Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Nick flicked his motorcycle’s kill switch and steered his now-silent machine into the dark, brush-lined lane leading to the Lionheart estate. The front of the house was brightly lit, and he could see a trio of mammals dressed like valets clustered around a small podium next to an impressive collection of luxury cars. He eased the bike behind a large jasmine bush he’d scouted earlier that day—big enough to obscure it from the road and house, but still close enough for a quick getaway.

“Sweet, sultry, and musky,” he murmured, sniffing the air. “Just like me,” he quipped before refocusing on the mission. He swung off the bike and began making his way toward the manor house at the top of the lane. He doubted any of them had the night vision to spot him in the darkness, but he stepped further into the brush, scouting the exterior wall for a likely entry point. As he crept along, he could hear the thumping bass of dance music, clinking glasses, laughter, and what sounded like a couple of mammals getting more acquainted in a dark corner of the estate.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He stepped behind a convenient tree and shielded the screen with his paw. The coast looked clear, but he never took unnecessary chances on a job—and he wasn’t about to start tonight.

BB: Status?

NW: Scouting an entry point

BB: You’re behind schedule

NW: I’m fashionably late. U never want to be first at a party!

BB: Lots of mammals, lots of eyes. Don’t get made.

NW: It’s an open bar. I think I’ll be fine.

BB: We’re taking a real risk here. This has to pay off.

NW: Don’t wait up, it’s a party!

Nick shook his head as he pocketed his phone. Then he spotted a cluster of palm trees growing over a portion of the wall and smiled. Perfect. He took a dozen quick steps and raced up one of the trunks, springing up and driving his hind leg into another palm before landing neatly on top of the wall. He dropped down, twisting to catch the wall and break his momentum before landing softly in a crouch on the well-manicured grass. Nick scanned the darkness for any sign that his entry had been observed. Satisfied, he brushed off a leaf, straightened his linen suit jacket, and donned a pair of expensive-looking eyeglasses before heading down a walkway toward his target: the manor house.

NW: Entry complete.

BB: Acknowledged

As he moved closer, he saw that most of the partygoers were in the courtyard—either on or clustered around the dance floor—while staff circulated with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Nick knew staying inconspicuous at a party was harder than it looked. Mammals were suspicious of someone skulking in the shadows, but he also needed to avoid anyone who might recognize the guest list and realize he didn’t belong. He plucked a glass of champagne from the tray of an exasperated-looking otter, who was listening to a sloth couple try to order cocktails, and moved deliberately along the outskirts of the party.

Any time a staff member came near, Nick would turn to admire the garden, duck his head to check his phone, or lift his glass like he was about to sip. He deposited the glass onto the tray of a passing capybara and fell into step behind an elephant and a hippo heading toward the rear of the house. Nick thought they might walk him all the way to the door—until they stopped short.

“Come on, everybody, get on the dance floor! I want to get a good picture for our Leo and Lara,” a giraffe with an oversized camera phone was beckoning everyone to gather. Nick trailed behind the couple as they jostled into place, searching for a way out. He could not afford to be caught on camera—but if he broke away now, everyone would see him.

“On three, say ‘whiskey’ and smile,” the giraffe said, steadying her phone. “One...” Nick turned his head left and right, looking for something to duck behind. Then he saw a pair of pigs trotting toward the group.

“Two...” Nick slipped along the edge of the gathering toward the latecomers and willed them to waddle faster.

“Three!” Just as the pigs squeezed themselves into frame, Nick ducked behind their bulk and slipped behind a gaudy statue.

“WHISKEY!” the crowd shouted as the giraffe started snapping pictures. Safely out of sight, Nick dashed up the stairs and into the dimly lit rear of the house—where he immediately collided with the otter he’d seen earlier. She tripped backward with a surprised squeak, and Nick managed to catch her before she fell, suddenly almost muzzle-to-muzzle with her, his paws around her waist like he was dipping her mid-dance.

“Good catch,” the otter said in an Outback accent as he pulled them both upright. She gave him a shaky smile.

Nick flashed his most winning smile and adopted a polished Capital City accent. “My apologies, mademoiselle. I was rushing and not taking care. Are you well?”

“I think so,” the otter said, tugging nervously at her uniform shirt and blinking. “But have you seen my glasses? My eyes are rubbish without them.”

Nick thanked his good fortune again as he scanned the ground, spotted a thick pair of black-rimmed glasses, and scooped them up. “Les voilà!”

“Oh, thank you! I’m blind without them,” she said, reaching a paw toward him.

“You must permit me to polish them for you,” Nick said, pulling out his silk pocket square and beginning to wipe the lenses. “Perhaps you could assist me, Miss...?”

“Sam.”

“Enchanté, Sam. I was looking for somewhere to make a quick call.” He stepped forward slightly, pressing her paws onto the glasses while gently cupping them in his own. “I have to call some very dull mammals.”

Sam glanced down at their joined paws. Nick saw her ears twitch before she jerked her head to the side and said, “I think there’s a library that way, but I’m not sure anyone is—”

“Excellent. After my boring conversation, perhaps we can have a more interesting one.” Nick delivered the last line as a near-whisper into one of Sam’s ears. She gave a delicate little shiver. He released her paws and stepped past her into the unlit portion of the house.

“Come find me,” Nick heard her say as he stepped out of sight. He reached behind his back, pulled out a concealed pouch, clipped the straps around his neck, and yanked down a tab to let his tool roll cascade down his chest. It was a dizzying array of lock picks, paw tools, and electronic devices—everything he needed for a job. He paused to push an earpiece into place before grabbing his phone and typing a quick message as he crept down the hallway.

NW: On the X

BB: Acknowledged

This was almost too easy, Nick thought, as his paw reached for the doorknob—

BANG!

GUN! his instincts screamed. He hit the floor, scanning wildly for the shooter. Then he patted himself down—no blood. He hadn’t been hit. But who had fired—and at what?

Then came the blaring of an alarm and the rising voices of party guests, clearly in panic. Worse, lights flicked on in the hall behind him. He scrambled to his feet and bolted down the hallway toward an open window.

He barely slowed as he planted a paw on the sill and vaulted into the night. His luck held—he landed softly behind a thick hedge. He saw the valets talking excitedly, gesturing toward the mansion, and used the distraction to dart between the cars and down the hill to his hidden bike. He coasted to the entrance before starting the engine and racing away—just in time to see a police vehicle barrel past, lights flashing, turning into the estate. He swore.

He didn’t know what had just happened—but tonight’s operation had been a complete waste of time. And like they say, bad news doesn’t get better with age.

He tapped a few keys on his phone, and the line picked up midway through the first ring.

“Wilde? What’s going on?”

“We’ve got problems, boss,” Nick said as he sped into the night.

Chapter Text

Detective Inspector Judy Hopps gripped her armrests tightly, blunt claws digging into the faded plastic, as her plane jolted through another patch of turbulence. She closed her eyes, took a steadying breath, and tried to calm her roiling stomach. The first-class cabin of the sleek KhanAir jetliner she’d left Zootopia in was a distant memory. A day later, she found herself on final approach to Saint Mare in a plane that looked like it belonged in a museum—or a junkyard.

As the plane steadied, she took another deep breath, and just as the wave of nausea began to subside, the steady drone of the engine suddenly faltered. Her eyes flew open, her ears perking up. Her closest neighbors, a pair of pigs in a matching sundress and bucket hat—both sporting the same garish pattern—seemed blissfully unaware as the plane took a sharp bank and the engine’s hum dropped another octave.

“Great, we’re losing power,” she thought, as the engine caught a case of the hiccups.

The pilot’s voice, laced with forced calm, crackled over the intercom: “We apologize for the turbulence, but we’re on final approach to Saint Mare. Air traffic control has cleared us, so we’ll be landing ahead of schedule.”

“One way or another,” the co-pilot’s voice muttered in the background.

After a burst of static and a muffled “hush,” the pilot continued, “Please stay seated with your belts fastened, and maybe, uh, familiarize yourselves with the safety features of our aircraft.” Judy could swear she heard the co-pilot mumbling a prayer in the background.

She tightened her seatbelt, patting her jacket. The weight of her badge and tranq gun gave her a strange sense of comfort. As the plane descended, it broke through the clouds, the turbulence eased, and Judy got her first look at her destination: white beaches, turquoise water, lush green trees, and a riot of brightly colored buildings, all awash in the rising sun’s warm glow.

“At least it’s a pretty place to have a crash,” she thought, as the engine’s hiccups slowed ominously. The flight attendant, an ocelot wearing a tight, forced smile, kept eying the emergency exit.

Judy sucked in a breath and braced herself as the propeller outside her window came to a stuttering halt, just a moment before the ocean gave way to a strip of tarmac. The plane thumped onto the runway. She exhaled in relief, and the attendant flashed her a quick thumbs-up, while her neighbors happily chatted about their island plans, oblivious to the emergency vehicles trailing behind.

The intercom crackled again, “WOO! WE MADE IT!” the co-pilot shouted before being cut off. The pilot’s voice returned, measured and calm: “Welcome to Saint Mare, and we hope you enjoy your stay—and maybe take some time to appreciate how fortunate we all are.”

As the plane rolled to a stop, a crew of beavers hurried over with a set of stairs. The pig in the bucket hat fumbled with his belt and stood to retrieve his luggage—naturally matching his hat. “Nice that we landed early—bonus time,” he remarked to Judy. “We’re here to renew our vows. You on vacation?”

“I wish,” Judy replied as she stood, futilely smoothing her jacket. “I’m here for work.”

“You’re lucky to have a job that takes you to parad—” Bucket Hat trailed off as his eyes landed on Judy’s sidearm, which had slipped into view as she bent to grab her bag.

“Not that lucky,” Judy said, brushing back her jacket to flash her badge. Bucket Hat visibly relaxed. She hefted her bag over her shoulder and swept past the tourists. “I’m here to catch a killer.”

Chapter Text

Judy shielded her eyes as she stepped out into the tropical sun. Glancing at her watch, she frowned, then hopped down the stairs—almost too steep for her—and strode purposefully toward the terminal. Being late irked her, even if the weather was to blame. She was the best Detective Inspector in the ZPD, and she intended to live up to that reputation.

After a fruitless wait at baggage claim, Judy flashed her credentials at the bored-looking tapir at customs, who waved her through. She scanned the crowd and spotted a rotund cheetah holding a sign that read HOPPS, upside down, in front of his considerable belly. As she approached, she noticed the buttons on his shirt straining as he panted in the heat.

“Excuse me, excuse me,” Judy called, as the cheetah looked around wildly. “Down here. Hi, I’m Detective Inspector Hopps. I believe you’re expecting me.”

The cheetah’s muzzle split into a wide smile. “Oh-my-goodness, they really did hire a bunny cop! You’re even cuter than I thought you’d be.”

Judy felt her foot twitch at the “c-word,” but she managed to stop herself before she started drumming it on the floor. “Hello, Officer...” She peered at the feline’s chest for his nameplate. “Clawhouser. I’m Detective Inspector Judy Hopps. Bunnies might be cute, but detectives are not. I’d appreciate it if we could avoid any bunny or donut-loving stereotypes,” she added, giving a pointed look at what appeared to be a smear of powdered sugar on his tan uniform.

“A reasonable request,” rumbled a deep voice behind her. “Get the car, Officer Clawhouser.” As the cheetah sped off at a surprising pace despite his bulk, Judy turned to find herself craning her neck to meet the gaze of an enormous Cape buffalo in a high-ranking police uniform.

“My apologies for my aide’s lack of decorum. I am Police Commissioner Selwyn Bogo,” the giant intoned, “and it is my duty to welcome you to the island of Saint Mare.” He raised a massive hoof to forestall Judy as she opened her mouth to introduce herself. “I am well aware of who you are and why you’ve come. The murder of Detective Inspector Charlie Howl was a shock, and since he was a Zootopian officer, I understand why the ZPD would want one of their own to lead the investigation. For the record, we did not request your presence, but we’ll accept any assistance you can render. DI Howl was one of ours as well, and I want his killer found.”

“Understood, Commissioner,” Judy said. “Although DI Howl and I never worked together, he earned numerous commendations and, more importantly, the respect of his colleagues in vice. I’m here to make sure justice is served for DI Howl.”

Bogo stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Then we understand each other. Come along, DI Hopps. Clawhouser will return with the car soon, and we have work to do.”

“Of course,” Judy said with a small, slightly forced smile. “Before we go, could you direct me to the lost-luggage desk?”

Chapter Text

Judy braced her feet against the back of Clawhouser’s seat as the commissioner’s aging but still luxurious car sped through another switchback, en route to the police station in the heart of Honoré.

Bogo craned his head over his shoulder, giving her an impromptu history lesson on Saint Mare. “This island was colonized by the Old Kingdom, which lost it to the New Republic. The Republic then lost it to the Free Cities, who in turn lost it back to the Republic. About sixty years ago, the Republic returned it to the Kingdom. So, roughly one-third of the population traces its roots to one of those groups.”

“Wonderful,” Judy muttered. “Citizens of the Republic and the Free Cities are famously cooperative.” Things were looking worse by the minute as Clawhouser snapped the sedan into another hair-raising turn. Despite the increasing foot and vehicle traffic, he never slowed, skillfully navigating with quick turns and a generous use of the horn.

“Ne t’inquiète pas, ils sont bien pire que ça,” said Bogo in Capital-accented Republican. “Maar me zuit het goed doen,” he continued in flawless Free Cities speech. Judy’s eyebrows rose at the display as Bogo gave a small smile. “Occupational hazard of a multilingual island,” he said, just as Clawhouser pulled into a small lot in front of a slightly ramshackle, single-story building flanked by street vendors.

“Good timing. Welcome to Honoré Station, DI Hopps. Now let’s meet your team,” Bogo said as he stepped out, causing the car to rock on its suspension, leaving Judy to scramble after him toward the entrance. It was a remarkably plain building compared to the wild colors in the market, but the unmistakable tri-color badge of the St. Mare police force adorned the walls on either side of the door.

Despite the dilapidated exterior, the station’s interior was a pleasant surprise. It was well-lit, with a breeze from open storm shutters and half a dozen ceiling fans. The space was filled with oversized desks and computers that looked at least five years out of date, yet there wasn’t a single paper out of place or a speck of dust. A cluster of whiteboards, covered in crime scene photos and paw-written notes, stood next to a conference table stacked with more folders and pictures, all neatly arranged. Clearly, the team had been busy in the 48 hours since Charlie Howl’s body was discovered.

The team itself was an eclectic group of mammals in the Honoré Police’s blue-on-blue uniforms. The first, a female tiger wearing junior-officer epaulets, had a nervous smile and an eager air about her. A rookie, Judy thought. She’s probably responsible for the lack of dust in here. The second, a male gray wolf with service stripes indicating multiple years on the force, wore a neutral expression, but Judy caught his quick glance at her sidearm. Experienced and dangerous, she thought, noting a valorous service pip on his badge. Definitely some stories in his career.

These two flanked a diminutive sheep wearing sergeant’s epaulets and thick glasses, holding a coffee mug that read WORLD’S GREATEST FUTURE DETECTIVE. The ewe looked completely at ease and stepped forward with a hoof outstretched toward Judy. Confident and ambitious—could be a real asset, Judy thought, accepting the greeting.

“Team, allow me to introduce Detective Inspector Hopps from the Zootopia Police Department. DI Hopps, these are Officers Elizabeth Fangmeyer, Michael Wolford, and Sergeant Dawn Bellwether, the mammal currently trying to shake your paw off,” Bogo said dryly. “You’ll be working together to find Charlie Howl’s killer and bring them to justice.”

“Sorry, sir,” Bellwether said with a smile, still pumping Judy’s paw. “I’m just excited to work with DI Hopps. She’s a real inspiration to us little guys, you know, with the MII.”

Judy’s smile turned a little forced. This again, she thought as she finally reclaimed her paw. “Thank you, Commissioner. I can take it from here.” She scanned the room and spotted a desk without a nameplate, walking over and depositing her bag on it before climbing onto the chair. She reached for the computer’s keyboard—oversized for her but manageable. “I want everything you have on the case on my desk immediately. And can someone get IT over here so I can get on the network?”

She shook the mouse, and the monitor flickered briefly before going dark again. Stretching across the desk to jiggle the power cable, she realized the other mammals were watching. The wolf grumbled something like “paper pusher” at the tiger, who looked mortified.

“Something the matter?” Judy asked.

Sgt. Bellwether took a tentative step forward. “It’s just... that was Charlie’s—I mean, DI Howl’s—desk. You’re welcome to it; it’s just a bit strange seeing someone else sitting there. Wolford, grab DI Howl’s effects; we need to pack them anyway so DI Hopps can settle in. Fangmeyer, see if you can get the DI’s computer working.” Bellwether then gestured toward the whiteboards. “If you like, I can bring you up to speed and then take you to the crime scene.”

Judy, ears reddening slightly from embarrassment, nodded and followed Bellwether.

The silence broke as what sounded like an ice-cream-truck jingle rang from Bogo’s phone, which he quickly silenced before scanning the screen. “On that note, I’ll leave you in Sgt. Bellwether’s capable hooves. Let’s go, Clawhouser; I have a meeting,” Bogo said, lumbering toward the door, with the overweight cheetah fanning himself close behind.

“Back to the Governor’s Palace, Commissioner?” Clawhouser asked.

“No, the pier,” Bogo replied, already out of earshot.

“Sir?” Bellwether asked, offering Judy a folder labeled HOWL, CHARLES in block letters. It looked depressingly thin. Judy took it and leafed through the sparse contents.

“This is it? Where’s forensics? Ballistics? DNA?” she asked, scanning the witness statements.

“We’ll have them soon, sir,” Bellwether said, looking—Judy thought—appropriately sheepish. Judy snapped the folder shut and made a decision.

“Let’s go to the crime scene, Sergeant,” she said, grabbing her bag. “We’re already fighting the clock on this case, and you can brief me on the way.”

Chapter Text

“So, it was just past eight o’clock on Saturday night when we got the call,” Bellwether said as she steered an aging 4x4 through the traffic of Honoré. “Wolford and Fangmeyer were on duty. I was off the clock, but I was studying for my detective’s exam. Charlie—DI Howl—had been in that day and left a couple of hours earlier.” She paused to let Judy, who was trying to jot notes as they drove, catch up.

“Fangmeyer actually took the call when it came in from the monitoring service. Apparently, the Lionhearts’ panic room went into lockdown and triggered an alarm. We keep the panic-room codes in our safe, and they wanted us to dispatch to the location. Fangmeyer—she’s very eager—was about to take the call with Wolford, but he was distracted by a footy match. I wanted a study break, so I volunteered to handle it myself.” Judy nodded, and Bellwether continued.

“When I arrived, Lawrence, the butler, met me at the door. He said the alarm started blaring in the middle of the party and that the panic room had sealed itself. Once activated, the door locks from the inside until someone with the codes opens it from the outside. Then he drops this absolute bomb: before the alarm went off, everyone at the party heard a gunshot.”

Judy chuckled. “Talk about burying the lede. So: gunshot, panic room activates, alarm, then a call to the station, right?”

“Right,” Bellwether replied. “So, I had him take me to the panic-room door—it’s in the library—and I cleared the scene so I could open it. At that point, both Lady and Lord Lionheart showed up, so it was a real mystery who was in the room. When I opened the door, I saw Charlie lying there, shot. I could tell he was gone, but I told the butler to call an ambulance anyway. The Lionhearts rushed into the panic room, so I focused on getting them out and securing the scene.

“I had barely done that when Wolford and Fangmeyer arrived—Fangmeyer apparently guilted him into coming since my study time got interrupted. We’d just started photographing the scene and collecting evidence when the Commissioner showed up. It’s all in our reports,” Bellwether added, nodding to Judy, who finished her notes and tapped her pen on the final word she’d written—“HOW?”

“It could almost be suicide, couldn’t it?” Judy mused. “Except for two things: the sequence of the gunshot and the alarm, and the missing pistol. If it was suicide, how did DI Howl lock himself in? So, if it’s murder…”

“How did the killer escape from inside a locked steel room?” Bellwether finished. “That’s why the Commissioner was willing to accept the ZPD’s help. Otherwise, he’d probably have you out writing parking tickets.”

“Har-har,” Judy said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll focus on the impossible murder for now.” Just thinking about parking enforcement made her stomach churn, and she felt acid tickle the back of her throat. She began fanning herself with her notebook, closing her eyes, and doing her best to ignore the car’s lurching as it bumped over the cobblestone streets. “Is it always this hot?”

“Oh no, usually it’s hotter. Come on, DI Hopps, we’re here.”

Judy opened her eyes, expecting an aristocrat’s mansion, but instead they were parked by a quaint little restaurant along a stretch of boardwalk. “What are we doing here, Sergeant? We need to get to the crime scene.”

“I might not be an expert on rabbits, but I’m pretty sure your ears shouldn’t be so droopy. When’s the last time you ate something that didn’t come in an individual wrapper? Let’s grab a quick bite and something cold to drink; you’ll be a whole new mammal afterward.” With that, Bellwether hopped out of the driver’s seat and headed toward the café.

Judy eyed the place. Fresh-cut tropical flowers adorned the polished tables, and the sweet, fresh-baked aroma drifting out sealed the deal. “I guess a quick stop won’t hurt,” she said, scurrying to catch up.

Bellwether gave her a crooked smile. “Like I said—us little guys need to stick together.”

Chapter Text

Nick slipped behind a porcupine as he crossed the street into the crowds in the park. The throng parted around the spiny mammal, and Nick moved effortlessly in his wake. Clumps of tourists routinely stepped out of the cruise terminal into the waiting paws of vendors, hustlers, and pickpockets eager to relieve them of their hard-earned money. Nick smiled at the memories as he wove through the stalls, pretending to shop, making sure he hadn’t picked up a tail in the crowd.

He spotted his meeting place up ahead, and as best he could tell, there were no obvious signs of surveillance. But Maman Wilde hadn’t raised a fool, so he decided to circle the site at least once before approaching his contact. As he threaded his way through the crowd, he noticed a group of kits with a cooler and a crudely drawn sign that read “Pawpsicles - $2.”

Nick paused, regarding the kits over the rim of his sunglasses. “So what flavors do you have?” A young male ocelot traded an awkward glance with a tiny female deer, who shrugged. Apparently most mammals didn’t care about the flavor as long as it was cold.

“It’s red, so it’s…” the ocelot began bravely, then lost his nerve, finishing lamely, “…red-flavored.”

“Not exactly organic, then?” Nick asked. “Word of advice: ‘Fruit Punch’ is the correct answer. Nobody really knows what it means, and almost everyone likes it. Fortunately for you, I happen to love food dyes, so I’ll take one.”

The ocelot goggled at him for a second, then opened his mouth, but the tiny deer friend quickly grabbed a pawpsicle and handed it over. Good job, Nick thought as he peeled a ten off his wad of bills and handed it over. Once a customer wants to buy, just make the sale—no more talking.

“Keep the change,” Nick said, noticing the deer begin to rummage through her waist pack for change. He enjoyed her wide-eyed reaction to his generosity. “Another tip: add ‘organic’ to that sign. Most mammals think it’s a synonym for healthy, which never hurts when you’re hawking dessert.” He glanced over his shoulder and saw his handler leaning against the seawall, pretending to read a newspaper. Show time.

“Last piece of advice,” Nick added, eyeing a line of lemmings headed their way. “If you get one of them to buy, odds are the rest will too. You might sell out in minutes.” He turned and strode off, flicking a two-finger salute as he crossed the plaza and propped himself on the wall, gazing out to sea.

“Glad you could finally join me,” said a voice from behind the paper.

“You haven’t turned a page for a while. Didn’t want to break your concentration.”

“Wilde…”

“Just trying to keep morale high since that murder blew our operation to smithereens.”

“We have another complication,” the other mammal said, sliding the folded sports section toward Nick. Nick opened the paper and found a printed article titled: “History Made Again! Judy Hopps, the ZPD’s First Rabbit Officer, Now Its Youngest Detective Inspector.” It featured a photo of a gray-furred rabbit with an enormous buck-toothed grin in her dress uniform and matching bowler hat. Adorable.

“She’s very cute, and I do love a wholesome mammal-interest story. What’s she got to do with us?”

The paper dipped slightly, revealing Commissioner Bogo’s eyes. “She’s here. Charlie Howl’s murder drew a lot of attention, so the Met sent her to take charge of the investigation.”

“Seriously? If they were serious, they would’ve sent a real cop, not a plush toy playing dress-up.”

“I did some digging—she’s had the highest close rate in the Met since getting her detective’s shield. No mate, no kits, one hundred percent dedicated to the job.”

Nick sighed, finishing the last bite of his pawpsicle. “Well, since we can’t get rid of her, we’ll just have to use her.”

Bogo snorted. “Just like that? I know you think you’re the Ancestors’ gift to females, but I’m not sure you’re her type.”

“First, I’m everyone’s type. Second, she’s a big-city detective—they tend to think in straight lines. She’ll be all over the Lionheart estate, gathering evidence, and anything she finds you can filter straight to us.”

“What’s your plan? You were snooping around Lionheart’s because our trail led there.”

“True. The trail led me there, but it’s quite a coincidence that my investigation put me at the scene the same night someone murdered a police officer.”

“I hate coincidences.”

“Me too. Either DI Howl was involved or he knew something, and that’s why he ended up dead. I’m going to turn his life inside out to see what shakes loose—starting with that shack of his.”

Bogo stayed quiet for a moment, then gave a quick nod. “I’ll arrange for his personal effects to be sent to my office. I’ll leave it unlocked; I trust you can let yourself in. Anything else?”

“The usual: financials, cell phone, service jacket—whatever. I’m sure the bunny—”

“Detective Inspector Judy Hopps.”

