The interrogation room at the ZPD, also known as the I.I.U. for the sake of keeping the word 'interrogation' out of actual interrogations, was about as welcoming and comforting as the inside of a refrigerator with no food. It was a perfect square, with one large and obviously two-way mirror on one wall and cameras in two corners in opposite corners that kept a constant eye on both mammals that sat at the small metal table in the center of the much larger table. The chairs, designed to hang from the sides of the large table when not in use, were only lightly cushioned and being ram-rod straight backs ruined any idea of comfortable reclining. It was not a place intended to make anyone feel comfortable, or unwatched. Bland gray walls and air stale with the scent of multiple past visitors only added to the discomfort as an affront to the eyes.
Judith Hopps was well familiar with rooms like this. She had been in more than a dozen different holding cells, I.I.U.s, and lawyer meeting rooms in her career, so as uncomfortable as it may have been for some, to her it was like stepping back into familiar territory. Almost like being in a courthouse with a witness on the stand, her suit crisp and flawless as she considered the male across the table with questions ordered in her mind, but without the judge or jury hanging on every question asked.
"For the protection of all involved, this interview is being recorded and monitored by ZPD Chief Bogo in an adjoining room," Judy said shortly after turning on the recorder that sat next to a folder on her side of the central table. The recorder was new. She had intended to use the carrot pen for some recording but now that she was aware of the message from her younger siblings, she couldn't bring herself to record over it. It was as comforting in her paw as the presence of the fox standing a few steps behind her with his arms folded over his chest.
"You were informed of your rights to have counsel present and have waived that right," she continued as she settled her eyes on the weasel sitting across from her. His expression was one of bored annoyance, though she could clearly see the sharp glint of anger in his eyes when he looked at her. Which was becoming less frequent, as his attention was mostly focused on the fox standing on the corner of the larger table behind her. "I will state clearly for the record that this is not a criminal interview as no charges have been filed and no known crimes committed. This is a courteously extended to me by Chief Bogo in cooperation with the court in the appeal trial of Emmitt Otterton."
"Right, Cottontail," the weasel cut in, a smirk crawling up his narrow muzzle as he leaned back, gnawing on the toothpick that seemed ever present between his teeth. His manor became relaxed, at ease with a smug expression that told her that he was convinced that he was above reproach. Or at the very least, believed he was untouchable. "Let's get this over with, eh? I'm a very busy mammal and there are crimes aplenty being committed while we sit here playing pawsie over a pointless appeal."
"You consider it pointless to try to clear the name of a possibly innocent mammal, Officer Weaselton?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral and cool as she kept her gaze on him.
"I consider it pointless to drag me into an interrogation room as if I did somethin' wrong," he shot back, kicking his feet out as he attempted to look relaxed by leaning back in the chair. She felt a quirk of amusement as the straight-backed chair did its job of keeping him mostly upright anyway, which also caused him to wince in pain. After a moment of obvious discomfort, he reconsidered and leaned forward with his arms crossed on the table top.
"I said earlier that there are no charges, and no intent to file any," she said, her gaze sharpening as he glanced at Nick out of the corner of his eyes. "Unless there is something you want to tell me."
"I ain't got nothing for no lawyer," he shot back, forcing her to relax her chuckle at his continue mastery of language. "Ask your questions. Let's get this over with. I have a sick day to get back to."
"How are your balls, Duke?"
The hot glare that the weasel sent to Nick, as the source of the deadpanned question, might have melted anyone else. Nick was unmoved, and when she glanced back at him, she noted that he didn't even seem amused. While his ears were erect and his tail relaxed and still behind him, she almost felt the waves of tension seeping into the room from his direction. When she turned her eyes back to Weaselton, she found that his were on her.
Naked, brutal hatred. Anger was to be expected, perhaps embarrassment or wounded male pride. What she saw was violent and she realized that it was only because of where they were and the fact that Nick was there that prevented him from trying to take the violence out on her. While she was forced to wrinkle her nose to keep it from twitching uneasily, she kept her expression set on mild disdain and calm. To say that he was a hostile witness was something of an understatement, even if they weren't in court.
"This won't take long," she assured him, carefully avoiding false platitudes that she knew neither of them would appreciate. "I just need to you tell me what happened between 9:54 and 10:15 pm on the night Mrs. Otterton was murdered."
"What's there to tell? It's in the report," he said, shrugging it off with obvious annoyance. "We received the call at 9:55, a report of a domestic dispute that turned violent."
