Here's chapter 3! It's a bit longer than the other two, as there's a lot to cover in this chapter.

Thanks again to YFWE for beta reading.


III

Vaughn

Judy and Nick weren't sure if Rufus Vaughn would be working on Wednesday, since he and Pavar were both working around midnight the night before. Evening was nearing when they reached the site on Crevasse Street; some of the streetlamps were already turned on.

This time, they noted the truck on the road, the only vehicle present on the scene. The compartment was open, lining up with Pavar's assertion that he was unloading the truck when he was shot.

On the side of the compartment was the logo of Aardvark Delivery, the company Pavar likely worked for. The logo consisted of two bright green arrows arcing over and under a large wall, surrounding the word 'Aardvark,' also printed in bright green. The top arrow pointed from right to left, while the bottom arrow pointed from left to right. The wall, which also doubled as the stem of the 'd' in 'Aardvark,' was presumably the climate wall that separated Sahara Square and Tundratown, since the characters to the left were topped with sand, while a layer of snow rested on the characters to the right.

Nick peered into the compartment, scanning through it in case the crew missed anything inside during their search of the crime scene that morning. Inside were three cardboard boxes—the labels on the stickers meant nothing to him, as they contained nothing but a series of seemingly random numbers, along with an address, which likely stated the destination.

"I don't know if we need those," said Nick. "We can open them if you'd like, if you think what's inside might be important."

Judy declined. "It's probably best we leave the scene uninterrupted until further notice," she explained. "I believe that it's safe to say Mr. Pavar worked for Aardvark Delivery. That would mean our other fox also works for this company."

"Both of them were using this one truck last night," mentioned Nick. "I'm not sure where Rufus could have gone without it."

"He can run," suggested Judy.

Nick shrugged. "Eh."

If the name and logo of the company didn't already give it away, it took Judy no more than thirty seconds of internet searches to learn that Aardvark Delivery was a company headquartered in Sahara Square. Upon further research, however, Judy discovered that the company also hosted two warehouses outside its host district: one in west Savanna Central, and one in east Tundratown.

The Tundratown warehouse looked promising. Perhaps they could start their search there, and if he didn't show up, then they could continue their search in the morning. Judy ran one last time around the truck, jotting down the license plate number, and then they were off to the warehouse.

Night had already fallen when they reached the building. The multitude of vehicles with the Aardvark Delivery logo emblazoned on their sides helped to confirm their location.

Judy had almost missed it; the lack of adequate lighting in the parking lot made it difficult for her to spot the logo, even though the print was so large. She even suspected that this might be a prime location for criminal activity at night, with the lack of streetlights and the warehouse, which was undoubtedly filled with valuables.

She chose a parking spot that was directly under a lamp, for the sake of reducing the chances of any unexpected criminal activity around the area. Surely, the visibility of a police cruiser would help to deter any mammals looking to brew trouble.

A fox trotted out of the building, wearing a black polo shirt that bore only the arrow in the logo. He carried a smoothie in one paw, swinging a set of keys in the other.

Nick and Judy suspected that he must be the one. They exchanged glances and then went to approach him.

He noticed the cop duo well before they reached him. Upon seeing the two in police uniform, he froze momentarily but then continued on his way.

Judy reached him by the time he was at his car. "Hello," she greeted, approaching the fox. "Your name is Rufus Vaughn, correct? Tom told us about you."

The fox nodded and leaned to the left, closely observing Nick. "I didn't know they hired foxes now," he muttered.

"Less than a year on the job," said Nick, having barely heard the other fox's remark.

Rufus chuckled. "And Tom's okay? How's he been doing?"

"He's afraid of coming out of his house now."

Rufus remained seemingly laid back. "Eh, he'll pull through."

Someone else left the warehouse; a dhole, also wearing the same black polo shirt with the Aardvark logo. It was strange to see a dhole in Tundratown; ideally, she would be working at the warehouse in Savanna Central.

"Hey, Rufus!" she called out once she was close enough. "Not running into legal issues, are you? You know, Mr. Myrdal won't be too happy if you get in trouble with the police."

Rufus closed his eyes and sighed, seeming somewhat exasperated. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to the cops before turning around to address the dhole.

"No, everything's fine," he hollered back,. "They just want to know about Tom. Go home. I need to finish this!"

He turned his attention back to Judy and Nick. "Don't mind her," he said, pointing back in the direction of the dhole. "Anyway, go on." He leaned back against his car, his arms crossed.

A few seconds of silence passed before either of them spoke. "Tom told us you two were together last night when the attack happened, right?" continued Judy. She stood with a notepad and a pen, prepared to jot down anything important that the fox may bring attention to.

Rufus nodded again and set his smoothie on top of his car. "Yep. We work together most of the time. I haven't had much to do today without him, since I can't haul boxes by myself."

