FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Decoy II

Part II - Sucked In

The conclusion to: http://www.sofurry.com/page/245219/user

Jo-Jo was a male who thought he was a loner, but he knew it wouldn't last. Jo-Jo left his home in Tucson Arizona, high on California grass; or so he liked to tell his friends on the street. Some of the older queens recognized the reference but were too kind to tell him that he had mangled the lyrics to the old Beatle's tune he had taken his street name from. Actually they were not being kind at all; they just didn't want to alienate the sweetest mouth on the street, or the achingly cute she-male feline it was attached to. So what if Jo-Jo had caught on and now charged twenty a pop? It was worth it to have those moist lips wrapped around your joint and feel those little paws digging into your buttocks. And Jo-Jo really loved this kind of work, got right into it so to speak. With his ear buds in he would hum along to old disco standards on his IPod while bobbing his head in time to the music.

All the rich old queens wanted to have him exclusively, but like the song said, Jo-Jo was a loner, sort of, and he liked his life on the street. He liked dressing up in fuzzy sweaters and tight skirts, in high heels and outrageous wigs. He liked wearing makeup and flirting with the guys that came along, whether they knew what kind of equipment he was packing or not. And he loved cock, any and all cock. Variety, that was what this life offered he often said, and what more could you ask for?

The delicate little feline was not surprised to see a strange male approach him after dark. Jo-Jo had a lot of repeat customers, but he had a steady stream of new comers too. He chuckled at the inadvertent pun. He'd have to remember that one for the guys and girls at the club later in the week, a stream of new cummers, hee-hee.

"Hey Baby." Jo-Jo purred, lowering the volume on his IPod as the guy stopped in front of him. He looked like the married type; either a closet bisexual or one who had mistaken Jo-Jo for a functional female. "You looking for some oral action?"

"I'm looking for a bare-back blow job." Right down to business, Jo-Jo thought. The guy knows what he wants, that's good.

"Sure baby. That's right up my alley, so to speak." Jo-Jo turned and moved down out of the range of the light from the street. He turned to face back the way he had come and indicated that the guy should stand in front of him, to block the casual viewer that might pass by.

"Twenty." He told the guy. The bill appeared in front of his face from nowhere. The guy must have heard about my special rates and had it ready in his paw, Jo-Jo supposed.

He dropped to his knees as the stranger opened his jacket. There was something heavy in the pockets and the fellow had to rest his paws on his hips to keep it from swinging closed again. Jo-Jo pulled a cock already stiff with anticipation out of the guy's pants and looked up to see the guy staring down at him with no expression at all. It was a bit disturbing, but also somewhat familiar.

"Say, haven't I seen you around here? Around that new Church, Right?" He asked while he stoked the guy's shaft and worked up a good load of saliva. The guy shook his head silently. "No? Oh well, could have sworn." His mouth well-lubed, Jo-Jo inserted the penis, turned up the music on his IPod, and got down to business.

Jo-Jo hummed, bopped and rocked his head to the beat of 'It's Raining Males', the original Weather Girls version, with his eyes closed, enjoying the feel of a stiff one in his mouth and throat. He held on by grabbing a couple of paws full of butt and used his arms to pull and push himself back and forth. After a minute of sliding up and down the guy's rod was so well lubricated that he could take the whole length, and he had to keep his eyes closed as his face bumped the guy's belt buckle with each revolution.

He sensed movement. He slowed down and opened his eyes, afraid that the guy was going to drop his trousers and go for him; some of these guys got carried away in the heat of the moment. He saw that the stranger had not touched his belt, but had something else in his paw. He seemed to be offering it. A gift, perhaps? Jo-Jo struggled to make out the dark object in the dim light. He dropped one of the ear buds and pulled back off the cock when he saw what it was.

"Say what's that you have there? A Potato? No thanks got to watch the waistline, eh?" And with that he returned the ear bud to its place and gulped down the tasty meat stick once again. He was a little put off, what kind of creep eats raw potatoes anyway? But in a moment he was back in the groove with 'I Love the Night Life' blaring in his ears.

That's why he didn't hear the double click even though the sound came just a potato away from his left ear.

* * * * * * * *

It was less than a week since the murder of Monique when Chloe and Carl got their second call from the Deputy Chief of Detectives. They had spent the intervening time going through phone records and checking out the alibis of everyone with any connection to the case. So far they had not been able to eliminate or definitively implicate anyone. The research work was best done during daylight hours, which meant late nights in the office comparing and analyzing the results. When Watchdog called this time he found them in the headquarters, groggy from lack of sleep. They made a quick stop at the lobby coffee machine, selecting an unlabelled black button that dispensed coffee strong enough to strip paint, and then they were off to the new crime scene.

There was more of a crowd than the last time, and more press vans parked nearby. In order to avoid being associated with the investigation they met the Deputy Chief in a Laundromat on the next block that had a rear door onto the alley where the body was found. The tall dachshund escorted them past officers taking statements from bleary-eyed citizens who had the misfortune to live in the apartments lining the passage.

The ends of the alley had been blocked with tarpaulins to prevent observation from the street, an added precaution due to the increased aggressiveness of the press corps. Inside the alley was lit from end to end with portable lights plugged into a quietly rumbling generator. Here and there CSI members combed through garbage bags and picked bits of gooey material off the wall. The Watchdog stopped over a sprawled body.

It was a short, slim cat, wearing a sequined blouse and plaid skirt. The skirt had flipped up when the body fell, revealing translucent pink panties and shaved thighs. Its fur was blonde, almost silver, an amateur dye job, Chloe saw. Cause of death was obvious, a hole the size of, well, of a good sized potato actually, in the left side of its head. Its maw hung open and the one remaining eye stared disbelievingly at the wall of the alley.

"Potato?" Carl inquired.

"Idaho's finest, mixed with other things." One of the CSI team replied.

Another hooker dressed like a schoolgirl, Chloe thought at first as she looked down at the corpse, before noticing the bulge under the pink panties.

"A transvestite." She commented. "Or would that be transgender these days?"

"A pre-op transsexual, actually." Watchdog corrected her. "He was taking estrogen shots and other treatments to increase her feminine attributes. Her street name was Jo-Jo and according to the locals she worked this alley most weeknights and hit the clubs on the weekend. She would have turned seventeen next week. Juvie had a file on her. When she was Brian Parker he lived in a small town outside of Tucson, Arizona. He showed up here a year ago and was a hit with the well-to-do, older gay crowd. That's where he was getting the money for his treatments."

"Can I examine the body?"

"Sure. Robertson has come and gone with his photos and samples already so we don't have to worry about contaminating the evidence."

