Judy was no stranger to death. Her parents had buried kits before, from ones too young to have been named to her older brother Robert, who had fallen through the ice one winter and drowned when he was twelve. Robert was the only one she had seen in death, and in his coffin he had looked more asleep than anything else, as though at any moment he would spring up and declare it all to be some horrible joke. There was no question, however, that Carajou was dead; when Judy had grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse, his hat had fallen away, exposing a head twisted to an impossible angle. Carajou's features were set in a terrible rictus of surprise and agony, as though his own death had come unexpectedly with just enough time for the wolverine to realize what was happening.

Most of Judy's knowledge had come from books; she had utterly devoted herself to her education as part of her preparations for becoming a police officer. She recalled having read, in a book about military service, that there was no telling how a mammal would react to war until they experienced it themselves. The author had gone on to claim that while the naturally violent nature of predators might give them some small advantage in the heat of the moment, prey and predators alike had the capacity for cowardice or bravery within them. Mammals who seemed confident and self-assured in normal civilian life might fall to pieces when confronted with real fighting, the sort that ended in death, and no amount of training could ever truly prepare them. There had been mammals in Judy's life, even other bunnies, who had claimed that bunnies would never be able to handle the stress of war or violence of any kind. While encountering a corpse was nothing like fighting in a war, Judy was not panicking. She could feel her heart pounding, but she was alert and felt focused as she started to look at the wolverine more closely. "Marion!" Red said, having walked after Judy much more slowly, his drink already half-empty and a puzzled expression on his face, "What's w—"

The words died on the buck's lips as he saw the wolverine, and the glass of moonshine fell out of his paw, shattering on the worn wooden planks of the floor. The sharp sound of breaking glass was barely audible over the sound of the music and none of the other patrons of the club even turned to look for the source. Red's nose started twitching, his eyes saucer-wide as he stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet. "He's dead," Red stuttered weakly, pointing at the wolverine with one trembling paw.

"He's dead," the buck repeated somewhat more loudly.

"Red—" Judy began, attempting to sound as soothing as possible; she could not have had her eye off of Carajou for more than five minutes as she went to the bar to get a drink with Red, and it was likely that the murderer was still in the club.

The last thing that she wanted was a panic, but Red seemed to be beyond reason. "He's dead!" the buck was shrieking, his pupils contracted to pinpricks and his face loose with his terror.

"He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!" Red yelled, his voice getting higher and shriller as he continued staggering backwards, and even when he tripped and fell he did not stop his mantra even as he curled into a ball and covered his ears with his paws, although the words started to be interspersed with choked sobs.

The buck's screams had caught the attention of the other mammals in the club, and even the music had stopped. A number of curious mammals had started creeping closer to the scene of the crime, some of them laughing and murmuring as they apparently thought Red was just a mammal who had gotten a little too drunk and would provide an amusing spectacle. As they got close enough to see the dead wolverine, though, the conversations stopped. Judy saw the opportunity she had and seized it, speaking up to be heard over Red, who was still repeating the same two words over and over again. "Your attention, please!" she called out, trying to do her best to sound authoritative.

Judy stepped away from the table, towards the crowd, and they all took a half-step backwards. "I need everyone to stay calm and stay where they are. You, the bartender—"

She pointed at the opossum behind the bar, who was watching the proceedings with a keen eye, "Call the police and tell them that there's been a murder."

Judy had seen a telephone tucked away behind the bar, and knew that every second that was wasted was a second that the murderer could use to their advantage. She had been instructed to perform surveillance only, but the thought of ignoring the murder hadn't even crossed her mind. Given the choice between doing what she had been ordered to do and doing what was right, doing what was right would always win. "Now!" she barked, when she saw that the opossum hadn't made any move towards picking up the receiver.

