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CHAPTER FIFTY

NED

Ned left Olympia's house feeling more certain as to his plan than he had in days. He'd still been in bed with Garrett when he realised what he had to do. It had been a peaceful, restful night; neither had felt quite in the need of a coupling, so instead, they'd settled for a night of affectionate cuddling, Ned pulling the coyote's back close to his chest, sleeping with his arm draped around Garrett's middle. It had been a dreamless sleep, and in that Ned thought he'd perhaps recharged some of the energy lost over the turbulent past week. So when Ned climbed into his old truck (Garrett insisted he'd be buying Ned a more stylish vehicle soon), he wore a smile on his muzzle, and his tail wagged against the seat as he waved goodbye to the coyote. Garrett was wearing an Adidas track jacket, navy blue with the traditional three stripes in yellow, and he lifted a paw from the gate and saluted, before his form disappeared from sight in Ned's mirror.

Just as he'd anticipated, there was a gathering of reporters outside SF Metro's headquarters, trying to confront each officer as he or she arrived and headed indoors. Normally Ned would have found this irritating, but instead, he gritted his fangs in deep resignation and, parking the Ford, headed for the swarm of reporters.

A rat in a cheap grey suit spotted him instantly, and was followed by several other reporters. "Sir, do you have anything to say about yesterday's events? The arrest and murder of Senator Adam Johnson?" Rather than growl and push past them, as the usual Ned would have done, the wolf paused, which gave the reporters just enough time to surround him.

Here goes, Ned thought. In all likelihood, what he was about to say would probably get him in trouble with Lennox and Williston, but that was unavoidable. If it panned out....

"Yes, I suppose I have something to say" he forced himself to put on a positive grin, with fangs, the kind wolves were supposed to be famous for. How was it exactly that Garrett had grinned at the paparazzi when he'd just arrived at the gala? "I, at least, am very pleased that former Senator Johnson was brought to justice. And as a gay cop, I'm especially pleased that San Fernando's LGBT community is once again safe to love who they please."

Some of the reporters were scribbling madly, and the rat was shoving his microphone further up in Ned's face, exactly the sort of media tactics that he hated. Focus, Ned. Keep your ears up, no barring your fangs. "What is your name, Sir?" the rat squeaked.

"Officer Ned Parker."

"And your boyfriend?" a wallaby inquired. She did a double take. "Wait, are you the policewolf who was dating Garrett Dyckert?"

Several of the reporters glanced first at the wallaby, then at Ned, ears pricking with new interest. Fuck, Ned thought_, I'll never get away now_. "Yes, I am" he admitted. Of course, telling the media that he was dating Garrett had been the plan all along. He just hadn't expected them to already know about it. Garrett had shown him the blurb in the gossip magazine, but when one had lived their entire life out of the public eye, it took some getting used to that people might know who you were before you introduced yourself.

"And what is Garrett's opinions about this case?" the rat broke in again.

"You'd have to ask him" Ned growled, with less friendliness, and he began to push through the reporters. "If you'll excuse me, I must be getting to work."

The rat and the wallaby and a dozen others all began protesting, but Ned ignored them. He'd said what needed said; now he wanted to flee.

Scarlett was waiting for him just inside the door, and by the way her big coyote ears were pricked with interest, he knew she must have seen him talking to the reporters. "What was that about?" she fell in beside him as they headed for the elevator. "You hate media."

"I do" Ned agreed. "I just told them to wait for more information." No reason to share his scheme with Scarlett right now; he'd already talked it over with Garrett and Olympia, and for the moment, he'd be best keeping it to himself.

"You look better today" Scarlett pushed the elevator button for their floor. "Nice night with Garrett?"

Ned grinned. "Yes, although not in the way you're thinking. It was...you know, we had the bad day yesterday, but I had the home to go back to. Loving arms to hold me at night. Kinda takes away some the stress, you know?"

Scarlett's smile was answer enough that she did. "Nolan and I are talking marriage" she admitted, tail wagging nervously.

"Hey, that's amazing!" he embraced the coyote, grabbing her paw. "No ring yet..."

"He hasn't proposed. But I think he's going to."

The elevator door opened, and Scarlett instantly shut up - she didn't want anyone else knowing about the possible relationship change between herself and Nolan, but Ned's mind had wandered to a quadrant he hadn't considered before. Would he ever want to propose to Garrett? Obviously they'd want to date a lot longer first, but maybe in a year or two.... If Amendment 28 passed, gay couples would be free to marry in whichever state they pleased, and if he and Garrett wanted to go that route, no one could stop them.

He pictured himself kneeling in front of the coyote, the ring in his paw, felt his tail give a wag, and smiled.

Nolan and Arkady were talking outside the fox's office, so that as Ned and Scarlett walked up, the wolf's ears caught part of their conversation: "...didn't get an ID."

