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CHAPTER ONE

NED

The fox had been shot through the side of the face.

That's what Carmen Posa, the Lead Forensics Investigator at the San Fernando Metro Police Department, Homicide Division, had said, but Ned didn't need the swift fox vixen's word for it, cause any fool could see that the victim, an actor named Conrad Fincher, had been shot, and at point blank range, from the looks of it. The fox was laying on his bed, neatly laid out, paws folded on his chest, like he was praying, and tail straight between his legs. He could have been sleeping, save for the enormous hole in his face.

Staff Sergeant Arkady Denison, the red fox who was the senior officer present on the scene, gestured at the corpse, and at the red splattering of blood which spotted the bed and the wall, nightstand, and floor beyond it. "Alright, Carmen. Read the blood."

It wasn't really an odd request, especially considering that Carmen was SF Metro's acting Blood Splatter Analyst, but still, Ned almost winced. That was the one thing with corpses that the black wolf never quite got over - the scent of blood. The tangy, acrid scent filled your nose, telling a story of death, but then again that was why canids made such excellent police officers. A body is easier to find if one can use their nose to do so, and sometimes it helped with identifying the killer's species too.

"He was laying on his bed, on his front" Carmen said. "When he was shot, he'd turned and was moving away, off the bed. The bullet came in slightly sideways, see?" She pointed a claw at the gaping wound in Fincher's wrecked face. After a couple years on the police force, Ned was used to seeing horribly mutilated bodies, but he still grimaced at what'd become of the actor. His muzzle was pretty much intact, although covered in blood, but that couldn't be said for the rest of his face. The left eye was completely gone, as was most of the left side of his head, while his left ear dangled downward into the mess, attached only by a thin strip of fur.

"Since he was turning away, the bullet did not hit him precisely square on. The killer was probably aiming for the forehead." Face unemotional, the vixen pointed a sandy-furred paw at the bloodstains on the bedspread, the floor, and the window chair beyond. "The force of the bullet hitting him point blank blew out his face, which is where we get the blood and brains all over the floor and chair rather than just the bed."

Ned's ears remained flat as Arkady questioned the forensics fox further. Carmen's analysis was only so helpful, after all - it told how Fincher died, but gave no clue as to the identity of the killer.

"What this means, then" Ned observed, "is that the killer moved Fincher back to the bed and arranged him this way." Which is extremely obvious, he thought, but there had to be a reason for that. A thief or a casual killer wouldn't have bothered moving the body.

"Oh yes" Carmen nodded enthusiastically, her tail twitching. If anyone was ever made for their job, it was Carmen. She just genuinely loved working with bodies.

"See this blood pool?" She aimed a finger at an unusually large dark spot on the carpet. "The body fell backwards off the bed at the point of death. Judging by the amount of blood, my guess is he lay here for several minutes. Maybe as many as five. Notice that there is not as much blood on the pillow. With a head wound this traumatic, the blood flow is very steady for the first few minutes, then slows considerably."

"So now we have the question of why the body was arranged as it is" Ned glanced at his two fellow officers. His partner, fellow rookie cop Scarlett Lewis, hadn't said a word since they'd got to the Fincher residence. For a coyote whose life goal was to be a homicide investigator, she still struggled greatly with the emotional aspect of the job, and today was no exception. Her tail and ears were low and she swallowed quickly, trying to avoid looking at the corpse.

"That's our best clue" Arkady agreed, stepping tenderly closer to the bed. Ned followed him, examining the way the body was laid out. He was just posed so perfectly, legs straight, tail between them, but it was the paws that caught his attention. They'd been pressed together perfectly, claws pointed back towards the dead fox's muzzle, the fingers laced together so that they'd stick together as the body stiffened in death.

Ned's eyes froze on an abnormality with the praying paws. Between the clasped paws, he could see just the hint of a slip of paper. He motioned at it to Arkady, who briefly pried the paws apart with a pencil. Sure enough, between them was a folded piece of paper. He pulled it out and unfolded it.

Tails poised behind them, Ned and Scarlett both moved to look over each of the fox's shoulders. The paper was standard printer paper. Eleven lines of black print were typed on it, all in capitals. The words were short and simple, in standard Times New Roman print.