“Yeah, not gonna remember that. I’m sure ‘Carrots’ will want all that as well, so just share the data with me, too.”

“Should we bring her in on our operation? We know she’s clean.”

“No. Keep the circle small. Howl’s murder suggests we have either a leak or really bad luck. Let her handle the official side of the investigation, while I do my thing on the outside. Once I solve it, I’ll leave something nice in my report about her—maybe an adjective. Mammals love adjectives. ‘Team player,’ or ‘synergy.’” Nick flared his paws dramatically, hoping for a reaction.

“Don’t underestimate her, Wilde,” Bogo said, standing and stuffing the newspaper under one massive arm. “She’s not just some token bunny: two degrees—criminal justice and psychology—top of her class, nearly a dozen commendations.”

“No one likes a teacher’s pet,” Nick said, schooling his expression to hide his surprise. So Carrots might actually have chops. Then he reached into his pocket and handed Bogo a crumpled five-zollar note. Catching the question in the commissioner’s eyes, Nick tilted his head toward the cooler. “For the sports pages—and go buy a pawpsicle from those kits.”

“Are they any good?” Bogo asked, skeptical.

“Organic fruit punch,” Nick said, flashing his red-stained tongue. “Best on the island.”

Chapter Text

It killed Judy to admit it, but Dawn was right: she needed a reset after her flight, and the tropical climate was definitely wearing her down. She hated feeling like she couldn’t hack it, but she had to admit that a few bites of a savory pastry and sips of an ice-cold cola made her feel like a whole new mammal. Judy was thankful her new friend wasn’t afraid to keep her on track as she tried to crack this case.

“You’re kidding me,” Judy said, looking up from the file she had been studying. “Charlie—I mean DI Howl—wasn’t invited to the party at the estate?”

“According to both Lady and Lord Lionheart, DI Howl was a party-crasher,” Dawn said, shaking her head. The small bell on her necklace made a soft tinkling sound.

“Then how did he end up in the panic room?” Judy asked, shaking her head and briefly studying a floor plan of Leodore and Lara Lionheart’s estate before pulling out a photo of a courtyard packed with partygoers. All of them had black X’s marked over their images. “What’s this?” she said, holding the photo so Dawn could clearly see.

“Oh, one of the guests took that—a giraffe. Spur-of-the-moment thing. She was trying to get a picture of all the guests. Everyone on the guest list was in that photo, along with a good portion of the wait staff. Really lucky to have so many in one shot. The only mammals not in the photo were the valets, the Lionhearts, and some of the catering staff. And all those mammals were there when they heard the shot.”

Judy placed the photo flat on the table, mentally dividing it into quarters and scanning each in turn. Nothing stood out—until, in the last quadrant, she noticed a blurry smear next to two pigs. She looked closer. With a sudden idea, she grabbed the glass soda bottle she’d been drinking from—plucking it right out of the hooves of the black-wooled sheep who was clearing their table—and peered through the lip of the bottle at that blur. It was a bushy tail, hidden behind a statue at the edge of the crowd.

“Check this out—bottom corner,” Judy said, sliding the picture toward Dawn.

Dawn leaned in, practically pressing her muzzle to the table, then gasped. “That’s a tail, and I don’t see its owner anywhere.”

“Looks like they ducked behind that statue. If you’re right and everyone else is accounted for, we might have another party crasher—one who’s oddly camera-shy.”

“I’m not a detective,” Dawn said, “but I think the technical term is ‘a clue.’”

“Indubitably, my dear Bellwether,” Judy said, beaming at her partner before diving back into the case file. “So, tell me about the known mammals who aren’t in our picture: the valets, the Lionhearts, the caterers.”

“The valets—one warthog and one lemur—never left the front door. The chefs, a kudu and an oryx, were in the kitchen arguing. A server, an otter, was stuck in the middle trying to play peacemaker. Apparently the chefs have been married forever, and the rest of the staff say they’re always squabbling.”

“What about the others?”

“Her Ladyship said she was upstairs showering, and no one saw her until she came down to the library after I arrived. Lord Lionheart showed up at about the same time, claiming he was on the beach until he heard the shot.”

“Not exactly airtight,” Judy mused, continuing to scan the statements, “but that tail wouldn’t match any of them.” Something nagged at her mind…

“Definitely not,” Dawn said, ticking off points on her hoof. “But without a motive or means, shaky alibis aren’t much to go on. We’re still in the dark.”

“That’s it!” Judy exclaimed, stopping when she noticed Dawn’s startled expression. “Sorry—I can be excitable. I just realized what’s been bugging me about the otter’s statement—Sam Otter-something. She said she was talking to a ‘guest’ before heading to the kitchen, which is where she heard the shot. But if all the real guests were in the courtyard, that means she was talking to someone who wasn’t actually a guest.”

“One of our party crashers—likely the one with the mystery tail,” Dawn said, nodding slowly. “Very clever, Inspector.”

“Have Fangmeyer and Wolford bring her in. She might be able to identify our mystery mammal.”

“Will do, chief. What about us—back to the station?”

“No, let’s head to the Lionheart estate. I need to walk the scene, and I want to talk to the Lionhearts. I don’t buy their alibis for a second. Let’s get some answers.”

Chapter Text

The Lionhearts’ butler, a black-coated goat named Lawrence, guided Judy and Dawn to the mansion’s library, then excused himself as they pulled down the police tape and unsealed the door. Oversized shelves lined the walls, crammed with books and decorative items. A small piano and a large antique desk dominated the room. A tall pedestal stood conspicuously empty beside an open window, near a keypad that seemed out of place among the vintage décor.

“It’s a pretty clever setup, Inspector. Totally custom,” Dawn said as she pressed a button on the keypad. A section of the bookshelf swung open, revealing a plain concrete room with a small safe—its door was ajar. She motioned Judy forward into the panic room. “The security door can only be locked from the inside, which triggers a hardwired alarm to the station.”

“Walk me through the scene, Sergeant,” Judy said, stepping under a strip of crime-scene tape into the panic room. She dipped a paw into the case file and pulled out the photos her team had taken, angling each shot to match the photographer’s perspective, trying to visualize everything.

“I came in through the same door we just used,” Dawn explained, “and headed straight for the panic room, because that’s where the alarm was coming from. There was a broken vase on the ground by that column.” She gestured generally toward the empty pedestal. “I had to step over the shards to reach the keypad and open the door.

“When I got it open, DI Howl was lying there—head near the wall, feet toward us. He was still wearing his office clothes. I saw a single entry wound under his chin, with no exit wound. The coroner said it was probably a .22 caliber. No sign of a struggle, no defensive wounds. The little safe was open but empty. Oh, and he was holding a small book in his right paw.”

Judy nodded, flipping through the file. “The inventory lists a watch, phone, wallet with thirteen dollars, a bus pass, and…a travel guide?” She squinted at the listing. “What’s that about?”

Bellwether shrugged. “The Hoof-Hiker’s Guide to the Galapagos—an older edition, nothing remarkable. We have no idea why he was holding it. Nothing was written inside, nothing stuffed between the pages. Another mystery for the pile.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to focus on why a policeman was in my panic room,” said a deep voice. Judy and Dawn turned to see a massive lion stride confidently into the library. Judy guessed he was Lord Lionheart, a hunch confirmed when he extended a large paw in greeting. “Leodore Lionheart,” he said, removing any doubt. “I hope you don’t mind—I had Lawrence tell me where you were, and I wanted to check on whether any progress has been made.” He offered a broad, insincere smile, the kind of thing a politician would love, Judy mused.

She raised an eyebrow at Lionheart’s assumption that she’d report anything to him. Meanwhile, Dawn rolled her eyes behind his back. Aristocrats. “Actually, your timing’s perfect,” Judy said. “I wanted to talk to you about the pile of pellets you fed my fellow officers the night Detective Inspector Charles Howl was murdered.” She returned his smile, genuinely satisfied to see him squirm.

“I’m sorry?” Lionheart asked, blanching at her frosty tone as his grin faltered.

“She wants to know,” Dawn explained, “if you’d like to revise your statement—because failing to share relevant info in a murder inquiry counts as obstruction. If you’ve remembered anything, now is the time to clarify before this becomes…more adversarial.” Dawn emphasized the last word, making Lionheart’s smile look downright sickly.

“Well said, Sergeant Bellwether.” Judy flipped open her notepad, clicked her carrot-shaped pen, and added, “Let’s start that revision with precisely where you were when you heard the shot.” She couldn’t resist savoring the moment as Lionheart’s grin vanished entirely.

Chapter Text

Judy and Dawn trailed behind Lionheart as he led them through the courtyards and gardens toward the ocean. Judy allowed herself a small smile when she spotted the statue where the mysterious mammal had hidden in the photo. That is a deeply terrible piece of art.

“Quite a walk. Do you usually spend your parties so isolated from your guests?” Judy asked as they stepped onto a boardwalk path leading to a small cluster of palms by the beach.

“You wanted to see where I was when I heard the shot. But no, I only came down to my beach for a bit of privacy.”

“Your beach? A bit proprietorial, don’t you think?”

“Well, I do own it. Part of the estate’s grounds—they extend all the way to that point.” He waved vaguely toward a bend in the distance.

“Right. So, why did you need privacy when, according to more than one guest, your party was…” She glanced down at her notepad. “Lit.”

“I was trying to get some time alone with a special friend.”

“Would I be correct in assuming this special friend wasn’t necessarily your wife?”

“That was rather the problem. Lara stumbled onto us and ran back up the path toward the house. I followed, and we had a brief, wordless argument. She slapped me, tried to throw a drink in my face, and only managed to drench herself. I think you can understand my reluctance to broach a private matter with your colleagues.”

Dawn snorted, and Judy had to stop herself from tapping her foot in frustration at his attitude. “What happened next?” she asked.

“I returned to the beach, but my friend had gone, and that’s when I heard the shot. I decided discretion was the better part of valor, so I hid in the trees here until I saw the lights from your vehicle. I figured it was safe to return to the house—and that’s where I saw you in the library, correct, Sergeant?”

“Correct, sir. You arrived just as I was opening the door.”

“That’s when Lara and I saw that poor mammal in our panic room—tragic. An officer, too. I’m very supportive of our mammals in blue.” Lionheart flashed another broad, insincere smile at Judy, then Dawn.

“Were there any witnesses to this?” Judy asked. “And I’ll need the name of your friend.”

“A pretty cheetah who does yoga with my wife—her name starts with a ‘K,’ I think. As for the rest, the wineglass Lara spilled came off one of the waiter’s trays. Short, round gent—a fellow rodent, I’d imagine,” he added, nodding to Judy as if in solidarity.

Judy’s feelings toward Lionheart crystallized from general distaste at his arrogance and casual infidelity to something sharper, harder, and more pointed. She took a steadying breath, loosening her grip on her carrot pen.

Dawn seemed to sense something in Judy’s expression and stepped forward. “How well did you know the deceased?”

“Not at all. Maybe Lara invited him.”

Judy made a mental note to thank Dawn later and cleared her throat to draw Lionheart’s attention back to her. “Please follow up with those witnesses, Sergeant Bellwether. Just a few more questions, and I think we can wrap things up here. First, do you own a .22-caliber pistol?”

“No. I don’t know the first thing about guns—wouldn’t know one end from another.”

“I see that the safe was open that night. Who knows the combination?”

“I do, of course. And Lara. That’s it.”

“Did you open it that night, or give DI Howl the combination?”

“Rather defeats the purpose, don’t you think?”

“So, your wife must have given it to him?”

“I suppose you’ll have to ask her, won’t you?”

Back inside the house, Lady Lara Lionheart, a tall, statuesque lioness, escorted Judy and Dawn through her bedroom before gesturing toward the en suite bathroom.

“After I saw Leo and that…humiliation, my dress and fur were soaked in wine. I came up here to clean up, change, and soldier on.”

“When did you hear the shot?” Judy asked.

“I didn’t. When I got out of the shower, I heard the alarm going off, so I ran back into the bedroom, put on my dressing gown, and went downstairs to see what was happening. That’s when I saw you, Officer, in the library. Leo showed up a moment later.”

Judy grunted in acknowledgment as she paced from the bathroom back into the bedroom. She drifted toward the dressing table, cluttered with jewelry boxes, perfume bottles, and grooming tools. “Did you invite DI Howl to your party?”

“No. Didn’t Leo?”

“He says he didn’t.” Judy popped the lid off an unusual bottle at the center of the table, its stopper shaped like a panther’s head. She took a quick sniff and blinked at the burning sensation in her nostrils. Then she turned back to Lady Lionheart. “On the day of the party, did you open the safe?”

“No.”

“Did you give DI Howl the combination?”

“Of course not.” Lara shifted under Judy’s gaze, then met her eyes defiantly.

Outside the Lionheart estate, Dawn spoke up as they walked to the car, Judy scribbling notes as she stomped ahead.

“She was lying, wasn’t she?”

“Of course she was,” Judy replied. “But so is her husband. They’re the only two mammals without alibis…”

“Other than our party crasher.”

“Other than our party crasher. They’re also the only ones who knew the combination to the safe. Logic suggests that both may be lying—but one must be lying.”

Judy paused with her paw on the car door, glancing back at the estate.

“Not that it helps us,” Dawn muttered. “We’re still no closer to figuring out how the murderer killed Charlie and escaped from a locked room.”

“As I always say, when you’re stumped, go back to the physical evidence. I need to see the body, the book, and that broken vase.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“What—seeing the body?”

“None of it. It’s all been sent to Basse-Bear,” Dawn said, seeing Judy’s confusion. “It’s on another island. We don’t have labs here, so we bag the evidence, fly it over, and wait for the reports.”

Judy’s eye twitched as she rubbed the bridge of her muzzle. “How long is that supposed to take?”

Dawn gave a helpless shrug.

“Then how are we supposed to solve this case? Arrange to have the book and vase sent back by tomorrow. Can you do that?”

Dawn stiffened, nodded, and pulled out her phone to start typing. “Of course, sir.”

“How does anything get done on this island?” Judy muttered.

“Beats me. It’s a wonder we get out of bed in the morning,” Dawn said, climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door harder than necessary. “Where to, sir?”

“Back to the station,” Judy said. “Let’s see if Wolford and Fangmeyer found our otter.”

Chapter Text

After he and the Commissioner had split up at the pier, Nick took his time making sure he hadn’t picked up a tail. He’d doubled back on his route half a dozen times, swapped vehicles, and even changed his clothes once to be sure he was clear. The result was that it took him a couple of hours before he could finally slip into his favorite bar and make his way to the best seat in the house—a secluded booth with eyelines on all the entrances.

As he moved through the bar, crowded for the early afternoon, he caught the eye of the vixen tending bar. She cocked a brow at him—an obvious question: Do I know you? Nick smiled, gave a casual wave, and called for his usual, the picture of an everyday fox stopping by his favorite watering hole. This place was more familiar to him than his own apartment. He never felt the need to hide here. But the mammals that mattered understood discretion was a shield in his line of work, and so they played coy. He shook his head, amused at himself. He’d circled the block six times and mentally flagged every surveillance perch before walking in. La famille, c'est toujours des soucis.

He dropped into his booth and opened his tablet, finding half a dozen encrypted messages waiting in his inbox—each packed with data from Charlie Howl’s life. He started with Howl’s service jacket: a solid, if uninspired, career with the ZPD. Stints in patrol, robbery, narcotics, and finally vice. His transfer to Saint Mare came less than six months after his marriage ended. Bogo had added a simple note to that section: BAD divorce.

Someone did him a solid, Nick thought. Got him out of town after everything blew up—either for a fresh start or to hide until retirement age.

He looked up as a snowy-white vixen in breezy island attire set a glass of water and a beer—with a lime perched neatly on top—on the table in front of him.

“That looks like a fine start to a good night,” he said, giving the arctic fox a suggestive grin. “Care to join me?”

She flipped a napkin in his face before lining up the drinks in a precise row. “Spare me, Nicholas. We both know you couldn’t handle me. You’re far too serious for my tastes.” She said it with a smile to take the sting out, then gave his paw a quick squeeze. “Don’t disappear again without saying goodbye.”

He returned the squeeze and reached for the water. “You realize you’re dooming me to a life with a very serious mammal who enjoys things like jigsaw puzzles and... maths.”

“Et à qui la faute, sergent-détective?” she whispered into his ear, and he threw up his paws in mock surrender. She laughed and sauntered off, her tail flicking across his muzzle as she went.

The next batch of files was more boring but probably more informative. Mobile records, credit cards, and bank accounts usually told the real story of a mammal’s life—more than they ever realized. Most mammals worked to live. The money came in from their jobs and went straight back out to pay for groceries, bills, and whatever habits they were nursing.

Charlie Howl wasn’t unusual. Money in. The Crown and his ex-wife took their cuts. The rest seemed to vanish into drinking and gambling—until six months ago. After that, his financial picture changed dramatically. Odd. No overtime in his timesheets, and no evidence of a side hustle. Unless he was getting paid under the table…

His train of thought was interrupted by the touch of claws at his neck, then his ears. He groaned softly as they scratched an itch he didn’t know he had.

A beautiful red fox with brilliant emerald eyes joined him in the booth. His head lolled instinctively toward her as she slid in beside him. She chuckled.

“C'est un rare honneur. Un véritable sergent-détective dans mon modeste bar. Si seulement mon fils était là, il serait tellement impressionné.”

“Tell him I’m restless in the pursuit of justice for a fellow officer,” Nick said, squeezing the lime into the beer before taking a swig and winking.

She shifted slightly away from him, giving him a light swat on the nose. “I know you are irreverent, Nicholas. But I do not like when you imply you are anything other than an honest, hard-working mammal.”

“Oui, maman,” he said with a sad smile. “I’m just a humble police mammal doing his duty to protect the citizens of Saint Mare. Which, in this case, means finding out why a burnout detective suddenly swore off all his vices. Six months ago he’s burning through cash, and now he’s a choirboy.”

“Let me see,” she said, extending a paw like it was the most natural thing in the world. In answer to the skeptical look he gave her, she smiled slyly.

“You think you know something?” he asked, pushing the tablet toward her.

“I know many things, Nicholas. You always seem surprised by that. And... voilà!” She tapped the screen with a triumphant claw and pushed it back to him.

“Bien sûr,” he muttered, scanning the transaction. “So your big insight is that our victim bought something expensive at the Parfumerie Prince D’Bruce?”

“No. He bought this.” She tapped again, bringing up a full-spread ad for a perfume called Panther Sexuelle. The price matched the charge.

He read the tagline aloud with a skeptical brow. “60% du temps, ça marche tout le temps?” He squinted. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“So handsome. So dense.” She sighed. “He had a girlfriend, idiot. You remember what those are? You’re supposed to get one so I can be a grandmother someday.”

“You’re certain?”

“About grandchildren? Absolument. Look at this—months of bars and betting slips, and then suddenly he joins a yoga studio and starts going to wine tastings.”

“Ah, l’amour,” Nick whispered, scrolling through the data. Charlie’s life had shifted: coffees near the yoga studio, dinners at cozy date spots, two tickets to a cricket match. The story was there—he’d found someone, cleaned up, started sharing his world.

“He was head over heels,” Nick said.

“You should try it sometime, Nicholas,” his mother said primly. “The right female would do you good. Someone who could deal with all your… comment dit-on... snark.” She said it like the word offended her tongue.

“Let’s save the hard stuff for later, Maman,” Nick said. “Let’s focus on the murder. Charlie has a girlfriend, and his most-dialed number the last few months is… a burner phone.”

“That means what?”

“A) You’re wrong, and he didn’t clean up because of love—”

“Pas possible!”

“—or B) she’s hiding something. Most likely married. Or otherwise inconvenient.”

“So does your murdered police-mammal know anyone married who’d like a perfume made for felines?”

“Just maybe,” he said with a slow smile. “And since you’re such an expert on mammals in love: where would you take someone you liked enough to start doing yoga and drinking—mon dieu—wheatgrass?”

“Facile.” She didn’t hesitate. “You take them to bed.”

Chapter Text

As they pulled into the station, Judy spotted Wolford leaning casually against the door. He made eye contact and flashed her and Dawn a quick thumbs-up. It looked like he and Fangmeyer had gotten lucky. The drive back from the estate had been frosty, and Judy had to admit to herself that it was probably her fault.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Judy began. “I usually work alone for... reasons. You’re right, though—we little guys do need to stick together, and I do need your help to solve this case.”

Dawn smiled and gave her a quick nod. “Don’t worry about it, sir. This has been hard on everyone, and the rest of us didn’t have to fly halfway around the world before getting started.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” Judy returned the smile, genuinely grateful. “Now, let’s question our witness and see if we can get more on our mystery guest than a blurry picture of a tail.”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll head to the airport and see if I can catch the courier. They’ve probably already left, but you said you wanted the book and the vase…”

“Of course. I can handle the witness interview. I’m sure Wolford and Fangmeyer can lend a paw if I need it.”

“She’s just a rookie, and he’s got experience, but I think he was busted down to senior constable before coming here. Maybe temper your expectations. Also, don’t be afraid to keep them on a tight lead—you know how it is.” Dawn’s voice took on a conspiratorial tone as she pulled the 4x4 out of the lot.

Judy wondered what Dawn had meant by that but shook her head and headed into the station. Even thousands of miles from Zootopia, it seemed mammals couldn’t just get along. Wolford opened the door and nodded toward the small interior, where an otter and a tiger were engaged in an animated discussion at a table.

“We picked her up after work,” Wolford explained in his low, Imperial-accented voice. “She was having drinks with some friends, so she might be a little...”

“Talkative?” Judy ventured.

“I was going to say ‘pawsy,’ but sure, talkative works too. Lots about Gazelle, Justin Timberwolf, and her Pawparazzi profile.” He leaned closer. “Pretty sure Fangmeyer is following her now, so if you’re too rough, be ready for some sad kitten eyes.”

Judy rolled her eyes. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

“Danke. I have to patrol with her, and it’s much less fun if she’s moping.”

As Judy entered the station, Wolford trailing behind, the two chatting females straightened like schoolkids caught gossiping in class. Based on the way their eyes flicked toward Wolford, Judy guessed he’d been the topic of conversation. Fangmeyer looked embarrassed, while the otter, Sam, seemed very conspicuously to be checking him out. Wolford, meanwhile, looked like he wanted to bolt. Judy briefly wondered what he’d meant earlier by “pawsy.”

“Thanks for coming in on such short notice, Miss—” Judy began.

“Just call me Sam,” the otter interrupted.

“Sam, then. I hope you don’t mind—I read your statement, and I had a few more questions.” Judy gave her a disarming smile, plucked a photo from the case file, and slid it across the table. “Wolford, can you grab a magnifying glass?”

As Wolford searched his desk, both Sam and Fangmeyer watched him go. Sam hummed appreciatively, drawing a glance from Fangmeyer. Sensing it, the otter leaned closer and whispered theatrically, “You’re right—he is very cute.”

Fangmeyer’s ears flushed, her wide-eyed stare darting between Sam and Judy. Wolford returned, stiffly handing Judy the magnifying glass, his posture screaming discomfort. Sensing the need to refocus, Judy stepped in.

“Wolford, why don’t you see how Bellwether is getting on? Fangmeyer and I can finish up here.”

Wolford shot her a grateful nod and hurried out. As he left, Sam called after him with a wink. “I’m sure you hate seeing him leave, but you love watching him go.”

Fangmeyer sputtered, her eyes darting nervously to Judy. “Apologies, ma’am. She’s just... trying to be funny. Wolford and I are purely professional. Well, we socialize sometimes. Coffee breaks. Lunches. Occasionally drinks—”

“No explanation necessary, Officer.” Judy cut her off before she could spiral further. “Let’s get back to the matter at hand.” She tapped the photo and offered the magnifying glass to Sam. “Would you mind taking a look? See if you recognize anyone.”

Sam peered through the glass. “I remember that statue—ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Probably costs more than my flat. Wait... is that a tail? Can’t say I recognize it, though.”

“According to your statement, before the gunshot, you were speaking to a guest. Could that tail belong to them?”

“Maybe. I was walking back out to the courtyard, and this guy came through the door and ran into me. Knocked my glasses clear off. I was about to fall on my tail when he caught me. That could be him.”

Judy felt a surge of triumph. “Can you describe him?”

“Tall. Confident. Strong paws. And a sexy Republic accent,” Sam said dreamily, resting her chin on her paws.

“I was thinking more along the lines of physical description.”

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t get a great look—blind without my glasses. But he was taller than me, very fit—” she paused at Judy’s expression, “—I might’ve felt his arm when he caught me. Posh suit, and I think he had glasses.”

“Species?” Judy prompted.

“Fox. Red one.”

Judy froze, her paw brushing the trio of scars hidden beneath her fur. Her parents’ old words echoed in her mind: Foxes are the worst.

“Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I thought you didn’t get a good look before you lost your glasses.”

“I didn’t,” Sam admitted. “But when he caught me, we were muzzle to muzzle, and he had the most gorgeous green eyes. I’d never forget those.”

Chapter Text

Judy handed off the interview wrap-up to Fangmeyer, who began formalizing the statement. Meanwhile, Wolford fired up an archaic photo composite program to generate a rendering of their mystery fox. As he manipulated the software, Sam slowly scooted her chair closer to him, prompting him to scoot farther away. The scene turned into a slow-speed chase until Wolford finally declared, “DONE,” and bolted from his chair to grab the black-and-white printout.

The result was so generic it could’ve been used to question every fox on the island. Still, it was more than they had before. Judy tasked Fangmeyer with escorting Sam home, a decision that earned her a look of abject relief from Wolford.

