The Maus Haus Gallery was a fairly inconspicuous building, all things considered. It sat on the corner of a not terribly busy avenue and a zero traffic side street, opposite a vacant business front. It had the typical bold, stark, looping font sign over its doors, an open glass front with tantalizing art displays to attempt to draw interest to the works showcased within. Though Vol Gardens was home mostly to small sized mammals, the structure of the gallery itself was accommodating, if not catered, toward medium and larger sized mammals as well. Even megafauna like elephants and giraffes could sneak a peek at the works within through the many skylights in the ceiling of the open-concept studio.
Dolly Grainger was the curator. A giant rat of ironclad convictions and the fashion sense of Ms. Frizzle, she managed the studio the same way she managed her finances: down to the very last iota. From converting the once failed bank building to a studio all the way through advertising and soliciting creators for the loan of their works, she maneuvered herself and her resources like she was conducting a symphony orchestra, every note and rest accounted for. For all her hard work over the years, she had only seen meager success… that is, until now.
She drove around the studio on her electric scissor-lift cart; stopping periodically to flick a duster at an errant smudge, or to ask one of the various patrons if they had any questions. This was the busiest the studio had been in several months, and she was milking it for all it was worth. Notoriety from the two killings had summoned gawkers from all over the city, whose curiosity eventually compelled them to enter. She grinned at the press of mammals; there really was no such thing as bad publicity.
"Ms. Grainger, do you think I could meet him, please?" Dolly turned to address the college-aged coyote that had just started rambling at her. Given her carefully ripped shirt and distressed jeans, she was probably an art student. "It's just so incredible how evocative his work is and I have so many questions, I would just… it would make my whole semester!"
Dolly hesitated as she looked back at the hors d'oeuvres table; every time she'd sent a mammal over to see John Thimbul, that mammal had left immediately after. She was certain at least three of them would have gladly bought something. She turned back to the wide-eyed canid. "I'm afraid not. He's-" She racked her brain for a split second. "-in the middle of his methodology. He pulls inspiration from his environment, and if we disturb him now..." She left her statement hanging while looking knowingly at the young mammal.
"Oh! Oh gosh, I wouldn't want to interrupt him; I'll just-"
Dolly rolled next to her and rested a paw on her shoulder. "That's quite all right. Enjoy the gallery, and let me know if anything catches your interest."
"Thank you, I couldn't afford anything here. I was just hoping-"
"Oh, nonsense!" Dolly squeaked happily. "Just let me know and we can work out a deferred payment plan." She had to fight to hide the predatory grin as the young student gushed her thanks and wandered deeper into the gallery. Impulse buyers were some of the best revenue streams, especially if they went the financing route. Banks and collection agencies made sure she was paid.
She caught a glimpse of two moderately well-dressed mammals making their way towards her; a solidly built rabbit doe only slightly taller than herself, and a lean but very healthy fox todd. The rabbit was openly disturbed by the imagery surrounding her. Not surprising, since most of that species had no stomach for strong imagery. The fox on the other paw was looking around the studio with a calculating eye. He wasn't necessarily casing the gallery, but he was certainly not here for the art.
Dolly parked her cart by the nearest wall and leapt down quickly. She wove with practiced finesse through the crowd of mammals to intercept them.
"Can I help you two?" Her tone was devoid of the sales-silk she used on most mammals; these two she wanted out as soon as possible.
The fox grinned a Cheshire smile at her, clearly hearing her intent. "Certainly. I'm Wilde, and this is Hopps. We'd like to meet with Mr. Thimbul. If you could point him out for us that would be great."
"I'm afraid Mr. Thimbul is indisposed at the moment. You can call back and I will see if I can schedule a meeting."
The duo surreptitiously pulled something from their back pockets and hung them from their breast pockets: a pair of gold shields with a star in the middle of each.
The rabbit leveled a flat stare at Dolly. "We insist."
The rat had to school her features to hide her excitement; the notoriety of the murders was one thing, but having the ZPD come down would stay in the news cycle for weeks. "I see. Follow me then."
Dolly turned with a casual wave of her paw. Judy and Nick followed close at her heels as she wove her way back through the throng of guests. Judy scanned the crowd of gallery patrons as it gave her something to focus on other than the violent images that dominated the canvases. A lot of the attending mammals reminded her of going to Fun-Houses and Carnival Side-Show attractions at the various county fairs as a kit. So many of them seemed to be here simply for the shock value. The few who were apparently there for the art were nearly as disturbing, waxing poetic about contrasts and themes while waving UV pen-lights at a picture of an eviscerated elephant. The now familiar lettering of Old Volish lit up beneath the beams, and the mammals crowed with delight to see its fluorescent glow for themselves.