"It's the Ten Commandments" Scarlett observed. And she was right. "But there's eleven of them.

Ned's eyes flew past condemnations of murder and adultery and focused on the last line.

THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT SODOMY.

Both this last line and the first one, THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME were highlighted in red ink. Additionally, CONRAD FINCHER had been typed under the first commandment, in italics.

"Now what to make of this" Arkady mused, glancing at the back of the page, which was blank.

"Killer with religious motivations or biases" Ned said. "Or at least he wants us to think that anyway."

"It makes sense" Scarlett flicked her ears. "The praying paws, the Ten Commandments, and the additional commandment. A condemnation of homosexuality."

"Evidently the killer is trying to state his view that Fincher was breaking an unforgiveable law," he agreed, wrinkling his nose. The heat level was rising and the scent of death in Fincher's bedroom was growing overwhelming

"But notice the first commandment is also highlighted" said the fox.

"Hey, maybe he's saying that it's bad for people to idolize celebrities," proposed Carmen Posa. "Anyway, my work is done. This place needs to be gone over for strange scents."

Good luck, Ned thought. He could smell nothing but the fox and coyote scents of his fellow officers. A premeditated killer would have disguised his scent anyway.

After they'd turned Conrad Fincher's bedroom over to the crime lab team, Ned followed a frowning Arkady back through the labyrinth of hallways down to the foyer. Fincher's home was an enormous place done up in what Ned guessed to be an Italian villa style, full of white marble columns and archways, the tiled floor slick underneath his paws. Probably a common style in a multi-million dollar community like Sullivan Heights. Scarlett was questioning Arkady about Fincher's SO, Carlos Sanchez, but Arkady said that Sanchez had a perfect alibi. Which isn't surprising, he thought. After all, when gay folks got murdered, it was rarely by a lover.

And besides which, the way Fincher's body was arranged gave a pretty clear idea as to the killer's motivations. Something religious, certainly. Of course, it might all be related to Fincher's involvement with Amendment 28, which was supposed to be ratified this year, _if_enough Americans chose to support it. Ned didn't know much about Fincher, but being a gay actor from ultra-liberal Hollywood, he was almost certain to be an Amendment 28 supporter - because being gay and being opposed to a constitutional amendment guaranteeing the right of LGBT Americans to marry would be sacrilegious. It wasn't hard to imagine some homophobic asshole murdering Fincher because of that, but then again, why Fincher? He was small fry compared to some other prominent gay Americans.

Whatever. Regardless of the killer's motives, he had to be caught, and since Ned and Scarlett had been chosen to accompany Arkady to the crime scene, that would indicate that Lennox was considering giving them the case, over the more experienced detectives like Nolan or Montoya. And that, even with the unpleasant circumstances of the dead fox, was something to be excited about. A potential hate-crime was a hell of a lot more exciting than investigating drug overdoses and domestic abuse victims.

They left the stark white house, stepping out into the already muggy midmorning heat. Arkady turned his brown eyes on the two rookies, wearing the expression an officer does when he knows he's got a tough and messy case ahead of him. "I'll finish up here. You two had better file your reports and fill in Lennox on the details."

Reports. Namely, the Harman homicide report, which was still sitting on his desk, and if there was anything Lennox hated, outside of unsolved murders, it was tardiness. But then again, he could hardly be blamed - although he would be blamed, it was true, if Olympia Rogan managed to avoid capture - because SF Metro had been called in to the Fincher crime scene straightaway, without delay, and that meant drop everything and go. Of course, if he hadn't been reminiscing...

Ned Parker had joined the Police Academy for just one reason. Not because he actually had dreamed of being a policewolf, or because he wanted to fight crime or make a difference in society. No, if you looked at it closely, his reasoning boiled down to one thing:

He wanted to live up to his father.