Back at the station, Judy and Wolford pored over witness statements for any mention of a fox but came up empty. Switching tactics, they scoured photos taken by party guests, searching for additional sightings of their suspect. Again, nothing. Judy dropped her head to the table with a thud, letting out a muffled scream of frustration.

“You feeling okay, Inspector?” Wolford asked.

“Too many questions, not enough answers—and I can’t even examine the physical evidence.” Judy lifted her head. “Speaking of which, any word from Sgt. Bellwether?”

“No answer yet. I left her a message and a text. Hopefully, we’ll hear something soon.” Wolford gave her an apologetic shrug.

Judy straightened with a steadying breath. “Since our mystery fox didn’t have the decency to take a selfie or spontaneously confess to a guest, I suppose we’ll need to put on our detective hats and solve this ourselves.”

Wolford grunted. “Gut. But I should warn you—I’m not much of a detective.” He flashed a wolfish grin. “My talents always leaned toward the more physical aspects of policing.”

“Evolve or perish, Constable,” Judy replied dryly. Wolford blinked, then let out a barking laugh.

“You’re not just some bunny, are you, Inspector?” He studied her thoughtfully. “I like it. What’s my first move?”

Judy climbed onto the table, surveying the stacks of witness statements, crime scene photos, and party snapshots. Her instincts tugged her toward the photos, but the sheer volume was overwhelming. Investigations didn’t always generate clues, but they always produced paperwork.

“Wolford, do we have a good map or blueprint of the estate? I need a clear picture of the house, grounds, and driveway.”

Wolford pulled a whiteboard toward her and spun it around, revealing a meticulous drawing of the Lionheart estate. Every door swing, window placement, and pathway was accounted for.

Judy whistled. “Your handiwork?”

Wolford shook his head. “Fangmeyer’s. Drawing is her hobby, and she thought it might help.”

Judy nodded, impressed. “This is better than I’d hoped for. Remind me to leave a note of commendation in the case file. Let’s start adding key players—the Lionhearts, D.I. Howl, our witness, and the fox. Use markers for every confirmed sighting.”

Wolford produced a box of colored magnets and began placing them on the board. When he stuck a green one at the location where Sam and the fox interacted, Judy frowned. “Use the red ones, please.”

Wolford shrugged and swapped the magnet. Judy could almost hear her grandfather’s voice: Foxes are red because they’re made by the devil. She shook the thought away, wary of letting such biases cloud her judgment.

After placing all the markers, Wolford stepped back to examine the board. “I’m no detective,” he said, pointing to the red magnets in a near-straight line across the estate, “but I think I see a pattern.”

Judy smirked. “Unless you believe in coincidences.”

“The fox starts near the courtyard, moves toward the library, runs into the server, and ducks behind the statue—all on a direct path to D.I. Howl.” Wolford tapped the final magnet near the library. “No way that’s random.”

“In a murder inquiry,” Judy said, “there’s no such thing as coincidences. Just connections waiting to be made.” She gestured to the board. “So, how do you think he got there?”

Wolford narrowed his eyes. “I have a feeling you already have a guess.”

Judy grinned. “Evolve or perish, Constable.”

Wolford sighed, turning back to the map. “Let’s rule out the front door—too visible. The valets were stationed there all night. Beach entry? Unlikely. The tide was going out, and he’d have gotten stuck in the muck. Same logic for the overgrown side of the estate—not the place for someone in a posh suit.”

He dragged a claw across the map and tapped a section of wall. “This spot’s perfect. Trees for cover, a lower wall, and barely any lights. Bet ‘Foxy’ hopped it.”

Judy nodded. “Fits the sightings. And if that’s where he came in, it explains how he moved unnoticed.”

“So we think we know how he got in.” Wolford crossed his arms. “That leaves two questions: how did he get out without being spotted, and how did Charlie Howl get in?”

“Grab the crime scene photos of the library,” Judy said. Wolford sifted through the stack and handed her a handful. Her pulse quickened as she spotted something. She tapped the image. “What do you see?”

Wolford frowned. The photo showed the library’s door, most of the hallway, and nearly out of frame... “Is that an open window?”

“Exactly. It all fits. After the gunshot, he decides to make himself scarce. Slips out the window, past the valets, and into the night.”

Wolford slowly nodded. “And Howl?”

“Same entry point,” Judy said. “But unlike the fox, Howl didn’t dress to blend in. He was sneaking in, planning to get out unnoticed. And bless him, but he dressed like a cop.”

Wolford chuckled. “Short-sleeve button-downs and bargain-bin ties?”

“Exactly. But how did Howl know the window would be open?” Judy’s thought was interrupted by the slam of a door. Bellwether burst in, panting and leaning against the frame.

Judy leapt down, filling Bellwether’s mug with water. The sheep gulped it down, her hooves trembling slightly as she set the cup down. “Thanks, ma’am. Been everywhere trying to catch our evidence. No luck. The body, book, and vase are off the island. We might get the book and vase back, but the body’s staying put. It’s not a good look to shuffle evidence back and forth, let alone a cop’s body. I’d expect a call from Bogo before it’s all over.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Judy said coolly. She motioned for Wolford, who handed Bellwether the composite image. “We tracked down the server and got a description of our mystery guest. Red fox. Republic accent. Apparently a bit of a looker.”

Bellwether glanced at the picture and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A fox. Guess it’s not too shocking one of them might be involved.”

Wolford stiffened at her words, retreating silently to his desk. Judy noticed the shift in his demeanor and resolved to let sleeping predators lie. She just needed to solve this case and get back to Zootopia.

“We’re getting closer,” Judy said. “I can feel it.”

“What’s next, sir?” Bellwether asked, her voice a little too eager.

“We re-interview witnesses near the fox’s sightings and re-process the crime scene. I think we solved how the fox got out and how D.I. Howl got in.” Judy paused, glancing at the lengthening shadows outside. “But that’s enough for today. By the way, does anyone know where I’m sleeping tonight?”

Bellwether perked up. “Got you covered, sir. A cruise ship’s in port, so things are tight, but I figured something out. Us little guys have to stick together.”

Chapter Text

Much as he hated to admit it, Nick had to concede: his mother was right. If Charlie Howl really did have a secret girlfriend—especially a married one—he’d want to bring her somewhere private eventually. With no hotels on his cards, the obvious answer was his own place: a bungalow tucked away on a secluded stretch of beach.

Nick followed a sandy track beneath a spindly sign labeled “Poole House” and found himself face-to-face with a weathered bungalow outlined by the warm orange glow of the sinking sun. “House” might’ve been an overstatement; the place looked like a team of deranged architects had each built their own additions at different times and called it a day. The main building was perched around a massive fig tree, with random lean-tos along its edges. Still, the wraparound porch and the boardwalk leading down to that lonely strip of sand? Pure island charm.

“Nice digs,” Nick remarked, coasting his bike around a patch of tire tracks and parking it behind a big water tank and a rickety generator—perfect for staying hidden. Even if it was spotted, it fit his “typical handy-mammal” cover.

He swung off the decades-old bike he’d snagged for this infiltration, unstrapping a battered toolbox. Dropping his helmet into the small crate attached to the handlebars, he smirked. No one was home, but it never hurt to stay in character. Thanks to the grimy name patch on his work shirt, he was now “Marlon”—one of Nick’s favorite aliases.

Slowing his usual confident stride into a casual shuffle, he hummed a tuneless beat, fishing out a dog-eared receipt pad. He scribbled “check generator” on the top, then promptly checked it off. The only thing more annoying than writing right-pawed was fighting the urge to rub at his contact lenses—he hated the dull brown they turned his usually vivid green eyes. He muttered a complaint under his breath and pressed on.

Arriving at the front door, Nick knocked twice with unnecessary gusto, whistling a cheery island tune on the off chance someone was close by. Catching sight of a single flower pot labeled “LLAMASTE,” he snorted. There was no way Charlie bought that for himself. A yoga-obsessed girlfriend, on the other paw? Absolutely. Lifting the pot revealed a key underneath. “Love,” he sighed, “makes mammals so predictable…”

Seconds later, Nick slipped inside and drew in a deep breath. Empty—good. With his phone discreetly recording, he started a sweep. The shack turned out to be mostly one huge bedroom-living-room-office combo, leading out to a veranda with a breathtaking view of the ocean. A narrow kitchen branched off to one side. When Nick peeked into the bathroom, he discovered something that made him grin: a leaky showerhead that sputtered in weak, uneven bursts whenever he turned the tap.

“Better and better,” he murmured, digging a wrench, screwdriver, and tape from his toolbox. If anyone caught him snooping, he could pretend to be here fixing the shower. Perfect cover.

Feeling more secure with his alibi, he continued his search. A chaotic collage of notes and papers was tacked over a small desk, but a slightly askew notepad and pencil caught his attention. He rubbed the pencil over the top sheet and uncovered an address under the words “The Little Purr-Maid.” Nick wrinkled his nose. “Why do mammals love cheesy puns on their boat names?”

He blinked. “Wait, how do I know that’s a boat?” Sure enough, nearby lay a printed photo of a yacht with that very name scrawled on its hull. Snapping quick photos of both the pad and the picture, he slipped them into evidence bags. He tried the desk drawer—locked. Typical. And his lockpicks were back in the toolbox.

On his way to grab them, a sticky note on the fridge caught his attention: “harbor master” scrawled over a phone number. He peeled it away carefully and bagged that as well.

“I guess I’m going to the harbor next,” he muttered, though a creeping unease told him something was off. That feeling hardened into dread when he heard the roar of a diesel motor getting closer. A truck? Fantastic timing.

Nick darted back into the bathroom, shut the door, and quickly rearranged everything to look as though he’d been diligently tinkering with the showerhead. He jotted “shower” on his receipt pad, congratulating himself for warning Bogo that “Marlon” might need backup if questioned.

He held his breath as a vehicle braked outside. A door slammed; the engine rumbled away. Minutes ticked by. No knock on the bathroom door. Figuring he couldn’t hide forever, Nick gathered his tools and steeled himself for a bluff. He’d claim he needed a spare part and head right back to his bike. Mi gaan, bruddah…

He practiced his friendliest grin in the mirror, winked, and stepped out. The veranda door stood open, letting in a salty breeze, but the place seemed empty. Except—on the bed—someone had neatly placed a small suit jacket, a shoulder bag, and… a badge. And not just any badge: a bona fide ZPD badge.

Nick’s paws started to itch. That badge meant his guest was Bogo’s out-of-town ringer. He inched closer and reached for the partially unzipped bag stuffed with what looked like official files. Then the floor let out a traitorous creak. He froze.

Sure enough, he spotted a bunny-eared silhouette beyond the open veranda door. Nick grimaced—he must’ve looked guilty as sin, standing there on tiptoe with one paw outstretched toward someone else’s bag.

Clearing his throat, he straightened and strolled forward, brandishing his receipt pad like an official ID. Thickening his accent, he started, “Uh, excuse me? Could you sign this? I need a part so—”

His words died mid-sentence. Detective Inspector Judy Hopps stood at the railing, earbuds in, her entire body swaying to the music. Her head bobbed, her fluffy tail wagged, and her hips… Nick felt his pulse spike at the sight. She was striking. And fully into her own personal dance party, oblivious to everything else.

She pumped her fists in time with the beat and, if Nick was honest, looked fantastic doing it. Strong legs, sleek silhouette… He found himself rooted to the spot, unable to look away. Still lost in her music, she stared out at the ocean like it was calling her to a sunset swim. Nick opened his mouth to announce himself, but that thought flew straight out the window when her paws drifted to her shirt buttons.

Suddenly, she was folding the shirt neatly on the railing, and Nick’s carefully constructed cool evaporated. He could only watch, dumbfounded, as she then unzipped her skirt, revealing toned muscle, storm-gray fur, and what looked like a carrot-print bikini that flattered her form so well it made his ears go hot.

She looked like a model framed in the golden glow of dusk, and Nick couldn’t help imagining her thoughts: I’m all alone, private beach, perfect time for a dip… Her paws slid behind her back, ready to unhook the top.

Nope. Not happening. This ended right now.

He lunged forward, lightly tapping her shoulder. If “Carrots” was about to lose her top, he’d rather spare them both the awkwardness. His paw landed on her fur, and despite everything, a crooked smile tugged at his muzzle. Well, hey—maybe this earns me a few points on the “nice list” this year…

Chapter Text

Judy braced herself inside the cab as Bellwether guided the well-worn police 4x4 down a sandy road through the trees. The vehicle’s shocks were tired, so every bump felt magnified instead of absorbed. Before long, Judy rolled down the window in a desperate bid for fresh air, hoping it would calm the waves of nausea clawing at her stomach. She closed her eyes and prayed this ride would end sooner rather than later.

Almost as if in response to her silent plea, the brakes squealed and the truck lurched to a stomach-churning halt. Judy cracked one eye open, curious to see where Dawn had brought her in this secluded seaside area. The only structure in sight made her involuntarily gasp. She wanted to call it a “treehouse,” mostly because of the enormous tree erupting through the roof.

As for the shack itself—“house” was far too dignified a label—it looked like someone had hired a team of lunatics to design it, then recruited a second bunch of madmammals to build it. The lone saving grace was a wide veranda that led to a dazzling strip of white, sandy beach.

“Not bad, is it?” Dawn said as she wrestled the tortured transmission. “I mean, the shack’s a bit of an eyesore, but the view and the beach are worth the price of admission.”

“Wha–what is this?” Judy asked in disbelief, waving a paw at the breathtaking sight. “That view alone has to be worth a million—maybe more.”

“We call it ‘Poole House,’ named after the first detective inspector seconded here back in the ’60s. He bought this parcel, built it over the course of about twenty years, and donated it to the island for our resident detectives. Best part? The surrounding land was turned into a preserve decades ago, so nothing is ever going to be built here. It’s a little slice of paradise.”

“Resident detectives?” Judy asked. “Is this D.I. Howl’s place?”

“Well, it was…”

Judy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. How were they letting her stay in a victim’s home, even if it was technically owned by the local government? Dawn must have noticed her expression, because she hurried to reassure Judy.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Dawn said. “But really, it was this or a cot at the station. I was supposed to lead the investigation myself until you arrived, so we’re making do with what we’ve got.”

Judy pinched the bridge of her nose. I need to get out of here—back to where mammals murder each other out in the open like normal, and they don’t move investigators into the victim’s home. “Thank you, Sergeant Bellwether. I’m sure it’ll do nicely.”

Dawn opened the center console and handed Judy a small bag and a set of keys. “I know your luggage was lost, so I picked up a few essentials and a TV dinner for you. I’ll swing by around eight to drive you to the station. I’ve got a good feeling about tomorrow.”

“You’re more optimistic than I am,” Judy said with a sigh. “Right now, we have no motive, no weapon, and the locked panic room means no clear opportunity.”

“I’ve got a hunch, sir.” Dawn gave her a crooked, over-eager smile. “We’re going to crack this case wide open. We just have to keep our eyes open and follow the trail—wherever it leads.”

“I hope so, Sergeant. I hope so.” Judy offered a casual salute and pushed the truck door shut. She stood there, watching the 4x4 disappear around a bend in the sandy track. Then she was alone. Just like back in Zootopia, she thought, eyeing the ramshackle building in front of her.

She fumbled with a few keys at the lock before finding the right one. Pausing, she noticed a novelty flower pot etched with a llama in a yoga pose. She nudged it with her foot, smirked at the catchphrase on it, then frowned. No way Charlie Howl, a burnt-out detective divorcé, bought himself a yoga-themed flowerpot…

Stepping inside, Judy glanced around at the interior layout: a small kitchen off to one side, probably a bathroom around another corner, and a sprawling open area that formed most of the shack’s living space. Outside, through the windows, she could catch glimpses of the beach—and she felt an overwhelming desire to see the sea up close, feel the sand under her paws, and smell the salt in the air.

She followed the pull toward the veranda, pausing only to drop her bag, jacket, and badge onto the bed and toss Dawn’s care package onto a nearby desk chair. She slipped a pair of earbuds into her ears, selected a favorite playlist on her phone, and hit play.

Pushing the doors open, Judy inhaled sharply. The sun had begun to dip, sending warm, golden light scattering across the water. With her music pulsing through her ears, it almost felt like she’d stepped into a music video. Surrendering to the moment, she peeled off her shirt and skirt—nothing between her and the setting sun but her bikini and a pair of shaking hips.

As she watched the waves crest and break, a mischievous thought crept into her mind: I’m all alone, private beach, perfect time for a dip… Her paws slid behind her, fingers brushing the clasp of her top, when suddenly she felt a light weight on her shoulder. A paw.

Startled, Judy glanced down to see red fur, and her gaze tracked up a lean arm until it connected with the face of a fox. A red fox, smiling disarmingly at her with soft, brown eyes…

She kicked him in the chest as hard as she could.

Chapter Text

Judy’s kick landed squarely in the fox’s chest, and she swore she felt the rush of air leave his lungs. Her ZPD training and experience on the mean streets of Zootopia had taught her how to take down mammals many times her size: speed, precision, and aggression. The fox wobbled on his feet like a tree partially hacked through, so she slammed both paws into his chest. He stumbled backward and clutched at the doorframe, gasping for breath. Judy seized his free paw, twisted it sharply behind his back, and grinned at his squawk of pain as she bulldozed him into the shack.

“No—no—no—no!” he wheezed as she forced him through the living space and toward the bed at a full run. The mattress caught him at the knees, sending him sprawling face-first onto it, Judy perched on his back.

She fished in her bag for cuffs, starting her formal police caution while keeping the painful lock on his arm. “You do not have to say anything—” She finally found the cuffs. “—but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court.” Click. First cuff secure. “Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” Click. Second cuff secure.

Judy exhaled in satisfaction and hopped off his back. “Anything to say for yourself?”

“Getting cuffed in bed by a bunny is usually something you pay extra for,” he managed weakly.

Scowling, Judy grabbed his ankle and yanked. He slithered off the mattress and hit the floor with a satisfying thump, groaning.

“I’d like to rephrase—ow,” he muttered.

She hauled him upright and shoved him onto a battered couch. “You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“But the highest form of intelligence.” He shot her a cocky wink, wriggling to get comfortable despite his cuffs. That line jarred Judy for a moment—she wouldn’t have pegged a random burglar as someone who knew the other half of that quote.

“Aren’t you just a real articulate fella?” she retorted. Realizing she was still in nothing but her bra and panties, Judy’s cheeks heated. She stalked outside to grab her skirt from the railing and hurriedly dressed.

“That’s high praise indeed,” he called after her. “It’s rare I find someone so non-patronizing.” His smug smile made Judy want to slap him.

She rolled her eyes, marched back inside, and dragged the office chair closer so she could glare at him eye to eye. “Har-har. Anything useful to say before I call for someone to haul you off to a cell?” She leaned closer, letting her best intimidation stance do the work.

His smug grin shifted into an obnoxious leer. “Of course.” He cleared his throat melodramatically and sing-songed, “I see Lambdon, I see Prance, I see Officer Fluff’s underpants.”

Judy stiffened, her ears burning. “What—”

He jerked his head in her direction. “Though, technically, you’re giving me a nice view of your bra. And I got a pretty good look at your carrot underroos earlier…”

Judy looked down and realized she’d missed several buttons in her haste. Her half-open blouse plus a forward lean had granted him an eyeful. She jumped to her feet, face flaming, and hastily closed the gap. That was it. She was going to slap him into next Tuesday.

The fox—“Marlon” by the tag on his shirt—seemed to sense the danger and leaned away. “Easy, Carrots. It was just a joke between frie—”

“You’re going to want to refrain from calling me ‘Carrots.’ You’re under arrest for trespassing, invasion of privacy—maybe harassment, too.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re angry?” He gave her that infuriating smirk again.

“Don’t call me cute. I’m a Detective Inspector. Got anything smart to say to that, Marlon?”

He arched a brow. “Just one. Bogo.”

She blinked. “Bogo?”

“Yeah, as in Police Commissioner Bogo.” He nodded toward his shirt pocket. “Reach in there and grab my phone. Let’s give him a ring, straighten this all out. He’s listed under ‘BB,’ short for Buffalo Butt.”

He winked again, and Judy’s paws itched to throttle him. Nevertheless, she plucked the phone from his pocket and held it up so he could unlock it.

“Here comes the smolder—just don’t go falling in love with me,” he teased, flashing what he probably thought was a seductive look. The phone unlocked with a ding. Judy found “BB” and pressed call. Two rings later:

“Commissioner Selwyn Bogo’s phone,” came a familiar, sugary voice. “Officer Benjamin Clawhouser speaking!”

“Clawhouser?” Judy gasped. The cuffed fox gave her a smug grin. Should’ve slapped him when I had the chance…

“Detective Inspector Hopps?” Clawhouser yelped. “Why are you on this line? My uncle’s in a meeting with the municipal council right now. He told me to pick up if this contact—labeled ‘Irritating Fox’—called.” Judy glanced at the fox, who winced at the moniker. She couldn’t help a tiny smirk.

“Well, that tracks,” Judy muttered. “Anything else?”

“Just that… whoever this is was acting on his orders. Should I go get the commissioner? I mean, it’s only the annual budget meeting, but I’m sure—”

“NO!” she blurted, panic rising. “No need to bother him. Everything’s under control.” Judy hurriedly ended the call, then turned on the fox with narrowing eyes.

“Was he busy? He sounded busy,” the fox quipped, leaning back against the couch like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Speaking of busy mammals, care to unhook me? Things to do, you know.”

Judy stared him down. Part of her wanted to keep him cuffed until she got a straight answer, but if he really did have Bogo’s backing, hauling him in might come back to bite her. She hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But I don’t trust you for a second.”

She removed the cuffs and stepped back warily. He gave a relieved groan, rubbing at where the cuffs had chafed his wrists.

“Thanks, darling.” He paused, arching an eyebrow. “For some reason, I think if I were a cute little bunny like yourself—” His eyes flicked up to her ears. “—instead of a big, scary fox, your response would’ve been slightly different.”

Judy’s jaw tightened. He was right that she’d reacted more violently than usual. She swallowed. “You surprised me. I was in my underwear, and you were trespassing.”

“Fair enough,” he said with a shrug. “Now… about my receipt pad? I dropped it somewhere between your flying tackle and my face meeting the mattress.”

Suppressing a groan, Judy retraced their path. Sure enough, she found a small notepad near the doorway and held it out to him. He snatched it gratefully.

“Excellent. You do have a helpful streak in you,” he teased, flipping through the pages. He rubbed his side and winced. “Still might be bleeding internally from that kick, though.”

She glared. “It was an honest mistake. You startled me. If you’d just announced yourself—”

“All water under the bridge, right?” Carefully tearing off the top page, he handed it over. “Your generator works, your shower doesn’t. Maybe next time you’ll hire a maintenance mammal you won’t boot on sight. Heck of a kick, by the way. Any kangaroos in your family tree?”

Judy snatched the paper. “Could you just leave?”

“Sure,” he said, looking her up and down. “But first…” He tapped his side pointedly. “We’ve got a little issue to settle.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’d better not be talking about—”

“Relax, Carrots. I’m not asking for your firstborn. Just… a gesture. Let’s call it making amends for the lumps you gave me.”

Her ears shot up defensively, a spark of anger flickering in her eyes. “So you want me to bribe you? Like some cheap hush money?”

He blinked, then smirked. “Bribe? Wow, you really do assume the worst, don’t you? I was just going to say, ‘How about an apology?’ But if you’re offering money…” He rubbed his chin dramatically. “A few beers would soothe these bruised ribs quite nicely.”

Judy’s stomach twisted. For a split second, she actually considered apologizing—he did have some connection to Bogo. Then a wave of embarrassment washed over her, and she impulsively fished for a handful of bills in her bag, shoving them at him.

“Fine. Here,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just take it and go.”

He stared at the money, then laughed. “You are something else, Inspector. Well, who am I to refuse a token of appreciation?” With a shrug, he peeled off the two largest notes and pocketed them. “Pleasure doing business with you. But I really would’ve settled for an ‘I’m sorry.’”

She glowered, ears flattening. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” He hefted his tools, flashing one last sly grin. “You are cute when you’re mad, though. Think of it as a compliment.”

Before she could retort, he slipped outside. Judy followed to the door just in time to see him clamber onto a rusty motorcycle parked by the generator. The engine sputtered to life, and he took off in a cloud of dust.

Alone at last, Judy stared out at the ocean. The setting sun cast the beach in gold, but she felt none of its usual tranquility. She’d been hustled—no, humiliated—into handing over money for nothing more than her own peace of mind. It was far too reminiscent of the early days back in Zootopia, when she’d been the lone bunny on the force, struggling to be taken seriously.

She rested her paws on the railing, ears drooping. Nothing about this was fair. But at least she was alone with her thoughts—alone, and unwelcome. Just like always.

Nothing new for Officer Judy Hopps.

Chapter Text

Judy forced herself to move. No matter how upset she felt, she wasn’t about to travel halfway across the world to a tropical island and not at least dip a paw in the water. She shuffled along the shoreline, letting the small waves lap at her ankles and the setting sun warm her fur. The simple sensation eased some of the tension built up from the long trip and the frantic attempts to solve a murder that still made no sense.

Nearly a full day into the case, she had more questions than answers. Her only real lead was a mysterious fox who might never be found. An anxious knot twisted in her stomach, and old insecurities flared at the edges of her mind. Clenching her fists, she squeezed her eyes shut as the voices from her past rose unbidden:

“Just a stupid, carrot-farming dumb bunny.”

“I am a real cop,” she said to the ghosts of her past.

“You’re dead, bunny bumpkin.”

“I am a real cop.”

“You’re dead, carrot face.”

“I am a real cop.”

“She’s not a real cop, our prayers have been answered.”

“I am a real cop.”