The beaver must have been close by when the call came, Chloe speculated. She knelt down and rearranged the skirt so that it covered Jo-Jo's male parts and turned the body to hide the damage to the head. She gently pulled the eyelid down over the staring orb to reveal long silver lashes and deep purple eye shadow.

"Very feminine." Carl commented.

"And Cute." Chloe sighed. The kid was hardly bigger than she was. She could image how he was bullied back in Arizona, not the most tolerant state in the union. He, or rather she, must have believed that she had reached nirvana when she found a group that accepted, even loved her, for what she was.

"Do you think that the killer knew he was doing a guy?" Carl wondered.

"Good question. If he did, he's expanded his target audience. If not, and he's religiously motivated like we think, the news could send him around the bend." She speculated.

"A religious nut?" The Deputy Chief interrupted. "That's all we need. It was a moth between the first two killings, two weeks later we get the third, and now there's less than a week to the fourth. The way he's accelerating he could spin out of control anytime. He could start attacking random citizens next, or end up in a high school or something. Isn't Saint Brenda's near here?"

He was referring to an exclusive females-only catholic school in an old convent that bordered the bad part of downtown. The girls had to wear skirts, blouses and jackets in the school pattern, but were known to bend the rules to the breaking point on length, tightness and how much fur they showed. Chloe had lured more than one pedophile into a cell with her Saint Brenda's uniform. The Deputy Chief had a point, a lot of the wackos they pulled in with the school girl act thought that the students in those schools were hookers at heart, and the religious ones wanted to punish as well as pleasure them.

"I know the Nun that runs it." Chloe informed the head of the detective division. "I'll make sure they increase security until we catch this guy."

"Please tell me that you are close to catching him." The Deputy Chief said, frustration evident in his voice. "I can't keep the press off this one much longer, and when they find out the details, and they will, they will have a field day."

Just then there was a flash from above their heads. All three looked up instinctively, and Carl actually pulled his gun in the short second before a second flash came. Blinded by the second bust of light, Chloe reached up for his arm to restrain him.

"No bang." She explained. "It's a camera flash."

"Tailhole." Watchdog swore; it seemed to be his favourite exclamation. Then he turned to a uniformed cop and barked out an order. "Get that guy, and arrest whoever let him into their apartment." The patrol officer ran off, corralling a few other uniformed cops as he went.

"I'm going to see that that camera has an unconstitutional accident before those pictures are published." The dachshund told them with barely suppressed anger. "But the cat is out of the bag now. Find this guy and take him out, quickly. I don't care what it takes." The tall dog turned away so fast that his trench coat swirled around him as he strode to the Laundromat door. He pause with his paw on the knob and turned back to the two disheartened detectives. "You need anything, anything, you call me on my private line." He fished a card out of his pocket and sailed it back down the alley at them. Chloe's paw shot out and snatched it in midair. By then the Deputy Chief was gone.

"Let's go back to the lab and see what they found." She told Carl as she slipped the card into her purse.

* * * * * * * *

At the lab they found that the beaver, Robertson, and his team had already finished cataloguing the initial pickings and were busy analyzing the tests they had done on them.

"Got any DNA results yet?" Chloe asked, stepping up behind Henderson.

"No. He doesn't." The voice of the senior CSI came from behind her. Turning, she saw the beaver glaring at her with his paws on his hips and one sneaker-clad foot tapping angrily on the floor. "Mister Henderson has been assigned other duties." The irate scientist informed them.

"Right. Well, we'll just take a look at what you have found so far, shall we?" Bolstered by the Deputy Chief of Detectives support, which would disappear soon enough if they didn't make an arrest, she faced off against the taller, wider and hairier rodent.

"Fine." The beaver slapped his tail hard against the back of his thigh in frustrated defeat. "Henderson, show them the list." Robertson turned and disappeared deeper into the lab.

The two detectives and Henderson retreated to the coffee room where the bloodhound explained the importance of the various items on the list he had been tasked with maintaining.

"What's this item crossed off in red?" Carl asked when Henderson skipped over it to the next item. "Castor something."

"It's Latin for brown beaver fur." Henderson informed him.

"Like Robertson?"

"Exactly like him, in fact it was his. We made a genetic match. Everyone in the lab has their DNA entered into the system. They are automatically eliminated from the database search process."

"Why do you do that?" Chloe asked, intrigued.

"We don't wear containment suits when we're called out at three in the morning to the cheap side of town. And even though we take every precaution, it's not unusual for flakes of skin, secretions and fur from the CSI team to get into the samples. That's why we have it on file, to eliminate the inevitable contamination. It's not a factor in your typical murder, where there are literal buckets of evidence, but this guy's not leaving us much more than the corpse and fried potatoes. "

"Was there beaver fur at any of the other scenes?"

"Probably. Robertson was at all of them, and the conditions were poor. Bad light, lots of garbage to trip over. And he has to get close and personal with the bodies, you know.?"

Chloe thought about how she had just handled the corpse with no gloves or other protective clothing. Her fur and sweat could probably be detected now in a thorough search. Still, it was very convenient that the beaver was eliminated from consideration without question.

They continued down the list. Traces of several other species were found on and around Jo-Jo's body, but further testing would be required to determine if it was on him before the murder or after he fell to the pavement. They were at a dead end.

"What do you want to do now?" Chloe asked Carl, at a loss.

"When all else fails, stake out the most likely suspects." Carl advised.

"Sure, why not." Chloe said. She had expected him to suggest bringing everyone in and sweating them in the interrogation rooms. "Who do we start with?"

"We're at the lab. Let's see if the Great Gregory ducks out again like he did last week."

They located the Beaver's Volvo in the parking lot and took up a position in Chloe's less obvious and less well known Volkswagen. It had extended peddles and a driver's seat that lifted up and in to accommodate her, but even with the passenger seat all the way back the big rottie was cramped.

"Tell me if he leaves the lab." Carl asked her. "I can't turn my head to look."

They did not have to wait long. Just as the sun broke free of the horizon the senior CSI appeared and strode quickly over to his car. He looked around nervously as he opened the door, but failed to spot the two detectives parked at the back of the lot.

"Looks as nervous as a Priest at the cat house door." Carl observed.

"Hey, watch it." Chloe warned him. She didn't like species slurs, especially about her own.

"Oops. Guess I'm in the dog house now." Carl, as politically incorrect as they came, quipped. "I can tell from your hang-dog expression. But I won't dog you about it. Let sleeping dogs lie, that's my motto."

Chloe could not help but smile. The last week had been vacant of fun. "It's a dog eat dog world." She agreed.

"Not as long as I have you kid." Carl brushed her cheek tenderly, only half joking.

"Forget it Johnson. No more car sex for you. Hey, there he goes!" Chloe put the Volkswagen in gear and followed the Volvo.

