During her psych eval before joining the force, Judy was asked to describe herself in three words. "Poised, Patient, Pleasant." She liked to think the implied alliteration with Police paid off.
Presently she was running short on these properties.
Nervously she drummed the desk while waiting what seemed like ages for pages of the ZPD intranet to load. Checking the clock, she had seven minutes before she had to get up, cut through patrol, dart over to the elevators while avoiding Ben (who naturally would want to chat about the concert last week but with not enough time to cut him off without seeming rude), leaving seconds for the ride up to the conference hall and be a minute early to finding out what this meeting with no description was that Bogo dropped on her calendar. She opened tabs, then stopped their loading only to refresh them with increasing frequency and louder clicks of her mouse.
A meeting invitee whose name she didn't recognize had a ZPD email address but couldn't be found anywhere in the precincts' org chart, nor in the officer contact database. She sighed and clicked out of the directory, back to the precinct's home page.
And there it was. In the sidebar just above a notice for an upcoming Officer's Fun Run, the answer had been staring her in the face that morning when she logged in.
Commissioner Castor's Corner: Even when we seem beset on all sides by threats known and unknown; foes great and small; outnumbered by victims and suspects as they stream through this department, our work never over at the end of a shift, we remember that Zootopia is always open for business, and that its civil servants are dedicated to safety and justice for each citizen, every hour of every day. We remember that our sacrifices are worth the cost and that we all make a difference.
There was a picture of a graying and sharp-looking beaver in a suit underneath the quote mid-speech gesturing slightly off and to the right.
Impatience gave way and nervousness took over, filling the gaps like the time lapse of a wasps' nest in summer. Judy could feel her heartbeat in her neck; horripilation creeping across her head and the backs of her hands. She slicked down the frizz on her ears, trying to make herself at least look calmer. In one motion she turned off her monitor and leaped from the chair, disappearing except for her ears behind the modular furniture.
She was but the sound of the cuffs in her tool belt softly clinking and nervous sniffles as she scampered across the office. Should she be surprised? Worried? Excited? A shout snapped her out of her scattered reverie.
"Oi Coddonmouth, whar you oftu so fast?" shouted Officer Boldoff, a coypu of substantial girth with an accent thicker than delta silt. Despite this disadvantage he made a decent dispatcher. It helped he didn't have a volume level lower than "rom-com-whipsering-at-a-funeral-gag". He also tried to ask her out every chance he got, being one of the few other glires on the force she guessed he thought he was somehow obligated. And he had a new nickname for her each week.
Boldoff swiveled towards her as she passed but she didn't break stride.
"Out of the range of your scent glands, dearie, a smell-blind skunk could finger your chair at an estate sale," she shot at him over her shoulder and bounded towards the next hallway. Not being a good afternoon for properly entertaining and rebuking his machinations (was it ever?), she settled for drive-by snark.
This elicited a chuckle from an operator between calls in a neighboring cubicle. "Tsk, it's so y'allways remember who the real brains bag here is, sha!" Boldoff grumble-shouted as he turned his chair back to his workstation.
She half-laughed, half-coughed at his sour retort from across patrol, shouldered through a set of double doors, and then straight into the nexus of the First Precinct, its sweeping multi-story lobby with lines betraying an architect in love with the international style, where she finally paused. A pair of rhino uniformed officers nearly ran into her and one of them half stepped-over, half side-stepped her with a backwards glance. It was just after lunch, officers strolling back to their posts, but the public presence was thin and no one waited for the desk sergeant.
Clawhauser's attention was thankfully occupied, as she could hear him gushing to a very patient uniformed fox about the Gazelle concert they were invited to scant weeks ago. It was quite a nice gesture on Gazelle's part to celebrate the hard work of the ZPD bringing Belleweather to justice and ending the Predator Pandemic, but most invited suspected the PR value for her upcoming tour more than made up for it. They all went anyway and had a great time, even Bogo.
I mean it's Gazelle.
Of course Nick heard all about it from Spots last week too. And each time he had to remind Ben that he was there. She watched as he lifted his shades and leaned towards the desk to repeat this detail with a mock conspiratorial look; and Clawhauser started, pointed back at him, then hit himself in the head with enthusiastic exasperation. Nick just held his fist out, a gesture Ben returned, bumping it with relief.
A beat later the ever-observant fox had spied Judy watching this exchange just out of the bubbly sergeant's peripheral vision, making eye contact for a brief moment, and using his non-fist-bumping hand, motioned towards the two predators with a practiced signal just below the view of Ben being blocked by the ever-present box of donuts, with a second glance over and quizzical eyebrow raise.