John Thimbul had assumed the posture of a wallflower by the drink and appetizers table, arms crossed and shoulders hunched while his eyes darted around at the milling mammals. If not for the larger-than-life publicity photos dotting the gallery, Judy would have assumed he was part of the staff. The giant rat wore a well-used painter's smock over regular business casual clothes as well as an almost pained expression on his face. Judy assumed that someone who utilized such dramatic images in his art would be just eating up all this attention; much to her surprise, he more seemed to be internally crawling in his own skin. Not an attention hog so much as a cornered animal, desperate for a chance at escape.
Nick and Judy were about to introduce themselves when Dolly piped up first. "John, these two police officers would like to speak to you." Her words cut through the murmur of the crowd like a knife, and suddenly all attention was on the four of them.
Judy watched as John Thimbul shrank even further into himself from the sudden attention. "Mr. Thimbul?" She smiled at his nod out of reflex. "I'm Detective Hopps, and this is Detective Wilde. We'd like to speak to you if you have somewhere private we could go."
"There's an office above the studio. You can use that." Dolly set off at a brisk march. She was halfway to the stairs when she realized John hadn't moved.
She turned to see him pensively scan the gallery before setting his drink down. "If it's all the same to you two, maybe we could talk at the station instead?"
There wasn't a 'please' at the end of his sentence, but they both heard it as though it had been spoken through a loudspeaker. They nodded and gestured for John to come between them when Dolly zipped in front of him.
"John, dear, what are you doing?" she asked directly into his ear in a saccharine sweet voice. She gave him a forced but patient smile as she caught his eyes. "You can't leave your own showing. They won't stay if you go now. Mammals want to see the genius creator, you see?"
"Yes, I do see," he whispered back sotto voce. "I see gawkers at a train wreck; scavengers picking at my art's infamy, rather than learning the meaning behind it. I'm not interested in catering to mammals like that." He looked to the two detectives again. "Whenever you're ready."
They again began moving toward the door when a collared peccary shoved a trotter in between them all to get at the snack table by the wall. His odor and six-inch mohawk styled fur would have been reason enough to give him a wide berth if they'd had any warning at all he was in the mood for refreshments. He gave a gruff snort and "One side" as he barreled through. Both Nick and Judy gave the typical heated glares, though they chose not to engage with the impolite mammal. John gave a contemptuous sniff, but also said nothing. He passed behind the pig to continue following Judy and Nick to the door just as the peccary abruptly hip-checked him and sent John sprawling across the floor.
"Oh sorry! I didn't see you down there!" he said with a laugh and took a sip of his freshly poured drink.
Nick helped the artist back to his feet while Dolly stormed over to the mohawked mammal. "I'm not surprised; the only thing you've looked at since stepping in my gallery is the buffet table." She raked the peccary with her eyes. "Not that you're in any dire need of a meal."
The miniature porcine snorted and glanced around at the murmurs and chuckles being directed his way. "Only marginally good thing about this so-called art event is the drink recipe. Has a lot more punch to it than this hack ever will."
Judy stepped in front of him, ears ramrod straight and posture subtly shifting gears for a fight. "If your main reason for attending this showing was the food, sir, it appears you're quite full of it. I suggest you seek dessert elsewhere. Now."
The pig gave her a surly grunt as he rolled his shoulders back, and Judy felt the presence of her partner draw up behind her. "Crude behavior isn't a crime, but verbal assault of a police officer is. Choose your next words very carefully."
The peccary finally clued into the mood of the room. He gave a derisive snort, spun on his trotters, and left.
Dolly sneered after the swine. "Odious little parasite." She huffed and turned to John and the two Detectives. "Well, now that that is out of the way shall we head up?"
John looked pensively around the gallery; every mammal was looking at him and the Detectives. "I meant it earlier. I'd rather head to the station; I'll be able to focus better."
Dolly blinked and twitched her nose before plastering a sweet but clearly forced smile onto her face. "Whatever you think is best for you and your work I will support."
"Thanks for understanding." He followed behind Judy and Nick with a little wave back at her. "I'll try and make it back before you close up for the night."
"See that you do." Dolly nodded imperiously, then spun around and began working the crowd once more, though her gaze lingered on his withdrawing figure.
Maybe it would be fine, after all. She wouldn't have to divide her attention now. Unfettered by any possible reservations, she could turn her methods of persuasion up a level or two. These mammals would learn the depth of his true genius, and she was just the one to teach them.
...