At her command, the opossum jumped a little, but he did pick up the phone. The mammals watching had fallen silent, and for a brief moment Judy thought that she might have the situation in paw. All she would have to do was keep an eye on things while waiting for the police to show up, and then provide her statement. It seemed to her that the only mammals, besides herself, that were completely free of suspicion were the bartender, Red, and the pianist. Otherwise, any one of the forty or so mammals in the club might have been the murderer, assuming that they hadn't fled the club the moment after they had done the deed. Her train of thought was interrupted by a portly little goat, who had moved away from the semi-circle of other mammals with the overly precise walk of a drunk and called out in a booming voice, "Cheese it!"

He immediately took his own advice and waddled towards the door as quickly as he could, falling down to all fours. There was hardly any delay before the other mammals in the club joined him in fleeing. Two of Red's friends, a capybara and a platypus, hauled him bodily to his feet and pulled him with them, feathers flying from their coats as they rubbed against each other and banged off other mammals and furniture on their way out of the club. "Wait!" Judy called out desperately, torn between trying to stop them and staying on the scene.

In the end, she stayed. She had no idea who the murderer was, and it was quite possible that they had associates who would interfere with the crime scene if she left. Considering that it was down to just the bartender and the pianist in the club, both of whom looked somewhat unsure as to what to do, she doubted that they would have encountered much difficulty.

Judy had taken the opportunity as she waited for the police to arrive to question the pianist, but while the little raccoon had done his best to be helpful he hadn't seen anything. When she stood on the stage, the reason was obvious; although in theory he should have been able to see into the club from over the top of the gleaming black Swineway grand piano, the spotlight directed onto the piano made it impossible to see anything in the crowd. It was only about ten minutes after Judy had asked the opossum to call the police that two officers had shown up, an enormous female rhinoceros and a male hippopotamus, neither one of which could stand up straight in the low basement.

"Hello, officers," Judy said, trying to sound respectful, "The body's over here."

The rhinoceros grunted an acknowledgement. "Name?" she asked, in a bored tone, pulling a little notepad from her belt.

"Judy Hopps. Listen, the—"

"You find the body?" the hippopotamus interrupted.

"Yes, it's—"

"Tony! Angela! What's going on here?" a new voice interrupted.

The speaker was a pudgy little hedgehog, dressed in a dark suit that strained to contain his belly. He was standing at the entrance to the club and puffing, apparently exhausted from the short trip down the stairs. The two police officers, evidently Tony and Angela, turned to face him. "Mr. Quill," the hippopotamus said respectfully.

"I'm losing money every minute that this club is empty," he snapped, "Take care of this."

"Sir," Judy protested, "There's been a murder. The police need to—"

"The police need to do what they're paid to do," he cut her off, "And take care of problems."

He spoke his words with a meaningful look at the two officers, who seemed to understand exactly what he meant. The rhinoceros approached Judy and squatted further down, leaning forward with her paws on her knees. "How many drinks have you had tonight, Ms. Hopps?"

"What?" Judy asked, "I haven't had anything to drink!"

"Right," the officer replied skeptically, looking at Judy's paw.

Unlike Red, Judy hadn't dropped her drink, and had actually completely forgotten that she was still holding it, as she had been so focused on the murder of Carajou. When she had run over to his body, she must have spilled quite a bit of it, because her glass was mostly empty and she realized that she smelled strongly of alcohol.

Judy drew herself up to her full height, as pathetic as that was against the massive bulk of the rhinoceros officer. "I'm a Prohibition Agent!" she said firmly, locking eyes with the cop, "I was investigating this club."

The rhinoceros laughed. "Sure," she said cheerfully, "And I'm Norma Sheared. You got a badge, agent?"

"I—" Judy started responding, but then paused as the realization struck her.

Judy did have a badge, a brass shield with an eagle in the center and navy blue enamel around the lettering that too large for her to comfortably hold in the palm of one paw. While she saw her position as a Prohibition Agent as a waypoint on her path to the job she actually wanted, she kept meticulous care of the badge and almost always had it in her possession. However, the clutch purse that she had taken from the Bureau to go along with the clothes that she had borrowed had been somewhat too small for the badge to fit, and she had left it behind. At the time, she had thought that she wouldn't need it, as it had been made quite clear to her that her assignment was surveillance only, but she mentally kicked herself for not bringing it. Judy vowed that, in the future, she'd never leave it behind again, even if she had to wear it on a garter.

