I do not own Zootopia, that belongs to Disney. This a fan work made solely for the sake of amusement.
"Let It Go, It's Happytown"
Chapter Three: What We Want To See
By: Gabriel LaVedier
The next day, Sherlock and Hermione approached the apartment front again, walking with greater confidence, Sherlock upright, Hermione with a smug smile on her face as she quick-walked her way along beside Sherlock's long stride. The same rhinos were there, and looked curiously at the approaching detectives. "I don't know what happened but Nick's name only gets you in once," the right one said.
"Then let me give you a more powerful name..." Sherlock confidently said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket and showing it off. "Councilor Cecil Seedsworth. His personal signature, the ink might still be wet. I've been approved as a consultant on this case. I have every right to be in here."
"Also, we have a liaison in the form of Officer Wulfberg. So, please do let us through so we may... liaise," Hermione insisted, raising her muzzle higher.
Both rhinos passed the paper between each other several times, reading it over carefully and checking the signature several times. Finally, the left one clicked his shoulder radio. "Officer Monocer to Precinct One. I need you to check on a consultation approval signed by Concilor Seedsworth for a... Sherlock... Gee-yag..."
"Gyag, clip the end very sharply," Sherlock corrected.
"I have that right in front of me," Officer Clawhauser answered, almost immediately. "The Chief informed me that the Councilor had called him up and insisted he make a note of it. Funny, he wasn't as angry as he usually is when someone demands something. But, never mind! It's all clear. That's been officially processed. He and an assistant named... Hermione LaBelle are approved for looking into the Cheery Charlie case."
"C'est moi, Monsieur," Hermione said, showing her ID and provisional credentials. "Understudy to M. Gyag."
"Officers, good to know you take your jobs seriously, it speaks well of you," Sherlock said with a nod and slight angling of his hat. He and Hermione stepped between the stunned rhinos and made their way up the stairs.
The room was still open, but the small investigators were gone. Officer Wulfberg was standing outside, arms crossed across his chest. "I could be patrolling Happytown right now. This case should be closed. I don't feel like antagonizing the Mayor, he's enough of a pain as it is."
"And a very good morning to you, C. Wulfberg," Hermione said with a grin. "Shall we bring you a coffee? You couldn't possibly get any more bitter."
"Mlle. LaBelle... he's doing his job. And he would rather be doing something much harder and more painful. After all, patrol officers get no respect or support. That he wishes to do a much harder task, take the hate, speak of his strong constitution. He would rather be spit on and disrespected rather than watch us look through the scene and perform light duties as our conduit to the police," Sherlock said, with an even, smooth tone that betrayed no other emotion.
Louis winced and grit his teeth as the emotionless snark pierced through him. He couldn't react with anger, he couldn't make them leave, he had no proper response that didn't either concede or play along. "I do what I'm assigned to do. I'm not required to like it... I don't have to be able to stand what it all means... but I do it! If you want to look into this, do it, but don't think anything's going to change. Nothing does."
Hermione clicked her tongue and looked at the officer with an impassive expression. "Pardon, C. Wulfberg. I am not looking for un petit ami, your tone and attitude are wasted. And they are... perhaps more than I like. I only unveil the dark, I do not rest in it."
The wolf rubbed his temples slowly as she stepped away from the door. "We took the body, of course, but photos have been left for context and some indication of how the scene looked. That... that wasn't planned but the crime scene guys didn't bother to pick up anything. Management would complain but I don't think they care. Or they don't feel like dealing with the police for reasons I can only guess."
"Given what I've heard by digging around it's a bit of both. Councilor Seedsworth's slumlord legislation is a real threat to them if any problem ever arises that gets them noticed. But it serves us. We get extra time to examine," Sherlock said, stepping carefully into the room while pulling out a large, circular magnifying glass.
"Is he serious?" Louis asked to Hermione as she gingerly stepped her way into the room.