And in that he had failed, of course. Jeffrey Parker had been Helena, Montana's Chief of Police for 36 years, and who could live up to that? As a teen, hell, even as an elementary school student, Ned always had his dad's reputation hanging over his head. So he had left to study at the Academy, desperate to prove to his dad that being gay and being tough and manly was entirely possible at the same time. And predictably, Jeffrey had yelled something about him not coming home till his priorities were straight, both literally and figuratively.

After that came the shootout, and the letter from his mother - "Your father was killed in the line of duty." And then there was nothing Ned could do, only attempt to be what he thought Jeffrey would have wanted, even as he felt the older wolf's scowling eyes looking down on him from heaven, or wherever.

"Ned? Ned?" He'd felt something tap the end of his muzzle. "Ned. Wake up, will you?"

The memories had disappeared as quickly as they'd come. Scarlett was glaring at him, waving a pen. Her bushy brown tail was twitching the way it did when she was agitated.

"Oh, sorry" Ned said, flicking his ears.

Scarlett frowned. "Lennox wanted your report on the Harman homicide 20 minutes ago. Unless you want her on your tail, you'd better get it finished up. And on her desk. Pronto."

Ned grinned in spite of himself. "Ok, boss. Right on it."

"You don't have to be so casual about it" Scarlett admonished him, big ears flicking all over the place. She glanced across the room crowded with desks, chairs, and police officers, towards Lennox's office. "Call just came in about some big homicide. She probably won't be in a good mood anyway."

Ned followed her gaze. "Oh? Who's dead?" He paper-clipped the Harman report together.

Scarlett shrugged. "Nobody's telling me, but someone must give a fuck about him - or her - cause Lennox called Arkady in with her and told Carmen to pack up." She glanced back at Lennox's office. "Report ready?"

"Yeah" Ned said indifferently. Probably Scarlett was overreacting, as she often did. The coyote's enthusiasm were her work was catching, yes, but her eagerness for a big case sometimes caused her to overthink what might be a simple murder. Such as this one, the Harman Homicide. Ned's report covered the basics - that Olympia Rogan, a British wolf studying abroad at Bay State University, had shot Toby Harman, dock yard supervisor, as the skunk left the Fast Gas convenience store, following purchase of a six-pack of Coors and a pack of Camels. Three witnesses had clearly placed Rogan's lavender-colour 2012 Lexus sedan as the vehicle that the killing shot had come from. With the evidence and witnesses ready, it was time to hand the report over to Lennox, and from there, to the prosecution. Miss Rogan would be arrested, justice served. Case closed.

The office door clicked.

Lieutenant Antonia Lennox, the commander of the San Fernando Metro Police Department's Homicide Division, was a tall wolf, the typical grey colouring marred only by several black streaks down her muzzle and over her eyes, giving the impression that she was always crying. She wore a yellow blouse and grey slacks, and as she crossed her arms in the office doorway, her yellow eyes darted from wolf to coyote to fox and back.

"Alright, people. Everybody listen up." Lennox's bark was sharp and demanding. All conversation ended as heads turned and ears pricked to listen. "That was Officer Penton of the CSP. We've got a new homicide, down in the Sullivan Heights area. An actor named Conrad Fincher."

Somewhere in the room, someone gasped audibly. Ned's ears pricked. He hadn't seen Fincher in much, but he did know the actor's name and his involvement in the gay rights movement....and the latter could indicate a hate crime.

"Arkady, I want you and Posa to go down there with..." Ned felt Lennox's eyes on him, and his ears flattened. "With Parker and Lewis. Scope it out. I want a full report in an hour."

The door of Lennox's office shut with a click.

Scarlett could barely contain her excitement. "She wants us! A big case and WE get to be the responding officers!" The coyote's tail was wagging like crazy, and if not for the gravity of the situation, Ned would have laughed.

"No arguing with you there" Ned had said, feeling the envious eyes of Milo Paretti and Jason Pollack, the other two rookies, on them as he and Scarlett joined Arkady in the hall, the Harman report forgotten.

Forgotten briefly, the wolf corrected himself, turning the car up the sloped street and away from Sullivan Heights. Carmen was saying something about a movie Conrad Fincher had been in, but Scarlett didn't seem to be listening, and her ears were still low.

She'd perk up soon enough, though, when Lennox gave them the case.