“Meter-maid, meter-maid, meter-maid!”

“I am a real cop.”

“Good collar, Hopps.” (Her first arrest— a mugger terrorizing joggers in the park.)

“I AM a real cop.”

“Hopps, I can’t believe you broke up that street racer ring.” (Her first commendation.)

“I am the BEST cop.”

“Congratulations, Detective Hopps.” (Her detective’s shield, pinned in place.)

“I AM the best cop in all of Zootopia.”

She opened her eyes, turned from the sunset, and set her gaze on Charlie Howl’s ramshackle house. “And I’m going to solve this case,” she said firmly. With renewed purpose, she marched back up the beach. She had the entire victim’s home to search, and tomorrow she would find that fox if she had to lift the island itself and shake him out.

Back inside, Judy surveyed the shack in a whole new light. This wasn’t just the hideaway of a jaded detective exiled to the middle of nowhere—this place was a window into Charlie Howl’s life, motivations, and possibly the reason someone wanted him dead. Pulling out her phone and a notepad, she divided the large main room into quarters.

She started with the emptiest section, methodically searching top to bottom, front to back. Under every piece of sparse décor, behind the rug, even checking outlets for tampering. The wardrobe, nightstand, and bed didn’t offer anything noteworthy—except evidence that Charlie had a frequent guest who’d been allocated her own drawer. Judy held up a shirt that smelled of a larger, sleeker female. Predator, Judy concluded, wrinkling her nose at the lingering fragrance she couldn’t quite place.

Eventually, Judy moved on to the desk and her usual procedure turned up nothing special. She spied a notepad with a pencil laid along it and rubbed it on the pad almost as a matter of form. Nothing. Most times pads contained grocery lists or nothing at all. Then she tried the drawer… and cocked her head in surprise. Locked? She glanced up at a photo of Charlie standing between two friends, hoisting a fish triumphantly.

“Why is your drawer locked, Charlie? No neighbors to snoop, but maybe some secrets.” She checked around for keys, catching sight of the ring Dawn Bellwether had given her. “It can’t be that easy…”

Yet it was. The first key she tried fit perfectly. Judy frowned at the realization that Bellwether had likely handed her Charlie’s personal keys. Note to self: the local force could use a refresher on preserving a victim’s property, she thought wryly. From what she’d seen, they seemed more competent than this slip-up suggested.

Pulling the drawer open, she gave a triumphant little grin at Charlie’s photo. “Charlie, I think we’ve found a clue.” She snapped a quick picture of the drawer’s contents: a receipt and one of those paper bands used to wrap bundles of currency. Both were branded with the distinct Lemming Brothers Bank logo. The receipt bore the address of the bank’s local branch.

Expanding her search to the rest of the shack, Judy explored the kitchen (learning that Charlie apparently survived on take-out), peeked into the bathroom (taking note of an expensive “La Roi” cologne emblazoned with a lion’s head), and even did a quick circuit of the rambling structure. One dusty spare room overflowed with broken furniture and cobwebs, clearly untouched for years. By the time she finished, night had fully fallen and her stomach rumbled a reminder that she’d had nothing but coffee and adrenaline since that café stop with Bellwether.

Rummaging through the small care package Bellwether had left, Judy uncovered a travel-sized hygiene kit, a can of deodorant, and a TV dinner labeled Carrots for One. She sighed. Better than nothing. She rooted around for something—anything—to wear to bed so her only suit could air out overnight.

Unfortunately, Charlie’s wardrobe—and presumably that of his female visitor—ran several sizes too large. Still, she discovered a T-shirt buried in a drawer. It had appeared in that group photo with Charlie’s buddies. It was baggy enough to work as a tee shirt dress or nightgown, although the text gave her pause: Feline Body Inspector.

“On behalf of all female kind, Charlie,” she muttered, holding the shirt at arm’s length, “your friend kind of sucks.” With a resigned shrug, she tossed her meal into the microwave and slipped into the oversized tee. The neckline slouched off one shoulder, and the hem barely grazed mid-thigh—more revealing than anything she’d normally wear. If her mother saw her in this outfit, she’d probably be scandalized. Though she might lay off on the blind dates for a minute…

She snagged a hanger for her wrinkled suit. If she steamed up the bathroom and let it dry overnight, she stood a decent chance of looking presentable in the morning. Unfortunately, the showerhead still sputtered in uneven bursts. Figures the fox was right—it really is broken. A closer look revealed it was barely screwed on. Maybe Marlon wasn’t much of a plumber…

Determined to accomplish something, Judy dragged a chair in, climbing it precariously to tighten the showerhead. She managed to turn the fitting a fraction… just as the chair tipped past its balance point. She jumped upward in a desperate bid to avoid a headfirst collision with the tub. Grabbing the showerhead with all her might, she felt it grind painfully along the last threads before coming loose in her paw. Her other arm shot out, catching the shower rod for a second. Then she slipped—her hindpaws skidding down the tub’s edge—before she landed in a graceless heap on the floor.

“Ow,” she muttered, wincing as the detached showerhead smacked her shoulder. She stood slowly, rubbing her bruised backside, ready to drop the useless metal fixture in the tub. Then she noticed something shiny wedged in the threaded collar. A key. Scooping it into her paw, she discovered a small brass key, oddly cut, with a simple beaded keychain bearing the number 13. It didn’t look old, but it definitely looked unusual.

Where have I seen a design like this? Puzzled, she fished out her phone and did a quick online search, absently retrieving her microwaved dinner in the process. One unappetizing bite later—soggy carrots, blech—she tossed the meal in the bin, her eyes suddenly going wide. Safe deposit box keys. That was it.

Her pulse thumped in her ears. She sprinted back to the desk, laying the key alongside the receipt and currency band. Now it looked like three pieces of a puzzle: a receipt for a cash transaction at the local Lemming Brothers Bank, a safe deposit box key that someone obviously wanted to hide, a paper band for a wad of money—presumably a large amount.

Her intuition tingled again, and she started to shift the objects around. “A receipt—a cash sale too—a key for a safe deposit box, and something to hold a wad of cash.” She considered Charlie’s photo. “Do you have a secret stash, Charlie? Is that what this is all about?” Charlie’s smile didn’t hold any answers, so she just nodded at him. “Either way, I think a warrant and a visit to your bank is in order.”

A sharp rap at the door made her jump. Hastily, she swept the items into the drawer and locked it, then tried to smooth her oversized tee down her thighs. Opening the front door, she found herself face-to-face with the fox—Marlon—looking entirely too casual. He was leaned against the porch railing, moonlight reflecting off his red fur, taking in the scenery like he owned the place.

At the sound of the door, Marlon turned. His gaze flicked over Judy’s bare legs and the slouched neckline, and a grin spread across his muzzle, all sharp teeth and mischievous delight. A moment later, he doubled over, still holding his side where she’d kicked him, and started to laugh—a warm, genuine laugh that made Judy’s ears flatten in indignation.

“Great Ancestors, Carrots,” he wheezed, “what are you wearing?”

Chapter Text

Nick drove straight from his run-in with Zootopia’s cutest detective to his mother’s bar—pausing only long enough to pluck the stinging contact lenses from his eyes and stuff “Marlon’s” work shirt into his helmet. He didn’t bother sneaking in through the rear entrance; instead, he strode through the front like he owned the place, trying not to wince with each step.

The bar was already filling with tourists, regulars, and random thirsty souls. Nick nodded to a few staff members while he threaded through the crowd until he spotted an empty seat. Catching Skye’s eye from behind the bar, he raised two fingers in a silent request—hissing at the dull ache in his side as he did.

Skye, pretty features briefly pinched with concern, popped the cap off a bottle of beer and slid it toward him. When he waved her away from opening the second, she watched him press the icy glass against his ribs and exhale shakily. That done, he took a long swallow from the first bottle and flopped into a secluded booth labeled Reserved. Mentally, he started counting down until his mother arrived to harangue him.

Sure enough, she soon materialized, paws perched on her hips. “What have you done now?” she demanded, trying—and failing—to mask the worry in her eyes.

“Why do you assume I’ve done something, maman?” Nick replied. “Could be I’m just a victim of circumstance or terrible misfortune.”

“Nicholas, that excuse went stale before you turned twelve.” She leaned in and prodded the bruise at his side, drawing a tortured hiss. “You’re not being careful. You promised me you’d always—”

“All right, maman. Je suis toujours prudent,” he grumbled. “I am careful. This was just bad luck. I surprised someone—her reaction was… more forceful than I expected.”

His mother’s brow quirked. “A ‘her?’ Did your flirting finally get you in trouble? Let me guess, a kangaroo?”

Nick chuckled, grimaced, then shook his head. “No, sadly. I ended up on the wrong side of a bunny. She kicked me so hard, I might have a permanent pawprint on my ribs.”

His mother—being his mother—burst into laughter. Nick’s ears flattened in displeasure as she made a grand show of wiping imaginary tears. Spotting his wounded pride, she slid closer and pulled him into a warm hug, scratching gently behind his ears. “My poor boy,” she teased. “Did the little bunny hurt you very badly? Steal your lunch money? Pull your tail?”

When his expression softened, she released him and settled opposite. “All right, enough jokes. As a concerned citizen, I need to know: how on earth did you lose a fight with a bunny? Is the police department so incompetent they can’t protect me, a lonely widow, from these fire-breathing rabbits and their razor-sharp claws?”

Nick scowled. “You think you’re hilarious. But no—it’s not like that.”

“Humor is in the eye of the beholder, Nicholas, and you’re trying to dodge the question. So: bunny story. Tout de suite.”

He tipped back the last of his beer, then grabbed the second bottle from where it was chilling his bruise. Using the table edge to pop the cap, he smirked when his mother’s eyes narrowed in disapproval. She hated that trick, but fair was fair—she’d just teased him mercilessly.

“It’s not much of a story,” he said at last. “I was following a line of inquiry recommended by my beautiful and brilliant mother—”

She gave an exaggerated throat-clear.

“And modest,” he added swiftly. “I forget modest.”

“You’re too kind,” she replied dryly, swiping his beer to take a sip. When he tried to reclaim it, she smacked his paw away and gestured for him to continue. She waved to the bar for another bottle on his behalf.

“While I was searching Charlie Howl’s shack,” Nick went on, “a bunny detective from Zootopia showed up—some out-of-town hotshot they brought in to make sure us clueless locals don’t bungle the case. Genius that someone is, they had her stay at the victim’s place. I walked in on her right as she was about to take a sunset swim—”

“In her fur?” his mother guessed.

Nick nodded. “She was… almost stripped down, yeah. So, she kicked me, shoved me around, cuffed me. She nearly arrested me, too.”

His mother looked unimpressed. “You’re lucky that’s all she did, surprising a lady in a compromising position.”

Just then, Skye reappeared with a new bottle for Nick—lime wedge perched jauntily at the mouth. She also offered a second slice to his mother. Grinning wickedly, she asked, “Mai, is Nicky regaling you with that oh-so-heroic tale of why he can barely stand upright?”

“Sadly,” Mai replied, “the reality is far more mundane. My son was peeping on a bunny in her underwear, and she taught him a little self-defense.”

Skye pressed a paw to her muzzle, stifling laughter. “Really, Nick? You got your tail handed to you by a doe? Maybe you should call the cops, in case she comes back to finish the job.”

In that moment, Nick wished he’d never come home. “It wasn’t a fight,” he insisted. “She sucker-kicked me. And I was undercover, so I couldn’t exactly roll around on the floor with some out-of-town detective in the victim’s house and keep it all hush-hush.”

Skye and Mai exchanged a knowing glance.

“Undercover, huh? Rolling around on the floor with a bunny? Sounds like quite the impression, Nicky,” Skye teased.

He groaned, pressing a palm over his face. “Primarily an impression on my spleen. She didn’t even apologize.” He gave a short, humorless laugh, then fished into his pocket. Pulling out a small wad of crumpled bills, he tossed them onto the table. “I did talk her into giving me a few bucks for my trouble, so it wasn’t a total loss.” His grin suggested he expected approval—or at least appreciation for his hustle.

Instead, Skye and Mai both grabbed lime wedges from the table and pelted him.

“Ow!” Nick yelped. “What’s your problem?”

“Idiot!” they snapped in unison.

“That poor thing,” Mai said, shaking her head. “She must’ve felt horrible.”

Skye gave him a reproachful look. “Being clever, Nicky, doesn’t mean you can’t be kind. You just took her money?”

“How am I the bad mammal here?” Nick protested. “As far as she knew, I was just some random local—”

“—who happened to be peering in while she changed clothes,” Skye pointed out.

“Worse,” Mai added, “you basically strolled in on her about to skinny-dip!”

Skye gasped in mock outrage. “You’re a scoundrel, Nicholas Wilde.”

Nick threw his arms up, half in exasperation. “Accidentally, all right? First, I walked in on her while she was jamming to music, and I actually stopped her before things got, you know, R-rated.” He paused, shooting them both an exasperated scowl. “Second, that’s the reason you dated me in secondary school, Skye, so hush.”

She flicked her tail dismissively. “Who can remember—and anyway, you were mean to this poor bunny when you didn’t have to be. Right, Mai?”

“Absolument,” Mai agreed. “You need to apologize, Nicholas.”

“For what?” he demanded. “Hurting her foot when she kicked me?”

Skye signaled to a few staff members—an ocelot, a deer, and a skunk—who ambled over from the bar. Nick groaned inwardly as he shifted in the booth, trying not to look pained.

“Ladies,” Skye said sweetly, “if a stranger barged in on you while you were changing, would you feel justified in giving them a good, hard kick?”

The ocelot, Cheryl, shrugged. “At the very least.” The others murmured agreement.

Mai continued, “And if the trespasser claimed it was an accident, wouldn’t you still expect some kind of apology?”

Kelli the skunk nodded. “I sure would. Never hurts to say sorry.”

“Plus,” the deer named Max chimed in, “getting surprised by another mammal is unnerving, no matter how ‘civilized’ we’re all supposed to be.”

Skye and Mai turned to Nick with synchronized smugness. He shot them both a withering look. “All valid points, but what if the intruder was me?” He flashed his most dazzling grin at the three staffers. They exchanged knowing looks and burst into laughter.

“Oh, that’s different,” Max said, shrugging. The other two nodded vigorously.

“What? Why?” Skye squawked.

Kelli giggled. “Come on, look at him. He’s obviously… very easy on the eyes.”

Cheryl gestured at Nick’s face. “Half the staff has a crush on him. In the ten minutes he’s been here, I’ve had three different ladies ask if they can send him a drink.”

Max held up a handful of napkins decorated with phone numbers and heart doodles. “Same for me. He’s popular.”

Kelli tossed her head toward the patio. “The bachelorette party out there gave me a few room keys, wanted to know if he was ‘available.’”

Mai rolled her eyes, waving them away. “Don’t you all have tables to service? Allez! And you too, Skye—back to work. I’ll deal with this scoundrel.” The staff dispersed, some still snickering as they returned to their duties.

When they were gone, Nick smirked, but Mai’s stern expression cut that short.

“You see, Nicholas?” she said. “Being charming does not excuse you from decent manners. It certainly wouldn’t have excused your father.”

Nick’s ears twitched at the mention of his dad. A flicker of guilt lanced through him. “Maman…”

She sighed, gentling her voice. “I know you’re grown. I know you have reasons for everything you do. But your father always said that kindness doesn’t cost a thing—and he’d never have wanted you to shake down a poor bunny for hush money, no matter the situation.”

Nick swallowed. It was rare his mother played the father card. “I just…” He hesitated, feeling a twist of shame in his chest. “It was just a little harmless hustle.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’d care about how you made someone else feel—especially a frightened, out-of-town detective who’s working a murder case.”

A wave of memories washed over Nick. “Nicholas.” Mai read something in his face and reached across the table and gripped his paw. “Don’t rationalize. Apologize. You’ve got the moral compass to know when you’ve crossed a line. You want to honor your father’s legacy? Do the right thing.”

Nick exhaled heavily, gaze sliding down to the crumpled bills on the table. He thought about Judy—her anxious eyes, the mortified flush on her cheeks when he teased her about being half-naked, the way she’d felt cornered. “I’ll—figure something out,” he said at last, pocketing the money with a weary grimace. “I guess I can try to make amends.”

Mai’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “That’s all I ask, my son. Go find her and tell her you’re sorry. And maybe buy her a drink this time, hmm?”

Nick pushed himself upright, still favoring his tender side. “All right,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders. “For Dad.”

“And for you,” Mai agreed, giving him a gentle pat. “You always said you wanted to be just like him. You’re doing a good job of it so far, just keep it up.”

With a resigned shrug, Nick placed a quick kiss on his mother’s cheek and started for the door, ignoring the suggestive whistles from two passing tourists who seemed all too aware of his battered, roguish charm. Time to face the bunny, he told himself. Guess Dad raised me right after all.

Chapter Text

Judy felt her ears burn, and it took every ounce of willpower not to tug down the oversized T-shirt masquerading as a dress. She refused to give the fox the satisfaction of seeing her squirm—or acknowledging that his shameless once-over made her wish for a few more inches of fabric.

Marlon bent forward, bringing them eye-to-eye. “You know, every time we meet, you’re practically undressed. Am I just lucky, or are you trying to tell me something?” He flashed that infuriating grin—an easy confidence he probably mistook for irresistible charm.

His face is the perfect height for a slap…

Whatever he saw in her glare made him straighten, paws lifting in surrender. “I’m sorry—old habits die hard. Mind if I start over?” His next smile was less cocky, but still warm.

Judy pinned him with a cold stare. “You have sixty seconds.” She smacked a small fist into her open palm. “If I don’t like what I hear, you’re getting cuffed again. I don’t care if you’ve got the Queen herself on speed dial.”

Marlon blinked, swallowing hard. “White or fried rice?” he blurted.

It was so unexpected that Judy wondered if she’d misheard—or if he was toying with her again. Narrowing her eyes, she cracked her neck. “Thirty seconds, fox.”

“No, really.” He lifted his paws defensively. “Doesn’t matter which—you can have both. May I?” He tipped his head toward a corner of the porch, then leaned over to heft a plastic bag emblazoned with a smiling pangolin. “I brought takeout. Wasn’t sure what you like, so I kinda got everything. You hungry?” He gave the bag a little shake, and his smile softened—unexpectedly genuine, like he was really here just to offer dinner.

“I don’t know what your angle is, Marlon,” she began, then froze when he pressed a wad of cash into her paw—the same money he’d hustled out of her earlier.

“No angle,” he said in a rush. “I just wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have messed with you, and I definitely shouldn’t have taken your money. It’s just… people see a fox and assume the worst. When you nearly kicked me into next week, it kinda felt like more of the same.” A shaky laugh. “Plus, you know—blunt force trauma.”

Judy was too stunned to form words. Interpreting her silence as rejection, Marlon set the bag down—nearly as tall as she was—and started to leave.

“Hope you enjoy it,” he muttered. “Best Celestial on the island. Sorry again.”

He turned away, and her brain finally rebooted. “It’s… too much,” she blurted. She couldn’t believe he’d actually bothered to come back, let alone consider her feelings. She honestly couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done that.

Marlon paused mid-step. “Excuse me?”

She gestured from her own height to the oversized takeout bag. “All this—it’s too much. And…” Steeling herself, she managed a shy little smile. “Are you hungry?”

Inside, Judy held the door as Marlon placed the bulging takeout on the kitchen counter. Whistling tunelessly, he cracked open each carton, sniffed them, and sorted them into neat groups.

Judy, well-trained in reading mammal behavior, found something incongruous about Marlon. His clothes were well-worn yet suspiciously neat—like he was playing a part. He does look like a movie star, she thought, caught off-guard by the idea. Tall, lean, and almost graceful, he laid out plates and utensils before shooting her another wicked smile.

Stepping closer, he nearly invaded her personal space. She felt a spark of pride that she didn’t squeak or flinch, despite him being near enough to touch. Reaching over her head, he opened a cabinet, amusement dancing in his bright eyes as he pulled down a pair of glasses and waggled a bottle of liquor.

“Not sure if Charlie bought this for the generator or for actual drinking,” Marlon joked, “but if he left us ginger and lime, we can at least have some cocktails.” Pivoting to the fridge, he made little clucking sounds as he searched.

Judy realized she’d been holding her breath. Clearing her throat, she rushed to fill the silence. “Did you, um… know Charlie well?”

Marlon froze, then straightened, triumphantly brandishing two cans of ginger beer and a lime. “Not really,” he said lightly, mixing two quick drinks. Handing one to Judy, he took a long sip of his own, sighing contentedly. “I might’ve seen him around. I was just here to fix the shower.”

“Then why call him ‘Charlie’?” Judy pressed, taking a cautious sip of her cocktail. It was sweet, spicy, and bright all at once.

He shrugged. “That’s his name, right?” Gesturing at the open takeout cartons, he grinned as her stomach let out a fierce growl. “Let’s eat. I’ll tell you what little I know about him, then you can tell me all about being a ZPD detective.”

Judy nodded and promptly loaded her plate with rice, noodles, sautéed veggies, and fried treats, topping it off with a spring roll. She caught Marlon’s slightly wide-eyed look at her portion.

“I haven’t eaten since this morning,” she explained. “And before that, I was stuck on planes for practically a day. I haven’t had a real meal in forever.”

“I’m glad I came prepared,” he teased. “Another few hours without food, and you might’ve decided fox was on the menu.”

He piled his own plate with a mix of predator and prey options, dipping something fried into pink sauce and licking his muzzle. Judy’s curiosity got the better of her—she popped one of the crispy appetizers into her mouth, giving a little wiggle at how good it tasted. Marlon’s jaw dropped.

“What?” she asked around a mouthful. “You look like I just took a bite out of you.”

“That was crab, Carrots,” he said, still sounding scandalized, as if expecting her to spit it out.

But Judy only shrugged and strolled toward the shack’s main living area. “After you peel your jaw off the floor,” she called over her shoulder, “grab my drink and meet me on the patio—I’m starving.” She grinned at the clack of his claws as he scampered after her.

Marlon caught up, carefully balancing both drinks and his own heaping plate. He found Judy on the covered veranda, setting her food near an old jigsaw puzzle box.

“Charlie’s, I assume?” he asked, nodding at the puzzle.

She shrugged. “Yep. Found it under some magazines earlier. Beats sitting around listening to my stomach growl.” Gesturing for him to sit, she dropped into a wicker chair. “Might as well do something while we eat.”

“Jigsaw puzzles, huh?” he teased, handing her the drink. “You any good?”

“Amazing,” she replied, flashing a smirk.

He gave an amused snort. “Sounds like someone wants to show off.” He rested his own plate beside hers. “Are bunnies natural puzzle solvers?”

“Bunnies aren’t,” she gave him a cheeky grin, “I am.”

“Any other skills I should know about, besides the puzzles and the roundhouse kicks?”

Judy pretended to think, slurping a noodle. “Maths.”

“Maths?” he repeated, suspicious.

She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated way. “Everyone says bunnies are good at multiplying.”

Marlon’s jaw dropped in mock offense. He plucked the lime from his drink and lobbed it at her with a laugh. “Wow. That joke is practically prehistoric, Carrots.”

Judy snickered, dodging the lime and chucking hers back. They both scrambled for something else to throw before she held up a paw, breathless from laughter. “Truce. This food is way too good to waste.”

“Agreed. But no more terrible jokes from you—that’s my territory.”

“Fine,” she said, pouting for effect. “I’ll be very serious from now on. Solemn. Grave. Earnest.”

“You’re showing off.”

“Definitely—stern, sober, severe.”

“I thought you were a bunny, not a thesaurus,” he deadpanned, waggling his brows.

She groaned audibly. “You weren’t kidding about the bad jokes,” she shot back. They both laughed, the tension smoothing away with every shared bite and clink of chopsticks. Summer air, savory noodles, the faint tang of cocktails—it all created a comfortable lull. Presently, Judy grabbed a handful of puzzle pieces and spread them out on the little table.

“All right,” she said, dragging her chair closer. “Any guesses on the final picture?”

Marlon eyed the box lid, its edges faded but depicting a tropical sunset. “Sunset on a beach. Guess it’s fitting, considering we’re living it.”

“Only missing a fox and bunny at a table,” Judy said pointedly, arching a brow.

He let out a soft chuckle, lightly tapping his glass against hers. “To dinner at sunset, then.”

They quickly fell into a rhythm: Judy sorted pieces by color, Marlon hunted shapes. In between, they nibbled fried morsels and sipped their drinks. The alcohol kindled a gentle flush on their cheeks, and their jokes turned playful. Their knees brushed a few times beneath the table; neither pulled away.

“So… ZPD detective,” Marlon mused. “Sounds intense. Bet you’ve got stories.”

She shrugged, snapping two sky-blue pieces together. “Lots. Mostly about proving I can do the job despite being, well… small.” A wry smile. “And a bunny.”

His gaze softened. “I get it,” he murmured, nudging a piece toward her. “Mammals love to stereotype. Act like they know your life story from the jump.”

Judy nodded. “What about you? You seem, I don’t know… overqualified for a maintenance gig.”

“Me?” He put on a breezy grin. “I’m just a fox of many talents. Sometimes I fix things, sometimes I sell them—sometimes I show up with dinner and befriend bunny cops. A tod of all trades.”

Judy gave an exaggerated eye-roll. “That phrase ends with ‘master of none.’ And I don’t buy that for a second.” She punctuated her words by gently booping his nose.

They pieced more of the puzzle together, each sip making their banter looser. Judy caught Marlon watching her, and a half-smile formed when their gazes met. After building most of the shoreline, she leaned back with a little sigh. Maybe it was the mild buzz—or the company.

“You’re not half-bad at this puzzle thing,” she remarked.