* * * * * * * *

They followed the beaver along a circuitous route that ended a block away from the Councillor's mission. They waited as Robertson locked his car and disappeared around the corner, headed toward the church. After giving him a decent lead they followed on foot.

The street in front of the church was deserted. The beaver could not have reached the far corner as yet though, so they surmised that he had gone inside. Chloe cracked the front doors open and looked in cautiously. The lobby of the former theatre was empty too. They slipped inside and crept up to the curtains that separated the lobby from the seats. Each pulled a bit of curtain back at their respective eye level to peer inside.

The Reverend Councillor Maurice McGinty was standing behind an ornate podium that was set up on the old stage. Behind it there was a panorama depicting the end of days that had been painted on the new wall dividing the church from the mission. A vengeful God, that bore a slight resemblance to the Reverend, was rescuing the righteous and condemning the sinners as the earth cracked open to spew fire, smoke and demons. Both the saved and the dammed looked like the typical citizen of the slums, but the saved were cleaner, modestly dressed and glowed with health. Obviously they had been reborn before the catastrophic event.

The reverend was shouting about the bible, waving one in his upraised paw for emphasis. Chloe could make out references to its divine authority, its literal perfection, and that surrendering to its word would require a personal conversion, being 'born again'. She had read about the Evangelical Church when they were assigned to the case and this was all standard doctrine, but then the Reverend left the canon to insert some tenets of his own.

"The weak rely on salvation by faith alone." The big wolfhound thundered, slamming the bible on the podium to stress his words. "The truly repentant do not rely on the death of Jesus for atonement, but take an active role in ridding the world of sin. Who among you can claim that you have truly taken the sword of retribution in paw and wielded it in the name of God?"

His question was greeted by shouts of "Me! Me!" and "I have!" Chloe looked around to see that most of the seats in the old theatre were full, and not only with the downtrodden. There were a few well-dressed citizens from batter parts of town, a fair amount of working class patrons, and a surprising number of uniformed police officers, including the collie that had stopped them at the tape a week ago. Now Chloe knew how McGinty had gotten through the cordon.

They studied the audience while the reverend spewed his rhetoric. Robertson was seated near the back, a latecomer to the service. The new Chief of staff was sitting with the cops, who all seemed to know him, and the manager, Max Detweiller, was in the very last aisle, right by the exit. The rustle of the draperies must have alerted him, because he turned to come eye to eye with Chloe. Glancing at the podium and finding his employer still wrapped up in his sermon the coyote stood and slipped through the curtain to confront them.

"Everyone is welcome." He informed them, but his voice was not as friendly as his words. "After all, sinners have to first hear the word before they can be called to Jesus, don't they?"

"Quite a congregation the Reverend has there." Carl commented, unfazed. "Lots of cops ... and ex-cops?"

"Mr Smith was a police officer before he got into political work, I believe." Detweiller shrugged. "Not a detective like you two, just a plain beat cop, trying to hold back the flood of sin that these streets are washed in."

"McGinty coin that phrase?" Carl leaned over the smaller canine threateningly, but the coyote did not as much as blink. "By the way, where's his limo? I did not see it out front and I doubt that he came on the bus."

"His driver is of a different faith, and the Reverend allows him to attend his services after dropping him off here. The Reverend will stay here and deal with the problems of his congregation and constituents until his driver returns. He will take the mission's car if he needs to go anywhere in the meantime."

"The mission has a vehicle registered to it? Who uses it?" Chloe knew that one of the questions the cops sweeping around each murder would be about any vehicles seen in the area just before or after the time of death. If a particular make and colour was mentioned more than once it would be flagged in the database. She would check the registration information later and compare it to the police reports.

"Anyone who works here. The Reverend has a key of his own, as does the Chief of Staff." So much for keeping the mission and its assets at arm's length from his political duties, Chloe thought. "And I have a key in my office in case Curly has to go pick up supplies or take one of the residents to the hospital."

"Do you have a registry, so you know who took it, for insurance purposes?"

"No. Everyone with access is listed on the policy."

Damn, she thought, but made a mental note to check the reports for a match anyway. If she found one she could ask for a warrant to have it processed for prints. But could she trust the Great Gregory and his team to do that? Chloe made another note to check the database for Volvos and mention of any beavers in the vicinity of the murders.

"Now, if you don't intend on joining the congregation, please leave."

"Come on Carl." Chloe pulled her snarling partner away from a police brutality lawsuit. "Let's go grab a coffee."

They retired to a nearby diner and took a table in the front, where they could keep an eye on the church entrance at least. They sipped bad coffee and Carl ate a Danish with thick sugar glaze while they discussed the case so far.

"Religious zealots, compromised CSIs, beat cops with dual loyalties. Still think that O'Shea did it?" Chloe asked as the big rottweiler licked the sugar from his paws.

"Maybe the first one, but he looks less and less likely for the rest. Maybe we have two killers."

"How do you figure that?"

"Danny boy does the aide in a drug induced fit." Carl explained. "He crawls off to rehab, not even knowing he done it. But maybe someone from the church was inspired by it and started doing in other 'sinners'. All in the name of God while getting his own rocks off."

"A copy-cat?"

"Canine actually." He winked.

"Touché." Chloe conceded. "But according to Robertson the DNA from the first is a match for the others."

"If it's accurate. Henderson didn't sound too certain of the Great Gregory's techniques. Or ... it may be deliberately faked."

"You think Robertson could be the killer?"

"I dunno. All the CSI's are pretty weird. But I don't think he has it in him. He could be part of cover up though."

"To protect the Reverend Councillor."

"Or one of his congregation that decided to 'take up the sword of retribution'. Robertson muddies the evidence and Smith uses our own uniformed force to spy on us."

Chloe stared out the window and though about that.

There were too many suspects, too many motives. The Reverend hated loose females, and probably thought even less of Jo-Jo. Robertson was his convert, and converts make the best fanatics. Smith didn't seem like the religious type, but he could be covering up for his political boss. Christ, even Curly the old poodle that serves the cheap slop the city tax dollars paid for could have done it, but no one had anything bad to say about Curly. On the other paw, everybody in the mission knew about Bernadette and the former Chief of Staff, and was eager to tell the detectives about his temper.

Wait, she corrected herself, not quite everybody. Max never mentioned it, did he? Why would he protect O'Shea? Damn, it was all so confusing. Watchdog was going to have their asses for dinner. They would be lucky to get back on decoy detail with a grade reduction.

Thinking of their old job gave Chloe the spark of an idea, but she needed to clear her head so it could develop into a plan. There was one sure way to do that.

