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Friendships, or at the very least partnerships, can be such a fragile thing. Regardless of the black-and-grey-and-white world shared between private investigators, lawyers and the enforcers of the law, my alliance with the Crossroads City Police Department could be best described as...cautiously mutual. Collegial at best and incredibly distrustful at worst, especially if I picked the wrong client to meddle for.

I'd been working a standard 'missing asset' case involving a rich couple and a supposedly stolen heirloom belonging to the wife. My clients, a pair of philanthropic ursine socialites named George and Martha Benson, wanted me to find a valuable diamond necklace they claimed had been stolen from a charity fundraiser hosted only the week before. Nobody else knew of its disappearance, of course, and they wanted it kept that way.

I complied, did my job, only to discover they refused to pay.

So, I went to the closest police precinct. Pretty sure there's a joke out there for my kind walking into a station, right?

My old mentor, retired P.I. Hunter Donnelley, used to work as a law enforcement officer, meaning he got enough respect from CCPD that some if it also went towards his proteges. He wasn't in Crossroads to help me navigate police culture or their endless bureaucracy, living on his old pension in a condo somewhere in Emerald, using his free time to binge-watch every TV show out there and making frequent trips with his wife to visit family in Oregon. It didn't matter if Donnelley himself taught me how to be a damn good private investigator.

Still, respect towards an old coworker didn't always help. I wasn't a police officer; therefore, I would've always walked on mighty thin ice if an investigation of mine conflicted with the detectives'. Like the time one of my clients got accused of domestic battery one time, and my detective work prevented a sociopathic gold digger from ruining another fur's life.

Anyway, I waited in line as people either reported crimes or asked to see somebody in the neighboring county jail. It felt awkward waving or nodding to a passing cop.

"May I help you?" The clerk behind the glass asked, when I finally got to the front. "Do you wish to report a crime, or provide information that may help the police?"

"Actually, yes." I smiled and held up my P.I. badge after slowly retrieving it from my jacket. "I'm a private detective who wishes to report two crimes."

The clerk nodded as she typed something into the computer. Before I knew it, I was led down a corridor towards a large area composed of cubicles and office spaces. The officer I'd talk to happened to be a tiger named Officer Owens. Why did the name sound so familiar? I didn't think much of it until I arrived at the final desk on the left and came face-to-face with a recognizable stripped muzzle.

"Officer Owens?" I spoke up.

Dressed in the standard dark blue police uniform and strapping a gun to his side, he was a muscular, easy-going tiger with the deepest of green eyes. We'd met before. He'd been the tall officer called in when an old client's son and his angry wife tried assaulting me over a headache of a case. Safe to say, I hadn't expecting to see the tiger so soon.

"Hey, it's you!" The way his welcoming smile lit up upon seeing me confirmed my suspicions. "You're that P.I. from the café, right?"

"Sure am." I nodded with a wagging tail. "Wasn't expected you to be the one I talk to, actually."

"Coincidences, am I right?" He chuckled while motioning for me to take a seat. "So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Leander? Zoey said you wanted to report two crimes?"

"Correct," I said, almost a little too formally. "My clients are refusing to pay for the time that they accrued when hiring me. Do you know Mr. and Mrs. Benson, the philanthropists?"

"I think I've met them once or twice at a policeman's ball..." He nodded. "So, you want to press charges against them then?"

"I don't want to press charges, but I feel like I have to," I confessed, "otherwise it'll just invite other furs to stiff me. Even if they do sign a written contract and pay the deposit. Anyway, the case seemed simple enough. Mrs. Benson wanted me to find a necklace of hers that'd been allegedly stolen, and I spent a day doing interviews and looking through social media posts, asking her questions when the husband says he found it under their bed. Okay then, the necklace is safe, but I still demanded the money she owes me. They refused, saying that since I didn't officially find the necklace, they didn't have to pay me the rest."

During my explanation of the events, I handed Officer Owens a copy of the signed contract and check she made out for me for the deposit, the former dated with her genuine signature. Not even the CCPD's lawyers could counterargue the fact Mr. and Mrs. Benson were attempting to commit theft of services.

"Okay then." Owens finished looking at the copy, "What's the second crime for you to report?"

"How does attempt at insurance fraud sound?" I asked coyly to which Officer Owens raised an eyebrow. "I know, it's a stretch, but hear me out. Based on the inconsistencies of other partygoers at the event and multiple photos posted to social media, showing Mrs. Benson wore the necklace a good half-hour after she claims it went missing, I have reason to suspect she wanted to claim the insurance money. The price of a diamond necklace is worth plenty of money on its own, and a jewel thief could arguably make a small bundle selling it on a black market, but the insurance policy is arguably higher in value. Though from the way he acted relieved in finding the necklace, a part of me thinks Mr. Benson didn't know about the attempted fraud, so when he called us in my office, his wife panicked and said she wouldn't pay after all."

"Let's say that you're correct, and I'm not saying you are, but it does leave one question, Mr. P.I." Owens spoke up, clicking his tongue in clear amusement. "Why hire you then?"

"Well, if you were trying to commit insurance fraud, wouldn't you try to do everything you can to make it seem like you did everything possible?" I proposed, then sighed when Owens snickered after a moment of thought. "I know, I know, it's a big, big stretch, but I still know for sure that those two committed Theft of Services and shouldn't get away from it scot-free."

"Even if the money they owe is chump change compared to the rest of their fortune, eh?" The relaxed tiger started typing at his computer again, then handed me a document. Two documents, to be precise. "Fill those out, and I will have the charges processed."

My tail wagged slightly. "Sounds good to me."

For once in my time as a private detective, I didn't mind filing paperwork.