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CHAPTER TWENTY NED

Blood was literally everywhere.

It had dried for the most part, so at least it wasn't dripping, but dark crimson stained the top of the coffin, the alter, the carpeted floor around them. The fennec's head stared in open-eyed horror, propped in such a way that the muzzle hung open, in an eternal scream.

Arkady had managed to shoo away most of the media and funeral guests, and now Ned and the others were alone in the dark, spooky church, their noses twitching from the stifling scent of blood. Ned swallowed thickly, forcing himself to view this scene like a police officer.

Sanchez had been entirely dismembered. His torso lay untidily in front of the coffin; the handless arms were arranged, along with the legs, to either side of it; the big plumy tail, stained heavily with blood, hung from one of the candlestick holders. But Ned's eyes were on the paws, which had been folded carefully and placed in the centre of the altar, like an offering.

It looked like the blood offering of some fanatical cult, sacrifices to a demonic god. Seeing Claudia Wittmore hanging from the hook, her body bristling with arrows, had been one thing, but the way the church had been turned into a butcher's shop was unequivocally horrifying.

"Nice, clean cuts" Carmen looked up from where she'd been bending over one of the arms. "Very sharp, long instrument. Maybe a machete or some kind of sword."

Arkady had been studying the folded paws, confirming the presence of a piece of paper between them. "That's the cause of death?"

"Cause of death was probably decapitation" the vixen pointed at the severed head. "Although I think he chopped the vic up pretty quickly; didn't waste any time afterwards."

Diego indicated a larger dark spot below the coffin. "Original blood splatters from the beheading?"

"Yep" Carmen nodded. "Led him up to the coffin, whack whack; vic loses his head; killer starts chopping off parts."

Ned still found it difficult not to look back at Sanchez's severed head. It was unnerving with the dead eyes still staring out at them, pleading. He wondered if Sanchez had always been one of the Prophet's intended victims or whether he'd sealed his own fate by promising, on public television, that he would find his husband's killer. "You need to get a patrol out to find Alana Wittmore" he growled lowly.

"What?" Montoya asked, but Arkady and Nolan were both looking thoughtful.

"If he came back to kill the mate of his first victim, Mrs Wittmore could be next. Or even worse, one of her children" Ned suggested, hoping he was wrong. "She should probably have a guard of some kind until this is...over."

"Good thinkin', Parker" a deep voice boomed, making Ned shudder. "Maybe you aren't such a dumb shit after all."

Williston and Lennox had slipped in unnoticed, and now the pair joined the group of officers already gathered round assorted pieces of what once had been a fox. Lennox gave Ned an ignore him look. "Maybe we can set a trap for this bastard if he tries to catch him a vixen" Williston continued. He looked around, taking in the kill sight, and swallowed. "Wow. I ain't seen a butcherin' like this since...." He didn't finish, but Ned wondered if the Captain was remembering his days in the special services.

Lennox actually looked mad. "We should have seen this coming" she muttered, voice choked. "Going after the spouse of a victim..."

"He mixed up the killing weapon again" Diego pointed out.

"The important thing right now is makin' sure none of the media idiots gets a look at this" Williston growled. "You good, Posa?"

Carmen stripped off her gloves, holding up a plastic evidence bag with the Ten Commandments list in it. "Yep. Nothing much else to go by. The guy brought him here, chopped him up, and left."

"Doesn't the church have a security system?" Scarlett wondered, but Ned could not see any sign of security cameras.

"At the doors, maybe" Williston said doubtfully, "but if our killer wanted in here bad enough, he could find a way around that."

"Fincher's house had a security system but the killer dealt with it easily" Arkady added.

Williston nodded shortly. "I want the crime lab in here before any time is wasted."

Except that there wasn't much evidence to go off of. The killer was a ghost - even after teams had combed the church for any sign of a break-in or of any person's presence, the only person they could tell had been there that night was Sanchez himself. Of course, the killer was probably wearing some kind of de-scenting solution to disguise his species, but still, he should have left some kind of trace...shouldn't he?

To make matters worse, news of what had happened at the church got out almost immediately. Apparently, some of the funeral guests had started tweeting about it within minutes of fleeing the church. Obviously, it would have been impossible to keep news of Sanchez's murder secret, not when so many of the guests had seen his assorted body parts decorating the alter, but nonetheless, Ned wished dearly that the public hadn't heard wind of it. No sooner had they returned to the station than all phones were ringing off the walls with concerned citizens calling in yet again. Not only that, but some of the city's LGBT support groups organised a massive rally, which was marching through the downtown, waving signs that invariably demanded the Prophet's capture or condemned the TMF or Christians in general for inspiring him.

"Good cops we're being" Ned muttered gloomily, sipping a Corona from one of Salty Sebastian's barstools while he and Scarlett watched the protest on the television.

Scarlett tilted her muzzle back with her beer, sighing. "That fox is the same one we met before. The lawyer."

He looked closer to where the camera was currently zooming in on the leading protesters, probably so that viewers could read the signs, focusing on the tall red fox. He wasn't wearing a suit today, just a sports jacket, but it was clearly JJ Maxwell; he had a very orangey fur, not as dark and russet as Arkady's. Not surprising, maybe, his involvement in the protesting. "He represents these groups in his lawsuits" he shrugged. "I'm not surprised he's an activist."