John Thimbul remained silent as they made their way to the car. Judy still had difficulty reconciling the shocking imagery of the works in the gallery with this, dare she say, mousishly meek mammal.
The moment he was seated though, he drew out a small paper pad and pencil and immediately began sketching. Judy glanced at her partner who simply shrugged, then climbed in the car. Judy slowly pulled the cruiser out from the undersized parking spot and maneuvered carefully out of the narrow street onto the main avenue heading back to Precinct One.
There was silence in the car for a little while save for the short messages coming through now and again over the radio. She adjusted the rearview mirror slightly to glance back at the painter in the backseat now feverishly scribbling at his sketchbook.
The image she glimpsed in the mirror was in its rawest form, but she could still clearly make out the head of a porcine creature. What caught her attention most was an eruption from the beast's mouth.
-HONK-Skreeeeech-
"WATCH IT, HOPPS!"
Judy wrenched her eyes away from the shocking image taking form in the back of the cruiser, and back onto the road ahead. Her heart was racing as she pulled into a streetside parking spot; whether it was from the near accident, or the violent picture Mr. Thimbul was creating, she wasn't sure.
"Good idea; I'll drive." Nick unbuckled and moved around the front of the car.
Judy looked over her shoulder at John Thimbul, and saw he was almost completely undisturbed by the near accident. She was again startled by a rap on the window. She looked out to find Nick staring at her meaningfully. She unbuckled and reluctantly scooted across the dash to the shotgun position as Nick opened the door to take the wheel.
John must have finally noticed the lack of movement, because he glanced up from his forming nightmare and asked, "Are we there already?"
"No, sir. Just needed to adjust our route to avoid an accident." Judy scowled at the jab as Nick pulled out into traffic once more. "It'll be a few minutes more yet."
"Oh, good."
He immediately went back to scribbling. Now that she didn't have to divide her attention, Judy twisted herself around to more directly regard the art-rat.
"That must be difficult," she said evenly, trying to avoid the now visible rack of ribs that had come into creation on the pad though her eyes gravitated toward it with morbid curiosity each time she pulled them away. "Drawing in a moving vehicle."
"Rough sketches are just that; I can be as crude as I want, as long as I record the idea while it's still sharp in my mind." He made several violent strokes on the paper. "The idea always evolves during the creation process, but this way I have a tactile connection to the moment when inspiration struck."
"Do you ever take a break from all this… ah… I'll say creation?"
"I don't choose when inspiration strikes. Have to take advantage when it does, or risk missing the opportunity."
Nick gave Judy a sideways glance and cleared his throat loudly. "Well, you'll need to take at least a little break; we're about a block from the station."
Judy was relieved when John looked up at that, then closed the little sketch book and put it away. It stayed closed and unseen even as they all walked into the front doors of the station, but the image contained within lingered behind her eyes. Even witnessing its coming into being wasn't one she wanted stuck now in her mind alongside the bodies that seemed inspired by others that had come before it.
Benjamin Clawhauser's jovial smile, of course, helped in dissipating at least some of the sour mood as they approached the desk. "Hey you two! I don't see any cuffs on your friend, so I'm guessing you don't need me to contact booking?"
Nick could still sense his partners unease, and swaggered over to Ben's kiosk. "Yup. Our friend here is a subject matter expert, and we need to interview him. You just let us know if one of the Size-class-2 rooms is available. Hopps," he turned towards her with a lazy smile, "you want to head to Cyber and see if you can get the feed from the database piped up for us?"
Judy veered away, glad for an excuse to have a few moments away from the creator of those grotesque pictures. "Sounds good. And I'm going to just grab a few waters for us while we talk. Didn't get one of those drinks at the gallery, did we?"
Nick saluted. "Alright then. See you in there."
"Room 4B, Hopps!" Clawhauser called after her.
"Got it!"
She paid Cyber an abbreviated visit with the room and requested case file number to feed up to the system therein. A few grumbles from the techs about the short notice and that task was complete. Judy swung back toward the offices and breakroom for the bottles of water. She was surprised upon entering to find a face that she didn't usually see in this particular context.
"Oh… hey, Abbs."
Abby spared her a brief, neutral glance from the soda machine as she jabbed at her selection particularly hard. "Hopps."
Judy's ears sank as the conversation she had with Nick earlier bubbled up in her mind. She didn't think the discussion with her rabbit coworker had been that contentious, though she did have a hard time reading Abby, what with her ears never moving an inch. Not to mention her bad habit of laser focusing on casework rather than social nuances. It wouldn't serve her, her partner, or the case they were embroiled in to go antagonizing Abby now. Maybe she could rustle up some kind of olive branch… that is, if Abby would entertain letting her offer one.
