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As soon as Stan and I had gotten dressed, we headed back to the Franklin Housing Project where the four murders had taken place earlier that day. It had been no surprise to me that we'd received no real cooperation from the tenants there. Many of the residents were either in the country illegally, had criminal records, or just plain didn't like cops.

"What's this lead, anyway?" said Stan, parking the car along the sidewalk.

"Somebody says they saw somebody look suspicious hanging around the place earlier today," I said.

"Suspicious? Here?" said Stan sarcastically. "I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, yeah," I said, getting out of the car. "I know what goes on here."

It was pretty common for places like the Franklin Projects to have a pretty high crime rate. Drug dealing, prostitution, gambling, and theft were part of everyday life here.

"You get any info on the caller?" asked Stan.

"Not from him," I said, getting out my own phone. "But I sent the information to the tech guys, and they told me the phone is registered to a Luis Ortega."

"He live here?" asked Stan as we walked to the buildings entrance.

"Apartment A4," I said. "At least we don't have to climb any stares."

We walked into the building, and instantly I was hit with the same sensations as earlier that day; graffiti all over the walls, half of the lights burned out, the smell of mold and rotting garbage that hadn't been thrown out. Stan and I were never wealthy growing up, but I couldn't imagine living in some king of cesspool like this.

"Here we are," I said, arriving at A4. I knokced on the door. "Mr. Ortega?" There was no response, so I knocked again, harder, and raised my voice. "Mr. Ortega? It's the police. Would you please come to the door?"

I heard footsteps from the other side and the sound of locks being unfastened. The door crept open a few inches, the chain still attached to it. A frightened coyote looked back at me.

"Yes?" he said in what I guessed to be a Hispanic accent.

"Mr. Ortega?" I said, taking out my badge and showing it to him. "I'm Lieutenant Malone and this is Sergeant Tybalt. We're police officers."

"I didn't do nothing," he said timidly, shaking his head.

"We'd just like to ask you a few questions, okay?" I said, calmly, trying to ease my way into the place. I could see that he was still skeptical, so I went even further. "Mr. Ortega, we're city police officers. I'm not here about any immigration issues you might have. Theat's the business of the Feds."

"You promise?" he asked.

"Promise," I said, my voice still calm.

He unlatched the chain to the door and Stan and I followed him inside. The Ortega household was sparsely furnished, and what little furniture there was looked like it would have been on a Craigslist ad, listed under "free stuff". A female coyote came out from the living room, holding a baby coyote and a young male coyote, who looked about five or six, followed close behind her.

"What you want to ask me?" asked Mr. Ortega.

"Sir," I said. "A little while ago, somebody used your phone to contact me, saying that they had information on what happened at the building earlier today."

"What?" he said, looking, or maybe just acting confused. "I never call you."

"Mr. Ortega," said Stan. "The number that was used to call Lieutenant Malone comes back registered to you."

"But I never call you," he said, more forceful than before.

"Maybe you didn't," I said. "But someone used the phone to call us. You have any idea who that might be?"

He turned his head, asking the female coyote, who I presumed to be his wife, something in Spanish. The female coyote shook her head and said "no". Mr. Ortega looked back at me. "Maria said she no used the phone today." He walked out of the room briefly yelling "Miguel" to someone in the back. A teenage coyote came out to the living room at looked at Stan and I with just as horrified an expression as his father did when we first came to the door.

"Yes?" he said.

"You Miguel?" I asked him.

"Yes," he said.

"Miguel," I said, showing him my badge. "I'm Lieutenant Malone, and this is Sergeant Tybalt. We're investigating the murders that took place here earlier today.

"Okay," he said.

"Miguel," said Stan. "Did you call us and say that you have some information about who did this."

He didn't answer. Instead, he just looked at the floor. It reminded me of how RJ did the same thing when I was chewing his ass out for getting in a fight and getting suspended from school. It's pretty much a kid's way of showing that they're either ashamed of something they did, or they're not telling you the whole story.