Marlon clinked his glass against hers again. “Must be your influence rubbing off on me.”

She snorted softly, fiddling with a puzzle piece.

“Maybe you missed your calling. Instead of ‘Marlon, the World’s Okay-est Handy Mammal,’ you could’ve been ‘Marlon, the World’s Okay-est Detective.’” She gently thumped his shoulder, hoping her grin would ease the tease.

Something in her words made him pause, his expression flickering like she’d struck a nerve. Abruptly, he stood. “I, uh… I should get going. It’s late, and I’m sure you’ve got a busy day tomorrow—what with all that crime.” He tried for a casual laugh, but it fell flat.

Judy felt a surprising sting of disappointment. “Right, crime. Everywhere. A real bummer.” Awkwardly, she walked him to the door, hating how quickly their evening was ending.

“Wait,” she blurted, just as he stepped onto the porch. “Do you like leftovers?”

“What?”

She waved toward the kitchen. “There’s too much food in there—half of it’s predator dishes. Maybe you could… come back sometime? Help me finish it. We could, I don’t know… finish the puzzle, too.” She rocked on her heels, heart thudding as she waited.

Marlon’s eyes went wide, and a regretful smile tugged at his muzzle. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Carr—” He hesitated. “Judy.”

Her smile wavered, turning brittle. “No worries,” she said softly. “It was just nice to make a friend. I don’t have many around here… or back home, really. Drive safe, Marlon.”

He lingered for a moment, looking as though he wanted to say more. But Judy offered a tiny wave and shut the door with a click of the latch. The silence that followed made her ears droop. What possessed me to ask a fox to dinner? she thought, a flicker of self-doubt gnawing at her. Maybe I really am just a dumb bunny…

She took one step back—then froze.

A thin band of light seeped under the door, partially blocked by Marlon’s shadow. Judy’s breath caught when the shadow grew darker, as if he’d raised a paw to knock. For an eternity, she held perfectly still, waiting. Then the shadow faded, and she heard his footsteps retreating to his motorcycle. Moments later, the engine growled to life, and he was gone for good.

She stood there, pressing her forehead against the wood, wondering why she felt such an ache over a fox she’d known only a few hours.

Chapter Text

Nick followed Judy, smiling at her delight in the white sand, crashing surf, and the rising sun. He couldn’t help but grin when she misjudged the tide and scampered away with a squeak as the water splashed over her paws.

“What’s so funny there, Slick Nick?” she called. “Never seen a bunny detective strolling along a beach before?” She fell in step beside him and shook his shoulder. “Réveille-toi!”

“What was that?” he asked, looking down. She beamed up at him with a bright buck-toothed smile, her gem-colored eyes sparkling.

“Nothing important,” she said, slipping her paw into his and pulling him in front of her, tugging him down the shore. “Sooooo…”

“So?” he echoed.

“So what made Saint Mare’s most eligible fox detective-sergeant invite me for a morning walk along this gorgeous beach?” She flicked her long ears back and gave him a coquettish wink.

“I’m the ‘most eligible?’” he teased. “Not the best looking? I’m hurt, Carrots.” He let out an undignified yelp when she lunged forward and tickled his ribs, his arms flailing to fend off her relentless paws.

“I can’t commit to that,” she said, adopting a mock-serious tone. He managed to pin her arms, and she wriggled in his grasp. “For all I know, this island’s full of handsome fox detectives. Gotta keep my options open.”

“I can be very charming when I want to be,” he whispered, leaning over her.

“For the record,” she murmured, paws tracing up his shirt to tug on his tie and draw him closer, “I can be bribed.” As Nick leaned down, Judy suddenly hollered, “AUX ARMES, CAPORAL WILDE!”

Nick shot upright, the shout blasting away his dream. Old instincts launched him from a dead sleep to ramrod-straight at attention. He glanced around, expecting to see his old adjudant scowling at him in a dusty barracks. Instead, he found his mother standing there, tittering at his confusion.

“I’m sorry,” she offered with a shrug, “but I tried everything to wake you. Old instincts, no?”

“Oui, Maman,” Nick replied, trying to regain his bearings. He was home—in his own bedroom. The cottonmouth and dull headache said he’d definitely had too many drinks after leaving Judy at her shack on the beach. He remembered entering the bar, tossing back round after round to quiet his conflicted thoughts, then stumbling onto the patio and running into that bridal party…

His mother plucked a cheap plastic tiara from the floor, pinching it between two fingers. “I think your new friend forgot this. I hope you didn’t seduce the bride. I don’t need an angry fiancé hunting my wayward son.”

Nick had just begun gathering fresh clothes when her comment made him pause. “No, I don’t think so—maybe a cousin. Worst case, a sister of the bride.”

“Thank the Ancestors for small blessings,” she said, idly smacking the back of his head. His protesting whine earned no sympathy. Drifting to the doorway, she added, “You’re not a scoundrel, and when you act like one, it disappoints me. Now clean up and come eat. You’re too skinny, and I’ll forgive you if you have a decent meal.”

“Oui, Maman,” he repeated, turning the shower knob. He peeled off the well-worn T-shirt and shorts he’d apparently slept in. “But I can’t stay long. I have a boat to find and a case to solve.”

“Of course,” she called back, “but you’re not going anywhere until you tell me who this ‘Carrots’ is.”

Nick was so startled by the question he stumbled backward into the shower.

Chapter Text

Judy felt she was finally making progress on the case as she watched mammals come and go through a tony neighborhood. She mulled over her dinner—or whatever that had been—with Marlon, and although it seemed to have fizzled at the end, she’d woken up surprisingly refreshed. After two searches of the shack, she’d even treated herself to a quick dip in the ocean—though she couldn’t quite keep her thoughts off how a certain fox had interrupted her first attempt. I really need to pick up a swimsuit if I’m stuck on this island much longer…

“Class should be letting out any minute, D.I. Hopps,” Fangmeyer said. The towering tiger had a surprisingly gentle voice for such a large predator. She nodded toward the sleek yoga studio they were surveilling. “Should we move in?”

“We’ve got time yet, Constable,” Judy replied, taking a leisurely sip of the spiced hibiscus tea the barista had recommended. “I’ve got at least ten sisters who teach yoga—none of them has ever let a class out early.” That earned a chuckle from her partner in the impromptu stakeout. Judy pointed the remains of her croissant across the street, where Wolford idled in a patch of shade. “Plus, her Ladyship always gets a smoothie at the corner café before heading home.”

Fangmeyer’s eyes drifted toward Wolford, and a quiet purring rumbled in her throat. Judy arched a brow and smiled. “You two seem pretty friendly,” she said innocently. “How long have you been together?”

Fangmeyer, mid-sip, descended into a choking fit. Well, Judy thought, that’s one theory confirmed. She patted the bigger mammal’s back until the coughing subsided.

“Sorry about that,” Judy said.

Waving off her concern, Fangmeyer grinned sheepishly. “We’re actually not together, but I might have a teensy crush.” The big cat’s tail lashed back and forth. “Was I that obvious? What gave me away?”

Judy held her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart. “Just a little.” She laughed. “Lots of little things: the staring, the purring, and how you nearly jumped out of your fur when he sniffed you this morning.”

After her swim, Judy had been inspired to track down Charlie’s girlfriend. She’d called a cab and met her fellow officers at the station with the most strongly scented items she could find—presumably belonging to Charlie’s mystery partner. Wolford had spent a few minutes snuffling around the box, then pressed his snout to Fangmeyer’s neck, causing the tiger to giggle like a schoolgirl, before pronouncing that Charlie’s girlfriend was definitely a big cat.

Not to be outdone, Fangmeyer had taken her own turn at the box and identified the expensive perfume Panther Sexuelle. Checking the brand online, Judy instantly recognized the bizarrely shaped bottle from Lady Lara Lionheart’s boudoir. Evidently, Charlie the panther had bought his lion girlfriend a fragrance meant for panthers, and Lara, in turn, had given him that lion cologne—La Roi—which Judy had found on Charlie’s sink.

“That wasn’t my fault! I’m ticklish,” Fangmeyer protested, pouting. Her gaze flicked to where Wolford was chatting up a skinny jackal who seemed to be laughing way too hard at his jokes. “And he’s hotter than fish grease,” she murmured, tail swishing.

“Really?” Judy said, surprised. “I mean, sure, he’s fit, but he also seems pretty serious… and definitely too wolfish for my tastes.” Yet even as she said it, her mind strayed to Marlon’s easy grin.

“I get it,” Fangmeyer nodded. “You’re prey, so it probably hits differently for you. But Wolford isn’t just another wolf—he’s the wolf. A predator’s predator.” She shivered, her eyes momentarily dreamy. “He’s an alpha.”

“Is that… good?” Judy asked.

“Very good,” Fangmeyer purred, “but it’s more than that.” She glanced around as though someone might overhear them in the old 4x4. “When I got out of the academy, I ended up stuck in Records. Killed time looking up the mammals I’d be working with. Bellwether—standard résumé for a constable. She’s been angling for promotion to D.I. for ages. But Wolford’s file is something else.”

“He’s got a lot of experience?”

Fangmeyer’s tail swished with reverence. “He’s basically an action hero. His file is four times thicker than anyone else’s, full of commendations. Most of his service record is redacted. I’m pretty sure he was GNI before he transferred here.”

Judy gave a low whistle of surprise, eyeing Wolford in a whole new light. The Groupe National d’Intervention was the Republic’s legendary unit for the toughest assignments—counterterrorism, hostage rescue, VIP protection. The kind of stuff that made most sensible mammals run screaming.

“Target sighted, heading to the café,” Bellwether’s voice crackled over the radio. Judy and Fangmeyer jumped at the interruption. Without hesitation, Judy bolted from the car, dashed across the road, and sprang onto a chair at Lady Lara Lionheart’s table. Bellwether and the others stationed themselves at a distance, quietly covering the exits.

Lady Lionheart regarded Judy coolly through an extremely expensive pair of sunglasses. “Is there something I can help you with, Detective Inspector… Hopps, was it?”

“Any recommendations?” Judy asked sweetly, flicking an ear at the café menu. “Something refreshing, but not too sweet. Oh—and it should pair nicely with the lies you’ve been telling.”

“I… I beg your pardon?” The lioness tried to look offended, but her hesitation told Judy she’d struck home.

“As much as I’d love to charge you with obstruction, I’d rather skip it.” Judy stood, leaning over the table, her steely stare making the lioness shrink back. “I can already tie you to Charlie’s house. A little more digging, and you’ll find yourself in a concrete box for quite some time.” Each word seemed to make Lionheart retreat further into her seat. She just needs one more push…

“Take off your sunglasses, Lady Lionheart. Now.” Reluctantly, the lioness tugged them down. Judy saw bright yellow eyes swimming with tears. She listened closely, ears perked for any quickened breath, watching the pulse in the lion’s neck.

“Did you kill Charlie?”

Lionheart’s breath caught. She shook her head slowly at first, then fiercely, whispering, “I loved Charlie.” Judy heard the steady thrumming of the predator’s heart and detected no deception in her trembling voice. She eased back into her own seat.

“I believe you,” Judy said evenly. “Now tell me everything.”

Chapter Text

“I’m still not sure why we’re taking Her Ladyship at her word,” Bellwether called from across the room, rummaging through a filing cabinet. She hopped down from a chair and shoved the drawer closed. “Nothing here, either.”

Judy made a noncommittal sound while rifling through Charlie Howl’s old desk, scouring it for hidden compartments. “She admitted to an affair with D.I. Howl, doesn’t have an alibi, and when we arrived at the scene, she’d showered—so no evidence.”

“All true, Sergeant.” Judy ducked under the desk, tapping sections of the wood in hopes of finding a secret panel. No luck. “But her story is the only explanation we have for why D.I. Howl snuck into that party in the first place. If he really was investigating Lord Lionheart, that’d give His Lordship plenty of motive.”

“I suppose so,” Bellwether conceded. “It’s just hard to believe Charlie would run an off-the-books investigation into Lord Lionheart without looping us in. I can’t fathom why he’d keep it secret if he suspected something.”

Judy nodded. “Or what, exactly, he was investigating. D.I. Howl had a solid record back in Zootopia; I doubt he’d go after Lionheart for unpaid parking tickets. Must’ve been something big.”

“Especially if he planned on nailing Lionheart.” Bellwether shrugged. “Lionheart goes to court, and Charlie and Lady Lionheart get their ‘happily ever after.’”

“Nothing back there, either,” Wolford said, strolling in from the rear of the station. “Checked the cells, lockers, even the armory. Zero.” He leaned against the wall and glanced at Judy. “What’s next, Chief?”

Bellwether looked miffed that Wolford had addressed Judy instead of her, so Judy raced to answer before the tension could escalate. “Next stop is the bank,” she declared, holding up the key she’d discovered in Charlie’s shower.

“What’s that?” Wolford leaned forward, eyeing the strange key. “Doesn’t look normal.”

“A safe deposit box key,” Bellwether supplied. “Where’d it come from?”

“Found it at D.I. Howl’s place,” Judy said, producing both a receipt and a currency band. She slid them toward Bellwether. “Which is why we’re paying a visit to ‘Lemming Brothers.’”

Wolford’s brow rose. “You stayed at Charlie’s house? Why—”

He was cut off by Fangmeyer’s sudden arrival. The station’s doors clanged open, and a torrent of profanity poured in. Judy quickly spotted the reason: the tigress hefted a large shipping box in one paw and a struggling weasel in the other.

Wolford darted over to help. “Box or weasel?” he asked.

“Weasel, please.” Fangmeyer shoved the wriggling creature into Wolford’s arms. “Caught him hawking bootlegs again. I was going to let him off with a warning, but he got mouthy. Ran into a courier who handed me this box when I came back.”

Wolford laughed. “Come on, Duke—if you’re gonna break the law, maybe don’t be rude to the lady.”

“A lady? She’s built like a—”

A dangerous growl from Wolford cut the weasel short. Wolford thrust his muzzle mere inches from Duke’s face. The weasel gulped. “That was rude of me. Sorry, Constable. My cell’s… this way, right?”

Wolford considered for a moment before releasing him. The weasel promptly scampered off toward the lockup cells at the back of the station.

Fangmeyer watched him go, then snapped back to the present. Dropping the large box in front of Judy, she said, “I believe this is for you, Inspector.” With an extended claw, she slashed the tape.

Bellwether dragged a chair next to the desk, about to peek inside, but Judy froze her with a stern look. With the box open, Judy smiled at the neatly labeled evidence bags.

“Finally!” she said, lifting a book they’d found on Charlie Howl. “We might finally crack this thing open.”

She handed the book to Bellwether and pulled out a couple of bags containing broken pottery—the remains of the vase, she assumed. Judy eyed the key, the book, and the shards, mentally plotting her next move.

Looking up, she found Bellwether pensive, Fangmeyer eager, and Wolford downright bored.

Digging some cash from her wallet, she passed it to Fangmeyer, who looked ready to burst with excitement at the prospect of an assignment. “Fangmeyer, head to the store. Buy all the super glue you can.”

“Sure, D.I. Hopps. Then what?” Fangmeyer asked uncertainly.

“Then piece this vase back together.” Judy nudged the broken fragments toward the junior constable.

Wolford, stifling a grin at Fangmeyer’s fate, startled when Judy continued, “Wolford, I need a .22 pistol and some blank rounds.” She tossed another bill onto the desk. “After that, help Fangmeyer. It’ll take time, so pizza and beer on me.”

Wolford nodded, while Fangmeyer looked secretly thrilled about a late shift working alongside him.

“Sergeant Bellwether, grab your keys,” Judy said, tucking the book into her bag. “We’re going to the bank.” She headed for the exit without a backward glance.

She barely caught Bellwether’s acknowledgment as she strode through the station doors.

Chapter Text

The bank manager, a lanky kudu, pulled a safe deposit box from the vault and set it on a metal table. Bellwether dismissed him with a curt nod while Judy slipped on a pair of gloves.

Bellwether snapped a photo of the box with her phone. “You know, it’s not so odd that Charlie had a safe deposit,” she said. “He was a detective in a foreign country, living in a beach shack—”

Judy unlocked the box, flipped its lid, and let out a low whistle. She turned to Bellwether. The sheep, looking surprised, took a quick picture of the box’s contents as well.

“However,” Bellwether said slowly, “the items in this particular box do seem… off.”

Judy nodded in agreement. She carefully emptied the box, making sure Bellwether could document and bag each piece of evidence. First up was a stack of cash—neatly bundled with straps identical to the one Judy had found at the shack, plus a thin layer of plastic wrap. She guessed there were at least fifty thousand in total. Next came some official documents: blank passports and unfilled visas—items one might use to travel under false identities. Finally, at the bottom, Judy fished out an unlabeled manila envelope. When she tipped it open, a single photograph slid onto the table.

Bellwether leaned in, snapping another photo of this image. Judy picked up the picture for a closer look. It depicted a high-end yacht, the kind that practically screamed “ruinously expensive.” Even Judy, whose boating knowledge came mostly from tubing on rivers back on the farm, recognized the sleek hull, polished metal, and tall steering tower—she supposed one would call it a “bridge.” All of it suggested a custom, one-of-a-kind craft.

“Look familiar?” she asked Bellwether, dropping the photo into an evidence bag.

Bellwether’s expression flickered, as though reluctant to speak. “Not really. It’s an island. Private ships come and go all the time. You recognize it?”

Judy’s ears twitched. “No. I haven’t spotted anything like it in all my traveling around the island—between the station, Charlie’s shack, the airport, and Lord Lionheart’s estate.”

Bellwether’s smile turned brittle at that. After a beat, though, she brightened. “Actually, I can solve that mystery. It’s Lord Lionheart’s yacht. He’s got a framed photo of it on his desk—calls it The Little Purrmaid.”

Judy groaned. “What is it with mammals and groan-worthy nautical puns for boat names? Why not something classic like The Victory—or even Boaty McBoatface if you’re feeling whimsical? But the egregious use of puns should land a mammal in a cell.”

She closed up the last of the evidence, her mind already rushing ahead: one suspicious safe deposit box, plus a possible link to Lionheart’s boat. That’s something. She hurried out, Bellwether on her heels.

Judy felt mildly disappointed that Bellwether didn’t so much as crack a smile at her grumblings about pun-heavy boat names. Marlon would have found that funny… The notion startled her so completely that she paused mid-step, causing Bellwether to stumble and almost drop the evidence bags she was carrying.

Once Bellwether had recovered, Judy spun toward the weathered 4x4, pondering why D.I. Howl had the most suspicious deposit box in the history of crime and a photo of one of her prime suspects’ private yacht. Too many questions, not enough answers—and when that happens...

“When in doubt,” she murmured, “go knock on some doors.”

“What was that, Inspector?” Bellwether asked as she stowed the collected evidence in the rear. “Do you want to go back to the scene?” She sounded apprehensive, but Judy waved her off.

“Sergeant, take me to the station. I’ll have the team log everything and confirm if that mystery ship actually belongs to Lord Lionheart.”

Bellwether blinked. “What about me?”

“You,” Judy said, clambering up into the passenger seat, “are heading to the courthouse. Find a judge and sit on them until you get a search warrant. Call Bogo if you have to. Looks like we’re zeroing in on His Lordship, and I want some real leverage before I pay him another visit. That boat’s our best chance. After that, we're going to squeeze him... hard.” Her smile must have unsettled Bellwether because she looked sick. She hopped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled away from the bank.

Judy leaned back, mentally piecing together the puzzle of Charlie’s hidden stash, the photo of a suspicious yacht, and the growing suspicion that this case was far bigger than it first appeared.

Chapter Text

Judy Hopps kicked open the station’s doors with her hip, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, and an armful of plastic evidence bags weighing her down.

“No, you listen—I don’t care that your system can’t trace it; my suitcase is still missing. The last I saw of it was when I checked in back in Zootopia. Yes, it’s Hopps. H-O-P-P-S. I’ve spelled my name five times. I can’t help it if your system is—hello? Hello?”

She fought the urge to scream when she realized the call had dropped. Typical. Maybe I should’ve had Bellwether drop me at a store so I could at least buy some spare clothes, she thought darkly.

Inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee, half-eaten pizza, and heaps of paperwork greeted her. Even half a world away, a police station was still a police station. A few meters away, Wolford and Fangmeyer huddled at a makeshift workstation, where the partially reassembled vase lay in fragments. They both looked up as Judy approached.

“Welcome back, D.I. Hopps,” Wolford said, setting down a tube of super glue. “You well? You look… tense.”

“Good guess.” Judy flicked her phone off and shoved it into her pocket. “No update on my missing bag, so I’m still stuck wearing the same suit.”

Fangmeyer opened her mouth sympathetically, but Judy cut her off with a half-smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s talk about this.” She hefted the plastic sacks from the safe deposit box onto a nearby desk. “We’ve got bundles of cash, false documents—passports, visas.”

Fangmeyer took the bags from Judy’s arms, glancing sidelong at Wolford. “Sounds like mammal trafficking to me. That usually relies on corrupt officials.”

“I can’t believe it.” Wolford shook his head. “Charlie never seemed the type. He had issues, but I never thought he was krumm.”

Judy blinked at the unfamiliar term. Fangmeyer’s ears flushed a little, and she cleared her throat. “That means ‘crooked’ in Imperial,” she explained. “I’ve been picking up words here and there…” Her gaze flicked to Wolford. “I’ve been studying during my breaks.”

Judy raised a brow, smirking when the big cat’s ears flattened in embarrassment. “Good to know, Fangmeyer. Anyway—”

She retrieved a photo of a boat from her bag. “This was in D.I. Howl’s box as well, and it belongs to Lionheart.”

Wolford cocked his head. “You think Lord Lionheart’s behind it all?”

Judy nodded grimly. “No alibi for the murder at his home, the world’s most suspicious safe deposit box points toward him… gives him pretty steep odds. He’s either at the center of everything or he’s damned unlucky.”

“So what’s next, Chief?” Fangmeyer asked, tail whipping back and forth eagerly.

“Bellwether’s at the courthouse getting us a warrant. In the meantime, we need to log everything from that box and confirm that yacht is actually Lionheart’s—registrations, mooring fees, the works. I’d hate to break into some random citizen’s boat that Howl was trying to buy on the side.”

Fangmeyer and Wolford exchanged a look. Wolford took the evidence bags from Fangmeyer’s paws. “I’ll log the items; Fangmeyer can cross-check boat records. I hate computers.”

A few minutes later, Judy looked up from her notebook as Fangmeyer slid a slip of paper toward her. The tigress looked pleased, tapping a line of text. “Confirmed it—Lionheart registered the boat a couple of years back.”

“Excellent work, Constable. Pass this on to Bellwether. Once she shows up with the warrant, we can do a full-on search.” Judy handed the paper to Wolford, who was returning from the station’s lockup. “Recognize where he docks it?”

He nodded. “I do. Want to head there now?”

She bobbed her head. “Why not? Bellwether can catch up once she’s got the paperwork. If we’re lucky, we might spot someone doing something fishy and skip the waiting…” She stuffed everything into her bag and marched toward the exit—but Wolford’s frown stopped her.

“One problem,” he said, jerking his muzzle toward the door. “The other truck’s down. Can’t even get it started.”

A vein pulsed above Judy’s eye. “So that’s it? No more law enforcement for the good mammals of St. Mare because a truck’s dead? What if there’s an emergency—shout ‘stop or I’ll say stop again’?” She glared at the two larger officers.

Fangmeyer’s shoulders dipped. “Sorry, D.I. Hopps. I rode my triathlon bike today—training for the race.”

Wolford shrugged. “I brought my own wheels, but Sergeant Bellwether hates it when we use personal vehicles on duty.”

Judy took a breath, fighting for calm. “She’s not here. And I hate murder suspects running free a lot more than I hate ignoring protocol. So let’s do it.”

That earned a toothy grin from Wolford, who crossed the room to a box labeled objets trouvés.

“Got glasses in that bag of yours?” he asked, rummaging.

“I do. Why?”

“You’ll need them,” he said, tossing something at Judy while heading for the door.

She squeaked as she barely caught what turned out to be a small bike helmet—decorated for a kit, given the streamers and glitter. Clearly sized for a bigger mammal but not too oversized for her. Giving Fangmeyer a questioning look, she broke into a run at the sound of an engine roaring outside.

“Have Bellwether pick you up!” Judy called back over her shoulder. “Bring the crime scene kit and meet us at the harbor!”

“Could you slow down?” Judy yelled as Wolford steered a motorcycle—complete with a sidecar—down a rutted coastal road.

“What?” he bellowed over the engine, revving just as she tried to speak. She glowered up at him, pressing herself against the hull of the sidecar when a rusty bus flew past, missing by inches.

“Is it necessary to ride so close?” she gestured sharply. “We’re officers of the law; set a good example!”

“No thanks, I already ate!” Wolford shouted, mishearing or ignoring her. His eyes gleamed with mischief; he was obviously enjoying Judy’s discomfort.

Two can play that game, Judy decided. “Fangmeyer says you’re ‘hotter than fish grease’!” she hollered, leaning forward. The bike swerved—Wolford had heard that. Smirking in triumph, Judy’s glee was short-lived: just as he recovered control, their path took them through a shady puddle, drenching them in brackish water.

Wolford’s laughter echoed over the roar of the engine. “Truce?” he offered.

“Truce,” Judy agreed, grimacing as she fished for a spare wipe. The wind whipped at her ears, and more than a few bugs smacked her cheeks. Lovely, she mused. At least the ocean air isn’t awful.

They pulled up to the marina in a lurch, surrounded by vessels of every size and shape. Off the docks, beyond a row of small fishing boats, Judy spotted The Little Purrmaid. Wolford hung his helmet on the handlebar and jogged toward the harbormaster’s office.