"Then describe last night's attack from your view. What you did, what you were thinking, and anything interesting you might have seen when it was going on."

"Oh, well, it did get scary at times," said Rufus. "I was sitting in the back of the truck while Tom was hauling the packages for our last delivery of the night. He came down to get the last few boxes, and that's about when the whole thing started. I didn't see him get shot, but I did hear him going wild."

"So what had you scared?" asked Nick.

"Oh, basically everything. I saw a fight between two bears, and I saw one get literally knocked out in one swipe." He used his paws to help them visualize the act, allowing one to go limp on the hood of his car. "I didn't want to become a target. I didn't exactly know they were Night Howlers until I read the news this morning, but what also had me afraid was that everyone else around me was going crazy. If they were getting it, then I could too, so I just pulled the doors shut and waited, so no one would get to me."

"What about Tom?"

Rufus paused for a few seconds, then continued. "I didn't see him after watching the fight go down. I just waited for all the noise to go away, and then when I thought it was safe to go, I bailed. Didn't look back for anyone, though I might have seen one mammal that wasn't Tom clawing at a door. I actually haven't heard from him since last night, so it is nice to know he's doing fine today."

It was clear to the officers that the fox's nonchalance did not line up with the way he had described everything from Tuesday night. It had been less than 24 hours, and it only seemed like he half-cared about his coworker.

"You seem awfully casual about… well, everything, really," observed Nick. "It's just that you'd normally expect someone to be a bit more unstable after seeing his friend get shot the previous night."

Rufus opened the door to his car and picked up his smoothie. "I get around. I've seen a lot."

Nick shrugged. "I can relate to that."

"Anyway, are we done?" Rufus rolled down the window and dropped his keys on the seat.

"No," interrupted Judy. "I still have something to ask."

Rufus yawned and closed the door to his car. "Okay. Fire away, then. Whatever you need to know."

"This question is a bit of a long shot, but do you have any connection to Ace Wolfburne or the Royals hockey organization?" asked Judy.

"Don't know much about them. I know he got hurt last night and that his team was knocked out, but I'm not really a fan of the Royals. I'm a Legends fan, but they don't have to play the first round, so I haven't been been watching much hockey," explained Rufus. "Huh. North Stars and Cascades are facing off right now…"

"Stay on topic," Judy snapped.

"Right. I've made a couple of deliveries to the Royals' arena, but that's the extent of my connection to that team. Last one was… what, maybe in January. It was mostly just merchandise. Nothing really weird."

"Okay," said Judy, having grown tired of the fox's tendency to run off the topic at hand. "I think that's enough. Thank you for your time, Mr. Vaughn."

He opened the door again and this time took a seat in his car, starting the engine. "No biggie," he replied over the low humming.

They waited for Rufus to pull out of his parking spot before going themselves.

"That guy could probably go on and on and on, if you give him that chance," said Nick as they strolled back to their car. "Now, question is, are we done for tonight?"

"Fine," said Judy. "We've already gotten so much done today. I'll take us back to headquarters."

They were out of the parking lot when another mammal exited the building. Nick could not tell what species he or she was—he could only see movement at the front of the warehouse. But that didn't matter, since the chance of any significant connection to the case was unlikely.

Nick yawned; Judy was correct in presuming that it was a long day. In less than 24 hours since the incident, they had already gathered details on how the attack went down, in synthesizing the views of two mammals who were on the site at the time of the attack.

But he also knew that it wasn't complete. They weren't sure where they would go tomorrow; perhaps, if it fit inside their time window, they could revisit Tom or Rufus. While there certainly wasn't enough discovered to lead them to a culprit, it was progress.


Kit Marbury didn't want anyone to see him enter. He scanned the area around him on the off-chance that a media reporter or someone who recognized him just happened to be passing by. He could never be too careful—if he needed to, he would check a hundred times before entering.

Nobody around him was wearing or carrying anything that signified to him that they were a reporter. He noted the provincial business of Savanna Central continuing just on the other side of the street, and he briefly wished that he could be there.

That wasn't going to happen, though—he made a promise, and failing to come through with it could jeopardize his business. The consequences if he didn't fulfill his side of the promise, would be detrimental not only to him, but also to hundreds of other mammals.

A door flew open, forcing him to jump to the side so the glass would not slam into him. A rhino wearing a ZPD uniform stepped out of the building, glanced at Marbury for a split second, and then continued toward the parking lot.

For a second, Marbury considered turning back. The sharp glare from the rhino left him disconcerted—was that rhino irate, or was that just how they always looked? He didn't know, nor did he want to find out.

He slipped into the building through the revolving doors. At the front desk, he found a fat cheetah indulging on a box of donuts, the emblem of the ZPD emblazoned on the pillar behind him. The nametag on his uniform read 'CLAWHAUSER.' He grimaced; this was who they put in this position?