"What were you doing at the time of the call?"
"We were at a gas station in that area. I had ta take a quick leak, decided to slip inside for some fresh coffee," he said, his gaze sharp as she took down notes. "Sweet little ermine was running the register – the kinda mammal a guy just wants to get home and keep hidden in bed for a while, you know – and I was about to seal the deal when the call came through. Had to run out without her number. Went in about 9:50 pm, so it only took about five minutes."
"All right," she said, nodding for him to continue.
"Luckily, the address was just around the corner. I figured it was nothing but a few middle-class Hare and Sealy having a spat, but my partner was on edge as soon as we arrived. Said she smelled blood, and a lot of it, so we decided to go in real careful like. The door was open, we each took a side and like we always do because I'm the smallest, I went in first."
"You went in first because you're the smallest?" she questioned, one brow quirking as she tried to decipher how that fit into police regulations.
"He's a runt," Nick cut it, smirking at Duke when another silence glare was sent in his direction. "Even for a weasel. He goes in first because he isn't big enough to prevent Fangmeyer from having a clear shot."
"Yeah, that's right," Weaselton confirmed, with an acceptance of the explanation that seemed a little too easy for her. She noted it down as he continued. "So as soon as I'm in, the smell of blood is overwhelming. Like muggy, wet copper and some kinda meat. Which turned out to be otter, because as soon as we stepped around the corner into the living room, we saw what was happenin'. Disturbing, you know."
"Your first murder scene?" she asked, not really believing that. She didn't believe he had been disturbed by what he had seen, either.
"No, no. Of course not," he snorted in reply, shrugging a bit as he leaned forward. "Just the whole scene. Harmless otter kneeling over the body of his wife, bloody knife in his paw. Real sad, truth told. Rocking back and forth, muttering something about how sorry he was and that everything would be all right. As if he believed at that point, with most of her blood soaked into the carpet already, that she was going to wake up of something. But, you how those crimes of passion work. Someone snaps and when all is said and done, they stay a little snapped. Can't really comprehend what they've done or something like that. I dunno. I was just a little disturbing."
"What happened then?"
"Well, we arrested him, obviously," he said tritely, wrinkling his muzzle. "We saw him standing over the body, knife in paw. Didn't resist much, aside from not wanting to let go of the missus. Just a little twitchy at the end. Nervous, you know, probably from being caught and insisting that he was innocent. He had so much blood on him that I got on my uniform just by cuffing him while Fangmeyer checked to make sure she was dead. Which she was, of course, though we found out later that she hadn't been dead for long at all.
"We'd already called for an EMT, because you know they can sometimes revive a mammal after a few minutes, but they pronounced her dead at the scene." He released a windy sigh, exaggerated enough to make it obvious that his regret was an act. "After that, the case was taken over by Detectives Grizzolie and Higgins in homicide. Only took em a few days to have enough evidence to get a trial date set. What, with his paw prints all over the weapon, her blood all over him, the lack of forced entry, etcetera, etcetera, yadda yadda. And the rest is history. And also in the case files, so if you need anything else explained, I'm sure you can find it there."
It surprised her to find that she had no questions. None that wouldn't have come across as accusatory, which was a road she wasn't ready to travel down just yet. "No, I think that will cover it for now. Thank you for your cooperation, Officer Weaselton."
The slender male was up out of the chair quickly, his eyes flicking to the fox for a moment before he started to march towards the door without a word. She was as surprised as Weaselton when the paw clamped down on his shoulder, bringing him to a halt as Nick leaned in close and whispered something in his ear. She knew that it was far too soft for the microphones to pick up, because even she only manages to catch a few words.
"…ever look at her that way again…"
That was all she caught, but the implications, plus Weaselton's wide eyes fear in reaction, was enough for her to get the gist of everything that was said before Nick patted him on the back in a 'friendly' swat that had him skittering towards the door and out without a backward glance.
When green eyes that showed the spark of his anger for a fraction of a second turned back to her, she had to fight to keep the stirring in her belly from becoming a full flutter. Looking back at her notes, she considered them for an unnecessary moment before she spoke.
"Chief, when you're ready, we can talk to Officer Fangmeyer."
"I'm not sure if I can tell you anything more than what you've already heard, but I'll help anyway I can."