Judy clambered out of the sidecar, stretching her stiff legs. I officially hate traveling like this, she told herself, flicking a squashed mosquito from her lapel. Nearby, a battered classic car—a Kitroën 2CV from the badge—caught her eye. The curved roof and bulbous headlights made an impression. On the dash, a small fox figurine in a grass skirt strumming a ukulele wobbled slightly in the breeze. The passenger seat was piled with an obnoxiously loud tropical shirt. Something about it felt oddly… familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Focus, she reminded herself.

She turned her gaze to the ocean. A small buoy bobbed in the water, and Wolford reappeared at her side.

“Mammals spearfish here,” he explained, following her line of sight. “Lots of invasive species. Nothing like a fresh-caught dinner, and the buoy keeps the divers from getting run over.”

Judy nodded. He jangled a set of keys, grinning. “Harbormaster lent us a launch. Once Bellwether and Fangmeyer get here, we can head out to Lionheart’s yacht.”

A honk drew their attention. Bellwether’s truck pulled up alongside Wolford’s bike, with Fangmeyer hopping out, crime scene kit in paw. Waving a freshly signed warrant overhead, Bellwether strode forward. Judy couldn’t help the slow smile creeping onto her face. She slipped on a pair of sunglasses from her pocket, striking a mock-dramatic pose as she eyed the distant yacht.

“Lionheart thinks he can sail away from the law…” she said, voice low.

Wolford rolled his eyes, but Judy ignored him. “…but it looks like his ship just came in.”

A rush of excitement tingled along her spine. She tossed Wolford a cheeky grin. “Ready to dive into this case?”

He groaned. “If you make another pun, the truce is off.”

Judy laughed, skipping onto the dock. “Come on, Wolford—come! The game is afloat.”

Chapter Text

Nick Wilde stepped into the kitchen, fur still damp from the shower. The smell of rich coffee and sizzling dough danced through the air, and his stomach rumbled on cue. Beignets, no doubt. His eyes narrowed—his mother was definitely up to something.

“Ah, mon fils, sit,” came his mother’s voice, silky with maternal advantage. She stood at the stove, turning out puffy, sugar-dusted pastries onto a plate. She waved him to the table. “Pour yourself a coffee.”

Nick obeyed, starting slightly when he spotted a bowl of blueberries and felt his mouth water. She’s definitely scheming, but he wasn’t sure how yet, so he just sipped his coffee and waited.

She swept over to the table and set down the fresh pastries. He poured her coffee, nudging the mug across, and she stirred in sugar, smiling primly. Nick’s paw twitched; his gaze flicked between the pastries and her amused expression. She cocked her head, saying nothing about why he hadn’t started yet. Fine. Let’s get this over with. He reached for a beignet, but she smoothly slid the plate out of reach, eyeing him with a sly grin.

“It’s so nice to have you home, mon chéri. We can visit—talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“Your friends, sports, work… whatever.”

“I don’t have any,” Nick said wryly, “my team’s facing relegation, and work’s ‘need to know.’” He lunged again and the plate shifted just enough so his claws grasped air.

“I don’t believe that. I helped you with your case the other day; the transfer window opens in two weeks, so your team might rally yet; and I think you made a new friend… ‘Carrots,’ you called her.” Her brow arched. “Maybe I’ll keep these all to myself until you explain.”

Nick sighed, nodding in defeat. Miraculously, the plate slid toward him. He popped a beignet into his mouth and moaned as it scalded his tongue—hot, airy, and sweet. Worth it. His mother dipped her head in acknowledgment of his unspoken praise.

“It’s just the bunny—the visiting detective inspector,” he managed, licking sugar off his whiskers. “I gave her a nickname. Thought I was being friendly.”

“You like her.”

“She’s a fellow detective—smart, capable, that’s all.” He waved a paw over his sore side. “She definitely made an impression.”

“So the secret to showing up in your dreams is to kick you?” His mother’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll have to tell all the girls. Perhaps you should start wearing your cricket pads around.”

“It’s not like that.” He speared another beignet. “She teased me about being a detective—I guess it was the first time someone said it without meaning it as an insult. Surprised me, that’s all.”

His mother made a noncommittal hum, patting his paw before snatching a beignet from the plate. “So what’s next, sergent-détective? Have you solved your case, or are you letting your bunny do it?”

Nick mumbled around a mouthful of powdered sugar, “She’s not my bunny, and no, not solved yet. I need to track down a suspicious boat.” He slid a photo across the table, tapping the name: The Little Purrmaid, then licked sugar from his fingers. “Gotta ring the harbormaster.”

“In-croyable,” his mother muttered, reading the name. “Why do mammals insist on such terrible names for boats?” She nodded at him picking up his phone. “Don’t bother calling Pierre; he’ll be late. He and his brother played darts here ’til closing and bought more for the road.”

She peered at the photo Nick produced. “Yes, that’s the southwestern inlet near Saint-Fleur Beach—a pretty spot, wonderful fishing.”

Nick’s eyes lit up. “Thanks, Maman, that’s exactly the tip I needed.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “And for the beignets. Where’s Skye?”

“At the bar,” she said. “Why?”

“She can help me with this. Best part: we get some fresh fish out of it.” His mother’s tail wagged, and he was sure his did the same. She pulled a paper bag from a drawer, tossed in a few beignets, and passed it to him.

“For Skye.” She gave him a quick hug and nudged him toward the door. “Fais attention et bonne chance, mon fils. If you solve this case, I might like to meet your bunny.”

Nick stiffened. “She’s not my—” But the door closed behind him, leaving him to his thoughts.

Nick headed to his mother’s bar to find Skye. Inside, she was behind the counter, rummaging in her purse. The midday lull left only two patrons sipping drinks in a corner.

“Skye,” Nick purred, leaning on the bar. “Just the vixen I wanted to see.”

She regarded him with cool amusement, though a grin tugged at her muzzle. “Nick Wilde, awake at the crack of noon. Special occasion, or did your bed catch on fire?”

“You wound me, madam,” he drawled, feigning a swoon—and dangled the beignet bag. She tracked it with her eyes, so he added, “But if you’re not interested in fresh beignets, I can always leave.”

Skye rolled her eyes, snatching at the bag. “What do I owe the pleasure, Nick?” As she withdrew the pastries, Nick leaned in, giving her a sultry look.

“I want something too,” he whispered. She edged closer—then gasped as his paw slipped into her open purse. “Your car keys,” he explained, lifting them with a roguish grin. “And your spearfishing gear.”

Skye planted her paws on her hips. “You’re lucky I trust you. My poor Kitroën—if you scratch it—”

“I’ll buy you dinner at that fancy café,” he finished. “Better yet, come over tonight for fresh fish if I haven’t lost my touch.”

She smirked. “Don’t sweet-talk me. Is this all part of your investigation?”

He nodded. “You’re helping the cause of justice, and you get a fish dinner out of it.” He flashed a two-fingered wave, heading for the door. “What more could you want?”

“Chips!” she shouted after him. “I want chips tonight.”

Parking Skye’s battered Kitroën under a ragged palm, Nick smirked at the tropically dressed fox figurine on the dash, hips swaying as the car rocked to a stop. He gave it a saucy wink, hopped out, and surveyed Saint-Fleur Beach: turquoise water, minimal crowds—a perfect spot to anchor a high-end yacht without much notice. He grabbed a cooler packed with ice, a few bottles of beer, and hefted Skye’s spearfishing kit. Nothing like a little real fishing to sell the cover.

Wading waist-deep, Nick strapped on his mask, tossed out a small dive buoy, and tested the speargun. The day was warm, the water inviting. He might as well snag some of the spiny lionfish plaguing the island while he was here. After an hour of drifting, he bagged four of them, stowed them on ice, and climbed onto a sun-bleached rock to catch his breath.

Taking a swig of beer, he eyed a sleek yacht moored offshore. The Little Purrmaid. The lines matched his photo exactly, but no activity on deck. Nick rubbed a paw across his muzzle. “I do believe that boat is anchored in a restricted zone,” he said slyly. “As a public servant and concerned citizen, I should go notify them.”

He poured out the rest of his beer, hung a small dry pouch around his neck for his phone, and paddled out in a wide arc—he didn’t want any surprises. From the waterline, he noticed the boarding ladder was down. Even better. He hauled himself aboard, water streaming from his fur, ears pricked for any voices. Silence.

The deck was immaculate but oddly quiet. A tarp covered crates near the stern, and peering through a window into the cabin, he spotted supplies: water jugs, packaged meal kits, even bedrolls. Strange for a rich mammal’s pleasure cruiser.

He moved forward, noticing an open hatch that let him see part of the interior. Something about it felt off. Possibly used for hauling—mammals or cargo, Nick guessed. “I can see why they skipped the official marina,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want just anyone wandering around.”

He spotted the flying bridge and climbed the short ladder. Nothing looked unusual until his gaze landed on a fancy GPS screen. With a few taps, he pulled up the system’s history and saw a route dotted with half a dozen coves—definitely not a typical fishing run.

Before he could snap a photo, a low engine hum caught his ear. Not from this boat—somebody else’s motor, chugging across the water. Nick peered over the railing and felt his heart skip half a beat. A small launch headed straight for The Little Purrmaid. He recognized the tall silhouette of a wolf, next to a lithe tiger, and a petite sheep. And standing at the prow like a conquering hero was Judy Hopps, her long ears whipping in the wind.

Nick exhaled a half-laugh. Merde. Of course she’d show up now. Didn’t realize restricted-anchor enforcement was such a big draw.

Glancing around for a hiding spot, Nick realized he might be out of time. They were approaching too fast. He smirked to himself. “Well,” he muttered, “guess this is about to get interesting.”

Chapter Text

Judy Hopps stood at the prow of the small launch, salt spray spattering her suit as they motored toward The Little Purrmaid. The name was painted in slanted script along the side—the same boat they’d been gathering intel on all morning. Behind Judy, Wolford and Fangmeyer kept a watchful stance, while Bellwether fiddled with a clipboard containing the newly minted warrant.

Judy absently patted her pocket, confirming the warrant was stowed as backup. So far, so good. She glanced over the open water at the sleek yacht bobbing on gentle waves. “Remember,” she said to her team, “we need to do a thorough search. No half-measures.”

Bellwether, standing on tiptoe to see over the launch’s side, sniffed. “Of course, Inspector.” She tapped the side of her glasses. “I’ll lead us in. We can check the front compartments—maybe the hold—straight off. We want to catch them by surprise, yes?”

Wolford frowned. “We should sweep from the stern forward, so we don’t—”

“Time is of the essence,” Bellwether cut him off in a brisk tone. “We’ll anchor on the bow. Better vantage.” The sheep’s voice was threaded with eagerness that Judy found suspicious. You’re ignoring protocol, she thought, but I guess as long as we find the evidence…

Fangmeyer throttled back the engine, and Wolford leaned over to hook the boat’s nose to the yacht’s anchor rope. “We’re secure,” the wolf rumbled, giving a thumbs-up before threading his paws together and boosting them. Judy hopped onto the deck first, scanning for any sign of life. No one in sight.

Bellwether was right behind her, hoof-clacking on the immaculate teak. “You two—” she pointed at Fangmeyer and Wolford, “let’s check the hold, then the cabin.” She pointed insistently toward the bow hatch.

Judy’s ears flattened in mild annoyance. Bellwether, you’ve never been on this yacht, she wanted to say, but she bit her tongue. “Wolford, Fangmeyer, see if there are any occupants, then back to the hold. I’ll meet you soon.” She turned to follow the sheep, reminding herself to note how improper it was that Bellwether kept commandeering the operation. She’s not a detective yet… But we need results, so I’ll let it slide—this time.

They made their way along a narrow walkway to the bow. Bellwether nudged aside a tarp. “See, here—look.” She lifted a metal hatch cover and motioned for Judy to peer down. Faint sunlight illuminated a cramped hold. The smell was stale, tinged with sweat and old canvas. Judy jumped onto a short ladder, descending carefully, her pawlight revealing stacked blankets, empty water bottles, vacuum-sealed meal kits—way too many for a pleasure cruise.

Bellwether hopped down behind her, fiddling with her phone’s flashlight. “Detective Inspector, we have at least a dozen bedrolls. Possibly more behind those crates.” She kicked a can off to the side. “No personal items, though. Strange, isn’t it?”

Judy leaned in to examine a battered crate stamped with foreign script. Her whiskers twitched. “That’s not just strange—it’s suspicious as all get-out. Too many supplies, no occupant. This is set up to move a bunch of mammals, or contraband, or both.” She turned to give Bellwether a sharp look. “We have to log every item. Wolford and Fangmeyer can gather the details, but you and I should coordinate the chain of custody. This is evidence of a trafficking ring.”

Bellwether nodded hurriedly, snapping pictures with her phone. At least she’s thorough in that regard, Judy thought. The sheep seemed almost overeager, panting as she whisked the phone from angle to angle. “That’s definitely more than enough probable cause to bring in Lord Lionheart,” Bellwether mused, her tone brimming with excitement. “What next, Inspector?”

Judy exhaled. “We sweep the entire boat. Properly. If there’s a hidden passage or locked compartment, we’ll find it. We need to gather every scrap of evidence.” She turned to climb back up the ladder. “Let’s meet Wolford and Fangmeyer. They should be finishing their side—”

The sheep trotted ahead, practically bouncing up the steps. Judy felt a flash of irritation. Remember to put “Bellwether ignoring standard entry procedure” in my notes. She hoisted herself onto the deck, scanning for her fellow officers.

Crouched behind the console of the flying bridge, Nick carefully peeked through a sliver of space. He’d watched them arrive—Carrots in front, then that sheep marched them to the bow. He had to bite back a grin. They were practically ignoring the entire stern. Perfect. They’d found the hold, sure, but they hadn’t properly swept the boat. Everyone knows you board from the stern. Sloppy, Carrots, sloppy.

He allowed himself a moment of relief. The wolf and the tiger had taken a perfunctory look at the cabin and hurried back to the front. They were so distracted he could slip over the side, swim for shore, and vanish. The moment the tiger’s footsteps faded, Nick eased his own stance, carefully stepping across the deck, reaching for the ladder—

His phone, dangling from his chest, buzzed. His eyes bulged. Fumbling for it, he saw a photo of himself and a pretty snow leopard staring into the lens, glassy-eyed. The caption read “Bridesmaid (cousin?)”—and the phone began blaring an upbeat party anthem: “She’s cute but a little bit psycho…” Nick closed his eyes and prayed the cute little bunny with the enormous ears had missed it.

He heard Judy’s voice: “What’s that?” Merde, merde, merde…

Judy’s ears pricked at the echoing song. She shot a glance at Fangmeyer, who’d just emerged from the hold. “You finish securing the boat?” Judy asked.

Fangmeyer shrugged and smiled weakly. “We didn’t see anyone, but we were in a hurry to get back to you and the sergeant. But I definitely heard it too.”

“Wolford,” Judy called, “you and Fang go around the stern. I’ll cut across the middle. Bellwether, stay with—” She turned, expecting to see the sheep, but Bellwether had seemingly skittered off to some other corner. Darn it, she’s never where I want her. “Fine.” She took a breath. “Let’s move.”

Judy sprinted across the deck and then scurried to the rear of The Little Purrmaid. Emerging near the stern, she found Wolford and Fangmeyer. The wolf padded silently to the cabin, tried the lock, and whipped out a baton, about to smash the glass—when she heard a creak…from above.

She dashed back onto the bench and caught sight of a fox in damp shorts, a cellphone dangling around his neck, perched on the railing of the bridge, and they locked eyes. His eyes were a brilliant green. That otter was right—those are some gorgeous eyes…

That thought shook her, but she overcame her surprise. This had to be the mystery fox from Lionheart’s estate. Once she regained composure, she got her second surprise. She knew him. “Marlon?” she blurted.

“Who’s this?” Wolford said, shifting toward the ladder.

“He’s… a handy-mammal,” Judy stammered. “We had dinner the other night.”

“Nice,” Fangmeyer said in an approving tone, her tail twitching. Wolford gave a low growl at that. Judy had to admit Marlon—if that was his name—cut a fine figure. Lithe as a sword blade, shiny russet and cream fur. If someone dressed him like a pirate, he’d make a fine cover model for one of Mom’s trashy romance novels. Focus on the case, Judy. Not the fox!

“You’re under arrest, Marlon or whatever your name is,” Judy spat.

He gave a mock salute, lips twisting into a crooked grin. “Detective Inspector, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. One of us is always half-dressed.” Then, with a daring wink, he vaulted off the rail and plunged into the water.

He’s not a rabbit, but that’s one heck of a leap, she thought, watching the fox arc through the air and dive with barely a splash, launching into a blistering stroke toward shore.

“He’s escaping!” Judy shouted.

Bellwether dashed up. “Get him!” she snarled at the two predators.

“I’m on him!” the tigress roared. Fangmeyer dropped her utility belt, trousers, and shirt. Wolford a beat behind. Fangmeyer leapt to the rail, eyes fixed, and launched herself overboard. Judy watched in shock. Out of uniform, clad in a sports bra and hip-hugging shorts, Fangmeyer looked like she belonged on a fitness poster. Wolford saw her mid-leap and gasped—promptly belly-flopping into the sea.

Judy winced. Then she turned to Bellwether. “Come with me!”

They bolted to the launch. Judy fired the engine and tore across the water. Salt spray lashed her face, but she angled wide between swimmers and shore, cutting off Marlon’s route. Fangmeyer approached from one side. Wolford, panting, trailed behind.

Judy ran the boat aground, leaped ashore, and met the fox as he crawled from the surf.

He pulled himself upright, beaming at her with those stupid, pretty eyes. “For the record, this is a no-wake zone,” he said. “What you just did… you could get a ticket.”

Before Judy could reply, Fangmeyer tackled him to the ground. Wolford cuffed him, muttering.

“You’re under arrest for interfering in an ongoing investigation, resisting arrest, trespassing, the murder of Charlie Howl, and anything else I can think of between now and the station,” Judy said, breath heaving. She studied his soaked figure. Why do I feel disappointed?

“You know,” Marlon said, coughing, “one day we’re going to look back at this and laugh.”

“We’ll see about that,” Judy snapped. “Wolford—what did he whisper to you?”

“He wanted us to collect his car and the fish he caught. Says he’s cooking dinner tonight.”

Judy blinked. “We’ll see about that, too. Sergeant, process the scene. Fangmeyer and I are taking our suspect in. I want a case solid enough to put Lionheart in cuffs by morning.”

“And you?” Bellwether called.

Judy jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to make a fox sing.”

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Judy spat as she slid into the driver’s seat of the battered Kitroën, fumbling with the keys and glaring at the cuffed fox leaning his head out of the police 4x4. “Have you tried the tow truck again?”

“I really appreciate this, Carrots,” Marlon called to her, that infuriating smirk on his muzzle, his green eyes sparkling in amusement. “It’s my friend’s car, and she would be furious if it got towed.”
Judy growled and looked at Fangmeyer, who shook her head and slipped her phone back into her pocket. No tow truck.

She prayed she wouldn’t regret hauling this relic halfway across St. Mare. Of all the dumb ideas… She jabbed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine sputtered, coughing like an asthmatic donkey before dying completely. She tried again—she thought the engine might catch for a moment before it stopped again. If she had superpowers, that smarmy fox would’ve burst into flames. As it was, he just shrugged.

“I could try if you want,” Marlon offered. “Uncuff me and I’d be happy to help.”

“Pass,” she said, studying the sparse controls and dials in the ancient vehicle. She spied the triple digits on the speedometer, and the corner of her mouth curled slightly. That’s definitely optimistic…
She stuck her head out the window and cocked an eyebrow at the fox. He met her gaze and his smile got a little toothier.
“Any suggestions, Marlon?”

He shook his head, lips twitching in a barely suppressed grin. “Try the choke. Give the pedal a few pumps.”
Judy muttered under her breath, trying once more—another sluggish rattle, then silence.

“It’d take a miracle to get this rust bucket moving,” Fangmeyer grumbled, sagging against the 4x4 and rocking it.

Judy clenched her jaw. She hopped out, flinging the driver’s door open harder than necessary. She heard a suppressed chuckle behind her as she popped the hood. A quick rummage in the engine compartment told her that yes, the carburetor definitely needed a good tap or two. Rusty old thing, she thought, banging the side with a clenched fist.

Marlon called, “I believe in miracles, but—maybe a quick prayer while you’re at it?”

Rolling her eyes, Judy jogged back to the driver’s seat. She cranked it again. This time, the engine gave a throaty cough, coughed again—then roared to life. The entire car shook like it might explode, but it stayed running.
Marlon gave a theatrical whoop, calling, “Hallelujah, Carrots!” Even Fangmeyer looked impressed and applauded appreciatively.

Judy sketched a bow and couldn’t help the bucktoothed smile that lit her face. “I’m a farm girl. My dad still has equipment older than all of us combined.”
She locked eyes with the fox again and found she really did like looking into his eyes. She shook her head and jogged back to the hood, dropping it with a thud. As she checked the latch, that same teasing voice wafted over her.

“Detective, mechanic, ninja. Is there anything you can’t do, Carrots?”

She whipped around, glaring. “Don’t call me Carrots…”
Marlon’s gaze had dipped and snapped back to meet her eyes. He just smiled at her again. Very widely.
“Were… were you looking at my tail?”
At least he had the decency to deny it. He shook his head and looked aggrieved.

Fangmeyer just nodded. “He was definitely checking you out… started to pant a little.”

He raised both cuffs in mock surrender. “I was just admiring your mechanical skills, Detective-Inspector. Promise. Unless…” He winked at her.

She backed toward the driver’s seat and hopped in, heart pounding with frustration. “Let’s just get to the station. Fangmeyer, feel free to taser him if he gives you lip—or if you get bored.”

Chapter Text

Judy Hopps stood in the entry hall of Lord Lionheart’s sprawling estate, the late-afternoon sun casting skewed shadows across the marble floors. She glanced around, half-expecting a servant or guard to greet them, but the place was eerily silent. Wolford and Fangmeyer flanked her, their postures tense. Bellwether fussed with a handful of official documents, clutching the newly signed warrant.

“Lionheart’s here,” Bellwether murmured, shifting on her hooves. “He has to be.”

Judy nodded. “Let’s hope he doesn’t make a run for it. I hate it when they run.” But deep down, something felt off—too quiet, too easy.

Bellwether led them deeper into the mansion, passing a corridor lined with family portraits, including one of a smiling Lord and Lady Lionheart on their wedding day. Fangmeyer and Wolford quickly swept the house. Nothing. Eventually, they arrived outside, where the group split up to check the grounds. Wolford seemed to be checking if Lionheart had decided to hide in the bar behind a shelf of top-shelf liquor. Fangmeyer swept past him and flicked his ear; he grinned and trotted back into the garden.

Judy’s search took her to the path she and Bellwether had followed when they visited the beach. Bellwether walked down the path a short way and turned, the wind from the shore blowing strands of stray wool back toward them. Wolford and Fangmeyer stepped alongside her, and the big wolf took a deep breath and coughed as a piece of wool landed on his nose. Then he pointed ahead.

“Lionheart definitely went that way,” he said. “It’s the freshest trail I’ve found since we got here.”

Judy and Bellwether led the two predators down the path. When they spotted sand, Bellwether flashed a few quick signs, and the constables faded into the woods on either side. The moment they stepped onto the beach, Judy spotted Lionheart’s massive form lying on the sand, water lapping at his expensive linen outfit. Judy’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t moving at all.

She sprinted ahead, Bellwether slipping as she tried to keep up and falling. Wolford and Fangmeyer appeared out of the tree line, making a beeline for her, sensing her concern. A few paces away, Judy pulled to a halt and held up her paw. “Everyone freeze.”

Fangmeyer, Wolford, and Bellwether froze. Judy moved in a wide arc around Lionheart, her phone out, recording as she went. She could clearly see the pistol—looking almost like a toy in his massive outstretched paw. She moved so far that she ended up ankle-deep in the tide before striding up to the lion. As she drew closer, she spotted a small circle of burnt fur and dried blood just under his jaw. He was dead. She knelt and felt for a pulse out of habit, unsurprised to feel nothing. He was still warm, but given the warm breeze and sun-cooked sand, she would have to wait on the autopsy to confirm time of death.

She looked up at the others, who had their phones out as well. “Fangmeyer, get back to the truck—get the gear. This is a crime scene. Wolford, call the coroner and an ambulance—Lionheart’s gone, but we’ll need to transport him. Then help with the kit. Sergeant, get over here and start documenting with your phone. Everyone try to stay in your own tracks. It might be suicide, but it’s hard enough collecting evidence on sand without us messing it up.”

She pulled on a pair of gloves and drew a plastic bag from her pack. After a few quick photos, she gently pried the weapon from Lionheart’s slack grip, noting the caliber etched on the side: a .22. The same as Charlie Howl’s murder weapon.

Bellwether let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking between the scene and Judy. “He... he must’ve known we were coming. Probably couldn’t stand the thought of being caught.” She glanced at the gun. “That’s it—this is basically his confession, right? He had the murder weapon, no alibi, a motive... so he ended it.”

“Maybe,” Judy murmured. Charlie and Lionheart were seemingly entangled in the smuggling operation, and they had more than one reason to turn on each other. But how did Lionheart even know to expect an arrest today? Did someone warn him?

Bellwether persisted, “We’ll process the scene, check for a note, or signs of a struggle. But this looks pretty cut and dried.”

Judy nodded as she peeled off the latex gloves and tucked them into a pocket. “We do everything by the book. Document every square centimeter...” Her mind latched onto Marlon’s demand for a phone call. Had he tipped Lionheart off? Why? She’d assumed the ring was over, but maybe not. She swallowed. “I need to get back to the station.”