Chloe reached across the table and took one of Carl's big paws in both of hers. "Let's go back to my place. We need to come up with a new approach, and I need to unwind." She squeezed his paw suggestively.

Carl was up from the table, had the bill paid and was out the door on his way to her car in one minute flat.

* * * * * * * *

They managed to keep their paws off each other until they were inside her apartment. In the car it was from necessity, Chloe needed both paws t drive the Volkswagen with its standard transmission and Carl could not move, packed in as he was. In the street outside her building they acted like they were just partners stopping at her place to pick up a file or something, in case any other cops saw them. In the elevator their desire was damped by the presence of an ancient turtle lady who wore lace and smelled like lavender. But once the door closed behind them though they were inseparable.

Chloe leapt onto Carl's chest and dug in as her weight knocked him backwards to the floor. He landed softly enough, his formerly triangular torso was very much padded. Now his waist was as big around as his chest. That's what happens when you leave a physically demanding job on the street to sit around in an unmarked car for days on end. Glazed doughnuts by the dozen didn't help either. But Chloe did not care if Carl was carrying a few extra pounds ... or a few dozen. She undid buttons and zippers and snaps and clasps hurriedly while his paws caressed her and their tongues battled inside his mouth.

Chloe had been an orphan, he mother having died shortly after giving birth to her. The Great Gregory had been partially right in his guess that her mother's health may have caused her condition. But it was not heavy metals but heavy drinking, smoking and drugs that caused the gene damage that had made Chloe both small and lacking in pigmentation. He frail condition had scared away any prospective adoptive parents and her freakish looks had made her a target for the bigger kids, which meant all of them. As she passed through a puberty that barely changed her appearance she grew stronger, much to the surprise of the medical specialists that had come to study her with the orphanage's permission. They had not expected her to live that long, certainly not into adulthood.

Chloe was determined to prove them wrong, so she exercised, trained, and sweated through daily routines until her slight frame was covered with a layer of hard, slim, firm muscle. But her attitude did not make her any friends, so despite athletic and academic success in high school and Police College it was not until she was assigned to the national Child Protection Task Force that she first found a friend in the Erica, a loyal partner in Carl, and later, a lover in the same big dog.

Chloe knew that the chances of living to age sixty for people with her condition were slim to none. The first half of her life had been filled with loneliness, anger and stress. She intended to make up for that in the second half. And even though Carl was twelve years older than her, and several magnitudes heavier than he should be, he was still an accomplished and robust lover.

In minutes they were naked in the apartment's short entrance hallway. Carl was on his back, his head almost touching the door while his feet were in the kitchen. Chloe sat astride his hips, feeling the wetness that was already spreading between her legs and the heat of his stiffening rod. Her head was level with the top of the telephone table where she habitually threw her gun and badge when she got home. There was no gun or badge on the table today though, they were tangled in the pile of clothes in the corner by the living room door.

Chloe put her paws on Carl's chest and slid back and forth, spreading the wetness that leaked from her snatch along his cock. Carl groaned with pleasure and lightly caressed her breasts, letting her set the pace. She felt the inner lips of her vagina swell and protrude, felt them part as she massaged his pole with her sopping pussy. Carl was fully erect already, as hard as iron and as hot as molten steel. Chloe pressed down harder to force her clit to bump across the bulging veins and ridges of flesh on the big dog's big cock.

She purred as juice leaked from the tip of his cock to mix with hers. It was warm, and sticky, but the harder she rubbed the slicker he became. Now his digits were tenderly pulling on her tiny erect nipples, tickling the downy fur around them. Chloe steadied herself with one paw and reached behind with the other. She cupped one of his massive testicles with her tiny paw and caressed the spot where the sack joined his abdomen. She could feel the tension inside. There was a lot of pent up come in there, and the first orgasm was going to be a dozy. It was time to get on board the love train.

She tensed her legs and raised her butt off him, Carl sighed as her warm pussy parted with his stiff prick. His cock rose as she did, pointing upward as if it was seeking the warm spot that had abandoned it. Chloe lent it a paw, pointing it higher and aiming it at the dripping slit that was now moving toward it. With a sigh of her own the tip entered her.

Chloe did not hesitate or pull back as his cock suddenly widened to a girth that challenged the elasticity of her passage. She knew that she could take him in, all of him, and that doing so would send thrills through every last inch of her, inside and out. She relaxed her legs and let gravity impale her on the pulsing pole.

Carl lay back and let it happen. Later he might lap her clit until she came in his mouth, or bend her over the back of the leather couch, lift her tail and take her from behind, but for now it was her show.

Chloe was filled and stretched almost the point of breaking, but her tissues released more and more lubricating fluid as his cock drilled into her. Her clit, swollen and as hard as a rock, slid deliciously along his cock until it was squeezed between their pelvic bones when he was fully seated inside her. A quick shack of the hips to drag it deliciously across the short soft fur at the base of his cock and then she rose up again. Up and up, her pussy clinging to Carl's cock as it was pulled out, until just the tip remained inside.

Chloe rose and fell in a steady rhythm, angling her hips to get the maximum friction on just the right spots. Those spots began to tingle from the stimulation and the warmth spread through her. After a few minutes the tingle turned into spark, a spark she wanted to fan into a flame, so Chloe sped up the pace. She grabbed Carl's wrists to steady herself and rolled her ass to pump his pole as fast as she could.

Down below, Carl did his best to hold back until she was ready to join him. It wasn't always possible, especially after a week of abstinence, but by closing his yes so he could not see her cunt opening and closing on his prick as she zoomed up and down helped. Trying to think of the case helped too, but he could not get beyond the baffling number of suspects. He stole a peek at Chloe.

Her eyes were closed but her mouth was slightly open as she breathed heavily, drawing in oxygen to fuel her frantic hips. Her small breasts with their protruding nipples bounced slightly in time. Sweat was making the fur of her sides damp, accenting her narrow waist and rigid tummy. Her legs were spread wide to accommodate this thickness, and every muscle on her thighs stood out as she strained to keep up the pace. Finally, Carl could see the bright pink lips of her pussy as they engulfed his angry red cock. His balls clenched at the sight, and he bit his lip to distract them.

Chloe's breath started to get ragged as bolts of electricity shot through her, interfering with her control. She slammed herself down on Carl as hard as she could, again, and again. She sensed the pressure building up inside her. Any second now and the machine would overload, frying her senses and triggering a flood. She cursed and drove herself ever harder as the breaking point drew closer ...closer ...

There was a ringing in her ears. At first she mistook it for some new symptom of orgasm. But as the dynamo inside her wound down without tripping over she realized that the sound was coming from the phone on the table beside her head. Chloe slowed to a stop and cursed in a different tone, wishing that her gun was closer so she could shoot the offending device.