The tigress was dressed in ZPD blues kept as neat as a pin, especially when compared to the somewhat lax condition of her partner's. She sat up straighter than the back of the chair required, her paws folded on the table between her chest and the small table where Judy sat across from the larger mammal. The straight-backed, almost stiff pose wasn't one of discomfort. Judy recognized it as an officer who believed in presenting themselves in a manner that represented the uniform she wore, which was even more apparent when she showed no negative reaction to the starting speech informing her of her rights. It left her wondering how such an officer ended up being partnered with someone like Weaselton.
"Thank you. Your cooperation is appreciated," she said, tilting her head in acknowledgment of the fact before she set her pen to the fresh page of the notepad. "I need you to tell me what happened between 9:45 and 10:15 pm on the night Mrs. Otterton was murdered."
Obviously, the question was not unexpected. Everyone in the city knew why she was there, so the tigress tilted her broad muzzle down for a moment as she considered for a long moment. Judy noted this down without looking at the pad, her eyes trained on the larger female with a sense of interest.
"I think I received the call at around 9:55 pm," she began, pausing when Judy raised her paw to stop her.
"How do you know what time you received the call?"
"Reports," the tigress replied easily, her ear twitching slightly as a rumbling chuckle escaped into her otherwise huskily feminine voice. "Reports are tedious and require time stamps for everything. You learn to add 'look at your watch constantly' to your activities when on duty."
Judy nodded. She had already known the answer, and the easy way it was supplied was noted. "Go on."
"Weaselton was taking a bathroom break while I sat in the cruiser waiting," she continued, her nose wrinkling slightly as she replayed the memory. "His bathroom breaks always take him a while, so I learned to wait it out. Always pick at him about it, though, and have been steering him towards using his lunch break instead of random stops. But that was turning out to be as effective as asking him to use scent-mask during our shift."
"So it's not unusual for him to take long bathroom breaks," Judy asked, and after a nod was given, the fact was noted. "How long was this one?"
"I don't know exactly. Fifteen minutes? Maybe a little more? When the call came in, he walked out looking annoyed. Said there was a 'hot ermine' manning the counter of the store but that she must have been 'a lesbian' because she wasn't interested in him. I figured that was the reason for the delay," she added after a moment's thought, dark, feline eyes flicking over her shoulder to glance at Nick for a moment. Judy noted a subtle twitch of her nose, a briefly distracted expression before those eyes returned to her.
"Domestic violence calls are touchy," she continued, her eyes lowering to the two paws on the table top as she leaned over them a bit. This put her muzzle very close to the bunny, who met haunted green eyes evenly. "You never really know what you're going to find. Two people arguing and an unhappy neighbor looking for peace and quiet; one partner with a busted muzzle or claw marked on the cheek; a body. In this case, unfortunately, it was a body. I smelled the blood before we reached the front door, which was open. Weaselton insisted on going in first, chances being that there was no real danger in the house."
"He insisted on going in first?"
"Well, offered might be a better word," she corrected, frowning a bit as she considered it. "It must have been because of the size of the house? Smaller mammals, I had to crouch down and squeeze in. I normally go first, use my size as an intimidation factor to discourage an aggressive response. Annoyed me a little, because he went ahead with his tranq out and disappeared into the living room before I could follow. When I caught up, he was already making the arrest, snapping at me to check the victim's vitals while dragging Mr. Otterton away from the body. I… Don't think there was anything that could have been done, even if the EMT had already been in the room. She was still warm when I checked for a pulse but there was a lot of blood. The coroner confirmed later that the stab wound had punctured the heart."
There was a note of sadness in her voice, though it wasn't overt. The sort of sadness Judy might have expected from a cop who had been on the force for years, one had already seen death more than once and understood the reality of it. Nothing exaggerated, no dramatics, no obvious signs of distress beyond the light twitch of her ears and the tone of her voice.
"So, you didn't actually see where Mr. Otterton standing over the body when you entered the room?"
"I…" she began, then paused for a moment as a frown curved her lips down. Oddly, in Judy's mind, the tigress glanced at Nick again. The expression was somewhat hard to read, and at first, it almost seemed like she was looking for permission to continue. That was quickly tamped down to looking for assurance, perhaps even comfort of a sort.
"It's all right, Merilyn," Nick said, his voice a few octaves softer than she had ever heard it when he spoke to anyone other than her. "We're here about the appeal, not you and your partner. This isn't an interrogation."
"He's right," Judy inserted, even as she wondered again how well the tigress knew this fox. "I am only here to build a case to defend Otterton."