"You're not in any trouble," I said. "Miguel, we need all the help we can get if we're going to catch this guy and lock him up. Now, if you know something, please tell us."

"What you see?" Mr. Ortega asked his son.

"I went upstairs earlier today to see Paul," he said. "I was at the other end of the hall, when I see this spotted cat, I think he was a cheetah, walking out of Paul's apartment."

Paul happened to be one of the young male coyotes that was strangled to death by the murderer. From what I remember seeing of the boy's body, he looked to be about Miguel's age.

"Then what happened?" I asked him.

Miguel shivered, and tears ran down his face. "I saw him, he walked down the hall, the whole time, just giving me this evil smile. It made me so scared. His eyes were so cold, so cruel looking. I thought I was going to die of fright when he stopped and looked at me, then his smile looked even more evil."

"Did he say anything to you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Hi, little guy."

"Anything else?" I asked him.

"No,' said Miguel. "He just walked by me and down the stairs. I made sure he wasn't going to come back, so I wait awhile before I turned my back on him. I went to Paul's apartment and knock, but nobody answers. I know Paul has to be home, but I don't even hear any noise from the other side of the door."

"What did you do then?" asked Stan.

"I go and get the super and tell him something's wrong," said Miguel. "He told me to go home, and he'd check on them."

"He's the one that found them dead?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Miguel, tears now streaming down his face. "What I'm worried about now; what if comes back and tries to find me?"

"Oh, dear god," said Mr. Ortega.

"I doubt that will happen," I told him. "In the meantime, do you think you could give a description of this guy to a sketch artist?"

"No," said Mr. Ortega forcefully. "No way Miguel gets involved with this."

"Mr. Ortega," I said, trying once more to calm him down. "We need you son's help in this investigation."

"No way, no way," he said shaking his head. "What if this guy comes back here? Then what you do?"

"Sir," I said. "If Miguel gives us a description of the guy, and we can get a sketch technician down here right now, we can start looking for him and hopefully have him in custody soon."

"He gonna have to testify?" asked Mr. Ortega.

"I don't know yet," I said. "The guy might confess if we lean on him enough."

"What if he don't?" asked Mr. Ortega. "Who gonna protect him? Who gonna protect us?"

"We are," I said, confidently. "Now, give us permission to get an artist down here now, and I'll have a squad car sitting in front of your building from now until this guy's in our custody, okay?"

Mr. Ortega walked around, shaking his head before looking back at me. "You can do that? Have a police car outside at all times?"

"I sure can," I told him. "My father is a three-star chief in the Police Department. All I have to do is call him, and he'll make it happen."

"We don't want this guy running around killing anymore creatures anymore than you do," said Stan, backing me up.

The older coyote sighed, still looking apprehensive. "Yeah, okay, but if anything happens to . . ."

"Nothing's going to happen, sir," I said. "You help us out, and I'll help you out, alright?"

He sighed again, resigning himself to what had to take place.

I got a sketch technician over to the Franklin Building in just under an hour. With all the new technology the Department was getting, we'd also acquired computers that would allow us to draw a composite sketch of a suspect much quicker than the old way of just drawing by hand. I have to say, I was very impressed at the detail young Miguel gave to the technician. Miguel was able to guess the guy's species, height, weight, age, and even told us he was wearing a "Megaparsec Express Delivery" uniform. That little bit of information might prove to come in real handy. If the guy still had the uniform in his possession and hadn't washed it, we might be able to find fur or something else from the victims on it, proving he was at the scene of the crime. Stan I left Franklin Projects after I ordered a sketch be sent out to all the precincts in the city, and headed home.

I got up the next morning, still tired from lack of sleep and walked over to Stan's house so he could drive us to work. Before we even got to the Major Cases office building, I called and made sure that there was still a police car over at the Franklin Building. I was glad to hear back that there was indeed. Even if we didn't catch the guy there, maybe its presence would help bring down the crime there a little bit. Stan and I went inside, and I went straight to Inspector Isengrim's office to catch him up on where we were with the case. I knocked on his office door, even though it was already open.