Judy moved up to the vending machine behind the swamp rabbit just as her drink of choice fell into the bin. She grabbed it up, popped the tab, and started chugging.
"Did you, uhh… miss your morning cuppa? Or something?" Judy asked carefully as she stepped up to make her own selection.
Abby's ears twitched, making the many rings jangle in a not at all cheery way. "I was distracted and let the ice melt. It's just nasty when it gets like that."
"Right. Of course." Judy scuffed her foot on the floor and then craned her neck. She took a breath and said, "Alright, listen… not that it's any substitute for a bribe drink or anything but if you're interested, that artist guy John Whatshisface is here for an interview, so…"
"Whaaaat?" Abby spun around with eyes enormous and a grin that would have put every Beagles groupie to shame. She grasped Judy around her shoulders. "John Thimbul is here? Today? Now?"
Judy cringed. "...yes?"
"Squeeeeeee!"
Abby spun on her heels and zipped out of the breakroom at breakneck speed. Judy stood blinking for a few seconds at the reaction, then braced herself as the whirlwind returned and screeched to a halt back in front of her.
"Which room?"
"4B. But don't…!" Abby gave another excited squeak and bolted out again before Judy could finish.
She sighed and smoothed her ears back. Seemed like this was just going to be one of those days that was never going to end. Her transaction with the vending machine complete, she followed in her coworker's wake, half expecting that there would be scorch marks on the tile.
Judy arrived at the interview room to hear Abby excitedly chattering with Mr. Thimbul.
"...has to be Wistful! The offset framing of the mourners versus the mammal in the open coffin really forces you to focus on the whole picture, rather than any one element."
Abby hardly took a breath as she spoke, launching from one topic to another. The rat artist meanwhile had a rather stunned expression at the attention he was receiving. "Yes, well... I had an instructor at NorthWestern who insisted that a piece's focus should always be a single point, but all the pieces he used to demonstrate that were so bland. When I really got into formal study in painting, most of the most outstanding and memorable pieces in art history have an offset focus: The Scream by Edvard Muncher and Starry Night by Van Goffer for example."
Judy noticed that the more he talked about the nuances of art, the more animated and mammal he became. She could almost imagine some of her own family talking just as excitedly about an upcoming Tractor Pull or the latest Mouse-Car drivers.
Nick caught her eye from his spot at the far side of the table where he was sitting. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his paws behind his head as his smile deepened.
Well, this backfired spectacularly, Judy thought as she set the water bottles on the table and went over to join him.
"Your doing, I assume?" he said to her as he nodded at the two mammals still passionately conversing at the other end of the table.
Judy huffed and crossed her arms. "Just wanted to try and smooth things over. Serves me right for trying to be nice."
"Oh, I don't know about that. If you want to place some kind of value on this, I'd say it has the same weight as a month's worth of my sugar-slush bribes. Working relationship restored, and I'm willing to bet Abby would gladly walk on coals for you if you asked."
"I suppose the mammal of a million favors would know something about that." Judy pursed her lips as her ears flagged slightly. "All the good will in the world won't save us from the Chief if we can't get started. Think maybe you could… you know… hurry this along? A little?"
Nick theatrically rolled his eyes and stood up. "Oh sure, make me be the bad guy." He walked over to the two now quite excited mammals. "I really hate to break this up, but we can't monopolize the interview room. If you two could exchange digits, I'm certain there are venues much more conducive to discussing art than an 8x8 sound-board box."
John looked around. "I don't know. No distractions, no interruptions, just you and your muse. I could get a lot of work done if I had a studio built like this."
Abby's earrings jingled as she huffed a sigh. "As much as I know it will just inflate his ego, Nick's right." She stood up and handed a business card to John. "I'd love to pick your brain about composition and palette sometime. And if you're serious about a studio like this, I can point you toward the contractors who build these rooms for the city."
He swiftly pulled his phone out and entered the numbers at the bottom of the card, then sent a quick text. Abby squeaked and binkied slightly when her cell phone buzzed. Judy tried not to flinch at the jangling noise coming off her coworker's ears. "Oh, this is great!" She put her phone away and beamed at John. "I promise to only use this great power for good." She looked over at Judy and mouthed, Thank you!
Judy gave a strained smile back as Abby left.
She turned and regarded the rat. As in the studio, he didn't strike her as the 'creator of nightmare-fuel'; just another introverted rodent. But then again, a wide-eyed ewe once tried to tear Zootopia apart via species warfare. Nothing was ever exactly as it appeared.