"Mais oui," Hermione answered, careful to step only in places she had seen Sherlock step, or near enough given their different stride spans. "Though I believe it may only be a focus for his special powers. He has been trained in a place far away in ways which we may not fathom."
"Don't listen to her. I only learned patience, focus and concentration on the details, how to take scattered facts and properly connect them with sense and reason," Sherlock said as he slowly dragged the glass across the carpet. "What were the species of the crime scene technicians?"
"We were sent small ones, as you saw. Under the suits they were cavies. Why?"
"And full coverage suits?"
"They might not care about Happytown but no ZPD crime scene tech would ever get so lax that they'd be out of the required uniform. They'd be fired immediately after Chief Bogo got through yelling them into next year," Louis insisted. "What's this about?"
"Herbivores like me are rare in Happytown, and while I don't doubt Charlie had friends of every diet he seemed like the kind of mammal to maintain a private space. A mammal that big-hearted still needed a small space all of his own. This carpet is cheap and relatively weak. His toe claws left small cuts that he probably tried to prevent. A cheap place like this would cheat him out of his money if they saw too many obvious claw scrapes. Most of the ones I see are old, they're flattened with the rest of the carpet, the insides faded like the uncut fibers of the carpet.
"But I can tell, there was someone in here with point-tipped hooves, a split-hoof type. They were trying to be careful, a professional, but they were unfamiliar with this quality of carpet, meaning they probably didn't encounter this kind of carpet in daily life. The shape of the imprints are directed toward the bedroom and then out again, the fibers broken rather than sliced with a claw, showing different shades inside. No fading and no trampling down," Sherlock said, slowly following the small traces along the carpet.
Louis looked stunned at the revelation, his teeth gritting slightly. "Those slacking little rodents! They didn't even bother to notice that! How could those idiots do that?"
"Because they literally can't think the way Happytown needs them to think," Sherlock blandly stated. "Hermione, can you explain what I mean?"
"Bien sûr, M. Gyag," Hermione said, nodding in his direction. "Happytown has separation, the poor and the weak cling to what division gives them any sense of superiority. They do not easily mix with others. The wolves hate the Amur tigers, the tigers hate the wolves and the bears, the bears hate smaller predators and the wolves and tigers, the weasels keep their position by slinking their own way, and everyone hates the foxes. Immigrants cluster together, even those that have their own kind in Happytown. And those immigrants who are prey do not socialize with predators except in... very rare cases.
"Your crime scene cavies would think like those who know only at least casual interaction. They think nothing remarkable finding prey prints in the home of a predator, and think nothing of them only ever going in and out. Some of them may have thought of scandalous things, to preserve prejudices. Of course they would not notice, working so lazily and so sloppily. Their lack of concern and their inability to understand Happytown made them inept. Intellectual laziness only forgives so much. They may not have wanted to see. But I will not speculate," Hermione concluded, nodding her head firmly.
"I mean... a good cop understands every District has its own ways about it. Doing business in Sahara Square is very different from Tundratown, and from the Rainforest District. And forget Little Rodentia if you're bigger than a cavy. Still... we were never trained in Happytown policing. Bogo told us to do our best and... seems kind of angry about all things Happytown."
"Naturally, he is a flic. He has nothing but hate to give," Hermione sniffed.
"You need more seasoning, Mlle. LaBelle, you were told outright he wants to care, but his own position requires he force himself to be ruthless and hard. His wife is a predator. He cares at least that far, and likely more than he can say, to remain a strong leader. His kind is the silent sage. I don't know him, but I know his kind. They are hardly the ideal, but of the many choices to have as a leader, there are worse. Stoic, as your kind would say."
"I could have recalled that in time," Hermione insisted, looking proud and disdainful.
"Of course. But it's better that a detective remove emotion, especially in the initial stages. You can care all you want, after you've carefully deciphered all the clues, with no distorting lens of emotion. Like those crime scene mammals. They showed disdain, and that locked their minds into common patterns," Sherlock said, having made his way into the bedroom.