"I didn't actually see him standing over her body, or see him holding the knife," she continued, seeming appeased for the moment as she returned to her straight-back, professional stance. "It was what Weaselton saw, though. And it wasn't hard to put the picture together in my head with what I did see. A blood covered otter, obviously going into shock and his dead wife on the floor. Once forensics confirmed that his pawprints were on the murder weapon, putting that in the report just seemed like common sense."
"Thank you, Officer," Judy said, tucking the carrot pen into the inner pocket of her jacket before she reached out with one paw. When the paw was very carefully taken by the massive mammal, almost blocking her view of the tigress, she smiled warmly. "You've been very helpful."
"So what do you think?" Nick asked, leaning back in the driver's seat with his head tilted towards her curiously. "Are they hiding something?"
"I don't know yet," she said, staring down at the closed notepad for a long moment in silence. "There is a lot to go over, compare to the official report filed by both officers before I can decide if anything about their stories is really off. I do know that Weaselton's tone was off. "
"Off in what way?"
"I'm a lawyer," she said, setting the pad aside as she met his eyes. The fact that he was no longer as intent on wearing the sunglasses unless they were out in the open or in direct sunlight allowed her to see the mild curiosity in the bright green. "I've prepped witnesses and had witnesses prepped against me. They are told to expect certain questions, told how to answer them. Sometimes even given a script to follow. He was following one."
"How could you tell?" he asked, reaching down to start the car and pull away from the curb, his ear turned towards her to show that he was still paying attention.
"Outside of when I asked him a question, his story wasn't doubtful. There was no hesitation," she explained, seeing the little frown form at the corner of his muzzle. "Most mammals have trouble remembering what happened in certain events a week ago, much less months. And even if it was a memorable experience, the need to recall events causes hesitancy, which Officer Fangmeyer showed. But Weaselton didn't. He was following a script. Or at the very least, expected to be questioned at some point and planned what he would say."
"Is that unusual?"
"Not entirely, no. And it's not something that would catch my attention, normally. Police officers often prepare to give oral accounts of events at murder scenes. But they are partners, and their stories were not synced," she explained, shaking her head slightly. "Given the nature and record of the two officers, I am surprised they are partners at all. Do you think Bogo put Fangmeyer with Weaselton to - I don't know - keep him on a leash?"
"Seems like something he would do," he supplied easily, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "And Fangmeyer is a good cop. An honest mammal. And it's doubtful that Weaselton would consider the idea that he could toss his weight around with her because she weighs considerably more."
"Yes, she does," she said, a soft chuckle escaping her muzzle as the idea of a tiny weasel trying to get tough with a tiger forty times his weight.
Realizing that they were not heading back to the office despite the setting sun, she looked around at the city that passed them by. The buildings were getting smaller as they moved further away from Savanna Central and Downtown, and at first, she thought that they were moving into a bad part of town. When she realized that the buildings were not worn down so much as they were painted darker, drab colors, she realized what where they were headed. The color change was meant for the comfort of the the mammals lingering on the edge of the Nocturnal District, which was where they were headed now. Curious about her surroundings, the question of where they were going lingered on the tip of her tongue as she watched nocturnal mammals start to mill about. While many of them were just as common in the daylight hours outside of the District, such as the fox beside her, there were some oddities. Like the armor plated pangolin plod along the streets in a business suit.
"Where are we going?" she asked at last, turning her eyes to Nick.
"We haven't had a chance to eat more than what the ZPD calls coffee since breakfast," he replied, turning down a street un inventively called Night Drive. "I know a little place, serves all types. Live music. Dim lighting and mammals there keep to their own business. Unless you would rather head back to the office for freeze dried carrots and gruel."
Shuddering at the idea of rubbery, flavorless vegetables, she nodded. Good music, and intimate setting, privacy. The flavor of the tension between them in the office the day and night before had been a surprise. And it remained so on pretty much every level, as she realized more and more that the tension – the attraction - wasn't fading. But she managed a grin, keeping her ears perked towards him as the gentle flutter started in her belly again. "Nick, are you asking me out to dinner?"
"Do you want to be asked out to dinner?" he said, one dark brow quirked upward as he turned to meet her gaze with one eye. His expression was hard to read. It almost always was, but she gave him a little nod of her head in reply. "All right then. Would you like to go to dinner, Miss Hopps?"
"I would love to."