Nick settled into one of the available seats and waited for Judy to take the other. For all people were snide or derisive about him due to his nonchalance around his friends in the force, he took his duties to the mammals of the city very seriously. As such, she could always count on him to be nothing but professional when they had a mammal sitting across from them.
"I imagine you're up on the latest news coming out of the art community, Mr. Thimbul," Nick said, and dragged the console over to himself. "Considering it has to do with you and your paintings."
"The recent hordes that have descended on the gallery have made mention aplenty, yes." John wrinkled his nose and twisted his fingers within clasped paws. "I haven't sought out whatever fabricated stories they've been referencing. It all sounds very far-fetched, from what I've heard."
"The saying normally goes, 'art imitates life'." Judy began pulling crime scene photos up on the mounted wall monitor. "In this case, death is imitating art. Your art."
John's eyes slowly widened as his gaze fell upon the photos in front of him. His mouth parted and nose twitched, lips forming words that were nonetheless not given any voice.
Judy watched, and again her expectations were dashed as instead of callous disinterest, John Thimbul reacted with growing horror.
"What... what the hell is this?!" His head began jerking around as his tail lashed behind him.
"Mr. Thimbul, I need you to calm down." Judy used her best parental tone.
"No! What is this?! This isn't my work! This isn't-" Judy winced as his voice became higher and higher until all she could hear was a near continuous high-pitched squeaking.
Nick was out of his seat and moved Thimbul's whole chair into one of the room's corners. He thrust one of the water bottles into the rat's paw and said firmly, "Drink, breathe, drink again."
In the absence of the intense stimuli, John followed the instructions exactly. His breathing began to even out, and he stopped squeaking. Nick stood back and allowed the rat to regain his calm. Once John was more relaxed, Nick returned to his seat. He noticed Judy's questioning look. "My last employer had a lot of rodent clientele. I had to learn the signs and best practices for dealing with panic attacks. In this case, the corner is safe; nothing can get to him from behind so all he has to worry about is what's in front of him."
Judy nodded, honestly a little shaken by how visceral Thimbul's reaction to the photos was. She needed to reassess her view of Thimbul if she wanted any results moving forward. Considering his usual choice of subject matter, it didn't seem likely that viewing the case photos would elicit such a reaction. She decided to stick with words from here on out instead.
"There have to date been three murders. The first two, Bridget Carcaille and Daniel Fields, were murdered and displayed together in a manner reminiscent of your piece, Triumph, actually placed upon a metal sculpture of the same name at an open-air exhibit outside the Palms." John chattered his teeth in agitation. "The third victim, Preston Peary, was displayed similar to your Phoenix Rising painting from the gates of another open-air exhibit; this time in Tundratown."
John was quiet for a moment. "I know, or know of, Peary. He does landscapes, portraits, still lifes. Nothing special, but nothing bad. Got a break when Bellwether commissioned him to do that gaudy thing she had hung in the City Hall foyer." He huffed and looked at the floor. "Now he's the next Johannes Vermeercat… just ask him."
Nick grimaced. "Difficult thing for anyone to do now."
"Right… of course, sorry…" John looked abashed for a moment and gave a huff of aggravation. "It was… frustrating. I lost two bids to him for private commissions; corporate 'Big-Mammal' gifts, the kind of stuff the rich like to splurge on so they can show off how cultured they are."
Judy jotted down a few notes of her own. "Anything else you can think of?"
John's paw squeezed the water bottle and made it crackle in his grip. "Did you also say Daniel Fields?"
She nodded. "I did."
"Danny's dead?"
Nick and Judy exchanged a significant look.
"Did you know him personally?" Nick's voice was soft but firm.
John's eyes didn't track anything in particular. "He's... he was a part of the cleaning crew Dolly hires. They come in twice a month to give the gallery a top-to-bottom cleaning. We'd talk about my art, his recovery, being raised in traditional Volish families." His voice seemed almost distant. "You know how sometimes they say that someone has an old soul? That was Danny. Wise, and kind, and… and…"
"...a friend?" Nick suggested carefully.
"I don't have friends." John swallowed hard, nose twitching. The water bottle raised to his lips again for a few more gulps before he let it back down again. "But… he was close."
Judy nodded and said, "I'm sorry for your loss, sir."
"Why him? He never did anything to anyone!" John pushed back in his seat, taking comfort in the corner. "Why did this happen to him? How?"
Judy rose to this all too familiar challenge. "The answer to the last question is the only one we have, and I would spare you those details. The first two are the ones we need answers to, and it is our hope that you can help us in that regard." She switched the image on the monitor to show Daniel's employment photo. "Help us understand how he fits into these pictures, your pictures, and we will hopefully be one step closer to finding out who killed all of them."
