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CHAPTER NINETEEN

NED

Garrett's bed was pleasantly soft under Ned's back as he lay there panting, feeling Garrett's paw on his sticky sheath, his own arm wrapped around the coyote's shoulder. The bedroom window was open, allowing the scents of Olympia's forest-like backyard to come drifting in, letting Ned imagine, if just for a moment, that he and Garrett were away lounging in some ocean-side bungalow in Bora Bora, not in the middle of San Fernando.

The coyote's bedroom was bigger than his own living room, with more of the dark furnishings and artwork with which the rest of the house was decorated, although the Florence + the Machine posters, enormous bookshelf, and photographs of Garrett's family were definitely more personal. The largest of these was of Garrett's entire family; mother, brother, sister, and a silver fox who must have been his stepfather. In addition to the posters, the walls were also decorated with miscellaneous odds and ends, travel souvenirs from Garrett's time away filming in foreign locals, ranging from Egyptian artwork to a Peruvian tapestry to a curved Turkish dagger. The dresser had some kind of Alaskan mountain scene painted on its front, and another ship model on top of it, along with assorted knickknacks. Next to the bed was a small nightstand, on which was a smaller photo and a leatherbound journal. The closet door was partly open, and through it Ned could glimpse assorted jackets and shirts.

It had been another wonderful evening, followed by that mad frenzy of magical kisses and wild groping, shoving themselves into the bedroom, onto the bed, clothes discarded in rapid haste. Ned had shoved the coyote on the bed, kissing him madly, and then Garrett had moved his tail and for a time Ned had thought of nothing save the warm body under his, the way he and Garrett fit like two halves of a whole, his ears pricked forward to catch the sharp little whines that escaped Garrett's muzzle when Ned connected with just the right spot.

"So you're back on the case?" Garrett whispered at length, jerking Ned away from where he'd been lazily studying the titles of the books on Garrett's shelves, mostly novels, by the look of them.

"I am" he answered, shifting on the bed so his muzzle was inches from Garrett's. "Reprimanded again, but that was to be expected."

"Fortunately this is San Fernando" Garrett said. He'd reached another paw around Ned's back and was fingering his tail, scratching up around the hairs.

Ned fought the urge to flick his tail. "Fortunately."

"So your removal wasn't permanent."

"Definitely" Ned agreed. Lennox had said that Williston had given in to letting Ned return to the case, although he and Scarlett were still supposed to be casually looking into crime stuff on the side. That wasn't a problem, he'd told her; he would reconnect with some of the snitches and look into discovering Xang Lan's species and whereabouts, so SF Metro would have a better chancing of catching her, and of shutting down the Triad permanently. And that, Lennox had said, was perfect; the Captain had a particular dislike for the Triad, so capturing Xang Lan would be a way to get back in favour with him.

That had been after Ned and Scarlett had met briefly with Arkady, to discuss the Feeley crime scene. "Not much to report" the fox had said. "Feeley was last seen by one of his employees a short while before the apparent time of death."

"He gay?" Ned asked. "Never heard of the man."

Arkady shook his head. "No, not judging by four past marriages. He did own four gay nightclubs though."

"So perhaps being involved with gay folks is enough to warrant being murdered" Scarlett mused. "For our killer, that is."

"Maybe" Arkady shrugged. "I mean, that's what we're guessing. Feeley apparently got shot in the alley next to his club - judging by the blood we found there - after which the killer dragged him around to the front of the building and did the usual ten-commandments-in-paws deal."

"Shot?"

"Yep. Not a different weapon this time."

"Well" Ned mused. "How do you explain that?"

"Lab says he was killed with the same gun used to murder Fincher" Arkady said grimly. "Fincher's own gun, as it is. Bullets confirmed that."

Which, Ned thought - as much as he could think, with Garrett's paws rooming all over his body - meant that the killer had erred from his usual method of killing, and that had to mean something - but what? So far, he had killed two gay men, a lesbian, and a straight man who made profits by catering to gay patrons. Therefore, it seemed that to the killer, anyone who associated with gayness was unforgiveable, not merely those who were themselves gay.

That sounded more and more like the Traditional Marriage Foundation's ideologue.

"Any lasting trouble from our....incident?" Garrett inquired, close enough that Ned felt the change in his breaths as he spoke. He reached out and pulled the coyote closer to him, so Garrett's back was nestled into his chest, his sheath poking at Garrett's tail.

"Not really" he answered, finally. "Montoya - one of the detectives - jokes about it, but he does that with everyone, including about his own girlfriend, so it's not like I should take it too seriously. Diego..."

"Diego is the absolutely gorgeous Alsatian, right?"

He shook his head. Garrett's tail had wagged slightly at the mention of Diego, tickling against Ned's sheath. "He's a wolfdog, not pure dog, but yeah. Not hard on the eyes, is he?"

"Not at all" Garrett replied. "But what about him?"

Ned considered that. What exactly was it about Diego that seemed different since Ned's romp with Garrett in the office?

