A Matter of Survival
A modern Spontoon Island story
© 2023 by Walter Reimer

Thumbnail art by  rockbaker

Fifteen.



Detective Sergeant Carson and Detective Sanders were not a pair of happy furs.

It’s an old adage that ‘shit rolls downhill.’ Judge Gore had called the pronghorn antelope and wolf’s captain, who had chewed out their lieutenant, who had made absolutely certain that Carson and Sanders had gotten their fair share of the chewing-out. Naturally, the judge had also called those furs in the chain of command upstream from the captain.

This signified that the amount of shit the two detectives were getting was not going to decrease any time soon, and would likely increase.

The matter was also being passed on to the Department’s internal affairs investigators, who were probably rubbing their paws in anticipation.

The two sat alone in an interrogation room, the file on the murder investigation of Jasper Wu spread out on the table between them. With their fellow officers treating them like pariahs, it seemed like a safe space to talk freely.

Carson glowered at his half-full cup of coffee, scratched one antler irritably and said, “Okay, let’s take a look at it again, Ted.” He pulled a crime scene photo from the several on the table. This one showed the dead doe between the bed and the window, curled in a half-fetal position amid the blood that had seeped into the carpet. The carpet and the bed were sodden with gore. “Dead girl, no ID, throat opened with a sharp knife, not claws.”

“Uh-huh,” Sanders growled. “Wu’s claws were nowhere near that sharp, and we haven’t found the knife yet.” The wolf’s ears semaphored. “Had a thought.”

“Yeah?”

“The hotel’s just across the road from the Embarcadero. Think he dropped it in the bay?”

“The canvass didn’t see anyone matching his description, remember.”

“I know,” Sanders said. There were usually a number of homeless people found on the promenade, but questioning had turned up nothing coherent. “There was the one lady – I think – who took a fancy to you.” Carson’s ears dipped and Sanders chuckled. “Maybe we could drag that part of the bay with a magnet?”

Carson’s ears stayed down. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m not kidding.”

“Got any idea what we might pull up?”

The wolf paused, and his ears and tail drooped. “Yeah, you’re right,” he chuckled.

Carson sighed and shuffled a few more crime scene images. “Back to reality. Dead doe, no witnesses on the canvass, no weapon, blood everywhere – and I do mean everywhere; there were a few droplets on the damned ceiling – “

“And not a drop of blood on Wu’s clothes or paws,” Sanders said. “And then there’s the damned cameras.” He started ticking points off on his fingers. “Back entrance, hallways, lobby, all gone off at the same damned time, and came back on after our girl was dead.”

“Yeah.” Carson scratched his antlers again, and the pronghorn grimaced. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I’m starting to,” the wolf growled. “Frame-up?”

“Yeah.”

“Should we tell the Lieutenant?”

“We’re already in enough trouble,” Carson said. “Best case is we hope that Wu doesn’t sue us.” Sanders gathered up the various reports and images, sorted them back into order, and stuffed them into the case file before he and the pronghorn antelope stood and left the room.

Five minutes later they were in the lieutenant’s office, and the cougar glowered at them. “So,” the feline said, “now you two think it was a setup.”

Carson was the senior officer. He sighed and said, “No weapon, no witnesses, no evidence on the suspect, and a solid alibi. Wu’s in this country to set up a business partnership, so it could be a setup.”

“The ‘wake up with a dead girl or a live boy’ thing,” Sanders helpfully added, only to shut his muzzle as the cougar glared at him.

“Have you called Kinney yet?” the Lieutenant asked.

“No, Sir,” Carson said. “We wanted to run this past you first.”

“He’ll drop a brick when he finds out,” the cougar said. “All right. Draw up a memo with your conclusions – the new ones – and start looking at Wu’s ‘business partner.’ They have to have dirt on their paws somewhere. Oh, and you two get to tell the DA’s Office, in person.” He dismissed them with a perfunctory wave of a paw and rubbed his stomach as the two detectives left the office.

This wasn’t doing his indigestion any good.


***


It was raining when the small SUV, a Rain Island-made Fjord Cub, pulled up under the canopy at the customs station just south of the Sea Bear Republic town of Lakehead. The SBR tricolor and the US flag were side by side, hanging limp and sodden in the rain. The road leading away from the station curved away southeast before dividing to become part of the ramps for the American interstate highway system.

A pair of customs officers, one from each nation, stepped out to the vehicle as the driver’s side window opened. “Good morning,” the red panda said in accented English.

“Good morning, Sir,” the SBR officer asked. “Anything to declare?”

“Just that the weather’s not very good,” the red panda joked. “Maybe it’ll be sunny in California.”

The joke appeared lost on the American officer. “Your passport and license, please.”

“Of course,” and an international driver’s license and a Hong Kong passport were given to the officer, who took them into the office to verify the bearer’s identity.

“Anything in the back of your vehicle?” the SBR officer asked.

“Just my suitcase. I can open it for you if you like.”

The officer held up a paw. “Not necessary, thank you. You come up from Tilikum?”

“Yes, a couple days ago. I’m headed to San Francisco.”

The American officer came back and returned the license and passport to the driver. “Welcome to the United States, Sir. Please remember to drive on the right.”

Ni Lu grinned. “I promise, Officer.” He rolled up the window as he put the Cub in gear and selected the southward exit. Depending on the weather, he hoped to be in Vallejo in under four hours, and in San Francisco shortly thereafter.

He’d really had nothing to worry about. Despite killing from Hong Kong to Humapore, he wasn’t wanted in any jurisdiction and wasn’t on any watchlist. His trail and itinerary was very carefully established.

The Fjord accelerated onto the interstate, merging with the traffic flow and becoming just another anonymous vehicle.


***


“What?” Bob Kinney snapped, the Alsatian’s ears flattening against his head as he half-crumpled the memo in one paw. He dropped the paper to his desk and glared at the two detectives, the pronghorn antelope and the wolf looking uncomfortable. “All this, and now you two say that you can’t find anything.”

Sanders sighed. “Sir, we’re sorry – “

“Sorry doesn’t water the plants,” Kinney growled, and Sanders wisely shut his muzzle. Carson tried for some canid solidarity by looking up at the prosecutor, tail wagging, only for the appendage to slow down and droop as the Alsatian glowered at the wolf. Kinney put a paw to his head. “Good God, what a mess . . . okay. So you think now that Wu might have been set up by his business partners?”

Carson spoke up. “Yes, Sir. It fits the facts better.”

Kinney sat back and scowled at the memo on his desk for a long moment. Finally he said, “Okay, start developing your new theory, and I’ll call Judge Gore to get a release order for Wu.” He pointed at the two detectives. “Make sure he gets everything back; laptop, phone, everything, you get me? Last thing we need is him suing us.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sanders said, and the wolf and antelope left, closing the door behind them.

Kinney put his face in his paws and tried to get himself under control. This case could have helped him when he declared his candidacy, and now it had fallen apart like soggy cardboard.

He could only hope that those two idiots would succeed in finding something. Meanwhile, and he sighed when he realized it, he had a task to perform.

The canine picked up the phone and tapped a single button. “Hello? Good afternoon, I’d like to talk with Judge Gore, please . . . yes, this is Bob Kinney, with the DA’s office . . . that’s fine; I’ll hold.”

As light jazz played over the phone’s receiver, the Alsatian rehearsed in his mind what he was going to say to the judge, and how to frame it so that as little blame as possible would fall on him.




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