John blinked at her, his eyes dropping to study the floor intensely. "I don't… I'm not sure how…" His nose twitched as he put a paw to his head, attempting to wrangle the disorganized thoughts within. "His job was everything to him. He wasn't slapdash with anything, ever. It was a singular point of pride for him and… and hope even. Like the deeper he cleaned the things around him that it was also cleaning up his past, scrubbing away his own mistakes somehow."
Nick scribbled a few notes. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Fields, either professionally or outside of work?"
He fidgeted, again crackling the nearly empty water bottle as his face screwed up in concentration. "I think it might have been… it was a Wednesday, they always came on Wednesdays late. Or is it early… after midnight, anyway. I stay up painting, I don't ever look at the clock, but… I think that's when they come. Dolly would know better, she keeps records of everything…"
Judy breathed a sigh of relief at something to go on other than a distraught artist. "We'll follow up with her, sir." She shut off the monitor and stood up, joined by Nick. "Thank you for your time. You may not realize it, but sometimes the smallest details can lead to the biggest breaks in a case."
John nodded dully, and stood from the chair on unsteady legs. He set the water bottle back on the table and picked up the sketchbook he'd left there. His paw hesitated, hovering over his latest sketch for a second as his eyes traced over the rough lines. He looked like he might be sick at any moment.
"Could we offer you a lift back to the gallery?" Nick asked.
"I think I'd prefer to walk, although…" He fidgeted the sketchbook in his paws and then looked at them both in turn. "This seems like very little in the way of help. Is there something else I can do? To… I don't know, watch for?"
Judy mustered a reassuring smile. "Just keep an eye and an ear out for anyone who seems... unusually interested in your art."
John sighed. "That describes more mammals than you know."
Nick gave a smirk. "It's your art, and your fans. You'll know the difference."
They escorted Thimbul out of the precinct. He turned and gave them a tired smile, then headed out into the quickly deepening twilight of the city.
The pair silently headed to their shared cubicle to begin preparing their notes and reports.
"Well, I'd say that netted us some good information, wouldn't you?" Nick asked as he slumped into his chair and pulled his tie out. He waited for a response from his partner, though it was not forthcoming. "Fluff?"
"Mmhmm." Judy made a humming sound in tepid agreement, her eyes still roving over her notepad.
Nick smirked and assumed his best TV personality voice. He put an imaginary microphone to his face and said, "John Thimbul, the mammal, the mystery, the artist! Tell the mammals at home your first impressions, little lady. And don't hold back any juicy details."
He stuck the invisible microphone in her face now as she finally looked up to give him a dirty look. "You want my impression of the mammal who's somehow inspired three murders? Fine." She spun her seat around to face him and swatted his paw away. "He's not what I envisioned for someone who creates such grotesque art, okay? He all but defined mousish, even though his work positively screams in your muzzle. He," she paused as she ran out of steam, "he remembered the cleaning mammal who came to his place of work. I don't know the mammals who clean up around here, and we're supposed to notice details. What does that say about us?"
Nick sighed and lowered his paw. "It doesn't say anything about us, Judy. We aren't bad mammals for not knowing the cleaning crew's life stories any more than John is because someone is perverting his art."
Judy's ears flagged as she slumped in her chair. "I suppose. It would just… be easier, though."
"What would?" Nick had a sneaking suspicion, but he knew this was something Judy needed to articulate in order to confront it.
"If he was a jerk. Easier to dislike both the mammal and the stuff he makes. You know?"
"Yeah, I get that. But I know something that will be made easier by his lack of jerkiness."
Judy cracked a tiny smile. "What's that?"
"Nailing the monsters that are terrorizing him. Much easier doing that for the non-jerk mammals, right?"
That got a real smile from the rabbit. "Right! We just need to-"
Brrrreeeeeeep! Brrrreeeeeeep! Brrrreeeeeeep!
They both started when their desk phone rang. The two stared at it for a second and then rock-paper-scissored for the pick-up. Rock beat scissors and Nick picked up the phone after the tiniest of groans.
"ZPD Precinct One, this is Detective Wilde."
Officer Wilde? The voice at the other end of the phone was familiar, despite the thick emotional tone that was weighing it down. It's Jamal Shabal. You asked me to call you if any new facts came up.
"Just a moment Mr. Shabal, I'm putting you on speaker for my partner." He ensured the speaker was on and they both had their notepads out and recorders on. "Alright, sir, go ahead."
Allow me first to apologize for the tardiness of this call, but I didn't learn about this until earlier today. I, there was the sound of a ragged breath, I haven't been as diligent in checking my phone messages, since the one person I want to hear from isn't calling ever again.