She left them to process the scene, racing back up the path. If Lionheart was gone, that didn’t answer how Charlie’s murder went down—or how he learned about this warrant. One suspicion gnawed at her: the call Marlon made. She couldn’t shake it.

Curse that smug fox…

Chapter Text

Judy dived out of the taxi, racing to the station door. She dashed straight to Holding, only to find a snoring weasel in one cell. No fox. Marlon—or whoever he really was—was gone. She ran back to her desk, needing to call everyone, post guards at the airport and marina, maybe set up surveillance on known associates. She still didn’t know who that smug fox really was. She screamed in frustration and thumped her head on the table. How did he get out of a locked cell?

“Are you feeling well, Detective-Inspector?” a deep voice asked from above.

Judy lifted her head up, and up, and up. The speaker was a giant buffalo in a neat uniform. “Commissioner? Commissioner Bogo!” She leapt on top of the desk. “Just the mammal I need. We’ve got an escaped prisoner. We should send officers to the airport, the—” He didn’t even twitch.

“He’s not your prisoner anymore, Detective-Inspector Hopps,” Bogo rumbled.

Judy’s ears shot up. “You know? Or did he get transferred? Either way, I want him back—”

“Miss me already, fluff?”

Judy’s eye twitched at that voice. She turned slowly, and there was Marlon, leaning against the wall like he didn’t have a care in the world. He smiled like he was genuinely pleased to see her. Why did such a troublesome mammal have such pretty eyes? She banished that thought with another: He won’t be smiling when I’m done with him. Dipping her hand into her bag, she grabbed her extendable baton, snapping it open, stalking toward him, heart drumming. His eyes popped wide in panic as he waved his paws placatingly.

She felt her feet leave the floor as Bogo grabbed her by the back of her jacket and held her aloft. “As much as I’d enjoy watching you teach him a lesson, I’m afraid I can’t allow it.” Marlon’s smile returned, and Bogo set her back on the floor. “For now.” Marlon’s smiled drooped then died completely.

Judy jabbed her baton into the floor, collapsing it, and stowing it in her bag. “In case I need it later,” she said with faux sweetness. Marlon’s grin slipped.

“Perhaps introductions are in order,” Bogo said. “Detective-Inspector Judy Hopps of the ZPD—meet Detective-Sergeant Nicholas Wilde, born and raised here on St. Mare but lately of the Republic Gendarmie.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out. “You’re a cop? YOU?”

“Rude,” Marlon—no, Nick—said. “Don’t look so shocked. You’re not the only trailblazer out there. Nick Wilde, at your service.”

Bogo nodded curtly. “Yes, you’re both very impressive,” he said with a sigh, leaning against a desk that groaned under his bulk. “Since everyone knows why you’re here, Hopps, I’ll let Wilde bring you up to speed on his case. It was a different case originally.”

Nick nodded, stepping forward. “My usual beat covers ports: theft, counterfeit goods, smuggling, tax evasion—stuff like that.”

“Really, tax evasion?” Judy smirked. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Tariffs are a form of taxation, so avoiding them by illicit means is a felony,” he spat back. “Aren’t you little Miss Super Cop? Surprised you’re so casual about lawbreakers.”

She grinned. “I’m sure it’s serious. You’re just ‘too cool for school’ while talking like an accountant.” That made Nick frown, which pleased Judy more.

Bogo laughed. “He actually has a degree in accounting. He spent years chasing crooked bankers before he got a field assignment.” That made Nick scowl, while Judy laughed louder.

“If there’s no more commentary from the peanut gallery,” Nick glared at Judy, who made a zipping motion across her muzzle and winked, “I caught wind of a trafficking ring—everything from bootleg rum to moving mammals—and traced it back here. The money led right to Lionheart’s doorstep. I was there to snoop around when Charlie got shot. I called it in to the commish that same night.”

A fresh wave of irritation roiled in Judy’s stomach. She gave Bogo a sidelong look. “He never told me that.”

“Of course not,” Bogo said, eyes narrowed. “Wilde’s intel suggested someone in the local force might be dirty. We had to be careful, so it stayed need-to-know.”

Judy’s temper flared. “It’s obviously not me—I’ve never been to this island before.”

“Of course not,” Nick soothed. “But what about the rest of them? We can’t trust anybody until we find the leak.”

Judy nodded stiffly. “I can solve that mystery. I discovered a safe deposit box—Charlie Howl’s—full of cash and false documents. It even had a picture pointing to the boat we caught you on.”

Nick cocked his head. “Really? At Charlie’s place, I found references too. He wrote the name ‘The Little Purrmaid.’ I hate puns, especially nautical ones.”

“Seriously,” Judy agreed. “We got a warrant to arrest Lionheart, since we suspected he was the boss.”

“Nicely done, Hopps,” Bogo said, flipping his head toward Nick. “His money trail plus your evidence means we can corner him, maybe take down the entire operation.”

“About that…” Judy said, “Lionheart’s dead. We just found him. Apparent suicide, with a .22—the same caliber that killed Charlie. He must’ve gotten word we were on the way.”

Bogo’s gaze flicked over her. “Suicide? So the theory is Lionheart bribed Charlie, killed Charlie, and then offed himself once cornered?”

Judy folded her arms. “That’s what it looks like. But we still don’t know how Charlie was killed inside that locked panic room.”

Nick frowned. “It’s probably just me, but it all feels too—”

“Neat?” she asked.

“Exactly.” He ticked his digits as he spoke, “Charlie’s killed, the house points us to Lionheart’s boat—”

“Not to mention the safe deposit key,” Judy added, “which leads right back to Lionheart, who’s now dead. A closed loop.”

Bogo sighed. “Sounds like a solved case to me. No loose ends.” He straightened. “Finish checking Lionheart’s suicide; if nothing pops out, write it up and slap a bow on it. Then we can book your flight, Detective Hopps.” He gave her a weary smile. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“But…but…,” Judy protested but Bogo waved her to silence. Nick had gone over to poke at the partially repaired vase and had turned to watch her and Bogo. His expression was perfectly neutral but he cocked his head at her.

Bogo turned to leave. “Come on, Wilde, the D.I. has plenty to handle, and you’ve got a load of paperwork.”

Nick hesitated, flicked a spent tube of glue on to the table, before he shot Judy a casual salute and following Bogo out of the station.

Once they were gone, Judy exhaled shakily. She wondered if she’d ever see that fox again. Probably not—he said something about a date. For some reason, that made her feel lonelier. Focus, Hopps. Let’s finish this.

Outside, the setting sun cast the station yard in a dusky glow. Judy’s suit felt stiff with dried salt and caked mud. She felt gritty and exhausted. After a quick text, she confirmed Bellwether and the others were still at Lionheart’s estate, gathering what they could before dark. Let them finish collecting evidence, she thought, and go home. It’s been a day, and everyone needed rest before tomorrow. I can reread that book we found on Howl again…

Her eyes fell on the broken vase from Lionheart’s library. Maybe a little arts and crafts time tonight. She grabbed a small bag from the station’s lost and found, rummaging through it for anything to wear. She shook out a simple bikini top and bottom, raising an eyebrow. Better than nothing—her suit was filthy. Flagging a passing taxi, she felt her mind churning with stray thoughts about Charlie’s murder, Lionheart’s death, and Nick’s abrupt departure.

The sun had fully set by the time Judy reached Poole House. She flipped on a single lamp inside, the shack’s wood floors creaking under her feet. She dug around until she found the half-assembled vase, scowling at the jagged edges. “Ugh,” she muttered, rummaging for glue. “Should’ve had Fangmeyer do this—her paws might be bigger, but I’m sure she’s more patient than me right now.”

She unwrapped the scattered shards on the small table, then grabbed her phone. I should call them… see if Bellwether needs me. But no, she’d said to keep working. Tomorrow they’d meet for a formal briefing. Fine.

A knock on the porch startled her. Setting the vase shards aside, Judy tiptoed to the door, pressing an ear to the wood. “Who is it?” she called. The silhouette shifted—tall ears, a sleek muzzle, not a tiger or a wolf.

She opened the door to find Nick Wilde standing there in another eye-watering shirt and baggy shorts, a pizza box in one paw and a bottle of wine under his arm.

Judy’s breath caught in her throat. “N-Nick?” She realized, belatedly, she was wearing only the bikini. They both stared for a beat, then Nick burst out laughing.

“Carrots, you and I seem to have a serious problem with partial nudity whenever we meet. Not that I mind.” He raised the pizza. “Truce? I come bearing dinner.”

She folded her arms, trying not to appear flustered. “How did you— I thought you left with Bogo.”

Nick shrugged. “We have a puzzle to finish.”

She crossed her arms and tapped a foot. Nick made a pleased hum and smiled down at her… chest. Unbelievable… “Come in, I’m going to find my T-shirt.” She stalked away.

“Boo!” came his voice from the kitchen. She had barely crossed back into it when Nick thrust a pair of plates stacked with slices of veggie supreme into her arms—her favorite. He shooed her out. “I’ll grab the wine and napkins.”

He joined her on the patio table a moment later, pouring them each a glass of wine. “À votre santé,” he said with a smile, and it was a very good smile…

“Cheers,” she responded, waiting until he sipped his wine. “So, care to tell me what you’re actually doing here—other than scoping out the girls?”

Nick coughed and laughed, then recovered. “Clever bunny.”

“Dumb fox.”

“I’m not that bad once you get to know me,” he said, waving it off. “But I was serious—we have a puzzle to finish.” He reached into the pocket of his shorts and dropped a bag full of tubes of superglue onto the table. Meeting her eyes—she gulped at the intensity there—he went on, “I told Bogo I wasn’t done. Couldn’t let the case go, not after all this. Charlie, the smuggling ring…I need to know it’s done and done right.” He gave a sly grin. “I have a feeling you’re the kind of detective who doesn’t quit.”

She smiled, warmth flushing through her chest and up her ears. Maybe it was the wine, or the compliment. She’d earned awards back in the ZPD, but never really had friends among the other detectives. She was always the other, the oddball. But it seemed like Nick just…saw her.

“Also…” Nick hesitated. “I need to apologize. Again. I had intel pointing to a dirty cop, so I thought I couldn’t risk it. But there was no reason to doubt you, and I should’ve come clean earlier. That’s on me.”

Judy nodded slowly. “I get it. It’s the job. Keep your cards close. If the situation were reversed, I might’ve done the same. Though, to be fair, I did arrest you a couple times, so that probably put a strain on things.”

“Actually, that kick you gave me—my side hasn’t felt right since,” he said with a wry smile. “There’s a chance I’m dying.”

She raised her slice of pizza. “So this is how you want to spend your final hours? Pizza, a moderately priced wine, dinner with a bunny.” She poked the vase. “And for after-dinner entertainment, we’re going to glue this thing back together.”

He laughed softly. “I’m going to need you to explain why we’re doing that. But let’s just say I prefer finishing what I started. With Lionheart dead, the ring’s probably gone to pieces, but something doesn’t add up.”

Judy nodded. “We think we know why and who, but not how. I don’t know how someone killed Charlie in that panic room. It keeps rattling around in my head.” She glanced out at the soft colors of the ocean at dusk. “At least we have something pretty to look at while we’re stumped.”

“Yeah, the views not half bad,” he murmured. She turned back and realized he wasn’t looking at the sunset—he was looking at her. Sweet cheese and crackers, he’s way too good looking to be a cop...

She looked away, ears flushing. “You’re quite the charmer when you’re not being an insufferable jerk.”

He arched a brow. “Likewise, you’re decent company when you’re not calling me a no-good fox.” A flicker of tension reminded her of the harsh words she’d hurled at him. But he took a sip of wine and gently nudged the vase pieces. “We can figure this out—together.”

Judy inhaled, letting the hush of the night settle. She picked up a shard of porcelain. “All right, partner,” she said quietly. “Let’s see if we can glue this thing back together…and sort out this crazy case.”

Nick clinked his glass against hers. “Partners,” he agreed. “Bit of a change for me—I usually work alone.” He waved a paw over the gathered pieces. “Where do we begin?”

“Just like the jigsaw puzzle,” she said. “Let’s sort everything by color and start working our way up. While we’re at it, you can tell me everything about the night Charlie Howl was killed.”

Chapter Text

Judy stirred, blinking as early sun spilled through the open window. A lazy breeze carried the tang of salt air and the faint rhythm of waves. Slowly, she recalled the previous night--working late with Nick to patch the shattered vase, plus a bit of wine and banter. She smiled at the memory. Now, she was under a single sheet, the day's warmth already creeping in.

She rose, noticing the living area was quiet except for a soft snore. She spotted Nick sprawled on the too-short couch, one arm dangling over the side, muzzle tilted at an awkward angle. His chest rose and fell, precariously wedged into cushions not designed for a fox his size. His paw dangled over the book found on Charlie Howl--she guessed he'd been reading it when sleep claimed him.

Her eyes flicked to the small table in the corner. The vase they'd painstakingly repaired stood there, cracks still visible but neatly sealed. It was marred by two holes on opposite sides, angled slightly downward.

That's a bullet hole or I'm a polar bear.

She heard a low whimper and spun around.

Nick had rolled over, all four limbs pointed up and slack. Judy smiled--he was cute. She vaguely remembered him carrying her to bed, then presumably staying up to finish. He really is sweet, she thought, studying his limp form. He must've slept stiffly on that couch. He should've just shared the oversized bed with me. That thought made her feel a little warm. She told herself not to overthink it--he was objectively handsome and a sharp detective. Of course she liked him. But as she watched him breathe, she had to stop her paw from brushing his ears.

Outside, the ocean shimmered in dazzling morning light.

Maybe a quick swim to clear my head, she thought. Casting a glance at Nick--still dead to the world--Judy decided to seize the moment.

Quietly, she slipped onto the porch, peeled off the oversized tee she'd put on when Nick arrived, and draped it over the rail. In her borrowed bikini, she bounded down the beach, letting the sea breeze sweep over her bare fur. The gentle surf lapped at her ankles as she waded in, exhaling at the cool rush of water. She dove forward, letting the ocean's hush envelop her.

For a few minutes, she paddled lazily, letting the lullaby of waves ease her mind. Perfect. Eventually, she wandered back to the shore, shaking water droplets from her fur. Then she glimpsed the shack door cracked open.

So he's awake. Maybe I should give him a show.

She smiled at the thought. The idea of teasing a fox--or any predator--would have shocked her once. But somehow, she knew Nick. This was just an opportunity to take the piss.

She sauntered up to the shack's entrance, accentuating the sway of her hips, leaning against the doorframe as though modeling her bikini.

Empty.

She fumed. I break out the sexy look and he's not even here to appreciate it.
The sound of dishes rattling in the kitchen betrayed where the fox had escaped to.

She considered turning seductress mode back on, but the moment had passed. Poking her head inside, she found Nick rinsing their dishes from the night before, while the kettle burbled on the stovetop. He froze for a beat, then resumed drying a wine glass.

"How do you take your coffee, Carrots?"

She couldn't see his face, but something in his posture told her that trademark smirk was in full force.

"I don't. Tea for me."

That got him to turn his head just enough to give her a judgy look.

He tsked and turned back to the sink. "So that's it. I knew it was too good to be true."

He was baiting her--he had a joke chambered, wanting to see if she'd spar.
Fine, Slick. Let's see what you've got.

"What's too good to be true?"

"You." That made her breath catch. "The best detective in Zootopia. The second-best-looking detective in this shack. I was trying to figure out why you were still single. Now I have my answer--you're clinically insane. Tea over coffee. Madness." He spun around and leaned back, muzzle split in a grin full of gleaming teeth.

She could almost hear him say: Your move.

"So you've figured it all out? That I prefer the more versatile, calming, and healthier option to burnt bean juice or a disgusting caramel sugar bomb is why I'm still single. How about you, Slick Nick--why aren't you married?"

"I've been reliably informed I'm too serious," Nick said. "I feel like I should sue for defamation, but since she's my oldest friend--and I'm pretty sure my mother likes her more than me--it's not worth the effort."

"Let me guess... your dinner dates from the other night?"

He nodded. "Clever bunny. Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"You forget—I'm not only the best detective in Zootopia, I'm the best detective in this shack. Make me my tea and I won't challenge you for 'best-looking detective.' Gotta leave you with something, since we've already proved I'm better paw-to-paw."

He chuckled and nodded. "Looks like your tea options are breakfast and... breakfast."

"I'll take breakfast, then."

"Excellent selection, madam." He pulled down a teapot and waved her away. "Go shower up, Carrots. I'm guessing the water was a bit nippy."

The way he said nippy made Judy flush. She crossed her arms over her chest with a gasp. She glanced down--still perfectly respectable--and shot him an acidic glare.

"Made you look!" he sing-songed, rinsing the teapot while laughing to himself. "You should've seen your face. Very cute. Embarrassed, but cu--"

He cut off as a wet bundle thwacked him in the head.

"Hang that up for me, won't you?"

His paws pulled the offending object from his muzzle--Judy's swimsuit. Top and bottoms. Judy laughed as she heard him sputtering down the hallway while she closed the bathroom door behind her.

Judy sipped her tea and sighed contentedly as Nick loaded the repaired vase into his beat-up Lamb Cruiser. He'd padded the seat and was carefully buckling the vase in, like a passenger.

Her phone pulsed, blaring a tinny version of her favorite song. Lady Lara Lionheart displayed on the screen. Nick shot her a curious glance.

She pressed speaker. The familiar icy voice answered:
"Detective Inspector Hopps, it's Lara Lionheart. You called five times, texted four, left three voicemails. How can I help you before you hire a skywriter?"

"Lady Lionheart," Judy said evenly. "I'd like to speak with you muzzle to muzzle. Where are you?"

"Basse-Bear. I'm meeting with my attorney--my divorce attorney. I can speak now, but if you insist on meeting in the fur, I'll be back this afternoon."

Nick gestured, and Judy muted the line.
"That's a different island. If she was with a lawyer dumping His Lordship, she probably wasn't even here last night."

She nodded, unmuting. "I'll send someone to pick you up. Would you mind sharing your movements yesterday?"

Lara hesitated, then sighed. "After we spoke, I took the ferry over. With Charlie gone, I didn't know what to do, but I knew Charlie wouldn't want me wasting time on Leo. We--Charlie and I--had plans to travel. I'm going to do that. It's not much, but it makes me feel closer to him."

A choked breath. Then, steadier: "I took a cab to the lawyer, then to the hotel. Dinner, drinks, then to bed. All at the hotel. I'm heading out soon to sign paperwork before I fly back. Do me a favor--tell me where Leo is, so I can serve him."

Judy hesitated. "Lady Lionheart... I called to inform you. Your husband was found deceased on your estate. Evidence suggests suicide."

A hush. Then Lara's voice, clipped and cold: "I can't believe Leo would do that. Did he leave a note?"

"No note," Judy said. "He was found on your private beach. Looks like he shot himself with a .22 pistol."

"A .22?" Lara scoffed. "Silly bastard."

"Why's that odd?"

"Because it is. Why fetch another gun when my father's old service revolver--a .357--is in the house? Leo knew about it. If he wanted to off himself, that's what he'd have used."

"Where's it kept?"

"Locked drawer in the bar cabinet, in the library."

Judy's pulse quickened. "Did you tell the other officers about it?"

"I think someone asked if we had a .22. Leo said no. I was in shock. I don't recall anything else."

"We'll take another statement when you arrive. Safe travels."

She ended the call and turned to Nick, who was already nodding. "We need to check the estate. Maybe this gun is just a coincidence..."

"Or maybe this whole thing isn't so tidy after all."

They pulled past the gates of the Lionheart estate. Wolford and Fangmeyer waited in a police jeep, Bellwether stepping out of another vehicle.

Nick hopped out. Bellwether pointed, startled. "He's the fox from--"

Judy cleared her throat. "Everyone, meet Detective Sergeant Nick Wilde. Not our suspect. He's with the Republic Gendarmerie. His case overlaps with ours--hence the boat situation the other day."

"Nice to meet you," Nick said, all toothy charm. "Sorry I didn't introduce myself before. Trying to keep a low profile."

He turned to Judy. "I think when the Commissioner personally sprang me, it blew my cover."

"Whose fault is that, slick?" she shot back. "Swim faster next time or pull out your shield."

That got a chuckle from Wolford. Nick gave him a hard stare. The big wolf just smiled and straightened to his full height. Canines, Judy thought. But Nick didn't flinch. Confident, or maybe just not stupid.

"Boys, don't fight. You're both pretty," Judy said. "Sergeant, take Fangmeyer and Wolford back to the beach. Sweep again. The lady of the house gave us a lead. We're going to check the house. Oh--Wolford, that .22 and blanks I asked for?"

The wolf nodded toward the cruiser.

"Perfect. Sergeant Wilde and I have a gun to find."

"A gun?" Bellwether squawked. "What gun?" Judy only grinned, watching Nick gently lift the vase from the cruiser's seat. The sheep pointed. "What's that?"

"That?" she said. "That's going to help us break this case wide open." She gave Bellwether a nod. "Pick up Lady Lionheart later and bring her here."

Nick was already up the steps, balancing the vase like a sacred relic. Judy lingered a moment, watching him--his ease, his focus, the way he carried her half-mad theory like it was solid gold. He just believed in her. No hesitation.

The thought made her smile. Then the smile faltered.

Because no matter how close they got, eventually she'd have to get on a plane and leave all this behind--including him.

But for now, she ran to catch up.

Chapter Text

Judy stood on the library’s threshold, watching Nick carefully balance their newly repaired vase. She couldn’t help a small smile at how easily he picked up on her unspoken cues—the moment she’d opened the library, he’d breezed past her to deposit the vase on a carved wooden pillar near the panic-room door. Sunlight filtered in through high windows, revealing rows of old books and a marble floor scuffed by years of well-heeled visitors, giving the place an almost museum-like hush.

She pulled out a crime-scene photo and compared the vase’s new position to where it had been on the night of Charlie Howl’s murder. She opened her mouth just as Nick clamped a paw on the vase and shifted the pillar until it perfectly matched the photo. Her ears twitched—he had that same knack for detail she did.

He dusted off his paws, shrugging lightly when he noticed her stare.
“The sun faded part of the floor,” he said. “Figured you’d want it exactly how it was the night of the murder.” A half-smile flickered over his muzzle, and she found herself oddly pleased by his thoroughness. He really was a good detective.

He strolled across the library to a stately cabinet, flipped up the top, and inspected the bottles inside. “Using the time-honored principles of detective work,” he declared, eyes gleaming, “I conclude this is a bar.”

“Impressive deduction, Detective Sergeant,” Judy deadpanned. “How confident are you in that conclusion?” She stepped closer, giving him a playful nudge with her hip—she wasn’t above letting him see she enjoyed these little exchanges.

He smirked. “Very confident, though I’d like to take this 20-year-old scotch back to the lab—by which I mean my flat—and conduct a more thorough inspection.” Before she could scold him, he ran a paw along a decorative panel and pressed it. A hidden door popped open. Judy leaned in, eyebrows rising. The compartment revealed a battered box of .357 shells—but no gun.

“Huh,” Judy said, lips thinning. “So the father’s service pistol is missing.”

Nick picked up another bottle, popped the cap, and took a long whiff of the amber liquid. “As much as I want to check the bottom of this ‘very fine bottle,’ I’m pretty sure it won’t yield our missing gun.” He rifled through the rest of the cabinet. Nothing. Mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, he turned back to her. “Pretty sure this is your show, Carrots. What’s that big, beautiful bunny brain of yours cooking?” He gave her a lazy once-over, and for a moment, she felt the warmth of his attention.

Judy didn’t answer right away, drifting toward the library door. Her gaze flicked to the bar, the safe room, the vase, and the second door. She let herself sink into the puzzle, mentally turning each clue over. Finally, she faced the vase, her stare lingering on the bullet hole. She drew a sharp breath.
“Where were you when you heard the gunshot? Precisely.”

Nick recognized the intensity in her voice and cooperated immediately. He padded across the room, opened the other door, and stepped out.
“I was right here, paw practically on the handle. I heard a single shot—bloody loud—hit the floor, then bailed via that window.” He waved down the hall, tail flicking as he studied the scene.

“And you’re certain it was just one shot?”

He nodded. “My ears might not be as big as some, but I’m sure. One shot, me on the floor, then out the window. I legged it.” Sliding back to her side, he followed her line of sight to the vase. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“Totally,” she said, pointing at the bullet hole. “It’s obviously a bullet hole, but how’d it get there if everyone heard only one shot?”

“Maybe I missed another,” Nick said, scowling. “But I’m not sure how. That first blast definitely made an impression.”

“Everyone heard it,” Judy confirmed. “Guests, valets—no one mentioned a second shot.”

Nick let out a frustrated huff. “None of this adds up. Every time I think I understand this case, it goes sideways. We’re missing one crucial puzzle piece—like, how do you kill someone locked inside a panic room and then vanish?”

Judy snorted. “I know, right?” She locked eyes with him. “Actually, we still need to finish that puzzle back at the shack, too.” A little grin curled her muzzle. Show me what you’ve got, Slick.

Nick’s grin glinted with mischief. “And whose fault is that, Fluff?” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If I recall, someone decided to doze off before we finished fixing up that vase.”

She brushed past him toward the newly repaired vase, shifting it so the hole aligned better with the door. Turning, she was pleased to see him glide her way, footfalls nearly silent. “Jet lag,” she said. “Doesn’t change the fact that I hate leaving a puzzle unsolved. I thought you did, too.”

He chuckled. “We’ve got plenty of puzzles here, but this one’s top priority. If you want me to swing by, you could just invite me.”

She arched a brow, smiling up at him. He was tall—and that was nice. “Where’s the fun in that?”

