For some hideous reason, the Zootopia coroner holds Judy's inquest at the Natural History Museum, still under renovation. Chief Bogo tells Nick not to sweat it— they most likely chose the location to make a good backdrop for the TV coverage.
"Don't let the cameras worry you," says Bogo. "They want to see you cry, they want to see you get angry. Play it cool and you'll make her proud."
Nick has hired a lawyer for the inquest, even though he doesn't have to testify. "Most mammals don't understand the point of the jury at these sorts of things," says Dan Lupino, a grizzled timber wolf approaching seventy. "They're not here to find you guilty. They're deciding whether the DA should pursue criminal charges. In your case, your defense is rock solid— they found traces of Night Howler bullets on your clothes. After the hospitals started running toxicology tests, they traced the bullets to Bellwether. Her thugs confessed to shooting you and about thirty other predators. You've got no culpability."
At 3pm, the jury announces that they've reached their verdict. Nick wears a rented suit with his favorite purple striped tie. He maintains a totally blank face, casting his eyes far away from the cameras. As the jury enters the lobby of the museum and sits on the folding chairs, Lupino grabs his paw and holds it tight.
"Are you prepared to submit your verdict?" The hyena coroner pushes her glasses up and stares at Nick. Half the cameras in the room swing toward the foreman, and the other half swing toward Nick. He looks off into space.
"Yes." The beaver foreman unfolds a piece of paper. "We find that Judith Hopps died as the result of blunt force trauma caused by fox teeth. We find that Nicholas Piberius Wilde was responsible…"
Dozens of flashbulbs erupt in Nick's face. It takes all his strength to keep staring into space, to keep from shoving the photographers over and smashing their cameras. Lupino squeezes his paw tighter.
"...while under the influence of a serum made from Night Howler pedals." The beaver sits.
"Thank you. Your verdict will be so recorded." The coroner shuffles her papers for what feels like ages, and then she speaks into the mic at the dais. "Based on the evidence presented and the conclusions of the jury, our office does not recommend charges against Mr. Wilde, as he did not expose himself to Night Howler serum out of his own free will. However…"
Every journalist in the room leans forward (except for the reporter from the Daily Sloth Branch, who is still typing out the jury's verdict on her phone).
"...given the toxic nature of the substance Mr. Wilde and Ms. Hopps were transporting to the police, our office hopes that Mr. Wilde would have taken better precautions. In his written statement, he claims that he and Ms. Hopps attempted to switch the Night Howler bullets in Ms. Bellwether's firearm with blueberries. A worthy attempt at defusing a dangerous situation, or a good story, at least. But given Mr. Wilde's lengthy criminal history, we have serious doubts that his word can be trusted. We should not rule out further charges."
Lupino stands: "This speculation is immaterial. I ask the office that it be removed from the record."
The room buzzes. Nick closes his eyes and grits his teeth.
"Our office will honor Mr. Lupino's request." The coroner drinks from a water bottle. "And we plan to file our full report within a week. Adjourned."
The journalists pivot from the coroner to Nick. "My client does not wish to make a statement," says Lupino. He and Bogo shield Nick as they hurry him out of the lobby, pushing open the doors of the main entrance only to discover another mob of journalists waiting for them on the steps. Nick pulls his jacket over his head and hides his face.
"Nick! Nick!," come a thousand voices. "What was going through your head when you killed her? How long did she take to die? What's your favorite Gazelle album?"
A ZuberXL waits at the street, its engine running. "We will take no questions!" shouts Lupino as Bogo tosses Nick into the back seat. The wolf and Cape buffalo squeeze in next to him and the black sedan speeds off.
"Oohf, that was rough," pants Lupino. "But you handled it like a champ. They never got to you. That's the only to get through it."
Nick takes off his jacket, loosens his tie, and stares at the strange moving objects passing outside the window, letting his eyes unfocus.
"Nick," Chief Bogo appears to be fighting back tears. "We all miss her. You're not going through this alone."
That's not true. Bogo wasn't called untrustworthy in front of the entire Zootopian media. Bogo didn't lose his partner, his friend, his…
Lupino has the right idea. Nick won't let any of this get to him. That strategy has worked up until now and it's going to keep working.
Nick's memories grow hazy after the Zuber ride. He isn't sure where he goes, who he meets, or where he sleeps. Nothing comes into focus until he finds himself curled up in a fetal position in the passenger seat of Finnick's van.