Were you coming by to shoot the shizzle on your break?
Judy gave him a tentative wave off, pointed upstairs twisting her paw quickly, then held up two digits, dabbed them against her chest and smiled meekly.
Sorry, gotta take a rain-check; there's some meeting upstairs in two, and I'm a little nervous.
Nick winked back so quickly it might not have happened, his attention otherwise seemingly on Ben, giving him (and her as she ran off again) a thumbs up / the all-clear.
Judy hurried past a slower-moving group of plainclothes detectives to catch an elevator that just emptied, darting inside, hopping up to press the upper most floor and close door buttons, one with each paw. A hippo detective lumbering behind almost managed to say "Hey! Hold that, rook-" before getting cut off. As the lift lurched upwards, allowing a spectacular view of the lobby from an increasingly high vantage, she stood facing the doors, glancing down at her phone to check the time twice during the ride. Ninety seconds were left.
The elevators opened up into a tall, carpeted arcade lit mostly by skylights, contrasted against dark, stained wood panels and framed dedications stoically lining the hall. Not a soul was in sight, although a heavy door closing could be heard with stifled echo from some distant end. Her footfalls were silent and heavy, this moderating her pace as she hurried along, checking placards for the appointed conference room.
She knew she was in the right place when she came across three doors all for the same room number, the same as in the notification bar on her phone. There was a door sized for rodents, then two increasingly larger ones, the better to less awkwardly frame the entrance of some distinguished guest of atypical police stature. With just under a minute to spare, she strode for the largest, having become accustomed to opening door handles at head level, and because damnit, she's a cop, not some civilian.
As Judy took in the room, she saw and swallowed reflexively at the four mammals already seated at the conference table, who regarded her for only a moment before resuming a murmur amongst themselves. Her time advantage nullified, she strode over and saluted once she recognized Chief Bogo's hulking form. He was seated at the center of the gently curved side of the oval, asymmetrical table, flanked by Officer McHorn and empty chairs. Judy's salute was acknowledged with a grunt and head motion to sit down so they could begin.
Across from her superior the table tapered inward, and along it from the floor gently ramped a dias upon which were several diminutive chairs closer to the smaller doors. In these chairs sat a pair of glires; Commissioner Castor in an unfashionable sports coat, and a severe looking rabbit in starchy plaid and slacks that triggered in Judy a nostalgic and hard-to-place feeling. All assembled had manila folders in front of them, the contents of which they rifled through as they talked, and an unopened folder sat in front of one of the larger chairs on the dias adjacent the rabbit she felt she should recognize.
Judy clambered up and stood on the chair next to the chief, preserving the thin, blue line she sensed bisecting the room. He reached across her, momentarily placing her in shadow and out of view of their guests, sliding the unopened folder to where she could reach herself.
"Officer Hopps, thank you for making the time to meet us." The rabbit spoke clearly at her, silencing side-discussion. She grimaced slightly at his recognition, then reset her face to as neutral expression as could be mustered.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't think we've met."
"Oh! Where are my manners," he said in a tone wavering between hurt and apologetic, "... barging in here without introducing myself." The buck got down from the platform and sidled over to her chair, offering a paw. "Hi, Coney Jessup."
Judy ducked under the arm of the chair and stepped in front of him. She nodded and shook his paw, feeling a firmer grip than might have been necessary, which she returned, never breaking eye contact. "Nice to meet you Mr. Jessup. How can we help?"
"Well," he began as he returned to his perch, "As you might have guessed, there's a case we'd like a consult on..." Back on her seat she opened the file to review the case notes as he continued, "... we don't have the kind of resources your fine officers have here down in Bunny Borough."
Her violet eyes snapped up at him with the mention of her home town.
"Um, excuse my asking, sir, but I don't know what that has to do with me."
"I was just getting to that, and please, call me Coney."
"I too would like to know exactly why we should be assigning a rookie to this case," Chief Bogo interjected, ending with a glance at the Commissioner.
"Now hold on, Chief, no one is assigning anyone to anything just yet. All we are is talking through this to see what we can bring to bear," the beaver replied with an almost practiced, musical intonation, a kind you develop having the same conversation many times prior.
Bogo only breathes out loudly in response, as Judy gets a moment to actually read the folder's contents.
Mammalcide.
And on the second page was the parish medical examiners' report. Judy felt her mouth go dry, her tongue seemingly swathed in cotton balls.