He set his paw on the pillar, moving just close enough to brush her personal space. “As one of the objectively attractive and effective detectives in this mansion, I figure you can come up with something clever.”

She rolled her eyes, refusing to show how his confidence rattled her. “I could,” she allowed. Then she dipped a paw into her bag and pulled out the pistol and blanks Wolford had given her. “Or we could shoot something instead.”

Nick’s smile widened. “Is it too soon to say I love you? Apart from the coffee thing—you’ve got me working on acceptance, but it’s tough.”

Judy barked a laugh. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I suspect you can be a bit inconstant in your affections.”

“Slander…or maybe you and my mother are friends on Furbook.”

She gave him a gentle shove. “Head out to the veranda, and let’s do a few test shots. Maybe we can figure out what everyone actually heard that night.”

He flicked a two-finger salute and ambled to the door, tail weaving back and forth. Judy watched him go, heart pounding—though she decided to ignore exactly why it pounded so hard.

“Fire in the hole!” Judy called, hearing Nick echo her warning as she squeezed the trigger. The pistol popped, and Nick swung open the library door he’d been behind on the night of Charlie Howl’s murder.

He shrugged as he walked toward her. “I heard it that time, but…”

“But it didn’t sound right?” Judy guessed, slipping the pistol back into her bag and plucking the plugs from her ears.

“You guessed it,” he said as he took the familiar spot between the door and the vase, staring at the bullet hole that had been vexing them. They’d fired half a dozen times, and it wasn’t until Nick was back in the house that he’d actually been able to hear the tiny pistol’s shots.

“Thank goodness,” she griped. “I’d hate to have something in this case make sense. So unless someone shot a pistol with a ‘louden-er’—do they even make those?—the most likely answer is that the shot came from the missing service revolver.” She looked back at Nick, who was pointing his paw at her like it was a pistol. She raised her paws slowly and smiled. “Are you that frustrated with me? Usually mammals work with me longer before they start planning on doing me in.”

“Imbéciles,” he said absently, still staring down the imaginary sights of his pistol. “Who doesn’t like smart, pretty mammals?” Judy felt a flush in her chest that spread throughout her body. “Carrots, come here and look at this.”

As she moved to him, he gently guided her in front of him. “Shoot the vase.” She shrugged, pointing her paw as he did, raising her “pistol” higher and higher until it aimed at the bullet hole in the vase’s side. “Do you see it?” She felt his breath on her neck as his paw aligned next to hers, and she had to work hard to focus on the vase instead of the warmth radiating from him.

It took a moment. She then cocked her head and twisted back to him. “The hole is off. I’m aimed at it, but the angle is all wrong.”

He nodded. “It’s going down, not up.” He moved in front of the panic room, studying the imaginary path of the bullet. “Whoever shot that vase was taller than you—or me, for that matter—and they were aiming at someone taller as well.”

“You’re right,” Judy said, nodding. She pulled out her notebook, flipped through her notes, and grunted. Then she took out her phone, and Bellwether’s voice came over the speaker in greeting. “Sergeant, can you send Fangmeyer and Wolford up to the house? I need their help. Oh, and don’t forget Lady Lionheart.” She turned back to Nick. “Up for another experiment?”

“Never a dull moment with you, Carrots.”

Soon, Judy had arranged her “actors,” Wolford and Fangmeyer, in the library. Wolford played Charlie Howl, standing just outside the safe room, while Fangmeyer stood by the door, playing the shooter.

“Does everything look lined up?” Nick asked her, and she studied the tableau. Wolford was almost in front of the vase and the window behind it; Fangmeyer held Judy’s laser pointer, the red dot bobbing on the vase’s side.

Wolford motioned for Fangmeyer to shift slightly. “You need to center up, Liz. The shot came pretty much straight on when it hit the vase.” Judy cocked an eyebrow, and the wolf shrugged. “If it was going more sideways, the hole would be different—more elongated. It’s practically a perfect circle.” Judy nodded, mentally noting she should talk with Bellwether about fully using the talent they had in the station.

Fangmeyer shuffled, fired up the laser again, and aligned it with the hole. It formed a perfect line from her position, past Wolford’s head, then straight into the vase and out the open window. Nick moved to the window and poked his head out, trying to track the laser outside. A moment later, he popped back inside and gave her a thumbs-up.

Judy felt a rush of excitement. This was the piece they’d been missing. She was certain of it. She turned to Fangmeyer and Wolford. “Fancy joining us for a scavenger hunt?”

Fangmeyer bobbed her head. “Absolutely, chief. What are we looking for?”

Judy pulled out the box of .357 rounds and waggled them. “A bullet that matches these.”

Chapter Text

After they determined the likely trajectory, Nick retrieved a small metal detector from his vehicle.

Wolford stared at him. “Why on earth do you just carry that around?”

Nick offered a wry grin. “Former Junior Ranger. Always prepared, constable.”

Heading outside, he scanned the bushes beneath the window. After a few passes, the detector beeped. Nick knelt, parted some leaves, and fished out a battered slug. He held it up so Judy could see.

“Definitely bigger than a .22—more like a .357. This must be our ‘loud shot.’”

Judy’s eyes flicked from the bullet to the vase. “So that means two guns, two shots—one loud .357 that hit the vase, and one quiet .22 for the actual kill.” She hugged her arms over her chest, a fresh tingle of suspicion crawling up her spine. “With the father’s .357 gone, that’s no coincidence.”

Before anyone could reply, Judy’s phone burst into its tinny ringtone. She snatched it up with a tense, “Hopps.”

The frantic voice of an airline rep crackled over the line. Her ears flattened in annoyance.

“My bag’s still back in Zootopia? Never loaded? That’s—sweet cheese and crackers!” she sputtered, cheeks burning. “You can send it? Fat lot of good that does me, I’m about to... Fine! No, just keep it there. I’ll be back soon. Thanks... I guess?”

She hung up, still flustered.

“Problem?” Nick rested a paw on her shoulder.

She shook her head. “Just the airline—my missing bag. They never loaded it. Can you believe it?”

Nick saw something in her eyes and stepped closer.

“You’ve got it, don’t you?” he said.

She nodded, trying to fit the last puzzle piece into place. “It was never there. It was never there.” She gasped and grabbed Nick’s shirt, yanking him toward her. “Yes! Of course—it was never there!”

“I think the heat’s gotten to her,” Wolford muttered.

Nick waved a paw. “Hush, she’s got it. Let her think.”

“Should I call an ambulance?” Fangmeyer asked.

“Yes, you call,” Judy said absently. “Thank you, constable.” She started pacing, miming a toss. “So it’s phone call and into the sea with you. It’s brilliant—so brilliant. And simple, too.”

She whirled around, rushing at Nick and grabbing his paws.

“My bag wasn’t there. It was never there. Do you see?”

Nick stared at her for a moment, obviously confused—then realization dawned in his eyes. He gasped and squeezed her paws.

“It was never there. That means—”

“It has to be.”

“Which means the gunshot—”

“Exactly!”

“I think they’re speaking in tongues,” Wolford said.

“So the bullet—” Nick was racing along with her now.

“We just confirmed it!”

“I think they’re cute,” Fangmeyer whispered.

Nick gasped, “That means the book—”.

Judy slugged him in the arm. “I know, right?” she said, panting from excitement.

Nick rubbed his arm and scowled at her. She glanced at the others, then back to Nick.

“We’ve got so much to do.”

He nodded. “Let’s start making calls.” Turning to Wolford and Fangmeyer, he asked, “Who wants to run a couple errands?”

Judy stepped aside, watching Nick divvy up tasks. He spoke a few more words, and then the big wolf dashed off, keys in hand. He turned to Fangmeyer and rattled off a list of instructions, checking to ensure she understood them all.

He was clever, fast, and a bit infuriating. But when she started rambling, wild and breathless, he hadn’t looked at her like she was crazy.

He followed every word.

He understood her.

And that... made her smile.

Then, a small ache tugged at her chest. She wouldn’t be here much longer. Once the case was over, she’d fly home—back to Zootopia, back to solo investigations and cold offices and lunch alone.

But for now, she had a partner. One who actually saw her.

And she wasn’t ready to let that go just yet.

Chapter Text

Judy studied Lady Lara Lionheart as she settled into an overstuffed chair, her butler handing her a glass of lemonade, moisture clinging to its sides. She spared a glance to the others. Fangmeyer and Wolford flanked the door stiffly, while Nick leaned against the bar, draining his own lemonade in one long drag. He smacked his lips appreciatively, and Judy tried not to glare at him. Bellwether and Bogo stood on either side of Lady Lara, watching with ill-concealed curiosity.

Judy inhaled and let it out slowly. “Thank you all for joining us. I know it’s been a long week, and I promise this won’t take much of your time. We’re all eager to put this case to rest, and I think I can do that—if everyone bears with me.”

She let that hang. The silence stretched just long enough to get deliciously uncomfortable.

“The explanation begins with my luggage.”

That got her some odd looks. Good. Let’s keep everyone guessing.

“Your luggage?” Bogo rumbled. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain. My bag was never loaded onto the plane back in Zootopia. So when I got here, it looked like it had disappeared—but in reality, it was never there in the first place.”

“How does that help?” Bellwether asked.

Judy stalked across the room and gestured to the panic room. “It’s just like the safe room. When we opened it, D.I. Howl was dead. But there was no murder weapon. And no killer inside. It looked like the killer disappeared, but it turns out—they were never in there.”

Lady Lara’s voice quavered. “Just tell me who killed Charlie.”

Nick strolled forward, casual as a breeze. “The story of Charlie’s death actually begins with you. Charlie used to be vice. I don’t know if he met you first and got suspicious, or the other way around, but at some point, he opened an off-the-books investigation into your husband—and his ties to trafficking. That investigation set off a chain of events that led to Charlie’s death… and your husband’s.”

Lady Lara blinked. “I thought Leo killed himself. Out of guilt for killing Charlie.” She glanced between Judy and Nick.

Nick shook his head and pointed. “On the night of the party, Charlie was here, trying to find evidence on Leo’s criminal business. You left the window open and gave him the panic room code. He was going to bring Leo down—and maybe the two of you could finally build a life together.”

Judy picked up the thread. “But Leo found him in the panic room. Realized someone had access to the truth. He panicked. Decided to kill Charlie to protect his secrets.” She rapped a fist against the hidden panel in the bar, mimed grabbing a gun, and aimed it toward the panic room. “Of course, since Leo—by his own admission—didn’t know much about guns, he only managed to shoot a vase.”

“And we know he fired from here,” Nick added with a grin, “because I was at the other door. When I heard the shot, I ran. Out the window you’d left open for Charlie. But there was only one angle for that bullet.”

“Charlie did the logical thing,” Judy said. “He locked himself in. He was alive, he had the evidence, and once the alarm went off, help was coming.”

Nick stood beside her. “Leo probably freaked. He’d just tried to kill a cop. He ran to the beach, ditched the revolver, and made a call. Because while Leo pulled the trigger… he didn’t kill Charlie.”

“You can’t really be certain Leo didn’t kill him,” Lady Lara said quietly.

“Actually, I can,” Judy replied, holding up a bagged slug. “This .357 proves Leo only hit the vase. There was only one shot heard that night—and it wasn’t the one that killed Charlie.”

Bogo leaned in. “Meaning?”

Judy didn’t flinch. “Meaning Charlie could have been killed at any point after locking himself in. No one heard the .22. So the timeline’s wide open.”

“You’re saying he was killed before the panic room was opened?” Bellwether’s tone was flat.

“Haven’t you worked it out yet?”

“No,” Bellwether said, eyes narrowing.

“I know who killed Charlie, Sergeant. And so do you—because it’s you.”

Bellwether’s face slackened. Lara gasped. Bogo snorted. And Nick, having drifted behind her, moved in and cuffed her before she could react.

“You—you can’t prove any of this!” Bellwether shrieked, fighting the cuffs.

“I actually rather think I can,” Judy said with a frosty smile.

Nick leaned in over her shoulder. “She really is that good.”

Judy gave him a nod. “You realized killing Charlie only bought time. You needed a scapegoat. So you started planting false evidence—stuff that pointed to Charlie as being dirty. Ties to Lionheart, the trafficking ring… a neat little package.”

“Sorry about that,” Nick added. “I scooped up most of that fake trail before Judy could find it. There were no photos on Leo’s desk.”

Bellwether’s mouth opened, then closed. Judy pressed the advantage.

“You were helpful, Sergeant. Too helpful. I believe you killed Lionheart during one of your private courthouse trips. But I’m sure the coroner can confirm that.”

Bellwether twisted to Bogo. “Sir, this is madness—they’ve got no proof!”

Bogo looked to Judy. “Detective Inspector?”

“Charlie was found dead inside a locked panic room. Alone. No gun. So the only one who could’ve locked it… was Charlie. Which means—”

“He was alive when he locked the room,” Nick finished, “and had to be alive when Bellwether opened it. Even if he was dead seconds later.”

Judy nodded. “This wasn’t an impossible murder—it just happened after the police arrived. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”

Bellwether sneered.

Nick reached into his coat and pulled out a phone in an evidence bag. “Leo’s phone. Let’s see… calls to his wife, the caterers, DJ… huh. One marked ‘Smellwether.’ A little rude.”

He pressed a button. Bellwether’s phone began ringing in her pocket. Judy pulled it free and held it up.

“Incoming call from ‘Lion-fart,’” she said brightly. “Really, Sergeant. Maybe work on professional boundaries.”

Nick grinned. “I wonder what you two discussed on your very incriminating call.”

“Why would I kill Charlie?” Bellwether snapped. “It doesn’t make sense!”

“That’s easy,” Judy said. “Because of the book.”

Bogo frowned. “The book Charlie had was a travel guide. Nothing special.”

“Was it?” Judy held it up. “The gun wasn’t the gun. The bullet wasn’t the bullet. So I wondered… what if the book wasn’t the book?”

She nodded. Nick stepped to a shelf, pulled out a nearly identical volume, and handed it over.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Judy said, flipping it open. “This ledger contains details of shipments, payments, and records—including payments to one ‘D. Bellwether.’ And look at this… a fingerprint in blood. Likely Charlie’s.”

Bellwether gawked. “How did you—”

“It was the only book on the shelf with no title on the spine,” Nick said. “Clever, but not clever enough.”

He tilted his head. “Still don’t get why you did all this.”

Bellwether stared at the floor, then looked up—cold and empty. “Do you know how long I waited to be Inspector here? How many times I got passed over? Always for predators. Even burnouts like Charlie. I figured—why not take the money? I’d cover my tracks, ride it out. I had boxes ready to pin it on Wolford or Fangmeyer. Charlie was just a last-minute problem. I didn’t think he’d ever get his act together.”

Lady Lara swayed to her feet, voice faltering, but she turned toward Judy with a brittle smile. “Thank you, Detective. It won’t bring him back, but it’s a comfort that Charlie will get justice.” She looked down at Bellwether, then whipped toward Bogo. “Commissioner, I feel faint, and so I will retire for the evening. If you would do me a kindness and get that thing out of my house, I would be in your debt.”

With that, the lioness strode from the room, her imperious manner marred only slightly by the tears flowing freely down her face.

Bogo jerked his head. Wolford and Fangmeyer stepped forward silently, escorting the disgraced sergeant from the estate. Then he turned toward Judy and Nick, studying them both for a long moment before exhaling and dragging a hoof across his muzzle.

“Good job, detectives. And thank you.” He nodded, solemn and tired. Then, turning to leave, he muttered, “Full debriefing—one hour. I need to make some calls and ruin about a dozen mammals’ nights.”

Judy gave a crisp nod. Nick flicked a two-finger salute at Bogo’s retreating back.

When the room was finally quiet, Nick turned to her with that half-lidded, troublemaker smile. It was still warm, but there was something a little sad behind it.

She knew that look. The case was over. And maybe that meant they were too. Just two detectives from different cities who’d worked a case and would now go their separate ways. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but finally managed:

“So… what now?”

Nick leaned in, close enough for her to catch the scent of citrus and salt on his fur. “I think the only thing left is something you’ll really like—paperwork,” he said with a saucy wink, offering his arm like they were heading to a ballroom instead of into an incident report.

She laughed, full and unguarded. “Is it too early to say I love you?”

He blinked, then grinned. “Not at all. I have that effect.”

She nudged him as they turned for the door. “I’m sure. When we get back to the station, put on the kettle. I’ve got a feeling this is going to be one heck of a report—and I’m still not switching to coffee.”

“You certainly know how to kill the romance, Carrots.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped past him. “Please. You know you love me.”

“Do I know that?” he called after her. “I’ll concede I like you. But that’s it.”

She paused and struck a pose at the threshold—flirty, dramatic, completely impossible not to smile at. They managed to keep it together for a beat… before both cracked up and stepped out into the warm island night, side by side.

Chapter Text

Judy woke to the sound of gulls and the sun creeping across the ceiling of the shack. She blinked, listening. No voices. No snoring fox.

She stretched under the sheet, then reached instinctively for her phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. She’d hoped—just a little—that Nick might show up again like he had before, toting a bag full of takeout and that smug grin. But the place was quiet save for the sound of waves lapping the beach. She frowned, then chided herself. It was ridiculous to wonder where he was. When Fangmeyer had driven her home, he’d still been stuck on the phone with his superiors in Republic City.

They’d waved goodbye, and he’d been nodding along to the torrent of words coming from his phone, but they’d made eye contact and held it. Not a word was said, but she thought she’d see him that night. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but when she’d drifted to sleep, her ears were perked for the sound of a vehicle arriving outside her door. She smirked a little at how ridiculous she was being. But maybe he’d surprise her with breakfast. Now she was definitely being ridiculous. Still… she got dressed quicker than usual, just in case.

A moment later, the low thrum of an engine sent her ears twitching. She darted to the porch and scanned the road. Her heart gave a hopeful jump—then promptly dropped when she saw the jeep. And the tigress at the wheel.

The big cat leaned out and waved. Judy returned the wave and frowned as her phone chimed. A notification blinked: Your return flight to Zootopia departs at 10:40 AM. She sighed. Her time on St. Mare was officially over.

As she tucked the phone away, her eyes drifted to the novelty flower pot. The plastic flower in it had tipped slightly. She scowled. Plastic. Gross.

A flicker of motion surprised her—a tiny lizard poked its head out of the pot, the legs of a bug sticking out of its mouth. It stared at her for a moment before swallowing its meal and skittering away. In doing so, it knocked the flower out completely.

As Judy stooped to fix it, something inside the pot caught her eye—a bright blue flash drive with the ZPD logo emblazoned on the side. She had about a dozen of these in her desk back in Zootopia. Flipping it over, she spotted the initials “C.H.” inked on the bottom. This had to be Charlie’s. It probably contained his files.

I bet a certain fox will be happy to have this.

“Something up, Chief?” Fangmeyer called from the open window of the jeep.

Judy waggled the drive and trotted down the stairs. “Just a cherry on top. Let’s get out of here.”

When they entered the station, Wolford turned from the boxes he was filling with paperwork. He nodded and gestured to a pair of cups on the table. “Tea for you. Coffee for him.” He nodded toward the holding cells.

Judy raised a brow. “Please don’t tell me you arrested him again.”

“It was tempting. But no. Just needed somewhere to sleep.” Wolford smirked. “Poor guy was on the phone all night—liaising with the Gendarmerie, Interpol, customs… it’s gonna be a big takedown. Major ring. Guess it started here.”

He clapped her shoulder. “He didn’t want to leave before seeing you.”

Judy smiled, warmth blooming in her chest as she headed deeper into the station.

Nick lay curled on the cot, one foot hanging over the side, snoring lightly. Judy stood outside the cell for a moment, tea in paw.

She was about to knock when he sniffed and mumbled, “Mmm. Who goes there?”

She grinned. “Just a good Samaritan. I’ve got a steaming hot cup of extremely black coffee. Wanted to see if anyone wanted it before it ate through the cup.”

He cracked one eye open. “I suppose I could take it off your paws…” A paw reached toward her almost plaintively.

She pirouetted away at the last second, leaving him swiping at air. He pushed himself upright and gave her a baleful look.

“The thing is,” she teased, “you didn’t even say please or thank you. Such bad manners. I’m not entirely convinced you deserve a cup of coffee from—Cafe Gideon—are they any good?” From the way his mouth fell open and he started panting slightly, she figured they were.

“Give me the cup, rabbit.”

He loomed over her, and she sank into a corner of the cell, shaking her head and biting her bottom lip to keep from smiling.

“What’s the big, bad fox going to do if I don’t?” she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. Paws came up, fingers waggling, smile mischievous.

“I’m going to tickle you until you release the hostage.”

She shook her head furiously—then his paws landed. She squeaked and swatted at him, laughing.

A throat cleared.

Wolford and Fangmeyer stood at the entrance to the cells.

Fangmeyer smacked Wolford’s shoulder. “Spoilsport. It was just getting good.”

The big wolf watched impassively. “Sorry to interrupt… whatever this is, but Bogo just called. He’s on his way over. Wants to speak with you. If you’re not out there in five minutes, I’m going to get the hose.”

Judy gasped, then seriously considered how much she could get done in five minutes. She flushed at the thought, shoved the coffee into Nick’s paws, and went to retrieve her tea.

Wolford harrumphed and left, Fangmeyer trailing.

Nick sipped his coffee, then splashed water on his face at the sink. “I wonder what Commissioner Buffalo Butt wants?”

“Probably something about the case.” She handed him the flash drive. “I found this at the shack—Charlie’s files on Lionheart, maybe. Might help you tear down that ring.”

“Thanks, Carrots—I mean, Judy.”

He stared at the drive. Her paw still covered his. When she let go, it felt final.

“I’ve got a flight. Today. Back home,” she said quickly. “No reason to stay here. I’m sure Zootopia is falling apart without me. True story—I went to one of my sister’s weddings once, and there was an eleven percent spike in muggings.”

He cut her off gently. “It’s not that far, you know.”

“Zootopia? It’s, like, five time zones. I switched planes four times.”

“I meant between Zootopia and Republic City. Couple hours, maybe. When we’re both back, we could meet in the middle.”

Her ears stood straight. She grinned before she could stop herself.

Fangmeyer came pounding down the hall. “Inspector, Sergeant—Wolford wasn’t kidding. He went and got the—”

A blast of water cut her off.

Judy and Nick bolted.

“Commissioner, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this,” Judy said, dripping and resisting the urge to wring out her ears. Wolford had proved alarmingly accurate with the hose, and they’d barely escaped into the office—nearly colliding with Bogo in the process.

The Commissioner stared down at them, stone-faced. Then, with a tiny shrug, he said, “Don’t care.” He lowered himself onto a desk, which groaned under his weight. “I have news for you, Detective Inspector Hopps.”

Judy opened her mouth, but her phone chimed first—an alert for her flight. She glanced at Nick. She didn’t even have his number. Then back to Bogo. “Do you want to tell me on the road, sir? I have a flight to make.”

“You won’t need the flight,” Bogo said flatly. “You’ve been reassigned to St. Mare. Permanently. We’re still short a D.I., and you’ve proven... adaptable. It’s a sensible reallocation of resources.”

She blinked. “Permanently? My superintendent signed off on this?”

“He did,” Bogo replied. “Superintendent Higgins seemed confident the remaining detectives could pick up the slack.”

“But I’m the best detective in the ZPD!”

“He agreed,” Bogo said. “But he mentioned something about multiple explosions during your investigations and decided to, quote, ‘take his chances without you.’”

Nick leaned toward her, whispering, “Explosions?”

“Most weren’t my fault,” she muttered back.

“Commissioner,” she said louder, “I don’t even have clothes.”

“That,” Bogo said, “I can help with. Clawhauser!”

There was a crash, and Clawhauser burst in, panting and triumphant, hauling a carrot-shaped roller bag. “Just picked this up for you, Inspector!”

Judy stared at the bag. Then slowly turned to face Nick, who was doubled over laughing.

“Oh, that’s just delightful,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Thank you for this, Carrots. I will cherish this moment forever.”

“And you,” Bogo added, turning to Nick. “You’re staying too. We’re short a sergeant.”

Nick’s jaw dropped. “You can’t just—”

“Your superiors weren’t eager to give you up,” Bogo said. “It took the personal intervention of the mayor to make them see reason. Apparently, she’s quite invested in your long-term placement.”

Judy arched a brow. “Sensible reallocation, huh? So why does the mayor care about you at all?”

Nick mumbled something under his breath.

“Wait—your mother’s the mayor?” Judy blinked. “Seriously?”

“It’s a part-time position,” Nick said with a groan. “I was gonna ease you into that.”

“Any other bombshells you want to drop on me while we’re at it?”

Wolford and Fangmeyer tried—and failed—to hide their grins. Bogo turned to them with a growl. “Go patrol. Let these two settle in.”

As they scattered, Bogo paused at the doorway. “Welcome to paradise,” he said, and strode out.

Judy turned to Nick, still holding her tea.

“Well,” she said, “I guess we’ll need to finish that puzzle after all.”

Nick leaned against the wall beside her, still reeling but smiling. “I guess we will. So what now, boss? We’ve solved a murder, broken up a smuggling ring. Any thoughts on what to do for an encore?”

Judy raised her cup. “I’m sure we’ll find something. Do you have mysterious disappearances? Urban legends?”

He clinked his cup against hers. “Not that I’m aware of. I’ll see what I can dig up.”

She swung her bag onto her shoulder and sauntered toward the door.

“Well, that can wait. We’ve got more pressing matters.”

Nick hurried after her. “I hope its not more paperwork, I’ve had my fill.”

She smiled. “Your mother. You’re introducing us.”

He tripped behind her. She laughed. The door swung open, and they stepped into the sun. Side by side.