"You better answer that." Carl gasped below her. "The only people who would call that ain't here already are at the station. It could be important."

She wanted to slap him but he was right. Reluctantly she reached for the phone.

"Det ... detective Turner." She fought to steady her breathing.

"Watchdog here." The rough voice of the Chief of Detectives shot back at her. "What's wrong with you Turner? You sound exhausted."

"I'm ... on my treadmill ... at the moment ... Chief."

"Well can you stop it for a minute?" The dachshund demanded.

"Sure Chief." Chloe pulled the phone away and made a fake electric motor winding down sound in her throat. Carl suppressed a giggle. "It's off. What can I do for you?"

"You can catch this damn killer before the second coming, that's what you can do for me." The Deputy Chief continued to rant but Chloe could barely hear him. She had the phone clamped against her chest as she struggled not to laugh at the Chief Detective's unintended pun.

Below her, Carl whispered "What? What?" Wanting to get in on the joke, but she just shook her head and put the phone back to her ear in time to hear Watchdog ask her if she knew where her partner was.

"I have not been able to get a hold of him." The Deputy Chief complained.

"I think I know where he is." Chloe said smiling down on her lover, and rose up on Carl's shaft at the same time. "We keep in constant contact. She lowered herself with a twist that made Carl gasp. She activated the speaker phone and set the headset back on its cradle.

"I've received an official complaint from the Councillor's office and I need to talk to you both." The slightly distorted voice came through the speaker. "Get a hold of that prick and make sure he comes too."

"You can count on me Chief." Chloe rose and fell steadily on the big rottie's cock. "I'm on top of it."

"Good. Because if you two don't come up with a plan to wrap this investigation up in the next few days we're all done for."

"Yiffed." Chloe spat, fighting to control her breathing.

"That's right." The dachshund continued. "Yiffed ..."

Chloe drove down hard.

"Screwed..." The Deputy Chief added.

She pulled up in a spiral motion.

"Fucked ..." He continued.

She bobbed on the tip of Carl's cock until the sweat stood out on his brow.

"In the shitter." He concluded.

She shook her head 'no' at Carl's expectant grin and relaxed her legs to let his length fill her twat once again.

"Anyway," some of the fire had gone out of the Deputy Chief's voice, "finish your workout first. I'll be here all evening by the looks of it. Goodbye."

Carl and Chloe both said "goodbye" out of habit, but fortunately Watchdog had already broken the connection. The realization that they had almost exposed their relationship brought gales of nervous laughter, and a slight shrinking of Carl's member.

"Oh no you don't." Chloe cooed, leaning forward until she could reach behind. Holding her weight on one paw she began to slide back and forth on his torso while she caressed his balls with the other. Carl's paws came up from the floor and he held her hips, his digits digging into the hard muscle of her ass. Using his considerable strength he took over the job of pumping her pussy.

It was not long before they were back to full speed and the strokes became long and hard. Chloe lay with her head on his chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Sweat lubricated their fur and she slid freely as he thrust her on and off his prick. The position kept her clit in constant contact with him, and the circuits were soon overflowing with power. With a wail like a banshee she came, spurting around his pulsing piston. An instant later she heard him cry out too, and felt the liquid fire inside her.

Carl held her down on the base of his prick while it pumped load after load of steaming cum deep inside her. Like the beaver said, there was no fear of pregnancy between the two dissimilar species. The thought that they would never have children brought a sad tear to her eye, but it was lost among those of ecstasy, and forgotten by the time it was absorbed by Carl's chest fur.

They collapsed with her light frame still straddling his somewhat larger, and rounder, one. Slowly their breathing returned to normal.

"What would you have done if Watchdog had shown up at the lobby, looking to come up here?" Chloe asked Carl as she traced his lips with one digit.

"Hid in the hall utility closet until he left." Carl said without hesitating to think. It sounded like he had actually made a contingency plan for that very possibility. But that was his area of expertise in their partnership. She was the decoy and in charge as long as everything went according to the original plan. Carl was her backup and he had to consider every possible way that things could go wrong.

Thinking of their regular assignment brought back the kernel of an idea that she had earlier. In her relaxed state the seed grew rapidly into a full-blown plan. Chloe, energized by the possibilities, sat up and took her lover by his jowls, urging him to his feet.

"Common." She said, pulling him toward the shower. "I have a plan."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Were going to do what we do best."

"And that is?

"Suck the bastard in and shut him down.

* * * * * * * *

Two hours later a dozen police cars, led by Carl's old showboat, surrounded the Reverend Councillor McGinty's Evangelical Church and Mission. The cops fanned out around the building, sealing off the exits while the big rottweiler and the diminutive kitty strode through the main entrance, warrant in paw and a fox in tow.

Once the area was secure a phalanx of uniformed officers, drawn from an uptown division to avoid tipping off any of the Reverend's adherents on the force, followed the detectives in. They busied themselves with separating the residents of the mission from the employees.

"This is outrageous!" McGinty thundered as he was escorted from his office into the common area. "I was asked to be here to meet the Deputy Chief of Detectives. This is entrapment."

"No, that would be where they trick you into committing a crime, Reverend." The ex-lawyer O'Shea commented from behind the detectives.

"O'Shea? What is that sinner doing here?" The Wolfhound glared down at the smaller fox. "What has he been telling you? It is all lies, I assure you. Why haven't you arrested him for the death of that first ... young lady, and the other ... poor souls. You must know that he is the guilty one."

"That is what we're here to determine." Chloe stepped forward, pulling O'Shea around to stand with McGinty, his Chief of Staff Smith, Curly the cook and Max Detweiller. Just as she had them all gathered an upset beaver led a contingent of CSI technicians in.

"This is a useless waste of time Sergeant Johnson." Robertson addressed the nominally superior of the two detectives. "We do not have cause to search this premises or any hard evidence to compare whatever we find to. This is harassment of me, my team and of these poor citizens."

"Go stand with the suspects." Carl growled into the suddenly surprised beaver's face. "We didn't ask you here to take samples, but to give one." He held up the warrant.

"Let me see that." The demand came from Reginald Smith. Carl passed it over. The fox terrier examined it closely and gave it back with a sardonic grin. "Hell of a note to end your career on Sergeant. Yours too Detective." He said, turning to Chloe.

We'll take out chances." Chloe retorted. "Henderson!" She glanced around to locate the bloodhound. "Start processing them."

The hound stepped forward tentatively. It wasn't often that a pair of fairly junior detectives took it on themselves to piss off the head of CSI, a city councillor and respected church leader all in one go. He wondered why the Deputy Chief of Detectives had let them go for a warrant in the first place. They must be getting desperate, he supposed.