"No, not on me," Judy finished.

"That's what I thought, bunny," the rhinoceros said as she saw Judy's realization play itself out across her face.

"Now, there's absolutely no alcohol served in this club, isn't that right Mr. Quill?" the rhino asked, turning her attention to the club owner.

The hedgehog gave a pretentious little nod. "Absolutely right, Officer Zweihorn."

"I'll get her out of here," Zweihorn said to the hedgehog, then turned her attention to Judy, "Next time try coming up with something a little more believable. Come on, Tipsy."

Judy was left dumbfounded by the blatant lies and before she could voice any protest, the rhinoceros grabbed Judy's entire arm in one massive paw and pulled her out of the club.

Being arrested was the single most humiliating moment of Judy's life. Although she had told every single officer that was involved in the process that she was a Prohibition Agent and begged them to check with the Bureau, none of them had seemed inclined to lift so much as a finger to help her. More than one of them had laughed, apparently finding the idea of a bunny as a Prohibition Agent incredibly funny. At last, she had been left for the night in a cell in the Precinct One police station. The single largest cell had been occupied by a giraffe that she was absolutely certain was passed out drunk, but the cells to the sides of the giraffe, which became smaller and smaller, first stacked two high, then three, and then working their way down to a column of sixteen cells that wouldn't have been able to hold any mammal larger than a dormouse, were mostly empty. If there was some silver lining to the whole debacle, it was that she would at least not have to spend the night sharing a cell with an actual criminal. The worst of it, though, was how blatantly corrupt the two police officers had been. It was incredibly obvious that they were being paid off by Mr. Quill, the owner of the club, and she almost couldn't believe that they seemed not to care at all about a murder.

Judy sat on the hard cot that was the single piece of furniture in the cell except for a combination sink and toilet, thinking about the murder. She hadn't had the chance to examine the body closely, but she thought she had some information to go off of. From the angle that Carajou's head had been twisted at, his neck must have been broken, which seemed to her the likely cause of death. There were the two small wounds to his torso, which were obviously the source of the puddle of blood on the club's floor, but they seemed too low to be fatal in the few minutes she hadn't been watching him. Besides, it seemed unlikely for the murderer to also go to the effort of breaking his neck if it hadn't been necessary.

Judy frowned and scratched at her nose. Her first thought was that the two wounds to Carajou's chest were bullet wounds, but she didn't think that the music had been loud enough to cover the sound of gun shots, and she would have noticed the acrid scent of gunpowder considering that the basement didn't have any windows or other ventilation to carry the smell away. Possibly an air gun, then, something that would have been almost entirely silent and wouldn't leave a distinct scent. If it had been a knife, it would have had to have been something with a very narrow blade, something like a stiletto, and she thought about how the tables in the club were set up. The table tops were relatively small, but any mammal capable of stabbing Carajou in the torso while sitting across from him would have had to have had a long blade, long arms, or both.

That seemed like the likely chain of events, though. Someone must have sat across from Carajou, someone that he probably knew considering the wolverine's reputation for violent, unpredictable behavior. They had inflicted the wounds to his chest to incapacitate him, and then broke his neck to finish him off. What did that imply about the murderer? They would have to be someone who either didn't think they could beat the wolverine in a fair fight, or simply someone coldly calculating enough to not take any chances. Breaking Carajou's neck would have taken a fair amount of strength and knowledge to be able to do it so quickly, which made her think that it was likely a mammal at least around the same size as the wolverine and almost certainly an experienced murderer.

Her thoughts of the murder were interrupted by the rounds of the officer on the night patrol. Although Judy could not say that she had seen very many cheetahs, he was easily the largest member of his species that she had ever seen; although he was quite tall, it was his width that was truly remarkable. The cheetah was easily the fattest mammal she had ever seen, and when he had reached her cell and saw that she was awake, he had greeted her cheerfully, commenting on how adorable she looked. Judy had forced herself to bite back a response to that, as the last thing she wanted to do was antagonize him.

