Case Number: 231-758X

Category: Homicide

Lead Investigator: Jason Wolford

Incident Description:

A series of unsolved murders spanning various districts around Zootopia. Victims appear to share no correlation and range from Tundra Town to Rainforest District and Central. No suspects have been found at this time; the search remains ongoing.

Investigation Progress:

It was early morning in Zootopia. The sun had risen over the horizon merely hours ago, and already all hell was breaking loose. The Bull Pen of the ZPD Precinct One was an uproar of bustling excitement, a room full of mammals whooping, hollering, and raising a ruckus until the moment they were forced to settle down. Chief Bogo handed out assignments as he did every morning, sending out his officers to protect the city streets.

For Officer Jason Wolford, that entailed the continuation of his most recent case; one that was wearing on his morale. As one of the precinct's wolves, it wasn't unusual for him to be assigned to the messier jobs. That included both the investigation and the thorough examination of — often gruesome — crime scenes. With a nearly unmatched sense of smell, his ability to sniff out clues had proven pivotal in a number of busts. Not only in locating suspects, but in extracting information in the interrogation room. Even the most skillful of storytellers had a difficult time fooling the officer's nose: no matter how well a mammal could lie, their pheromones rarely did.

Unfortunately, that had not been the case for his current task; a string of cold murder cases plaguing the city — so many, in fact, that the central station had been enlisted to provide aid to the other districts.

Over the course of the last few months or so, there had been a wildly growing increase in violent incidents throughout Zootopia. Vicious assaults, resulting in multiple hospitalizations and oftentimes leaving the victims in horrible condition. In the more severe cases, they never made it to the hospital at all. In the worst cases, they were found dead on arrival. This was especially true when the attacked mammal was of the prey species. Which, unfortunately, happened to be nearly all of them. And with the numbers ramping up, he was growing frustrated with the lack of progress.

When the police cruiser arrived at the scene, it became immediately apparent that this incident would be the same as the last one. With heavy hearts braced for the worst, the four officers quickly climbed out of the vehicle and made their way across the street. EMTs had long arrived and done all that they could — which as they would soon learn, was essentially nothing — and now, the area had become a mob scene with mammals gathering around the area, pushing, shoving, and trying to get a look at the damage. What was it about homicides that got animals so excited? Morbid curiosity? He would never understand it.

With practiced motions, the quartet split apart to conduct their individual roles alongside of their fellow officers from the Savannah District. Just behind the yellow tape, a zebra was doing his best to contain the crowd but having difficulty due to the sheer number of them. Officers Jackson, Fangmeyer, and Delgato made their way behind the tape to provide some additional muscle, helping the equine push back the encroaching mammals.

"Everyone, I'll have to ask you to please stay back. This is an active crime scene," Jackson's voice shouted over the crowd. Much like a roar, his voice similarly rumbled over the mob, reaching even the back of the herd. Thankfully, his massive paws were enough to deter at least some of the onlookers. Very few mammals of even the predator species were willing to tangle with a tiger.

Unluckily, those that were, were proving exceptionally difficult — the paparazzi to name a few. Officer Delgato was helpful in that regard; it was difficult to snap a quality photo around his large mane. But it didn't stop them trying, all the while shouting questions and shoving fuzzy microphones into his face. "Ma'am, remain behind the yellow tape, please. That's what it's for. Sir, I don't have any more information than you do — ma'am!"

Perhaps to call the area a mob scene would be the understatement of the year. Jason had seen Gazelle concerts with more orderly fashion. Though it wasn't really surprising. Crime scenes in general tended to draw attention, and that was particularly true in affluent neighborhoods such as this one where crime of any kind was a rarity. Jackson assisted the other big cats in wrangling the bystanders, solidifying what was becoming a mammalian wall around the scene. "Sir, I'm not going to ask you again. You are impeding an active investigation —" The timber wolf shook his head, guiltily leaving his colleagues to handle the masses.

Passing by the white cloth, Wolford's nose wriggled around, taking in a large whiff of the victim's body. There wasn't much to be garnered from his position. His nose identified what he had already expected, copper and iron mixed with fabric. Essentially, clothing bathed in blood. Lots and lots of blood. So much so that it had even bled through the white sheet placed over the body, dyeing it crimson. Just from the uneven angles of one of the limbs alone, it wasn't difficult to imagine what grisly image lay just beneath.