Just then Chloe's cell phone went off. She pulled it from its holster and put it beside her ear, but angled it so that Carl could hear too. The volume was so high everyone nearby, including the suspects being processed, could hear it too.

"Turner! What the hell do you think that you are doing!" The distinctive voice of Watchdog was loud and clear.

"Well, we have to make sure we get samples from all the suspects Chief." Chloe explained nervously. "Including the Councillor and CSI Robertson, because of their relationship."

"God damn it Turner, you have the fox, what more do you need?"

"The fox is straight Chief. The killing of Jo-Jo Parker leads me to believe that the murderer may be gay, even if they don't know it." Out of the corner of her eye she saw one of the suspects look up suddenly. "Look Chief, I can't talk on this line. Can I call you on the landline?"

"No. I was at a conference at the capitol when the office called to tell me about this mess and I'm about to get in a taxi to the airport. I want to see you the instant I get back there, so you can explain yourself before I go to the headquarters to face the mayor, the press and the shit storm that you have unleashed."

"Do you want me to meet you at the airport Chief?"

"No. There might be press there come to think of it. I'll come to your apartment. What's the address?"

Chloe repeated her address, twice, until the dachshund confirmed that he had it written down.

"My plane lands at ten." He advised. "You go straight to your apartment and wait for me there. Now clear out of there before you get the department in even more trouble.

Chloe suffered the smug looks as she whistled to the CSI's to drop what they were doing and leave. Carl approached her with a sad look and tried to reassure her. She brushed him off.

"Leave me alone Johnson." She hissed. "I still have the samples we sent to the national lab and when the Chief sees the results he'll be convinced that I'm right." She whirled on the group, seeing the worried look on the face of the Councillor's Chief of Staff and the shocked one on that of the beaver. "That's right." She snarled. "I sent your samples for independent verification by the only lab that has the expertise and equipment to find out the truth. And I'm keeping it with me until the Chief sees it tonight." She patted her purse reassuringly. "We'll see who's laughing tomorrow.

With that she turned and strode from the building. Carl gave an apologetic shrug to the assembled police officers and technicians and followed her out. He found her sting in the front seat of his car, wearing a frown that looked permanent. He slid into the driver's seat, engaged the transmission and drove off without a word.

It was not until they were several blocks away that he saw her face relax.

"You think they bought that?" She asked.

"Hell you had me convinced, and I was in on it." Carl chuckled. "I knew you could act, but Watchdog ... go figure. He had me crapping my pants in fear, he was so good."

"He was probably channelling the anger he will unleash on us if this doesn't work." Chloe frowned again. "You ready to spend the evening in the closet?"

"Sure." The big dog lifted a brown paper sack that smelled of onions and something greasy. "I brought sandwiches."

* * * * * * * *

Chloe Turner sat on the king-size bed she purchased after Carl became her lover and painted her toe claws with a bright red polish. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was nine-oh-five. If her guess was right she should be receiving a visitor any time now.

The buzzer in the hallway went off. Chloe lifted the phone beside the bed and dialed the number to access the building intercom. She said "Hello".

"Turner. It's Watchdog. I caught an earlier flight." The voice was gruff, like the Deputy Chief's, but Chloe had hung out with the National Theatre Company long enough to spot a fake accent a mile away.

"Come on up Chief." She replied and pressed the button to release the lobby door before she hung up. She wondered if he would come straight up or take his time to check out the building first. She reached under her pillow to confirm that her revolver was still where it should be, and went back to painting her claws.

It was a t least five minutes before the bell on the door rang. She had suspected that he was the cautious type.

"It's open. Come on in." She called, outwardly calm, but seething inside. She heard the slow footsteps on the hardwood as he approached her bedroom. In a few seconds he was framed in the doorway.

"Hello Max." Chloe pretended to be engrossed in her cosmetic work, but she studied him from the corner of her eye.

"How did you know it was me?" He asked. "From what I overheard Robertson tell the Reverend the samples weren't good enough to identify a sub-species. Was it the national lab that did it?"

"Partially." Chloe said. She did not want to mention that the real reason was his reaction to her comment about the killer being secretly gay that convinced her of his guilt. There were recording devices were taking down every word and she would not care to have that bit played back in court. Juries sometimes got weird ideas about what constituted probable cause. She noticed that he had both paws behind his back. What could he be hiding?

Chloe had dressed to distract the coyote from his deadly mission. She wore a white schoolgirl's blouse that was opened to reveal a lacy black brassiere. Her skirt was plaid, and arranged to show a lot of thigh and the matching lace panties. Her hair was tied back with velvet bows. Her legs were exposed, the claws on one already gleaming brightly while she continued to apply polish to the others. An almost invisible coil of wire ran from her ear bud receiver to the radio taped between her shoulder blades. Carl was listening in on everything she said.

Max pulled his right paw out from behind him. It held a snub-nosed pistol with a potato jammed on the muzzle.

"Is that the gun you used to kill the other four with?" She asked.

"Yes." he said. "A left over from my hardware store days. That and enough ammunition to last into the next century." He indicated that she should put the polish away. His eyes were fixed on her skirt, or rather, what was under it.

"Whatever you say Max, you're the boss." The last expression was the code for Carl to move in. They had enough on tape now to convict Max.

Max stepped into the bedroom, keeping his left paw hidden. "Come sit on the edge of the bed." He ordered.

Chloe complied with misgivings. Moving to the edge would put her pistol out of reach, but since Carl would be creeping up behind the killer any second she supposed it would not matter. She sat with her legs spread wide, her paws on the mattress between her thighs. The skirt was still hiked up high, her blouse still open. Her feet dangled well above the level of the floor. If he was the type of pedophile she suspected he was, lust should be clouding his logic, distracting him.

She saw his trousers bulge in response to her pose. She noted that his breathing had deepened, and that his eyes were fixed on her slim body. Gotcha, she thought.

"What do you want to do, big boy?" She purred. The phrase was meant to excite him even more, and was the signal for Carl to rush him from behind. She bit her lip coyly and waited for the sound of heavy running footsteps in the hall.

There was no thunderous approach, no displacement of the air such as a dog the size of Carl would cause, no sound at all.

Max showed his left paw. It held a narrow-bladed paint scraper with a bright yellow handle. The yellow was marred by blood. The blade and his paw were covered with it too.

"Having a knife on you can be seen as carrying a concealed weapon." He explained. "But these little flexible scrapers are as sharp as razor and quite legal. You partner sucks at hiding by the way. I could smell the onions and his farts as soon as I got off the elevator."

Chloe gasped, bringing her paws up to her mouth. He had killed Carl! Her new-found contentment shattered in an instant and she was frozen in anguish.