"He's just been....different" he said finally. It was hard to put to words what seemed off about the wolfdog. "He's just been a bit different with me. No less friendly, but almost a little...interested."

Garrett's ears flew up. "Oh? So you think he's..."

"Oh no" Ned disagreed with certainty. "He's not like us. Or if he is, he's a terrific actor. Judging by the way he is with girls anyway."

"Maybe he's bi" Garrett suggested. "Either way, it makes for a pretty picture. Think he'd be interested in a threesome?"

"Garrett!" Ned said, until he realised Garrett was kidding. At least he hoped he was kidding. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"Joking" the coyote said. "Besides, I'm sure you've looked."

"At what?"

"At him, silly" Garrett chuckled, and the brief silence that followed probably told him that he'd guessed right. He must not have wanted Ned to feel too uncomfortable, though, because he changed the subject to another about which Ned had mixed feelings. "You want to stay the night?"

Did he? On first glance, the offer seemed appealing, falling asleep spooning with Garrett, wakening with a sandy-furred body tucked against his, the scent of coyote rich in his nostrils, along with that of the garden outside. Ned had not slept overnight with someone else for...well, a long time, but was it time to bring an end to that? Maybe if Garrett wasn't too sore they could even have another romp before work...

Work. The next morning.

"I'd love to" he said honestly, "but they're burying Conrad Fincher tomorrow morning and Lennox wants the entire division to attend the funeral." Actually it was Captain Williston's idea, an attempt to show the public that SF Metro was truly dedicated not only to catching the Prophet but to showing support for his victims' families, but as usual, Lennox had been the one to alert her underlings of their expected presence at the funeral the following morning.

"Oh" Garrett said, in that deadpan tone of voice that doesn't really reveal anything. "So you want to be able to get a good rest and be up early." The unsaid "...without me potentially delaying you" lingered after the words, but Ned ignored it.

"Pretty much. Although I'd much rather stay here with you" he whispered into one of Garrett's big ears, "and play with this." He squeezed the coyote's still-damp sheath gently.

Garrett was quiet for a moment, so Ned was beginning to think he'd upset him. "I wouldn't want to keep my policewolf from his duty" he said finally, turning his head so his nose pressed into Ned's forearm. "I'll just memorise what it feels like to have you here and replay it after you've left."

"You do that" Ned told him, pulling him closer so he felt his sheath poke against Garrett's tail. For a brief moment he considered whether they could potentially have another round of love-making before he left, but no. There wasn't time, not at this hour, and with a funeral to attend, early. With a serial killer on the loose...

"It's just crazy down at the station" he explained, wanting Garrett to understand why he couldn't stay. "The whole country is looking to us to solve this case, especially with Claudia Wittmore dead."

Garrett said something about understanding that, but Ned's focus had already drifted, remembering Arkady's quiet annoyance at the station that afternoon. Arkady never voiced anger in the way most people did; he never raised his voice, or growled, or yelled at anyone, rather he'd just get very quiet and his muzzle would get all crinkled up around the edges of his mouth, and his tail would be all stiff - not bushed out, just not moving with the flow of his body. "This just came in" he'd told Ned and Scarlett, holding up a colourful magazine with FABULOUS printed across its front in bright rainbow letters. "So much for keeping the Wittmore case details to the public."

The fox had flipped the magazine to a certain page, the feature article, which speculated in large, bold print: "Claudia Wittmore Murdered!! Serial Killer 'The Prophet' hunts LGBT celebrities in 'Nando: the whole story on the horrifying deaths." Right below the title was a picture of Holly Vaughn's smugly smiling face, along with her name.

"We saw this woman at the Wittmore crime scene" Scarlett said. "She's the one who got through the block and was threatening to bring charges against us if we tried to throw her out."

Arkady nodded curtly. "Just read what she wrote."

It was just as bad as they'd feared. Holly knew everything - the way Wittmore's body had been strung up on the hook, the number of arrows which had pierced her body, the words of the note and the Ten Commandments. Far more details than she could have picked up from a brief glance at the body. She claimed she'd been given the information by a SF Metro Homicide member in an exclusive interview, but no name was given. The article was full of guesswork on the Prophet, as to who his identity was, his motivations in killing Wittmore and the others, what he planned to do next. It was also full of typical tabloid gossip and exaggeration, including such falsities as claiming that Hugo Sota was a "world famous surfer" (in reality he'd been unknown outside of Hawaii) and that Emma Wittmore had sobbed to authorities about seeing someone pull her mother away from her car, which was in actuality impossible since Emma was only a baby.

Presently Ned shut FABULOUS and handed it back to Arkady. "I was afraid this would happen, after we caught her on the scene..."

"I don't need to ask if either of you were the officer she claims to have spoken with?" the fox asked quietly, eyes shifting from Ned to Scarlett.

Scarlett looked slightly horrified to have been considered a possible media informant, but Ned put a paw on her arm before she could retort. "You don't need to ask" he said simply.

Arkady nodded. "I'm sorry I had to mention that. It's just that we're going to have a media hellstorm now that the news of how Mrs Wittmore was killed is out....more demands on us, and we've already had to shelter her widow and kids from media attention."