"Completely understandable, Mr. Shabal," Judy said, pen tapping lightly against her notepad with just a hint of impatience. "There's no need to apologize. What new information do you want to tell us now?"
There was a sniffle from the other end of the line. -ahem- Right. This morning at 2:15 am, someone left a very cryptic message using a voice-altering program on my phone, mentioning 'A new up and comer whose art is to die for!', and that I, 'need to get in on the ground floor of this one right away!'. I'm no stranger to receiving calls from the occasional drunken nut, but this was… eerie. Those were almost some of the exact phrases I used facetiously in my write-up on John Thimbul.
Judy absently scribbled as she listened. "You said they used a voice altering program. Are you certain?"
Jamal snorted a laugh. Yes, unless the robot warlord Mega-Trunk is making art recommendations now. Everyone needs to eat, I suppose.
"Which phone did they leave the message?" Nick asked. "Was it your cell? A landline?"
It was my work number. I have an office at the 'Gnu-Yorker', but my job specifically requires me to be on the move so I have a code to remote access the voicemail logs. I notified the office to save the logs, so you should be able to swing by to pick them up.
"We'll do that," Judy said, and flipped to a new page. "Is there a particular contact we should talk to for this request?"
Jamal rattled off the names and phone numbers for two administrative assistants and their normal office hours. Given the lateness of the hour, Judy and Nick wouldn't make it to the Gnu-Yorker before they closed the building for the night. The voicemail recording would just have to wait until the morning.
"Thank you for alerting us, Mr. Shabal," Judy said as she tossed her notepad onto her desk. "We'll notify you of any updates as soon as we learn more."
I appreciate it. There was a pause, and an audible gulp from the other end. Am… am I safe? The way this guy talked, and with what happened to Bridget-
"You're completely in the right to be concerned for your safety, Mr. Shabal. We are also." Judy made a motion at Nick and he jumped back to his computer as she continued. "What we'll do is post an unmarked police car outside your home for the next week. To ensure you aren't being targeted for some sort of violence while this case resolves. Would that be an acceptable arrangement?"
Jamal heaved a sigh. Thank you. This has been harrowing, to say the least.
Nick gave Judy a thumbs up and she said, "We certainly understand, sir. Lock your doors and get some rest. The unmarked vehicle will be parked outside your home in the street within the hour. Let us know if you receive any additional strange messages."
I will. Thank you, detectives.
"Stay safe, sir," Nick said as he rolled back to Judy's desk and the phone. "We'll be in touch."
Judy hung up the call and consulted her notes. "I wish we could listen to that voicemail tonight."
"Same," Nick agreed, and tapped a claw on her notepad. "But I think he gave us the most important bit to think about already."
Judy nodded. "Another reference to Mr. Thimbul and his paintings."
Nick nodded back. "Whoever this guy is, he's clearly obsessed with our new artist friend."
Judy turned her chair and drew up the case files on her computer screen. "Three murders, staged to resemble, almost to the letter, Mr. Thimbul's paintings. They're displayed in locations meant to showcase art, and the victims…"
"One a mouse who cleaned the gallery his paintings are being shown in, another a rival artist he lost work to, and the last…"
"...the significant other of the art critic who publicly criticized his paintings." Judy stood from her chair so abruptly it tipped for a second before landing back on the floor. She started to pace. "The mammal gives an unpopular opinion and it gets his girlfriend killed. Is this Zootopia or Moosecow? If mammals start living in fear of expressing themselves, then what has happened to the city?"
Nick quirked an eyebrow. "The same thing that would have happened if a rat is denied the right to express himself through painting. It's just two sides of the same coin, really."
"Except someone is trying to rig it so Mr. Thimbul's side of the coin lands face up more often." Judy stopped pacing and looked back at her computer. "But who? It's clearly not something he approves of, so it's unlikely it's anyone he'd associate closely with."
"Which would be a lot simpler to narrow the field down if it were, let's be honest. Did you see how flustered he got with Abby? How many mammals does the guy actually associate closely with?"
"Yeah, really." Judy leaned against her desk and chewed her lip. "Even those aren't safe either. Mr. Fields never hurt him, and this lunatic killed him too. Why?"
Nick yawned. "All things to pick up with tomorrow. Maybe we'll be able to glean some more to work with from that voicemail and get a few answers instead of more questions."
...
In contrast to their visit to the offices of The Sun-Bearer, The Gnu-Yorker building was everything that Nick and Judy expected a reputable business office would be. Its staff even more so, as they were greeted by a legal representative for the magazine who handed the recordings over with only an official certification. They actually spent more time in the chain store picking up Abby's morning offering than at the offices.