"So what are you in here for, Judy?" he asked after he had introduced herself and he had responded in kind.

"It's a mistake," she insisted, "I'm a Prohibition Agent. I just didn't have my badge on me."

The cheetah—Ben, he had introduced himself as—looked at her thoughtfully. "I've never heard of a bunny being a Prohibition Agent," he said.

Judy sighed and let her head fall against the bars of the cell. "I'm the first," she said.

"Do you want me to try ringing the Bureau office?" Ben asked.

Judy had been so inured to her failures with all of the other officers in the station that she hadn't even tried asking Ben for help. "Please," she said, grabbing the bars of the cell, "Could you do that for me?"

"Sure!" the cheetah replied, smiling broadly, "It's kind of boring, watching the cells. This isn't what I had in mind when I became a cop."

Judy found it difficult to be sympathetic to the cheetah. Certainly, she wouldn't want to guard cells herself, but at least he had been able to become an officer in the first place. Considering the way that events were going, though, she was desperate for his help. "What did you have in mind?" she asked, hoping to build a rapport with the friendly officer.

The big cheetah looked down bashfully, and kicked one foot. "I... Well, I wanted to help mammals, you know? Be the cop that helps lost kittens and all that. Brighten up their day."

Judy paused, and realized that she had misjudged him. "I understand completely," she said sincerely, because she did understand.

Ben wanted to make the world a better place in his own way, and it was heartening that there was one officer, at least, who had the same goal that she did. He positively beamed. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

He had left the row of cells after that, leaving Judy alone with her thoughts and the snores of the giraffe in the largest cell. The cot in Judy's cell was incredibly uncomfortable, but suddenly she felt rather tired. Perhaps it was just the stress and excitement taking their toll, but she slumped down against the hard, thin mattress and its scratchy sheets. There wasn't even a pillow, but at that moment she didn't care. All she could do, at the moment, was to wait for Ben to get back, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.

Author's Notes: The title of this chapter, "In the Jailhouse Now," comes from a blues song originally written in 1915 but covered a number of times since, including a jazz cover by Boyd Senter in 1929 and Gene Kardos in 1932. It's probably most familiar in the modern era due to its inclusion in O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Since this story is set in 1927, that means that this version of Judy would have been born around 1903. At the turn of the 20th century the infant mortality rate in the US was about 10% and in some cities hit almost 30% as a result of malnutrition, disease, and a number of other factors mostly linked to poverty. As such, the grim math is that the odds are heavily stacked against the Hopps family of this era in terms of having such a large family without losing any kits. There were a lot of things about the early 20th century that were great, and plenty more that definitely weren't, like medical care. I'm trying to present a somewhat balanced depiction of what a Zootopia version of the 1920s would have been like, rather than an idealization of how our 1920s went.

"Cheese it" was a slang term in use in the US in the beginning of the 20th century as a command to stop whatever you were doing and run away, usually with the implication that it was because the cops would be arriving.

Swineway is a pun on Steinway, a real manufacturer of grand pianos that was in fact in business in the 1920s.

Norma Sheared is a pun on Norma Shearer, a Hollywood actress who had a career spanning from 1925 through 1942. In 1927, she was reasonably popular, although it was in the 1930s that she was nominated for the Academy Award for best actress five times. Zweihorn is German for "two horns," appropriate for a rhinoceros. That there were corrupt police officers at the heights of organized criminal activity should not be a surprise; they were just as susceptible as Prohibition Agents.

Prohibition Agents did in fact have badges, which look pretty similar to police badges of the same era. The description that I provide in this chapter is accurate to how the badges looked after the Prohibition Bureau became a part of the Department of the Treasury; since Judy became an agent only a few months after the transition, she'd definitely have a badge in that style. It's actually somewhat surprising how many government agencies do give their agents badges; even FDA inspectors and Federal Reserve agents have them.

It's taken a while to get through all of the necessary setup, but next chapter will be the first appearance of Nick in this story. These author's notes are rather short by my standards, but there's some things that I'll not comment on at this time to avoid giving any spoilers. As always, I'd love to know what you thought!