Her stupor lasted long enough for the coyote to step up and put the potato tipped gun against her temple. He slipped the paint scraper into his jacket and brought out a role of silver duct tape.

"Hold out your paws." He demanded. In her shock she complied. He had folded the end of the tape over and he pulled on that tab with his teeth to expose a bit of the sticky surface. Using one paw, he wrapped the tape tightly around her wrists. When he was done he tipped her to her back, pulled her legs up and repeated the process on her ankles. With her sufficiently immobilized, he returned her to a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

Chloe tested the bonds. They were firm. Given enough time she could rip the tape off, but not while he was standing over her, and she doubted that he was going to leave this room while she was still alive. She should have attacked as soon as she knew Carl was taken out, but that opportunity had passed in the fog of grief. This was why the force didn't let lovers be partners she suddenly realized, squeezing her eyes shut to keep back tears of frustration, because the shock at the loss really could get you both killed.

It was a hard lesson, and one that she was afraid she would not live long enough to regret.

A rustling noise in front of her nose made her open her eyes. Max had pulled his cock out of pants, and it was hard. The tip bounced in the air just a hair's breadth away from her lips. She barred her fangs, recognizing the scenario from the case files well enough but determined to go down fighting. Her snarl was interrupted by a sharp blow to the side of her head. Max had hit her with the butt of the pistol.

"None of that little pussy. You know how I was brought low, don't you?" Max asked softly, pointing the business end of the gun at her temple once more. Chloe did not dare to speak, but managed to shake her head 'no'. She needed time to think, and if he was willing to tell his version of the story maybe she come up with a plan.

"It was the sluts that worked for me at the hardware store, the high school girls I hired to run the cash and restock the shelves. Oh, some would say that I was asking for trouble by hiring only the pretty ones that flirted with me, but I would never have touched them if they had not come on to me."

Chloe glanced at the clock when his gaze travelled to the ceiling in remembrance. It was almost nine-thirty. Watchdog and the backup team were out of range of the tactical radio she wore, and unless Carl called on his more powerful unit they would not check in on the decoy operation until at least ten. She needed to buy more time.

"They pretended that they loved me, at first." The Coyote sighed. "But they just wanted money, and booze and party drugs. The business was in my mate's name, for tax purposes, and soon I had to keep two sets of books, because she wanted to help do the accounting. Still, she suspected that I was draining funds from the business. She started to whine about my drinking, and accused me of gambling the money away, the simple bitch." Max had begun to trace the contours of Chloe's face with the tip of his cock.

"Then one day she walked in on me while one of the girls was doing this." He tapped her lips with his prick. "I lost pretty much everything in the divorce, except for some merchandise I had stashed in one of those anonymous storage sheds. It was enough to buy me enough booze to almost kill myself. I kept the gun and the ammo to end it all after one final bender, but a strange thing happened. I woke up in the gutter in front of that old theatre with a wolfhound that looked as tall as God himself reaching down to help me up." He smiled at the memory. Chloe stole another glance at the clock. Too soon! Got to keep him talking!

"You know the rest." He shrugged. "The Reverend lifted me up to be born again, and now I live to serve his cause. Running the mission for him was enough at first, but more needed to be done. The sluts and queers began to creep back into the neighbourhood, bold in their sin. The police officers in our congregation could not do anything about them because of the corruption higher up, and the Reverend forbade them to imperil their careers with police brutality charges." She noted that the coyote was sounding more and more like the Reverend the longer he went on. Good. Maybe he will launch into a nice long sermon, long enough for the lack of response to bring the Deputy Chief of Detectives at the head of a SWAT team.

Max looked down at her and smiled ruefully. "But the reverend didn't say anything about me staying idle. Now I know what you are going to say." He chided. "That I did not give them a chance to repent their ways. But that is not my job. They ignored the Reverend's call and continued to live their slutty little lives. Bernadette went down on anyone that could do her a favour, and in the end she went down on me too, thinking that she could seduce me into sparing her life. That's when I had a revelation. An epiphany if you will. The reverend had preached about sinners that spill or take their seed where it does not belong, of the sexual deviates that were no better than witches, and how one should not suffer a witch to live. This was the true test of whether they were doomed or not. If they were willing to take my seed in their mouths then there was no hope for them."

"And getting your rocks off had nothing to do with it." She chanced.

"I am but an instrument of God. I felt no lust when they did it."

"Not even when you stuck it into Jo-Jo? I'll bet you really wanted to turn him around and stick it up his sweet ass, didn't you?"

She suffered another blow to the head, but not as hard as before. Max wasn't angry, just disappointed in her it seemed.

"Foolish girl. There is no sin in righteous action. And now it is time for you to decide." He poked her tight lips with his cock. "Are you going to try to please me in hopes of saving your pathetic physical self, or are you going to refuse and save your tainted soul." He accented the choice by cocking the pistol.

Chloe knew that not nearly enough time had passed. She also knew what he was offering. Keep her lips sealed and he would kill her immediately, sending her 'redeemed' soul to the pearly gates. Take his cock in her mouth and she would die when he came. Only one choice could buy her more time. A tear escaped the corner of her eye as she opened her maw.

Max wasted no time, shuffling forward to insert his cock in the waiting orifice. "Don't try to bite." He cautioned her, inserting a thumb where her jaws joined behind the last of her teeth. With it there she could not close her mouth completely. "You may cut me, but you'll be dead all the sooner."

Chloe's mouth was dry from fear. She swirled her tongue around to moisten it, tasting his salty cock in the process. He shuddered when her tongue accidentally touched the tip. She would have to be careful. She had to make this blow job last as long as possible if she were to have any hope of surviving.

She started slowly, mouth wide, barely touching his shaft. She breathed warm air over him, avoiding the sensitive spots around the head and base of his cock. It seemed to be working. She tried pulling back and off it, sealing her lips around the tip so she could swing her head to the side without losing breaking contact. It worked. Max removed his thumb and she was able to run her lips up and down the side of his cock, delaying his orgasm.

"Oh yeah. You are a slut aren't you?" Max moaned. "Lick it bitch. Lick my throbbing cock."

Chloe had to comply. She gave the shaft a few tentative laps with the rough side of her tongue. She gauged how much it was turning him on by the way it twitched when she hit a sweet spot. She backed away whenever it seemed to grow stiffer or rise higher. She had only learned to tease Carl like this recently, and the memory brought tears back to her eyes.

"Enough of that." Max said guiding her head back onto his rod. "The devil is waiting for you. Put in a good effort for him and he may even put you in a relatively cool corner of hell. Now suck it!"