"Yes, Lieutenant?" he said, motioning me to come in.

"Might have caught a lucky break on the case last night," I said. "Turns out, one of the resident at the Franklin Place, a fourteen year old coyote named Miguel Ortega might have seen our perp."

"He get a good look at him?" asked my wolf uncle, picking up his mug of coffee and taking a big swig from it.

"Looks like it," I said, getting out my phone and showing him. "Guy's a cheetah, around thirty to thirty-five, medium build, wearing a Melapardus Express Delivery uniform."

"Thank the uniform might be significant?" he asked me.

"Could be," I said. "Stan and I are going to call their office here pretty quick and see if they'd have anyone working there that fits the description."

"Check to see if they'd had to fire anyone recently that fits the sketch too," added the Inspector.

"Will do," I said. I don't know why, but I just kept standing there in front of his desk.

"Something wrong?" asked the Inspector.

"Nothing I can't handle," I said.

"Close the door," he said. I went over and closed it.

"What's eating at you, Rey?" asked my uncle.

"I know this is lousy timing, boss," I said. "But I have to go down to Rj's school sometime today to talk to the principal."

Uncle Wally sighed. "What did he do this time?"

"He shoved some kid who stole his mp3 player," I said, then shook my head.

"That boy," said Uncle Wally, shaking his head. "It's always something with him, isn't it?"

"That's what I'm looking to do something about," I said.

"Oh? What's the plan?" he asked me.

"I'm going to try to get primary custody of him," I said, sounding more determined. "Margo can't seem to control him anymore, and he'd be better off with me anyway. Plus, he's at that age wear kids who are on the margin really start to go bad. I'm worried that if he's not in my home, he's gonna end up with the wrong crowd."

"A legitimate concern," said Uncle Wally. "And those are the ones that we usually end up having to deal with."

"Tell me about it," I said, fearing what could happen to my boy in the future. "I've seen too many bad kids turn into terrible adults, and I'm gonna do what it takes to turn him around. Speaking of which, how about that lost time . . ."

I was interrupted by a knock on the office door. I hadn't lowered the blinds on the door's window, so when I turned around to see who it was, my stomach turned. It was none other than William "Big Bill" Malone, Bureau Chief, Chief of Detectives, and more importantly, my Dad. I went over and opened the door, allowing him access. Though my Dad was Chief of Detectives, which was an occupation that normally saw the creature holding that office wearing a suit, like most detectives, my Dad always felt the need to wear his dress uniform, showing off his three stars on each side of his collar, both cuffs, and all the medals he'd been awarded throughout his career. He looked down at me as he walked in. I wasn't short for a fox, but my Dad was unusually tall and well built for a member of our species, which should give you a pretty good indication of how he got his nickname.

He walked past me and up to Uncle Wally's desk. "Wally," he said in his deep, commanding voice. "Where are we with the Franklin Projects murders?"

"The Lieutenant was just giving me his report on that," answered my Uncle.

"And?" said my Dad, impatiently.

"We have a young male coyote that got a very detailed look of a male cheetah coming out of the victims' apartment," said Uncle Wally. He turned the computer monitor around to show my Dad the sketch that had been composed last night. My Dad gave it a very thorough looking over. "That picture's been sent out to every precinct in the city."

"Good," said my Dad. "That squad car you have out there report anything yet?" he asked, turning to face me.

"Nothing yet," I said. "I've got them on four our shifts just to make sure the guys sitting on the place don't get tired or bored."

"Well, you'd better find this guy quick," said my Dad. "The last thing I want to get is some phone call by another bleeding-heart reporter saying the police aren't doing enough to protect the poor of this city. Shit, it's the poor that we lock up more than anyone else. Maybe if they had jobs they wouldn't have all this time and energy to get themselves in trouble."

"Maybe," I said. "Anyway, Inspector, can I get those few hours of lost time this morning?"

"Lost time?" said my Dad, looking both confused and irritated. "You've got a quadruple homicide on your paws, and you're asking for lost time?"