"Well, I'm only his understudy," Hermione offhandedly commented to Louis. "Learning and perfecting are my occupations at this time."
Sherlock's investigation took him right before the bed, his magnifying glass moving closer and pulling away as he teased meaning from the tiny indications still present after other mammals had been around. "We're dealing with a taller mammal, potentially a male of the species, but taller than Charlie to some degree, at least enough to lift him and be stronger than him."
"Now this I want to hear explained. How did you figure out what the techs couldn't? Happen to have the guy's name while you're at it?" Louis asked, with his arms crossed over his chest.
"I'll pass on your pessimism, Officer. This must seem strange to you. As I said, the hoof prints show the passage and position of the stranger. Charlie was somehow moved to enter this room where he was killed through the appearance of suicide, via the bag and zip tie. His toeclaws, as expected, tore little furrows, a sign of distress. Strange if he was committing suicide. If he was reacting to suffocation it would have involved flat-footed stabbing, not a small spot of random rakes into the carpet, which would have happened if taken by surprise. Again, your techs saw what they were expected to see.
"Charlie would never have just allowed himself to die. Kind as he was all mammals have a natural instinct to survive. Only someone larger than him and stronger could have restrained him for the time needed for his own struggles to exhaust his air. And, as noted in the report copy, there were nicks on the inside of the bag. Not incidental fang scrapes, which prey minds might expect, in a contrived thought about the nature of predator fangs, but from Charlie trying to open his mouth and scream while having his muzzle closed. Tiny nicks in the carpet, of the random nature I mentioned, would indicate he was off his paws, kicking out and only just able to rake the carpet. The tall, strong perpetrator then set him on the bed when it was finished, and carefully walked out, trying to avoid any marking of the carpet, though he did it incidentally.
"I must conclude from the factual pieces of evidence at my disposal that Charlie was lured to the bedroom or entered as part of his daily routine where a tall, powerful split-hoofed individual, possibly a male given sexual dimorphism, was waiting. He had a plastic bag and looped zip tie prepared, which he slipped over Charlie's head and cinched tight, slightly too tight for it to truly look like an intentional act. He held Charlie off the ground, muzzle shut and paws off the ground. The deed done he arrayed Charlie in a posture to seem like a suicide then made his way out once more. I may have missed a detail but given what is known and can be seen, that's the most logical conclusion that can be drawn," Sherlock said, rising and carefully walking out of the apartment.
Louis just looked at Sherlock, and the nose-up Hermione, completely at a loss. He had been through the academy, drilled and trained harshly, the survivor of a winnowing sieve that threw out many mammals barely different from him. He'd taken test after test, done more exercises than he ever had before, and been granted a badge to go with his label of Officer. He was daily surrounded by law enforcers just like him or even more seasoned. And yet, some broken-down slum-located Private Investigator with some papers stamped by the city after passing a test with a minimum score had just provided the evidence that sustained the suspicions of the professional medical examiner, outperforming the crime scene techs. Knowing the location made all the difference. "I can't quite take all that to Bogo, not when, you know, there's pressure and ego on the line."
"I didn't think so. Your cavies would resent the implication of incompetence and Bogo would have to deal with conflict, something I sense he prefers to avoid," Sherlock blandly stated. "But now we know. More importantly, you know and can make more official inquiries. Tell Chief Bogo why you need to make record searches and examine old case files. He should understand and keep you out of the sightline of Mousawitz and other less discreet mammals interested in keeping Happytown as it is."
"I can't guarantee anything. I mean that in any sense you want to take it. I... I might not even look. The Chief might not let me. Both of those are unlikely but real. I could just not find anything. There are a lot of split-hoof types, even with the need for him to be big, that's a lot. And if they were professional enough to never be caught before, it's just a jester's scavenge."