Ned squeezed Garrett too him one last time, kissed the coyote on his cheek, and slid out of bed. Fretting about Holly Vaughn and the media reaction was pointless now. The only thing to do was to catch the Prophet before he gave them more reason to draw media attention.

Brrrrrring..

Ned rolled over in bed, pulling the pillow over his head. Shut up, alarm clock. Too early.

Early.

Fuck. He tossed the pillow aside, grabbed the phone, and looked at the time. 7:01am, and Lennox had said to be at the church by 7:30. He answered the phone.

"Ned, for fuck's sake, where are you?"

"I'm on my way" he lied, trying not to chuckle at the urgency in Scarlett's voice.

"You aren't with Garrett, are you?"

"Yes I am." He jerked on his jeans, trying to hold the phone between head and shoulder.

"You liar" Scarlett scoffed. "You'd never actually tell me if that were true. Just get your tail down here, ok?"

Ned said he would and hung up, yanking the jeans off again. Lennox had said to come dressed formally, so he pulled out his one tux, which he hadn't worn in over a year - fortunately he had not put on any weight since then. Thinking about Garrett had given him a slight hard-on, but he put on the suit anyway, ran a brush through his fur, buttoning up his shirt with his toothbrush hanging out of his muzzle. So much for being better prepared if he'd slept at home. Maybe if he had spent the night with Garrett, his boyfriend would have woken him early on to remind him he had a funeral to get to.

He ended up making it to the church just in time, parking the Ford around the corner, as the church parking lot was already full of vehicles, and running down the sidewalk, almost colliding with an elderly otter who gave him a dark look and muttered something about disrespectful young people. Scarlett was standing among the other officers, looking extremely un-Scarlett in a grey dress. "So you did decide to show up" she observed as he joined her. "And without even brushing your tail."

Ned self-consciously reached around and smoothed down the fur of his tail. "I overslept, ok. I didn't get back till 11-" he noticed the corners of her muzzle beginning to turn up in a smirk.

"Please don't say any more" she pleaded. "Can you be sent to hell for thinking about sex at a funeral?"

Ned's religious experience was minimal; he and his parents had been bad Jews who never went to synagogue, were not kosher, and only prayed on the odd holiday, besides celebrating both Hanukkah and Christmas so as to be more in tune with everyone else. Therefore he didn't really know what the protocol was for what one was supposed to think about at funerals, but sex was probably not one of those things. Remembering Garrett's tail lifting out of the way just as he aligned his cock properly-

Ok. No, now was definitely NOT the time for that.

"Maybe" he told Scarlett, sticking a paw in just pocket and shifting so no one would notice the slight bulge in his pants.

"Old Sarg says we're going in soon" Montoya said from behind them. He and Diego were likewise dressed in tuxes. Diego didn't look as good in one as he had in his police uniform, Ned noted, before he caught himself.

"Let's get this show over with" he offered an arm to Scarlett. "Join me my lady?"

"When I have my own wolf?" she asked in mock surprise, latching onto Nolan. "Bring your own guest."

Garrett probably would have come, actually, except that Ned suspected that the funeral was like to be very boring. With any luck-

"Ned, she's here" Scarlett growled suddenly. She pointed to a group of mourners close to the door, where a thin pine marten in a baby-blue business suit was strolling around casually snapping photos of guests.

Ned found himself giving a low growl of annoyance. Not that he really had anything against Holly for being there, but the memory of the marten's snotty arrogance the day he'd met her had yet to fade, and that wasn't even taking into account the article she'd written. Oh well. At least here there was nothing particularly interesting for her to photograph or write about.

"Up, here it goes" Montoya observed.

The church doors were being opened to admit guests, and the crowd began to file closer. This really is a waste of our time, Ned thought. _ We could be out there looking for the killer, but instead_-

A woman screamed.

Then another.

And suddenly the crowd was pushing back away from the door, streaming out in a flash of black suits and dresses. Ned and Scarlett met eyes for just a moment and then they broke into a run, pushing through the fleeing people towards the door. Nolan was at Scarlett's side, and the other two detectives were behind them, just as Ned ran up the church steps and into the door. The scent hit him instantly. Blood. A lot of blood.

It was an enormous church, so perhaps it wasn't surprising that it hadn't been discovered immediately. Long rows of pews stretched on either side of the isle, above which tall stained glass windows depicted various saints, gazing down with eyes that could see but not tell.

Conrad Fincher's coffin was resting in front of the alter, behind which was an enormous pipe organ, and a life-sized effigy of Christ in the image of a panda, which considering that the gospel took place in the Middle East, was probably not realistic.

But it wasn't the unrealistic statue which had Ned's focus, which made his muzzle fall open, as Scarlett covered her nose and Montoya and Diego mutually breathed a shocked "fuckin' hell!," all of them drawn to the object adorning the top of the coffin.

With wide eyes and open muzzles, SF Metro stared at the severed head of Carlos Sanchez.