"Yes," I said, trying like hell to hide my own irritation. "I've got to go down the Middle School and talk to RJ's principal."

"What did Junior do now?" asked my Dad, folding his arms.

"He got in a fight after some jerk stole his mp3 player," I said. "And Dad, I've asked you to call him RJ I don't know how many times. Could you please just do that for me, okay?"

"Of course," he said, grumbling. "He must get as pissy as you do whenever anyone but your mother calls you Reynard instead of Rey."

As much as I wanted to get into an argument with him, he had a point. I hated being called Reynard instead of Rey, except when my Mom calls me by my proper name. What the hell she ever saw in my Dad, I don't think I'll ever know.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," said my Uncle. "Just give me a ring whenever you're out of there and on your way back."

"Sure thing," I said. "I've got Stan, Mike, Ed, Jack and Johnny all working on this," I said as I left the office

Melapardus Public Middle School 14, my older boy's school was about a forty-five minute drive from the office at this time of day. I had to take Stan's car, since I left mine at home. The school had about four hundred students, just about average sized for the city. I went through the entrance of the school where the administrative offices were and told some middle-aged female gazelle, I'm guessing the principal's secretary, my name and purpose for being there. I had to sign my name, the date and time, plus a brief description of my purpose for being here, after which I sat down on a chair just outside of the principal's office. This was a completely new experience for me, as I never got into any trouble at school that required me to visit the principal; which is not to say that I didn't occasionally get scolded by my teachers from time to time for drawing pictures when I was supposed to be doing some assignment, or whispering to Stan whenever we had class together, but I never got suspended. My Dad, as I've since found out myself, works in a high stress job; that, and having a wife and five kits, he wasn't the type to put up with much misbehavior, especially if he'd had a bit too much to drink. He's never in his life hit my mother, but if I or my siblings ever got into serious trouble, we could expect to have our bare asses smacked about a dozen times with a belt. Just thinking about it made me want to cover my butt with my paws.

"Mr. Hawthorne will see you now, Mr. Malone," said the gazelle.

I got up, and walked into the principal's office. There sat Mr. Hawthorne, plump warthog who looked about sixty years old. I went over and shook his paw.

"Mr. Hawthorne," I said. "I'm Reynard Malone, RJ's father."

"Oh yes," said the warthog in a thick, nasally tone of voice. "Nice to meet you, although I'm sorry it's under such circumstances."

"So am I," I said. "I was wondering if we could . . ."

Just as I had been interrupted talking to Uncle Wally, the intercom beeped, and Mr. Hawthorne answered. I could tell it was his secretary. She was asking if a Mr. Aden could see him now.

"Yes," said the principal. "Send him in."

I turned around and saw this big tiger entering the office. I knew not only from the last name, but from his species that this guy must be the father of Tyler, the boy who stole RJ's mp3 player before he decided to give him a black eye.

"Mr. Aden," said Mr. Hawthorne, getting up, and extending his paw. "Thank you for coming in."

"Yeah," said the tiger, his tone gruff. "I ain't got much time. I gotta a bar to run."

We all sat down, with Mr. Aden and I sitting across from the principal. Mr. Hawthorne started the discussion. "Now, gentleman, it's my understanding their was a physical altercation yesterday, involving your sons."

Mr. Aden, without being asked, butted in. "Yeah, Tyler told me that this guy's kid shoved him for no reason."

Mr. Hawthorne looked at me. "Is that true, Mr. Malone?"

"It's true that RJ was the first to make it physical," I said.

"So my kid was just defending himself," said Mr. Aden, folding his arms and looking smug.

"Not exactly," I said, keeping myself tranquil.

"Oh?" said Mr. Hawthorne, curiously. "What does your son say happened, Mr. Malone?"

"RJ told me that he watched Mr. Aden's son take his mp3 player out of his book bag after he sat it down next to the table he usually eats at. He confronted Mr. Aden's son about it, and Mr. Aden's son denied taking it, even though RJ watched him do it."