Max began to rock back and forth, holding her head in place with one paw while he kept the pistol pointed at her with the other. He would not dare shoot with his cock down her throat and his paw so close to the muzzle but when he came he just had to drop his arm and pull out his cock before pulling the trigger. It would not be long now, she knew, and not long enough for rescue.

Tears flowed freely down her face, some from shame at what she was doing in a futile attempt to save her life, some from regret. She regretted not taking more time to enjoy life. She regretted not making more friends or spending more time with the ones she had. But mostly she regretted that she and Carl had not gone public. It would have meant the end of their partnership but he was close to retirement and they could always have quit and done security consulting or something. Something safe, where they could have grown old together. Suddenly ridding the world of perverts did not seem as import as it once did, but it was too late now.

The coyote mumbled and moaned to himself as his hips sped up and his balls slapped her chin with each stoke. "Yeah baby. Yeah baby. Yeah baby. Keep it up, keep it up. Her we gooooo ....." His free paw dropped from her head, and hot fluid filled her mouth. Chloe closed her eyes tightly and tried to keep Carl's smiling face in her mind. She wanted it to be the image she left this world with.

The blast was loud, louder than she had expected from a thirty-two with a potato on the end, but at the same time it sounded distant, removed. There was no pain. Was that because death had been instantaneous? The bullet travelling through her brain faster than her nervous system could register the damage? Was she already in the after world? Chloe forced her eyes open to see what it looked like.

At first she was certain that her actions had indeed landed her in hell, because of the red haze that obscured her vision, but then she realized that it was just blood dripping from her forehead. She shook her head to get rid of it and looked again. The after world looked a lot like her bedroom, except that there was a coyote with its head blown half off on her floor and a huge rottweiler with a paw cannon leaning in her doorway. The dog had a paw to his gut, where a red stain spread on his white shirt.

"Carl!"

"Sorry I'm late kitten." Carl coughed and splattered blood on the floor. "The bastard stuck some kind of knife in me and smashed my radio. Fortunately there is one advantage to having such a thick spare tire; it takes a really long blade to reach anything vital."

"Carl, you're bleeding to death!"

"Yeah." He sounded resigned. "Took me a while to lift this mass of flesh and get it moving. I really got to lose weight ... once ...we're ... done ... here." Carl's eyes rolled back in his head and his arms dropped to his sides. The mountain of dog fell to the floor with a crash.

"CARL!" Chloe arched her back, twisted and jackknifed art the same time, throwing herself across the room. Her lesson in how grief can cloud your mind well learned, she knew that there was only one thing she could do to help him.

* * * * * * * *

Watchdog and his team arrived exactly seven minutes after her frantic call. By then Chloe had pulled enough tape from her paws to put pressure on Carl's wound and start CPR, but he still was not breathing on his own when the medics took him away in the ambulance. Chloe wanted to ride with him, but Watchdog overruled her.

"You'll only get in the way, and we have work to do here." He told her, not unkindly. "Now tell me how it went down, enough for me to face the media at least, and then you can go to the hospital."

Chloe gave him the details, leaving nothing out, not even her feelings for Carl. It was all on the recording anyway.

"How long has this been going on?" The deputy Chief of Detectives asked, refereeing to her relationship with her partner.

"Since we took down that false cop in the motel." She admitted.

"You know what this means?" The dachshund said sadly. It would hurt to lose such a good team, and he hated having to disciple his detectives for such things. He was not a bad guy, deep down, but he had a job to do.

"It doesn't matter." Chloe said. "I think we are done with police work after this business anyway. Can I go now?"

"Yes. Go to him."

* * * * * * * *

The funeral was surprisingly well attended, considering how few friends the deceased had, and the fact that it was supposed to be private. But serial killer cases only happen every so often, and are bound to attract attention.

Everyone connected to the case came, except the Reverend Councillor McGinty and his people. Chloe had called up his Chief of Staff and informed him exactly where she would shoot the good Reverend if he showed up and tried to turn the funeral into a media circus. Having learned of her shooting skills from the members of the force in the congregation Smith wisely advised the Councillor to skip the funeral.

Chloe sat beside Carl, resting one paw on his arm throughout the service; right up until the time they came to close the oversized casket.

Carl had been wrong about the layer of fat saving him from grievous injury. While the paint scraper had not done any immediately fatal damage the loss of blood had been too much for Carl's overworked heart. The cause of death was a massive cardiac arrest, brought about by trauma. If Detweiller had lived he probably wouldn't even face murder charges for the detective's death. But the dead coyote had been cremated at the order of his ex-wife, the closest thing they could find to a next-of-kin.

As for Carl, The Deputy Chief of Detectives had 'discovered' a form registering the big dog and Chloe in a common-law relationship that effectively made Chloe her partner's next-of-kin. Chloe did not bother to point out that the three signatures on the form: hers, Carl's and Erica the witness, were all in the same script: Erica's. She accepted the gesture silently in the spirit it was offered.

Not only did the form allow her to dictate the funeral arrangements, it entitled her to the senior detective's pension. And it was a full pension, as befitting officers that fell in the line of duty. Chloe now had the financial freedom to go anywhere and do anything she wanted, within reason.

She sensed someone moving up behind her, but no danger signals went off, so she remained relaxed beside the coffin of her lover. She felt a pair of arms go around her neck and recognized Erica's tawny fur. She leaned back against the female coyote, grateful for the affection, and the support.

"What are you going to do now Kitten?" Erica asked tenderly. She and Carl were the only two creatures that called her that, and the reminder brought fresh tears.

"I'll stay on the force." Chloe told her, wiping her face with a tissue that she had clutched in her paw for just that purpose. "Watchdog has offered me any post I want, and says that a promotion will come with it."

"Is that what you want honey? You're not going to work yourself to death like before ... before Carl, are you?" She took Chloe by the chin and looked deep into her pale pink eyes.

"No." Chloe assured her with a sad smile. "If there is one thing that Carl taught me in the short time we had it is that happiness doesn't just find you. You have to go looking for it, and seize it with both paws when you find it." She rubbed the polished oak of the casket as she spoke. "The doctors said that with his weak ticker, he should have had a heart attack years ago, before we became ... before we started working together even. Maybe he was just sticking around to teach me what I needed to know to carry on once he was ... he was ... gone."

Chloe could not hold back anymore. She collapsed against her friend and sobbed freely, not caring that the press with their telephoto lenses were spying on the funeral of the hero who had taken down the "Serial Spud Sucker" and saved his partner in the moment of his death.

She didn't care because the press were gathered at an entirely different cemetery, watching a child actress made up to resemble a diminutive albino and a group from the National Acting Troupe as they prepared to bury an empty coffin of normal proportions. It would be weeks before the journalists discovered that they had been decoyed to cover a fake funeral, but by silent consensus, they never reported it.

The End