Arriving inside wasn't much better. Though there were no mammals trying to barge their way in running around and shouting with cameras, the ones inside were doing the opposite. Many of them were reasonably shaken; more than a couple of them skittering away at the sight of him. It was a little hurtful — not to mention aggravating; it was not going to be easy to question witnesses — but considering that he was a timber wolf, and a rather large one at that, he could imagine the majority herbivore residents would be uneasy. If he had seen whatever remained of their victim, he'd be nervous too. Even so, it still stung.

Seeing another mammal in blue, Wolford decided to try his luck with him. "What do we have?" he asked. If he couldn't get any information on the first floor, at the very least, he could get an idea of what exactly was going on.

The other officer turned to him. He was a heavyset fellow — as were all hippopotamuses generally — finishing up with one of the ibex tenants. His eyes were sunken in, no doubt he had been working since the early morning; as Savannah police, they would have been the first to respond. "Female gazelle, thirty-two years old. Deceased at the scene," he rumbled with a voice that sounded like rigid sandpaper. A smoker, for certain.

"Cause of death?"

"Which one do you want, we've got a number of them."

'Alright, bonus points for bluntness.' Wolford put on his most professional air, keeping his thoughts to himself. "All of them then. Were they similar to the previous victims?"

"Worse. Poor lady had her throat torn out. One of her arms nearly severed at the joint. And if she hadn't gone by blood loss, then the countless lacerations would've done her in."

'It sounds more like she was mauled…' "Murder weapon?"

"Claws. And from the look on her neck, teeth. Sharp ones. Obviously." Beneath his tacit explanation, there was a hint of mistrust. It was the sort of tone one would use with someone suspected of wrongdoing. As though despite having only just arrived moments ago, he had somehow taken part in the slaughter. It was a tone he recognized, though often did his best to ignore. Suspicion was common from prey animals in Zootopia, even the larger ones. They viewed predators as dangerous and unpredictable, ticking time bombs with fangs. Which was ironic considering that were the two of them to fight, Wolford would likely end up the one sorely scathed. Or, more likely, crushed.

"Any other witnesses?"

"Check the upper floors. Our guys took care of the bottom area."

"Thanks." Wolford didn't wait for a reply, his mind already running through the possibilities as he climbed the staircase. Taking a look at the building, he knew he was in for a difficult time. The walls were off-white; nothing impressive as far as color was concerned. However, different decorations lined the area from the occasional painting to a living potted plant. He was certainly in one of the ritzier neighborhoods. Nothing shouted affluent like a building that took time to decorate its staircases. And that didn't bode well for him.

The more well-off prey animals tended to be far more aggravating to deal with. While it was true that mammals from lower incomes — especially those in the rural areas — were often somewhat speciest, they at least had the decency to be upfront about it. The alternative was veiled; highly prejudiced without being outwardly or overtly bigoted. He was more likely to suffer at least thirty microaggressions through a single conversation with one of the gazelles in this building versus a simple insult by a country hog. Death by a thousand needles.

When he reached the higher floors, he was met with precisely what he expected. Any prey animals that were wandering the hallways were quick to retreat into their homes, either backing away slowly, or trying unsuccessfully to pretend as though they had already been on their way inside. As though he hadn't noticed one of them walking out not even three seconds prior. Those he did manage speak to offered very little; and considering the time of the murder, he couldn't tell how many of them were refusing to talk and how many genuinely didn't know. Worst of all, nearly every one of them that did dismiss him did so with the politest smile. So aggravating.

Jason finally found some luck near the end of one of the hallways; a middle-aged caracal with copper fur and black-tipped ears. She was very pleasant with him and, as luck would have it, was actually the one who called the police. Her group was typically nocturnal, and true to her species, she often worked nights. It had been one of those work evenings when she returned to the apartment in the early hours of the morning. "It was… awful," she muttered darkly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Was she still alive when you found her?" Wolford asked.

"Barely. She was on the brink when I saw her. Lying there on the steps, gasping for breath."