"Now I fully appreciate you're all as busy as beav- ...er, bees, and my coming here with this is just another problem to toss on the stack. You must understand, however, Bunny Borough is a safe place, and our residents want to feel secure in knowing that we can get the guy and bring him to justice swiftly and quietly, so they can tuck their kits in at night without a furrowed brow. But we simply aren't equipped to handle a case like this, despite our population. We see accidental deaths, crimes of passion, sure, but this is the kind of thing that I just don't think the Sheriff's office can handle."
Suspected Multiple Assailants.
"I wouldn't be doing everything in my power to bring those parents that feeling of security if I didn't each out to whomever I could in our time of crisis. And having just heard the recent success of one of our own daughters among your cities' finest, well, I knew who to call first."
As he spoke, Judy flipped slowly through the crime scene photos, her veins running cold. The victim was shirtless, splayed out in a embankment, fur matted with mud and blood. His head and right arm lay slump in uncomfortable relation to the body; shoulder dislocated, neck broken.
"I think what Mr. Jessup is trying to say here, to answer your question," the beaver added leaning forward in his chair, addressing Bogo, "Is that your precinct has some fine junior officers of recent distinction. They might not be seasoned, but this could be the right challenge for them without passing up more senior detective if it happened in your district." He finished looking squarely at Judy. She did not meet his gaze, unsure of how he was expecting her to react. Shocked, resolute with solemn indignation, grateful?
"Officer Hopps, this happened on our home turf, and it was only right that I insist you get first crack at this. I would be personally honored if you accepted our plea."
Timothy Bounder. The victim's father was her dad's best man at their wedding. She hadn't seen any of the Bounder clan since she went off to the academy. How would... how could that conversation even start?
She closed the folder, not wanting to look at it anymore.
"Understandable that this might be a lot for you to take in, but you'd be doing your community a great service," he continued, "still, if this is too much too soon I'm sure−"
"I'll take it."
Judy looked the rabbit across from her in the eye, and tapped the folder with an extended digit.
"His family deserves better, Mr. Jessup, but if I'm the best option available," she then turned to the beaver, and glanced at Bogo out of the corner of her eye, "then I'm going to give it my best shot." The Commissioner seemed relieved at this, but the chief's face was inscrutable.
"One more thing," she said more softly, turning to Bogo, who looked down at her. "I want to bring in Nick on this." Bogo exhaled just loud enough for her to hear, but didn't change expressions.
"Whomever or whatever you need, the ZPD is at your disposal," Castor reassured her.
The buck smiled at this and stood, ran the wrinkles out his shirt, and came back around again to Judy's side. "We can't thank you enough. I know you're the right rabbit for the job." He made a hesitant motion like he wanted to shake hands a second time, but decided against it, instead tipping his head and ears to the group. "Well, I'll get of your fur, then. Robert, I'll call you from the road and get your officers the contact information for the Sherrif's deputies." Commissioner Castor nodded and waved him off.
"Rest assured, we're on it." he added, watching the rabbit take his leave. Once the door was closed, he turned back to the group. "Just so we're clear, while we're consulting on this case, it still belongs to the Bunny Borough Sheriff." Bogo's face relaxed into a frown.
"Sir, I think we get that, but shouldn't this kind of case get kicked up to Prairie Parish?" McHorn finally spoke.
Commissioner Castor took his glasses off and rubbed the space between his eyes, "Officer, have you ever heard of the Rodent Rights Movement?"
Judy mouthed the words, confused because the last time she heard them was when some pushy pika was trying to hand pamphlets to her on the quad at ZCC. She shuffled forward in her chair, leaning against the table to better see the rhino's reaction.
McHorn shifted uncomfortably, "I, errr, I've heard of it but I don't really follow the politics, sir."
"Well, it's a real grassroots affair," the elder beaver began, miming air quotes, "lot of support flowing in from the soybean belt, factory towns, and these other blue collar areas in the plains parishes... lots of prey, and the majority of them got big incisors, if you catch my drift, big incisors being sold big dreams. Frankly it's a pretty right-wing platform to be so popular with hard working folks, you'd think they'd fall a tad left of center."
He trailed off, checking to see he hadn't yet lost the three in uniform. He was close.
"So it's a orderist movement or a political platform depending on how you look at it. And I'm afraid that it's gaining steam at a time when interspecies tensions are strained, especially with what's happened in Zootopia."
"But we're past that... I mean aren't we healing? Right?" Judy burst out, now standing on the chair on her toes.
"When it comes to law and order in this town, you and Bogo, that's the face people recognize on the street. Those same people apparently elected me, yet I can go down to Scarbeaks during the morning rush and not a single person will glance twice. So you two must feel pretty good having this kind of personal, lasting impact, right?" The greying glire had gotten out of his seat and started to pace on the dias. "Well savor it, because the kumbayas were last news cycle and the underlying stress that's been building that got you into that mess in the first place, gave Belleweather her platform, that tension; it was boiling under the surface from way before you first stepped off that train. And not just here in the city, it's everywhere the species have migrated together, and it isn't going anywhere, and I'm still in office, and you're still here, so ... so. Yeah!"
