any harm.

Scarlett's eyes blew up like headlights and she practically bared fangs at him, clenching her paws into fists. "Holy fuck, Ned! Do you even hear what you're saying? Trust Olympia Rogan, who we know to be" she lowered her voice "fucking Xang Lan? A mafia bitch that has no qualms about killing people? Remember what happened to that snitch."

He held up a paw.

"What?"

"All that you said."

She shook her head, almost trembling.

"That is exactly why I trust Olympia not to harm us."

She looked up again, ears still pinned to her skull, but her voice wavered. "What....why?"

"Because if Olympia viewed us as a threat we would already be dead" Ned said softly.

All the anger seemed to drain out of Scarlett; her paws unclenching as they fell to her sides. "She removed that snitch from the picture so quickly" she whispered. Slowly she walked over and hugged Ned, sighing. "I just worry about you. You're my best friend. Nolan's talking about getting a bigger house, about kids and buying me a nicer car and getting joint bank accounts. I don't want to be worrying about getting butchered by the Chinese Triad....or losing my best friend to a similar fate."

Ned held the trembling coyote tenderly, musing on how the two people he cared most about in the world both happened to be coyotes - although otherwise they had proved to be very different people. "You aren't going to get murdered" he soothed, noticing for the first time the difference in the colours of Scarlett's fur when compared with Garrett's - hers was lighter, without as much black tint. "Garrett likes you; and Olympia doesn't view us as a threat. You're safe."

She didn't reply, just rested her head on his shoulder, so he offered another suggestion. "Just don't forget to invite me to your wedding."

He'd hoped that might make her smile, but instead, the coyote abruptly stood up, her ears rising for the first time in several minutes, staring at the sink and the stack of Styrofoam cups. Expression thoughtful, she muttered something lowly.

"Scarlett?"

"I....I have an idea" she whispered slowly, voice rising with each word. "Maybe...maybe something good can come from this."

Ned felt himself smiling in relief that she'd decided not to fight him on it. His ears perked. "What's that?"

"I think we should make a deal with Olympia" Scarlett said.

"What kind of deal?"

She jerked her muzzle in the direction of the main office. "We aren't getting anywhere calling museums and such about that dagger, right? Which means that there's a high possibility it was obtained illegally, smuggled in or something."

He caught on. "And the Underworld is full of smugglers. The Triad themselves deals in artefacts..."

Scarlett's uncertainty had faded entirely, replaced by a grim air of resignation. "Olympia says she makes a business of knowing everything which goes in the Underworld, right? What if she knows something about a rare and valuable dagger being sold recently? Even if she doesn't herself, she may know someone who does. Someone who might know who the dagger was sold to..."

Ned nodded in agreement. "I'm going to step outside for a minute."

Her eyebrows raised.

"I have call to make," he grinned, "to a certain white wolf."

Maybe Olympia would be of use to SF Metro after all.