"Either way." She finished the beer and put the bottle on the counter. "I have a feeling this intensity of emotions isn't going to wane until the Prophet is in prison or dead."

On the screen, the protesters were holding large, blown-up photos of all five victims, even Marvin Feeley. Some of them were chanting "Stop the Killing!" over and over, stamping their feet as they marched. "I don't doubt you. Right now though...." He frowned. "The killer is getting exactly what he wants. Hysteria, anger, fear in the LGBT population."

"That's what terrorists do" Scarlett was picking at a loose patch of fur on her tail, not watching the screen anymore. "Until everyone gets madder and madder and starts pointing fingers, looking for someone else to blame."

"And quite often the actual guilty party is someone whose name never comes up when blame is discussed." Diego slid into a barstool next to Scarlett, calling for Tina to bring him his usual tequila. "You two missed the chief's announcement."

Scarlett's eyes rolled. "What, we have to attend another funeral? Or is it a press release on TV that needs watched?"

"Actually, something bigger than that" the wolfdog said. "The Mayor is hosting a gala tomorrow as a fundraiser for his war on crime. We - the police force - are basically the stars of the show." He took his tequila from the vixen and toasted it.

"A gala?" Scarlett repeated, in about the same tone she'd have used to describe a loathsome insect. "I have to dress up two days in a row?"

"Yup. Black-tie and all" Diego grinned. "And everyone's supposed to bring a guest; your spouse, or..." he glanced at Ned.

"I'll invite my boyfriend" Ned declared, wondering what the wolfdog was getting at. Was he actually feeling confident enough to bring Garrett to meet all his friends? Then again, why not? Williston and Lennox would be too busy entertaining the bigwigs anyway, and Garrett already knew Scarlett and Nolan.

"Great" Diego genuinely sounded pleased.

On the TV, one of the news guys was talking to some of the protesters, but Ned decided he didn't need to listen. "Where's this thing going down?"

"The Eloquence Hotel is hosting it. They have a big ballroom, or something?"

Neither Ned or Scarlett had ever been to the hotel in question. "The entire force is going?"

"We've all been asked to." Diego grinned. "And who am I to turn down free booze?"

"I'll drink to that" Ned laughed, and he and Diego clinked beer and tequila together and drank.

Scarlett still didn't look thrilled at the notion of having to don a dress again, but Diego winked at Ned. "And you know, we might even have fun? There's going to be dancing, and paparazzi fanning over us since we're the dudes - uh, and dudettes - who are going to catch the Prophet."

Ned snickered. "Plus it will force Arkady to take a night off."

"Poor Moira" Scarlett shook her head. "When was the last time he took her out?"

"Long ago" Ned said. Which was true; the fox was married to his job first; his family second. In sense, though, SF Metro was his family; an extended version thereof.

"So? You gonna call your coyote and ask him if he can come? I'm sure they won't mind adding an actor to the VIP list."

Sometimes it was easy to forget for a moment that Garrett came from a world where your name and what you had done with it meant everything, and that to outside people like Diego, having such a distinction, or dating someone who did, instantly made you more likely to be successful or accepted. But why should that be something to be ashamed of?

"I'll call him right now" he said confidently, so that Diego and Scarlett exchanged a look and grinned. Ned swallowed the last of the Corona and left the bottle on the bar, crossing the room to a small corner table which was unoccupied, and pulled out his phone.

Garrett answered on the first ring. "Ned! I heard about what happened at the funeral - did you get to respond to it?"

Genuine interest. It's important for one's SO to find their profession interesting, is it not? "I was one of the first guys on the scene" he glanced to see if Diego and Scarlett were listening, but they had remained at the bar, and were talking about something else. "I'll tell you all about it when I'm in your bed....I'm at the bar near the station, though, and don't want anyone hearing details they shouldn't."

"I'll wait with anticipation then. Not every guy has a cop boyfriend who can give him first class details about grisly crime scenes."

Ned wondered if Garrett could hear the smile in his voice. "Actually I was calling because the mayor is sponsoring a gala tomorrow in support of SF Metro and I was hoping you'd be available to come as my guest?"

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, and a different voice vaguely audible - Garrett must have been near Olympia. "I'd love to!" he cried, and that time Ned could see the smile. "I do love a change to get shined up and dance. And to see you in a tux!"

"I look about the same" Ned said, just to be disagreeable, and then Garrett went chattering on about what he'd wear and how Ned had to introduce him to all his friends, and was it a drinks-and-dinner occasion, or just drinks?

"I'm looking forward to seeing you all shined up" Ned finally interrupted, just to get the coyote to stop talking about VIP parking or something like that.

Garrett paused. "Oh, sure. Just don't expect ties. I detest ties. The inventor of ties should have been drawn and quartered."

Ned actually laughed, and noticed that Scarlett and Diego had paused in their conversation to look at him, ears perked. He ignored them.

"Are we going to see each other tonight?" Garrett asked.

"I don't know. Might be a late night. I have to head back pretty soon."