"You didn't attempt to help?"

"I couldn't have if I wanted to. I'm not medically trained, and she was so far gone. I just ran into the building to call the emergency line."

Wolford nodded and took detailed notes, jotting down every facet of her recollection. As the pen scratched across the parchment, he examined her scent profile. There was not a hint of deceit from her, only fear and uncertainty, which didn't surprise him. Though neither would say it, it was clear to both of them what the other was thinking. The caracal had run into the building to call the police and get away from whatever threat may remain outside… but more importantly, she had done so to get away from the crime scene itself. The last thing any predator wanted was to be found standing over a bleeding corpse.

Tucked away in the corner of the upper floors, he had no doubt this feline was one of the only predators in the building. That alone made her suspicious to her neighbors without cause. Her continued residence in this place was likely already being called into question, by virtue of none other than her species. For when her neighbors looked at her, they saw the same thing as when they looked at him: a predator. An animal designed to kill. No different than they had before.

It had been nearly four years since the Night Howler incident; the case that flipped the entire city on its head before almost tearing it apart. Tensions between species were nearing breaking point, and it had taken over a year to see even the first signs of healing. During the time following the infamous case, there had been a large increase in species-based crime. Hateful rhetoric ran wild among some of the masses ranging from intolerant ignorance to supremacist drivel.

Even though the case had been solved and Bellwether found guilty of her crimes — to this day, she remained contained, locked up in Zootopia's maximum security prison — it wasn't enough to quell the concerns of the frightened citizens. Mammals wouldn't leave their homes. The economy took an enormous hit, and the population as a whole suffered as a result. Though none more so than the predator species.

In the aftermath of Dawn's reign, predacious mammals lost their jobs, their homes, and as a result, in many cases, their hope. Some speciest citizens called for 'safety checks' and mandatory quarantines. On the more extremist side, some wanted to outright ban anyone born with sharp teeth from public spaces. Animosity grew between the species, those on the receiving end were tired of their re-invigored prejudice. Inevitably, the predators eventually retaliated, organizing protests, marches, and — in the less fortunate neighborhoods — riots. It had felt like a miracle when tensions finally started to die down over time. And now, they were resurfacing and threatening to undo all the progress they had made.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Having gotten all that he could from her, Wolford put away his pen and pad for later analysis. "Thank you very much for your cooperation, ma'am. You've been a great help in this investigation. Comparing your testimony with the coroner's, we should be able to track down the timing of the attack to help us locate a suspect."

"Happy to help, Officer…?"

"Wolford. Officer Wolford." Almost mechanically, he reached a large grey paw into his jacket pocket where he kept his stack of business cards — he'd been giving those out a lot in recent days. He was convinced he had handed out less candy during last Howl-o-ween in comparison. "If you see anything unusual or suspicious, or you remember any more information, anything at all, please don't hesitate to contact me."

"Most certainly." The caracal took his card and gave a polite smile. "Thank you, Officer Wolford."

"Stay safe, ma'am."

With that, Jason turned and made his way back down the hall to bring his questioning to an end. It was unlikely he'd be able to find anyone else willing to talk to him about the matter, and quite frankly, the information he received was more than enough. According to her testimony, the victim had still been breathing, albeit barely, by the time she found her. Based upon the size, species, and sex, the amount of blood loss would have put her death anywhere between five and twenty minutes following the attack — twenty being on the miraculous side, assuming her throat had been torn last. And that the jugular had been missed. He could get a better reading once they received the autopsy reports. Then, they could utilize that information, including claw shape, depth of lacerations, and fang positioning to construct a list of suspects. Then, it would be a matter of checking the surveillance systems and praying that this time something had been caught on film.

Then, with all of that completed, next came the writing of reports. Easily one of his least favorite parts of the job. Minus the grisly scenes and bloody bodies, of course. Just the thought of the mountain of paperwork they were falling behind on made the timber wolf visibly shudder. He contemplated for one very serious moment pushing it off on Nathan, but with just one image of the tiger holding back a rabid crowd, he thought better of it. His partner had already suffered enough. Thus, Wolford resigned himself to the pile of work that stood waiting for him at his desk.

Either way, with or without it, this was going to be a long week.