"But you will help, will you not?" Hermione asked. "We next must take to these streets and ask questions of those never inclined to answer, who keep their heads down and trap themselves in their own misery."
"Blaming the victim..." Louis began
"Is right if the victim perpetrates," Hermione shot back. "They wish to do nothing, then nothing is done. They make it bad because they choose to let it be so. The gangs and others make it harder but not cooperating with each other to at least clean or secure themselves is part of the problem."
"Part but not all, Mlle. LaBelle. Blame is not so easily partitioned. The disdain with which these citizens are held must be the biggest portion," Sherlock insisted.
"Meager though it is, M. Gyag, they should eat their own portion. We are all wretches here, and equal in our wretchedness, but there are no excuses. We do what me must, yet no one else does more than merely surviving. Disgraceful."
"How do we contact you? We plan to have more information once the interviews are done," Sherlock said.
Louis reached into a compartment on his belt and pulled out a card. "Because of the special nature of this assignment, officers working in Happytown get these. We're of slightly more note than normal patrol officers, because we're dealing with a lot of unique situations and individuals that will get to know us. If they start to trust us, that's what we want. The number gets you the main board, and that little code is a verification thing, they'll get hold of me and I can take the call from there. I'm just a low-level beat-walker. I've got a locker and I share a desk where I can write out reports. The phone is communal."
"We'll be in touch, Officer Wulfberg. Don't worry, this will all go somewhere," Sherlock asserted, pocketing the card and nodding to Louis. "Let's get walking, Hermione. Cases don't solve themselves."
o o o
"We may have promised too much to C. Wulfberg," Hermione huffed, trotting along beside Sherlock with dextrous skill on her heels. "I told you, the victims want to continue the victimization. They will say nothing. They know he is dead, many may know he was killed. They fear what? Being killed as well? How many do they think can be killed with impunity?"
"At least one more than Charlie, and they could be the one," Sherlock said, evenly. "They must survive. They have no power, no status. They have genuine fear. Fear of the gangs, fear of the normal Zootopians, even fear of police more apt to punish than help. Look at Councilor Seedsworth's wife. Obeying the orders of Lionheart, doing what was assumed to be good. But she is from Happytown, and had to face a maximum penalty."
"We accept these things as reality. But survival is for insects and fish and birds. We are mammals, we must live, or our existence means nothing," Hermione insisted.
"As my venerable master Bajja said, we live to live, survival gives us that chance. Meaning is our duty, none will give it to unless we allow ourselves to become a puppet to others. They must survive, Mlle. LaBelle, or else life is impossible. It all stacks atop each essential."
Hermione huffed and tugged on Sherlock's sleeve. "Look, monsieur. That cart." She was pointing to a vaguely steaming cart staffed by a big, surly bear. A sign hung at a tilt, announcing it was frequented by Cheery Charlie. "His name. Perhaps that bear knows more of M. Spots. A mammal that eats at a cart will likely talk to the one who makes his food."
"Excellent deduction. You're learning well," Sherlock commented, turning toward the cart.
"It was basic, the sign did the work," Hermione said, brushing off her front modestly.
"In Master Bajja's words, no bird soars with thought and care, but all marvel at its wisdom and wonder at how great it must be. By learning so much about this profession your new mind is now ordinary to you. You don't realize that you are doing anything special. But special it is," Sherlock said, stepping up to the bear. "Sir, I would like to ask about..."
"Unless it's about food, keep walking, leaf-chewer," Boo grunted, barely sparing a glance at Sherlock.
"Hmmm, not an uncommon reaction. I was not born in this city but I live here. However, I respect your need to work, sir. What sort of meal would the late Mr. Spots have? I'll have that."
"Monsieur... it is clear what sort of food this bear sells. Do you forget your own self? You are a vegetarian, by choice, I note. Others of your ilk have other diets. But no matter, you do not need to buy your information in this manner," Hermione said.