The warped recording played over Abby's speakers between loud slurps of the slushie. As Jamal had said, the voice distortion was significant, making a few words almost unintelligible. A written copy was transcribed and printed for them to add to the casefile.
"Good morning, Mr. Shabal," an overly saturated digital voice spoke while garbled noise in the background buzzed annoyingly. "I understand you are the 'Mammal with the pulse of the Zootopian art scene'. Well I've got a scoop on a new up-and-comer whose work is to die for! You'll certainly want to get in on the ground floor of this one."
-click-
"Hoo boy, this is going to be a hot mess to sift through," Abby groaned as she handed the paper copies over to Nick and Judy.
Judy smiled. "It's okay; we know this isn't one of those procedural shows where there's a 15 second montage of random technology and the finished clue pops out like toast."
"I wish." Abby sighed. "It'll be a couple of days at best."
Nick gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. "Do your best. Can't conjure magic every time."
She smirked. "I'll give you both a ring if I manage to pull myself out of a hat."
Judy tensed subtly at the reminder of the treatment rabbits were often subjected to during the height of the Vaudeville performance era. It was jarring to her, to hear it referenced so casually.
"Give us a ring either way," she said, and turned back toward the door before her face gave her away. She'd managed what amounted to a small miracle getting back on Abby's good side the other day; no reason to let a verbal gaff undo that now. "Come on, Nick… let's get back to it."
Nick nodded to Abby, then followed his partner out into the hall. She was beating a dignified, but hasty retreat. As he caught up, he played the conversation in Abby's office over in his head to see what might have soured her so suddenly. He figured it out by the time he came up beside her.
"Judy." She tensed at his use of her proper name. "I'm sorry about that. You'd think a fox would be more sensitive to that deep of a cultural scar. Abby using it was no excuse for me not to call her on it the moment it was said."
"Not like it's something I've personally experienced," Judy mumbled.
"Well no one's ever hacked my tail off to use as a fashion accessory; doesn't mean I like being reminded of Lucrecia van Pelt every time someone calls me 'Pelt'." He glanced down at his partner and then at his watch. "Shift's nearly done. Wanna swing by McGruff's and wax poetic about the 'Good-ol-Days'?"
Judy gave a grateful half smile. "It's like you read my mind."
...
Moonlight cascaded down over the open construction site below. The gridwork of the steel I-beams above served as a useful guide. Very useful indeed, for such auspicious work.
Every few feet, with a look overhead to gauge that the angle was just right, a mammal paused and drove a stainless steel spike into the hard, packed earth with a pneumatic hammer. On to the next, same sequence of motions. The work tonight was tedious, but necessary. So very, very necessary.
Once the final stake had been driven in, the mammal hefted up the hammer and returned to the large panel van parked at the entrance to the building site. There was no foot traffic this close to the site at this time of the night to worry about. Even if there was, who would question a truck at a construction site?
Bundle by painstaking bundle, the mammal unloaded a number of cylindrical, plastic wrapped items. Each bundle had been prepared, meticulously marked so that setting them atop the newly driven spikes would take as little time as possible. It was sad, really, that this part had to be so rushed, that they could barely take any time at all to appreciate the marvelous work in all its magnificent glory.
At least the preparation had taken long enough to give some bit of satisfaction. Wonderful hours, those were. And they were about to come to fruition.
The mammal went around the circle with the bundle trailing behind on a handcart. As they came to a spike, the plastic was torn away and the cylinder set over the spike. At the next, the same thing. And again. And again.
The methodical pattern gave them time to muse over their work, the delight that grew exponentially with each new piece. It was inconceivable that the excitement they had during the first piece could ever be eclipsed, and yet, here they were in a cloud of what could only be described as euphoria.
They only wished there had been a better medium to share their work; Jiro may have been a social parasite, but his command of the camera was nearly as powerful as true art. He also ensured everyone could revel in the Artiste's pieces. With his arrest, they'd had to sever any and all tenuous ties to the tabloid photographer. For now, they had to rely on Jamal and the ZPD to bring the audience, and hope someone saw and could appreciate their work.
In what seemed like a blink, the work was finished. The mammal stood back only just a moment, taking in the marvel so lovingly displayed around them. The last item was set at the place that they stood: a cylindrical mirror.
They took care to sweep themselves backward out of the site, dusting over pawprints in the dirt, all the way back to the truck. With one last look in the side view mirror, they turned the key in the ignition, rolled inconspicuously out into the light traffic, and was gone.