"What are you sayin'," said Mr. Aden, getting out of his seat. "You sayin' my son's a damn thief?"

"Mr. Aden," said the warthog. "Please watch your language, and take your seat."

"No," said the tiger, glaring hatefully at me. "I wanna hear him say it."

"That's what RJ told me," I said. "My son's been in trouble before, but he's never lied to me about someone stealing something from him." Mr. Aden's eyes narrowed even more hatefully at me. "And, I'd appreciate it if Mr. Aden would tell his son to give back my son's mp3 player, sooner rather than later."

"He ain't got it,' snarled Mr. Aden.

"With all due respect," I said. "It's your son who's the liar, not mine."

"You son of a . . ."

I watched as Mr. Aden swung his right fist at me. He was bigger, and more than likely stronger, but I was much quicker than him. I dodged the punch and landed a solid left hook below his right rib cage. I knew enough about fighting to know that hitting somebody hard enough on the liver would make them fall to the ground like a ton of bricks. Mr. Aden growled in pain as I indeed my punch had found its mark. He fell face forward, but managed to keep from breaking his nose or knocking out any teeth by covering his face with his right arm. I leaned down, my adrenaline still rushing like crazy as Mr. Hawthorne was aghast at what he saw.

"Mr. Malone," said the warthog. "What is the meaning of this?"

I leaned down, pulled my handcuffs from the back of my belt, and cuffed the big tiger as he lay incapacitated on the ground. I got up, and pulled out my badge. "Maybe I should have told you what I do for a living," I said, "I'm Detective-Lieutenant Malone of Melapardus Police Department, and Mr. Aden there just assaulted a police officer."

"What?" said Mr. Aden, his voice still weak as he spoke in the floor. "I didn't know you were a cop."

"Well, now you do," I said. I got down on the ground again and flipped him over on his back. "You mentioned you had a bar to go back to, right?"

"Yeah," he said, looking up at me.

"Assaulting a police officer is a great way to lose that liquor license of yours," I informed him. "But this can all go away if you tell that thieving brat of yours to give back my son's mp3 player, got it?"

"I got it. I got it," he said.

"Mr. Malone," said the principal. "If you're not going to arrest him, I'd ask that you please remove the handcuffs."

"Very well," I said, reaching down. "On your feet."

I lifted the tiger up on his feet, got behind him, and undid his cuffs. I spun him around, and could tell he was not only still hurting, but he was now very afraid of me. "Here's me card," I said, giving him my business card. "You've got until this time tomorrow to drop off my son's mp3 player at my office."

"I'll get it," said the tiger.

"You'd better," I said, staring daggers into his eyes. "Because if you don't return it in time, I'll make a few phone calls to some people I know and guess what?"

"What?" he asked.

"If I don't have that thing in my paws twenty-four hours from now. You're gonna find that bar of yours to be a really unprofitable venture, cause I'll have the Fire Marshals in there to check for any safety violations or fire hazards. Then, you'll have the state liquor people snooping around, looking for any of those tiny bugs that show you've been refilling your bottles about a dozen times. Next will be the Vice Squad. They'll see if you're running any numbers games out of there or allowing bookies or lone sharks to do their business out of your place. You'll be paying out so many fines that you're gonna have to get a second mortgage on your house."

"Okay, okay," said Mr. Aden. "I'll get it to you, alright?"

"That's good," I said. "And you tell your son to stay the hell away from RJ too, cause if he doesn't . . ." I grabbed hold of Mr. Aden's collar. "Forget about the badge. I'm personally gonna kick your ass." I shoved him back, and like I thought, he didn't have any fight left in him.

"We done here?" I asked Mr. Hawthorne.

"Yes," said the warthog. "RJ can return to school tomorrow."

"That's good," I said. "Have a good day, gentleman."

I walked out of the school and got in Stan's car. I just put the key in the ignition when I heard the ringtone to my phone going off. I answered it. "Yeah?" I said. "I'll be right there."

I started up the car and headed back to the Major Crimes office. The call was from Stan. It looks like he and the rest of the guys had found our perp.