Ned's sensed a potential clue. "Hey guys, anything new?"

Both canines turned to greet him and Scarlett. "Not really" Arkady shrugged in a sort of yes-and-no gesture. "Finally got a hold of the owner of the car lot where Joey Rath kept his Prius - he'd been out of town."

Scarlett leaned forward. "And?"

"He said that yes, someone had been driving the Prius from time to time, but he had Rath's permission" the fox explained. No confirmed species, although he did seem to think the guy was a canid. Had a longer muzzle, anyway."

"A canid? That's something to go off of, at least" Ned muttered.

"That it is." Leave it to Arkady to avoid following it with "but not much."

"Joey Rath" Nolan muttered. "I know he's connected somehow."

And the other wolf was right, Ned thought. After they'd gone their ways and he was left alone studying the evidence board, his eyes continually strayed to the collie's, which portrayed him smiling happily at the camera. What did you do to end up dead in a Senator's car? No friends with motive, no boyfriend; an athletic workaholic. And yet he had died for a reason.

Perhaps he'd better go through the notes they'd taken while speaking with Dr DuBois again. Except that when he went to his desk to examine the evidence, a couple sheets of fax paper were laying on it. This in itself was not overly odd; Ned was not expecting any faxes, but he and the others at SF Metro did occasionally receive them. He relaxed into the chair, scratching his claws absently at his tail, and lifting the papers.

Just a skim of the titles and he realised what this was. Chicago's PD had come through with information on the death of the lawyer, Bill Rosgen, whose ring the Prophet had apparently lost at the Wittmore house. Eagerly he flipped through the report. The first part of the report consisted mostly of text. Bill Rosgen, it reported, had been murdered around 6:45 in the evening, Eastern time, on May 4th, 1999. He had been one of six victims, which included his wife, Nan Rosgen, and their three children - Bradly, 21; Michael, 15; and Amy, 8. The last victim was Bradly Rosgen's pregnant fiancée, a 22-year-old Italian exchange student named Francesca Locatelli.

An entire family murdered. Ned glanced at the desk photo of his parents and a ten-year-old version of himself, and frowned. While it was possible Senator Johnson might have conspired to relieve himself of a pesky lawyer, it was doubtful he would have encouraged the slaughter of a family. Still though...

The report contained a long printout with the original dispatch dialogue, apparently between the dispatcher and a neighbour who had reported the murders. Ned skipped that, going below to a long section of text describing how it was expected the murders had occurred.

No one had actually witnessed the slaughter and survived, but from the evidence, police had pieced together a picture. The Rosgen family had been eating dinner in their dining room when the killers - there were thought to have been at least three, based on the differing bullets extracted from the victims - had entered, apparently through the front door - it had not been locked, and there was no sign of forced entry. The killers had then turned their automatics on the seated family. According to the report, Bill and his daughter had been killed instantly, while Bradly and Francesca had been gunned down while attempting to flee via a sliding-glass door. Nan Rosgen and the middle son, Michael, had still been alive when medical assistance arrived, but had both died before they had reached the hospital.

A startling vibration alerted him that a phone call was coming in.

Sighing, he set the report on the desk, and pulled out the phone. The number was unfamiliar, but began with a San Fernando prefix. Another snitch, perhaps?

He tapped the "answer" option with a paw pad. "Hello?"

Ned listened for only a few minutes. "I'll be there" he said, but he was already leaving the desk, the Rosgen report tucked carefully under his arm.

Salty Sebastian's parking lot was mostly empty at this time of day, so it was easy for Ned to deduce which car was Edmund DuBois's. The Lycaon drove a Servala, not a particularly expensive car for someone who made as much as surgeons generally did, and it was parked right up against the edge of the building, windshield wipers flying.

Ned pulled his military jacket partway over his head to shield himself from the rain as he walked up to the surgeon's car, eyes peeled, just in case anything was amiss. He hadn't told anyone where he was going. Not that he expected anything amiss, but DuBois had not said much on the call, and a detective can never be too cautious.

DuBois leaned over and unlocked the door as Ned put a paw on the plastic handle. "Hope this was convenient" he murmured. "I can't be away from St Anne's very long at a time so, well; I have to take the moment when it prevents itself."

Ned waved a paw to dismiss that as he closed the door with the other. The Lycaon's car smelled sterile and unused, and was spotless. No candy wrappers, no shed fur, no pens on the dash, no drink in the holder; rather, his car looked almost like it had come straight from the dealer. Rarely driven, so perhaps DuBois was one of those workaholic doctors who practically lived at the hospital; a medical version of Arkady, as it were. "You said you had something that would shed new light on our case?"

