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CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

NED

News anchors were chattering; dozens of cameras flashing; a crowd of thousands buzzing as the city of San Fernando prepared to put Senator Johnson on trial. Even with police clearance, Ned could hardly find a place to park, as every parking lot in a several mile-radius of the courthouse was full to bursting and more spectator cars and media vans and police sedans lined every street-side, in complete disregard to parking regulations. That in itself did not count the ever-flowing stream of pedestrian traffic, a sea of people who surged in from all directions in a chaos of perked ears and chattering voices and anticipative scents. The entire city seemed to be holding its breath, not willing to release the collective sigh until after the Senator had either been convicted or declared guilty, or until the real Prophet had been brought to justice. Here and there along the streets, the various factions had already began to congregate, with the usual variety of signs and chanting, so that as Ned made his way towards the courthouse, now on foot, his lupine ears rang with the cries of "Make Him Pay," which was the new mantra adopted by the pro-gay side of the affair.

The street leading up to the courthouse entrance had been mostly blocked off by police cruisers, so after getting through the barricade Ned was able to access the police-and-officials-only area, where there were much fewer people. Hurrying towards the other SF Metro officers, Ned almost wished Garrett was there; it was a dark, cloudy day, with a sky that seemed to taunt them with the possibility of rain, and somehow the darkness seemed to represent the Prophet's evil, in a metaphorical sense.

"Fucking media hysteria" Scarlett muttered as Ned joined her, watching the city cops do their best to keep the anticipative crowd behind the yellow tape. The coyote glanced at her watch. "You still think he did it?"

Ned flicked his ears. "No."

She didn't say anything, just inclined her muzzle toward him, one ear still turned back to catch the chatter of the crowd. "It still seems too perfect" he glanced down the street to the approaching black vans. "Like we're supposed to think Johnson did it. And besides - Joey Rath."

"Right" she agreed, and then frowned. "Nolan says they found a new witness last night who might tip the scales..."

Ned's ears went up at that. "Oh? What kind of witness?"

A shrug was the only response he got from Scarlett, so he went back to watching the approaching vans. The air seemed to quiver with the anticipation of the crowd, and Ned did not like it. Too much emotion and anger was being felt here; he could fairly scent it on the air, so that his tail bushed out in a way it normally only did when he was nervous, and there was too much the feeling that he and the others - SF Metro Homicide; the city of San Fernando - were nothing but characters in a grand scheme, unknowingly playing out their parts just as some unseen puppeteer intended them to.

The Prophet was a terrorist. Psychopath, murderer, butcher; all of those he was, but a terrorist most of all, because his actions had inspired a horror and panic in the citizens of San Fernando, and across America. Gay teens getting slaughtered by copy-cat killers; anger from the religious right at Johnson's arrest; the media hysteria - it was chaos, exactly the sort of thing terrorists did their best to bring about. San Fernando - and America - were playing right into the whole mess, but - no. Don't give up now, Ned thought. The real Prophet would be caught. He'd be arrested, and sentenced to - well, DA Douglas would probably go for the death penalty, and even if the defendant managed to appeal that, which was unlikely, he'd undoubtedly get life in prison.

Ned's eyes picked out familiarity in the near crowd; a coyote and white wolf pair, each in black leather, were watching him. Ah, oh well. Whatever the status of the case, his person life was going just fine. Practically moved in with Garrett, both of them so hung up on the other that they couldn't go much more than a few hours without talking; in one of those passionate love affairs that every romantic hopes to find himself in. Ned lifted a paw to wave. Olympia didn't even seem to bother him so much anymore. In comparison to the Prophet, he reflected, the white wolf was rather mild.

He'd put Garrett's other life from his mind again, or at least for the time being. In a sense, coming to terms with the knowledge that one's boyfriend was actually a mafia agent was rather like accepting your sexuality; it was a rocky progress, interrupted by frequent bouts of doubt and indecision. Ned still thought he might try persuading the coyote to turn his focus towards other directions - but that would have to wait until after the Prophet had been brought to justice. Everything hinged on the case; spouses; friends; personal commitments forgotten in the overwhelming monstrosity that was the Prophet. Even other homicides were being neglected; Jason and Milo had been sent out to investigate a few, without supervision of a more senior officer. Therein lay one positive, Ned supposed; he and Scarlett had undeniably emerged as the favoured rookies.

A short distance away, Lennox was surrounded by reporters, all jabbering away with endless questions, poking their muzzles as close as they dared. So many people present - including such notables as Mayor Wong, Representative Van Holling, and Senator McCracken, but then again, it wasn't every day an America Senator is accused of murder.

"I don't feel good about this" Scarlett muttered beside him.

The coyote's ears were low, and she seemed to be biting her lip. "Just think about when this case is over" Ned put a paw on her shoulder. "After we get our Detective Shields - maybe we can take a short vacation." He smirked. "Or will you be too busy planning your wedding?"

That did the trick. "He hasn't proposed yet, silly" Scarlett snickered, but her ears came up.

"But you're waiting for it" Ned pointed out, and that time she did not argue.