"I requested a meeting with the chief," he said before Clawhauser could even see him.

Clawhauser's tail dropped. "Uh… name?" he asked.

"Kit Marbury."

Clawhauser turned to the phone. "Chief, I have Kit Marbury down here who says he requested a meeting with you," he said. "Is that right?"

The chief's flat voice returned through the speaker. "Send him up."

The response was immediate. Marbury thought that the chief would be busy then, and that he would have to wait for several awkward moments before a response. He shrugged when Clawhauser gave him a strange look.

"Okay, I guess. Third floor, Chief Bogo," said Clawhauser. "It's all the way down."

Marbury nodded and climbed the stairs up to the chief's office. It was the room farthest from the stairs, from which he was able to peer over the railing and observe all the activity in the foyer. There was nothing particularly interesting to see down there, aside from a polar bear cop escorting a muzzled tiger.

He turned to the door, seeing the words 'CHIEF BOGO' neatly printed in gold letters on the frosted glass. Sighing, he tapped the glass lightly, just light enough that it would have to be silent inside the room for anyone to hear it. He was visibly shaking; he knew what the chief was like, but he was more afraid of denial than the actual upcoming talk.

The doorknob clicked, and in the doorway stood the water buffalo, chief of police, standing about half a foot taller than Marbury. Size didn't do much in the way of unsettling the league commissioner; he already had experience in dealing with players who were much larger than the chief. Rather, what daunted him was the fact that he was standing one-on-one with the chief of police.

"Ah yes, come in," said the chief. "This had better be good."

Marbury stepped inside, seeing the single chair set in front of Bogo's desk. His main objective, outside of getting his point across, was to avoid angering the chief.

The polar bear sat down, and Bogo took the seat across from the desk, where several papers had been torn apart.

"So," started Bogo, "what seems to concern you?"

Marbury sighed and began speaking. "Well, with all the fuss going around the league about the attacks two nights ago…" he trailed off, believing for a moment that Bogo was not listening.

The chief adjusted his glasses and continued scribbling on one of the papers. "Yes, I'm well aware of Wolfburne's current state."

A pause. Marbury wasn't sure if it was his turn to talk; in fact, he hadn't expected Bogo to speak when he did.

"Uh… yeah. Well, the guys voted to run the league through to the end of the playoffs, but I've got a few on my back who are just paranoid about the players' safety."

The chief looked up at Marbury before setting most of his attention back to the paperwork. "And?"

"I'm speaking here because of their request. They want more security in the upcoming games. In and around arenas—two hours before and after each game, to quote them exactly as they put it," said Marbury.

Bogo stopped scribbling and set the pen down on the desk. He looked back up at Marbury and took off his glasses, folding them and setting them down on the desk. He leaned forward, and despite the distance the desk put between him and the polar bear, Marbury still felt that he was encroaching on his space.

"Tell me again, how many teams are in your league?" asked Bogo.

Marbury hesitated before answering. "14."

"And the first round concluded just yesterday; how many games are left to be played in this season?"

It took several seconds for Marbury to do the math. With eight teams remaining, that meant three more rounds, giving a total of seven matchups. Best four games out of seven for each matchup.

"At least 28, at most 49," said Marbury.

"Two more questions. How long is it until the end of your tournament?"

"Six weeks."

"And how many games, on a given night, are happening at the same time?"

Marbury gulped. "Two."

Bogo stood up and placed the paperwork in a folder, which he stashed in a bookshelf. "14 teams. It's not the regular season—you know that—but that's 14 arenas you have to keep secure through a period of around six or seven months every year."

"But they're all active at different times," mentioned Marbury.

"It doesn't matter." The chief seated himself and leaned back, giving Marbury some room to breathe. "I think you're already well-equipped enough to take on this matter by yourself. You just need to know how to run your league."

Marbury was puzzled; what did the chief mean? Surely he was adequate to run the league himself. Since he took over, the conflict within the league had hit a low point, so what was it that the chief saw?

"What do you mean?" inquired Marbury. "I've been in this post for—"

"Yes, five years. But I'm afraid you've had it easy during your tenure."

The polar bear shrugged. "Maybe," he said, "but I think, even with that, I can hold the league together just fine."

"Well, if you can run your league just fine, then why did you come to me in the first place?"

Marbury didn't know how to respond. Bogo had caught him in the wrong somewhere, but he wasn't sure where he messed up. Was the problem with his ability to run the league, or was it with the fact that he needed help?

He had to admit that the chief was right. If he could handle the league's troubles on his own, then he wouldn't have come in the first place.

For safety, he assumed the problem was in how he was running the league. "Okay," he said, "maybe I can't."

"No, no, you said you can. Be on your way if you must." Bogo reached for the phone and picked it up, as if he were ready to move to whatever was next in his work.

"But…" Marbury sighed. "I really can't. Sincere, this time."