"'Bout time you showed up!" Finnick blows cigarette smoke in his face. "Why've you been hiding from me? I can't run this thing by myself!"
Nick sits up and stretches. "You know, I haven't really thought about pawpsicles lately."
"That's right. You're too busy going off getting wasted."
"And you would know this because?"
Finnick puts out his cigarette in the ashtray and tosses it out the window. "Because I know you. Anytime it gets too real, you scurry away like a little mouse. Then you come back all worn out and broke and I gotta drive you down to the VD clinic. I worry 'bout you."
Nick waves him away. "I've run my life pretty well for the past three decades. Well, I've had a few stints in jail here and there, but hasn't everyone?"
"Your girl's dead, Nick. I know it's tough! Stay with me and take it easy for a while. I'll watch you like my little brother."
Nick laughs at the thought of Finnick as his older brother. "That's mighty generous of you, Finn. But honestly, my life couldn't be better." He takes a sip from his flask. "The sun is out, the air is warm, and except for the aforementioned maladies I've always maintained good health."
"You been thinking 'bout her much?"
"Of course not. Who are you talking about?"
"Juddy Hopps. The bunny who hustled you."
His head becomes very heavy for some reason, and he rests it on the dashboard. "I got some bad news, Finn. She's gone."
"I know. I just told you!"
Nick sighs. "She was a good cop. She made me want to be a good cop. Who can believe it? I don't believe it. Do you?"
"That's your problem right there, Nick. You get drunk and do your little word tricks and you just can't deal. She's dead. Cry about her. Miss her. And then we'll get us some jumbo pops."
"There's a teensy bit more to it than that." Nick takes another sip and sprawls out in the seat. "Last time I checked, everyone thinks I murdered her."
"Well you did, Nick! The Night Howlers made you do it but you still did!"
Nick pins Finnick to the seat with his paw. "I did not kill her. And I can prove it."
"How you gonna do that?"
"I was there! I took the bullet out, gave it to Judy, and she put in three blueberries. This fox is innocent, my friend. This fox is not a savage beast roaming the urban jungles in search of prey. This fox was set up!"
"You can't prove that. They think you're lying."
"Sorry, not lying. Why would Judy leave a bullet in the magazine? She didn't want Bellwether to get ahold of those. She didn't want to die. Somebody murdered her and pinned it on me. It's a case of the old post hoc ergo propter hoc. How do you like them word tricks?"
"Then why'd you black out?"
"Maybe blueberries aren't to my taste." He presses his paws together. "Judy doesn't make mistakes like that, Finn. She's too good."
"Was."
Nick scowls. "Aren't you a mother's little angel."
Finnick spits out the window. "I'm your friend whether you like it or not! And you better be grateful you didn't get any time inside!"
"You know," Nick leans his elbow on the door, "that's possibly the most cynical thing I've heard all day. That I should be grateful I didn't get time for losing someone who truly trusted me. Hoo boy."
He jumps out of the van.
"Just keeping it real, Nick!"
"Real? Alright, let's talk about reality. Reality is that one day you're gonna see ''Nick Wilde Was Framed' on every newspaper and magazine in Zootopia. Reality is that I'm not a drunk and I can more than manage the steady flow of intoxicating substances into my body. Reality is that I'm a grifter, a hustler, a confox, a cheat at cards, and a sore loser. But I am never a wishful thinker. Good day, Finnick."
He pushes the door shut with a two-fingered touch and strolls down the sidewalk with a grin. But once Finnick's van is out of sight, the smile droops and Nick's tail drags on the concrete.
There has to be some evidence he can dig up that proves he didn't do it. They say the bite marks on her carcass matched his dental records, but they also say the trauma left her unrecognizable. It could have been any passing fox. Maybe blueberry allergies that induce blackouts are a real thing. Maybe...
A voice comes from a rarely explored corner of Nick's mind: Even if you gather all the right evidence, and even if you prove you didn't kill her, none of that can bring her back.
He stops on the sidewalk and a gnu almost trips over his tail. Nick wants to say something snarky to himself, something like "Did you remember your happy pills this morning?" but he can't.
The voice is right. Finnick is right. It's time to be real— Judy is gone for good.
"What can I do about it?" Nick says out loud to no one in particular. Nothing, is his answer. Just go on living without her. Today, tomorrow, and the day after that.
It feels like he's been punched in the stomach.