He looked at the three in uniform, trying to remember where he was going with this.
"The point is, this victim−"
"Timothy," Judy and Bogo said nearly simultaneously.
"−Timothy, if we're to believe what I've been told by the Alderman, was an organizer for RRM in Bunny Borough."
"And you think this movement has enemies, and that those enemies killed him, what, as a message to this Jessup?" Chief Bogo had been very quiet for most of the meeting, waiting for the chance to strike at the heart of the request of his precinct's time.
"The Alderman will deny he has any direct ties to the movement, but he has made appearances at fairs and events organized by them, and if anyone were to look through his campaigns' records their PACs would probably show up. But I don't think it's the why that has him asking us for help. You know about the Sheriff out there?"
"Sam Flintlock."
"Woah, waitaminute," McHorn added, leaning back in his chair with a creak and turning towards Bogo. "Sammy 'The Rammy' Flintlock?"
"There's only so many times you can get your ticket punched before 30, even if the rumors were true and he did, in fact, have a metal plate up here." Bogo tapped the space between his horns for emphasis.
"Shit. He traded in the gloves for a glock and a badge. Good for him I guess," Officer McHorn mused as he rubbed his chin.
"S&W, Officer," the beaver added, "...in a godawful leather holster that, dollars to donuts, really makes him feel like a cowboy. His department is already at odds with the Alderman's office and half the town, and the last thing we need is a murder mixed up with all this Rodent Rights crap."
"And he thinks that witnesses who might have sympathized with him would talk to me over Sheriff Flintlock or his deputies," Judy ventured, "But there's got to be someone in the office people trust over there."
"The entire department is eventoes and a handful of preds. And up until recently, that was just how things were." Castor looked at Judy seriously. "And then RRM, and then you're in the news, and now this." He gestured at the folders on the desk.
She lowered her head and gripped the edge of the table.
"They'll talk to you. That's what's important," Bogo rumbled.
Judy closed her eyes and shook her head. "Rabbits aren't even rodents!"
Commissioner Castor was already leaving. "Well, while you're down there, maybe you can educate them." He nodded at the three of them, then walked out; a grunt echoing in his wake as he reached up to grab the door handle.
Chief Bogo watched the beaver leave and sat in thought. Suddenly he rose, his subordinates immediately following suit. He inhaled, held his breath, and snorted out, causing Judy to jump back an inch and bump her head on the chair she just climbed out of.
"McHorn, take Rudell with you and I want you guys to guide Hopps and Wilde through this. Hopps, you are going to be the face, but remember you are not a detective. Two unmarked cars, no uniforms, and keep your cell phones on you and charged. Check in with me directly each afternoon. Understood?"
"Yes sir," they both responded.
The rhino smirked at Judy, "So this will be our first rodeo together, huh Hopps? Get ready to watch and learn."
"Oh so you'll show us how it's done? You boys gonna teach us how to tie our own shoes and put on big girl underwear?" Judy narrowed her eyes and hitched her belt for emphasis.
"Exactly, using only small words," he drawled walking backwards towards the door. "Catch you tomorrow morning," he added clearly as the door slammed, leaving Officer Hopps and Chief Bogo alone standing by the table.
"You're not worried, Hopps, are you?"
She stiffened and stood up straighter. "No, sir. I should be able to handle this. I've got the procedures memorized and−"
"Well you should be," Bogo added; his words direct but eyes kind.
"Sir?"
"I don't trust that Jessup Coney character any more than I could catch him. And don't think the commissioner doesn't have an angle on this. Next year is an election year and we are a favor that has been traded."
Judy swallowed hard, "Yeah, he made me uneasy too, but that might have been my embarrassment for not recognizing him from the campaign ads back then." She didn't comment on the commissioner.
"So watch your six, Cottontail. And do me a favor."
"Anything, Chief."
"Pick up a real piece from the armory before you leave. I don't want to worry about you out there."
"I thought we're just consulting."
Bogo frowned and shook his head. "That's an order, officer. Get out of here and inform your partner. Get ready, get some rest, and get the Bounders some closure."
Judy picked up the folder as Bogo sat back down in his chair, withdrew from the table until she was a silhouette among the sidelights of the conference room doors, and saluted at him. Soon he was alone in the room. He leaned his head into one hand while he drummed the table with his free hoof.
"And get Robert out of my fur."