The rain started just as the van supposed to be carrying Senator Johnson pulled up, first a drizzle, and the steadier. Police were everywhere, some between the courthouse entrance and the van; others standing alongside the restless crowd. While the city officials had remained close to the courthouse door for the most part, Friedrich Van Holling and his party had wandered closer to the street, and as the door of the van opened, allowing the badger to step out of it, Ned's cupped ears caught the Alsatian's angry words, thick with emotion.

"Does it even matter?" Van Holling was a facing a couple of reporters, a wolverine and a bobcat, and both of them held news microphones. The congressman's lips were drawn back in an angry snarl, exposing his fangs, so that the words hissed through the clenched teeth like a warlock's oath. "It doesn't matter if he did the deed himself. His hate-filled rhetoric has killed enough on its own, no doubt."

Van Holling didn't seem to care that his words were distrainable to any canid or large-eared person nearby, or at least he wasn't making any effort to be subtle. Rain always distorted scent, but even from the distance Ned could smell the Alsatian's anger, raw and undisguised, and the sentiment seemed to be shared by those around him. He must have had a fondness for foxes, because in addition to his familiar secretary, Emily Spinach, he was accompanied by two tux-dressed henchfoxes, holding black umbrellas over the congressman, his secretary, and his daughter, who stood by her father's side.

The wolverine reporter glanced at Johnson, who was looking out at the enormous gathering with the same bewildered expression as a lamb being led to slaughter, before turning back to Van Holling. "What role do you think freedom of speech plays in this? Technically, Senator Johnson has a right to-"

"Freedom of speech, my ass" Van Holling snarled. "There's gay kids throwing themselves off bridges, or teenagers killing their gay classmates, all because they're motivated by the shit that bastard spews. Like fucking Hitler, except he hates gays instead of Jews."

Not at all the kind of language or sentence structure Ned usually heard from the congressman, but what he was hearing was pure raw emotion, unbridled and unrehearsed, and even through the anger, Ned could almost feel the pain Van Holling was under, and he felt a surge of sympathy for the man.

Scarlett shifted beside him, her wet tail brushing against his leg. "Johnson looks like a little kid, almost. If I didn't know what an asshole he is, I'd feel sorry for him."

"Mostly just in shock, I think" Ned said. "I guess he just didn't ever expect this actually to get pinned on him." He glanced down the line of officers and officials, searching for potential sympathy, but all either wore blank business-like stares or looked angry. Johnson was walking now, escorted by police, shuffling slowly with ears pinned low, although his eyes continued to dart sideways to eye the crowd.

And the crowd was getting even antsier. The chanting of "Make Him Pay" continued, but louder; some spectators lifted their middle fingers in Johnson's direction, near Ned a male otter and racoon couple started kissing passionately, as gay couples sometimes did in front of homophobic churches. The scent of anger was everywhere, stifling; unhealthy, and the rain was picking up, chilling, making Ned think that perhaps after this was over he might go home early and take a nice long soak in the whirlpool tub at Olympia's house, preferably with Garrett.

Johnson was just passing them when a flicker of motion moved in Ned's peripheral vision, and as he and Scarlett both glanced in the direction, they heard Emily Spinach's high vixen voice call "Melanie!" A warning call.

The congressman's daughter had stepped from the shelter of the umbrella and approached the Senator, even as her father and the vixen both hurried to stop her. Ned could see the rain staining the pup's black skirt as she halted before the badger, solemnly raising one claw in almost the same way Medea had during her airing at the gala. "God will punish you," she avowed, in the manner of a witch delivering a curse, "God will punish you."

Van Holling pulled his daughter back to the side-lines - she didn't protest - but the Senator looked like he'd been slapped. The congressman's daughter reminded Ned to look for Johnson's family - but they were nowhere to be seen. Avoiding publicity, possibly, although Ned wondered if there were a darker reason. Child protection services had already taken Justice, and perhaps the other Johnson children would soon be meeting a similar fate.

Behind him, someone started shouting.

The voice was so piercing that Ned spun, just as Scarlett did beside him, at perhaps the same time that a gunshot went off in the same space as the shout.

Instinctively, Ned knocked Scarlett to the side, falling with her while simultaneously grabbing for his gun. The coyote gave a groan when he fell partially on her, although the lawn grass cushioned their fall. Scarlett's fur was starting to smell from the rain in that wet-fur scent that canids never quite lost, but Ned ignored it and rolled to a crouching position, his ears catching police voices shouting "put it down!!"

A raccoon had walked from the crowd and was now standing apart from the others, pointing a gun in the air. He fired again, and in the crowd a number of people screamed and some of those who were not already retreating, fled. "I'm crazy!" the coon declared, licking his lips. "Crazy is what I am!"

Ned and Scarlett pointed their handguns at the racoon. Lennox was there, and Arkady, and Montoya, and a number of other cops Ned didn't know, and all of them were directing their weapons at the raccoon, but he didn't seem to care. He waved the gun in the air. "Just doing what needs done" he smiled. "I think many of us agree with the sentiment."

Déjà vu struck, and Ned blinked. He'd just seen the same coon a couple minutes earlier, making out with an otter.

The otter.

Somehow Ned's eyes met with Arkady and he saw the same grasp of horrible realisation in the fox's eyes.

Two more gunshots echoed in his ear.