"Just keep dreaming of me. Naked. With my paw in your pants."

"I'm in a bar, Garrett" Ned growled. "This isn't the best time for-"

"Just picture me under the table, with my paw unzipping your jeans."

Ned tried picturing anything but that, and failed. "I'm warning you."

"You know you're no fun, don't you?"

Ned's phone buzzed, and the "call incoming" warning appeared. Just in time; his pants felt tight and maybe a little sticky. The number was blocked, which was strange - but maybe it was one of his fellow officers. "Garrett, I have to go. Another cop's calling."

"Oh really?" the coyote's voice said. "I guess I'd better start planning for this rave."

"Goodbye, you goof" Ned laughed, and hung up. He pressed the "accept call" button.

"This Parker?" the voice was suspicious, and muffled.

"It is. Who is this?"

"I hear you're the man lookin' for information 'bout a certain Chink bitch, runs a nifty little mafia trade..."

Somewhere in the background a couple of kangaroos were getting really drunk, yelling at each other over the pool table, and Diego was hollering at Tina for another shot of tequila, but Ned sat up in the chair and stared at the tin plaque on the wall directly next to him, an old advertisement for canned crab. "You got me. What'd you have?"

It must have been one of the informants he'd contacted. He'd never expected one would actually respond. "I might have a descript'n of the bitch, if'n you have the right...comprehension." A deeper voice, and definitely not educated.

"Whoever you are, the agreement was that you inform on the bigger crooks and as thanks we won't throw your ass in jail" Ned growled, hoping he sounded firm enough. "I don't know which one of the folks I contacted you are, but that was the agreement with all of them."

There was a long pause, and for a horrifying minute Ned feared the informant had decided to give up. "Fine" the voice spat at length. "You jest have ta know, I'm riskin' my neck ta tell ya this. If'n that bitch knew I'd gone to the cops..."

Then your body would be founded in an alley somewhere, or you'd just disappear, Ned thought. "Are you a Triad member?" That, he was almost certain was not the case; the guy's voice was about as far from a Chinese accent as you could get.

"Naw. I run for the Decimators sometimes. Got busted stealin' a car."

"You're going to meet with me tonight" Ned decided. "I want you to meet me out back of Salty Sebastian's bar. Not too far from the waterfront. You know it?"

There was a slight hesitation. "I might..."

"Then I'll be waiting for you" Ned said firmly. "Delivering Xang Lan to the police will reward you heavily, whoever you are. Might clear your record..." It never hurt to throw some inspiration in front of an informant, just to sweeten the deal.

"Who 'm I lookin' for, 'xactly?"

"Look for a big black wolf. Come now" Ned said, and hung up. He glanced around the bar. Nolan had come in at some point and he and Scarlett were laughing and throwing darts. Diego had vanished.

He paid Sebastian for the beer and left the bar, walking around the side of the building to the back, an untidy area of dumpsters and loose rubbish, along with scents that suggested drunks sometimes came there to puke. He leaned against one of the dumpsters for a moment, thinking.

Maybe SF Metro was failing at catching the Prophet, or at least had failed long enough to allow the bastard to kill five people, but wouldn't catching the leader of the Chinese Triad be enough to make up for that? Xang Lan was confirmed to have been involved in a number of crimes, including murder, and if they could only get an ID on her, it would make the job of finding the woman and arresting her so much easier. What was it Williston had said? "Cut off the head and the whole dragon dies." Something like that. And now if he'd found someone who knew who the head was...

Perhaps he shouldn't be too eager. The informant might be full of BS, after all. But he had to believe otherwise.

Sometime later a small brown car pulled into the back lot.

Ned didn't move from the dumpster. "Get out of the car" he ordered, leaving a paw on his pistol belt. "I'm not taking any chances."

"I ain't here ta shoot you, wolf" the wolverine, for that was what he was, growled, getting out of the car. "No reward in that."

"Roscoe Burns" Ned recognised the man from his booking photo, and he was the only wolverine among the informants he'd contacted.

"Don't say it so loud" Burns protested, glancing warily around.

"So. What you do know about Xang Lan?" Ned wrinkled his nose as he spoke, keeping his distance from Burns. The man stank to high heaven, no surprise judging by his filthy clothes.

"Not much" Burns spat. "I never spent much time near the bitch myself. But I know what she looks like."

"Her species?"

"Do I look stupid ta you or somethin'? Of course I know her species! The 'Dragon Master,' as the Triad calls her - she's a wolf, like you."

"Fur colour? Height? Build? Eye colour? Anything helps." He pulled out a pad of paper, wrote "Xang Lan: Wolf" on it, and poised the pen to take down more notes.

Burns laughed. "Oh, easy. You couldn't miss this one in the crowd."

"Xang Lan is a white wolf, boy. But not pure white, so siree. She's got this dye job all over her body, roses and thorns and the like. Long mane with beads in it. Red n black, those." He scratched his nose. "Sexy thang, real curvy like a model." Burns kept talking, but as Ned listened, he felt his ears falling back against his head, his tail moving between his legs, as the fur of his neck rose in horror.

Roscoe Burns had just described Olympia Rogan.