Bogo nodded and set the phone back down. "Well, then, you fessed up, although somewhat unconvincingly. If last year told us anything, it's that your administration of the league could be potentially disastrous if something like that happens again. If that's why you came to me, then that's good. Although I do know you came to me to request more officers."

Marbury shrugged. Now that he thought of it, last year's suspension of the tournament was much more hectic than it should have been. Although it was probably the best thing to do in the long run, the road they took that led to that decision was chaotic. It took two weeks of arguing back and forth along with endless complaints from the owners and coaches to finally shut down the league for the postseason.

He remembered that Theo Judson's speeches were especially annoying to listen to. At one point, during a meeting in early April just before the tournament began, Marbury had completely zoned out while listening to Judson's address on player safety and how canceling the league and ordering the players to stay home until the trouble subsided would help to minimize the danger the Night Howler scandal posed against the league.

Everything had been laid out for Judson to advocate for the cancellation of the tournament, from the Night Howler attacks to the growing distrust among the players to even the disorder surrounding the managers and owners. Judson had essentially taken control of the league for six weeks, while Marbury did nothing but adhere to every move for which the Royals owner called.

But as much as it displeased him to know that he wasn't controlling his league, he knew that it worked perfectly. Given that, then maybe Judson was right about this year's incident. Maybe the best option was to just shut down right then, disregarding the fact that the teams, this time, had voted in favor of finishing the tournament.

That, however, would be detrimental to his public image. There was no way he would be able to administer a league like the ZHL if everyone—the players and the fans, mostly—hated him.

They had voted to continue. That news had already been released, so there was no way he could reverse it now.

"First off," Bogo began, "consider the position in the hierarchy that you currently hold. Last I checked, it's chief executive officer, but you haven't been acting like one. Not like the ones that came before, the ones who were tested more than you."

"I figure you have some experience in a similar position, Chief."

It was a valid point to bring up, and Marbury had done so hoping that their similar positions within their respective organizations could help them to connect with each other.

"Oh, sure, I do. I'd tell you what I've learned from being chief, but the ZPD and the ZHL are different entities. I don't mean any offense, but the ZPD is a necessity. The ZHL is an entertainment source. Put simply, the city can survive without the ZHL. Wouldn't be such a happy place for some mammals, but the city can survive without the ZHL."

"True," admitted Marbury. "So they run differently because of their differing roles in the city's well-being."

"You can put it like that. Still, my point stands. Overall, I think you just need to learn to control your league. You have so much more in terms of resources than your predecessors had," said Bogo. "The league's not as authoritative as the ZPD, but by no means can you become a figurehead."

"So you think I should have let the tournament continue, or not?"

"That's up for your judgment," said Bogo. "But if you do go through with their decision, then I'll help you. I won't give you any more officers, but I have designated two of mine to investigate Wolfburne's side of the case. Thought you ought to know that I'm not ignoring him. He is among the list of victims, after all."

Given the general atmosphere of the conversation, Marbury was not disappointed that Bogo wasn't going to grant his original request. However, it was a pleasant surprise when he heard that the chief was going to help in a different way, and it was a bonus to learn that the police were not disregarding Wolfburne.

"Thank you, Chief."

The league commissioner stood up and strolled to the door, assuming that the meeting was over. He had gotten what he wanted, even though help had come in a different form, and it seemed that Bogo was done with him. He had forgotten to ask if they were done, but Bogo didn't call for him to sit back down.

"Marbury," said Bogo.

"Yes?" Marbury took his paw off the handle.

"Next time something like this happens to your league," Bogo glared at the polar bear and pointed at him, "I'm watching you. I want to see you take action."

Marbury sighed and nodded. "Okay. I'll see how far I get."

"Good. Now go."

This time, he didn't hesitate to pull the door open and shut it behind him, knowing now that he had been officially dismissed. He stood outside the chief's office with his head down, contemplating.

Thinking back once again to the first Night Howler scandal, it was clear that Marbury had become a figurehead. In the few months during which the Night Howler scandal posed a serious threat to the league, every single move came through Judson's will, not his.

Perhaps, at the meeting on Wednesday morning, Judson had tried his hand at taking control of the league again. Maybe he was just lucky that not everything had fallen into place yet. Or maybe he had been saved, albeit unintentionally, by Coach Pine. Whatever it was, he could be sure that it wouldn't be there forever.

But he didn't know if Judson had really sought to gain control of the league again. What if he was, like everyone else who had voted to cancel the tournament, just worried for player safety? If there was one thing that would get him immediately ousted from his position, it would be a wrongful accusation.

Marbury made a mental note to watch Judson over the course of the next few weeks. He figured, if Judson really wanted to control the league, then the evidence would reveal itself over time.

He started his way toward the stairwell. With what he had, he could make only one promise.

Nobody else was going to control his league again.