Rain splattered the sunroof. DuBois's big rounded ears were flicking here and there, nervous, and his eyes were in his lap. He was still wearing scrubs, with a little blood on the front - hadn't even bothered to change. This was the guy who'd lived and worked with Joey Rath - who should know, more than almost anyone, what his intern's habits had been. Ned found his curiosity growing, and he grabbed his tail just before it could give an anticipative wag. "Maybe you remembered something?" he prompted. Best not to be rude; DuBois was close to a decade older than he was, at least, and professionals liked being treated with respect.

"You arrested the wrong man" the spotted dog's voice wavered over the words. "That Senator. I - The man was a bastard who had no place in our government. But, not the killer." He glanced at Ned, then out the window.

Ned was silent. Some people just needed time to formulate what they had to say.

"I-I should have remembered. I only saw him one, maybe two times?" His eyes were back, meeting Ned's, bluish-grey like a stormy sea. "At St Anne's we work such irregular schedules, sometimes I forget faces. Not the patients of course, or the other doctors; the nurses." DuBois's gaze softened. "But that's all. I've already forgotten the faces of the other officers I met with at St Anne's. Your companions."

Ned couldn't hold back. "Him? Who's him?" He started to lean forward; forced himself not to.

DuBois licked his lips. "A boyfriend. Or so Rath said, anyway. As I said, I only met him once or twice. 10 days ago, perhaps? It was the same day the Mayor was having his gala. Rath was assisting with one of my surgeries that day, and he'd been meeting with this friend - Ross, I think his name was. I shook hands with the man; no more. I did not remember him until I saw his face in the newspaper."

A newspaper? "You have a photo?" Ned asked, trying not to sound like a pup begging for candy. He'd started picking at his tail again, until a little fur came loose and he remembered his mother's lecture's on how shedding fur in someone else's house - or car, he supposed - was the very definition of rudeness.

"I do." DuBois reached into the backseat. "I had a hard time believing Rath could have been dating someone like this and not have told me - but he was always rather private." He held out a speckled paw with a newspaper, dating from several days earlier. "I should have seen this sooner, but the papers pile up -" he shrugged.

Photos from the gala gleamed out of the paper. That the killer might have been there would not necessarily be surprising; tickets had been available for purchase, so practically anyone could have attended without much notice. Here and there Ned glimpsed familiar faces of city leaders or notables; the Major, Senator McCracken, Captain Williston. "This one" DuBois tapped a photo.

It showed several people, so Ned had to look closer.

His eyes widened.

"Joey Rath was dating him?"

"So he said."

Ned looked again, confused. It made no sense. Unless....

His ears drooped. Could it be....

He reached into his jacket, extracting the Rosgen file. "Hold on just for a moment" he muttered, DuBois forgotten. "I need to check..."

Past the text, no, not here...he paged through the report. There!

The photos included had been printed onto ordinary paper and then faxed, so they were not of the best quality. Ned had seen Rosgen's species mentioned earlier, on the printout of his driver's license. The same, the same....no, the photos of the crime scene would not help. He ignored photos of the dead family's bodies, searching instead for the other pages detailing each of the victims. There. He flipped past Nan Rosgen's photo, a gently-smiling suburban housewife. Past -

He held a page up. Looked at the photo. Looked at the one in DuBois's newspaper.

"Doctor, do you see a similarity?" He handed the driver's license printout over.

Held his breath, waiting for DuBois to say no.

"Yes. Older now, but same guy" the Lycaon affirmed. His ears were up now, curious. "Why? He has a record?"

"Not exactly" Ned muttered. He held the two photos together, side by side. No, there wasn't much doubt he was looking at the same man in each. He took a photo of the two pictures on his phone, then turned to the doctor. "Thank you, Dr DuBois. You may have just solved San Fernando's greatest serial killer case."

DuBois's eyes widened. "You think he is the Prophet?"

"I suspect" was all Ned could say. He reached for the door, then stopped. "Before I go...why me? Why'd you call me instead of Montoya or Diego? They've got far more experience..."

"Because I heard you were yourself part of the demographic this killer is targeting" the Lycaon admitted, "....as am I." His expression turned, strangely, to one of sheepishness. "I am not proud of it, but when I first made the recognition, I was struck with fear that I might, as a gay man, become a target."

"Hence the secretiveness about our meeting."

He nodded. "Hence that."

Ned held out his paw to shake the Lycaon's. "Once again, Doctor, thank you."

"Just do what I asked" the surgeon's eyes set in a fixture of determination. "Make him pay."

"I promise" Ned said.

When he was back in his own vehicle, he read the remainder of the report. If the lightbulb had been blinking on before, it was burning brightly now, and through it Ned saw everything. He knew where the Prophet had come from; who he was, and, perhaps, why he needed to kill. He saw why no one had thought to suspect the real killer, and, possibly, why he might have had a desire to see Senator Johnson punished. The killer had been under their noses the whole time. No one would believe it - but weren't murder cases often that way? The killer is a person everyone trusts.

And besides, there was no fighting the evidence.