"I know what I'm doing," Sherlock politely said. "As I said, sir, Mr. Spot's order, please."
"Sure, sure..." Boo said, opening up his cart and dropping the frozen fillets and potatoes into the hot oil. "I stand by most of what I said. But I gotta respect anyone stuck in this open sewer with me. You kinda remind me of Charlie. You didn't get mad, you didn't call me what I probably deserve, you just went with it. That was something I liked about him. He kinda just kept it together. Had his head on right. Not like these guys ripping walls and pissing on stuff. He had brains."
"That was the impression I always had of him," Sherlock said with a nod. "His ways were very familiar, somewhat like those I've tried to practice. I had great respect for him."
"Respect, yeah..." Boo said, looking wistfully at the frying food. "That was the word. Everybody respected him. I mean, everyone with sense. Mammals that actually gave an eclipsed care respected what he wanted to do. We all made jokes, we all had a laugh, but we did want what he wanted. He was the only one thinking about us. He wanted the big mammals in City Hall to think about us too."
"As I understand it, Cecil Seedsworth does. He hired me to look at this case. He knew that Mr. Spots would never do this to himself. Others on the Council surely also wish to move on Happytown matters, beyond what has already begun," Sherlock noted.
"I heard him say something like that. He was always talking to that Seedsworth guy. Thought he had credibility just 'cause his wife was an immigrant from here. Maybe it does. I dunno. He mentioned some others, Tatu and Fanak. As if a fox could change anything. I don't care where she's from. We just need someone to change all this," Boo grumbled, gingerly pushing the fish and chips around.
"Did you know of any troubles? Anyone truly upset at him, someone from outside upset by his work?" Sherlock asked.
"He always smiled around here. He seemed to be feeling good. He always did but I think he thought he had figured something out with Seedsworth and Fanak. Either that or he was just happy to have two Councilors listening to him. Maybe that meant something. But he always said it meant something. He hoped so hard it probably gave him a hernia," Boo quipped, shaking out the fish potatoes and settling them into absorbent paper. He passed them off to Sherlock and nodded. "I knew Charlie wouldn't do that. We need the whole city to know he wouldn't do that. Maybe then they'll give a rotting pile about us."
Sherlock checked the prices on the side of the cat and opened his wallet, carefully counting out the exact amount and passing it along to Boo. "I promise you, I'll get to the bottom of this. This matters to everyone. Happytown is our home, Charlie was our heart. We've been stabbed in it by someone and they must be dragged into the light to pay for it."
"Don't know ya, but I like your style, fella. If I hear anything, you can count on me to say something," Boo said, topping off his oil and shutting his cart.
"Perhaps not informative as such, M. Gyag, but a new information source may pay in the future," Hermione noted as the two walked off in the direction of the office. "We know it was a murder, and that is enough to begin. It must be an outsider, a split-hoof prey animal that had reason to harm M. Spots, by personal decision or paid design. He had been making waves, and those are not good for the self-important. More questions, more investigation, and we will see who he has been aggrieving. Now to your purchase... if you hoped to buy the looseness of his tongue you only planted a seed, with no promise of a return. Why did you do it, M. Gyag?"
Sherlock casually handed the food aside to Hermione. "As you noted, Mlle. LaBelle, I am a vegetarian. But you aren't. Fish is something much prized by those who who consume meat, as I understand it. He needed to sell, you enjoy this meal. And it was only right to give you something nice. You're learning well."
Hermione considered the fried fish and potatoes, taking a tentative bite from one of the strips of fish and savoring her mouthful, chewing it with contemplative slowness. "Even cheap fish from a cart is fish. M-merci, M. Gyag. This extravagance was unwarranted but... thank you."
"All for the greater good. If you are fed you can focus well," Sherlock said, holding the door to the office open for Hermione. "You can see more than your own ideas if you don't have to think of your own needs. Let's look beyond, and see what really brought this tragedy to our door."