Vulpecula found himself mildly amused by how self-indulging all of it seemed but didn't comment. The Officer seemed to read his mind, however. “The whole thing's a little much, but what can I say, you know how the rich-folk are with their art-pieces.”
“Lacerta, Apus, and I are more-or-less homeless gypsies that go from hotel to hotel, but I’ll take your word for it.” Vulpecula commented.
“You and me both, brother,” Officer Rofus responded, before walking deeper into the room.
Vulpecula didn't say anything else. Rofus was a tool. The Fox didn't need to be a not-so world famous private investigator to unravel that little mystery, but at the same time, he wasn't too bothered by it.
Maharris was filled with uninteresting types but Rofus was made up of certain 'loveable buffoon' traits.
The Officer led them further and further into the room, the smell of air-freshener was intoxicating, like every ounce of the room had been bathed in the stuff. It was an aroma meant to resemble fresh strawberries but smelled like nothing of the sort.
“I understand that you're familiar with why I called you here. Comet Fowley is missing, but what you didn't know is that we have a little bit more to go on than what we let on to the press.”
“What's that exactly?” Vulpecula asked, not enjoying Rofus' attempt at building suspense. The Officer laughed in an awkward, phony sort-of way and then led them into the male bathroom.
Blood.
Vulpecula stopped dead in his tracks. The red stuff. The bad stuff. Blood!
Vulpecula didn't like blood.
Robberies in the Malane Museum or magic shows gone awry, that's what V was comfortable with. But this, this wasn't like that. This didn't look like either of those two things, and in-fact, this looked an awful lot like something more conclusive. More fatal. Blood.
Apus and Lacerta stopped as well. Lacerta stood off to the corner, his face looked paler than usual, blending in with the white wall behind him.
None of them were accustom to the thick, dried-maroon globs that dressed the bathroom floors. V gulped.
His attention was struck though. Felt enticed. Such a pity it cost someone so much to do it. He didn't want a macabre. Not really. A blood riddled massacre. It made it all too real. It took the escapism this was meant to provide.
But yet, his attention was aroused. Curious, Vulpecula stepped forward. He felt the coldness beneath his feet from the linoleum floor.
He heard water droplets falling out a faucet onto the porcelain sink. The smell of urinal cakes. The smell of urine.
He walked closer to the scene of the crime. Blood was smeared on the sink. Some blood was smeared on the window. A hand-print. Like someone trying to escape from someone else.
The scene depicted desperation and ever-so clearly the scene of a man being dragged, his bloody hand sliding down the mirror, to the porcelain, and to the floor. All of it was nice and neat, wrapped up in a cute, little bow. Perfect.
Vulpecula looked into the mirror, seeing his white fur and green-scarf. In his eyes, unsettled fury. His teeth felt sharper than usual. On-edge. That's how the whole thing was making him feel.
His eyes went down at the floor next. Bloody footprints. It looked like they belonged to two men. He couldn't be for certain though. The size was the same. Looks could be deceiving, however.
But it looked like the victim and the perpetrator. V followed the footprints toward a bathroom stall. The stall door was shut. The Fox Detective's eyes peeked into the cracks and crevices of the door, but he saw nothing.
The hygiene of bathrooms was disgusting.
Vulpecula took his walking stick and poked it against the door, pushing it open. He stood, looking at what rested dormant on the back tank of the toilet.
What he saw, … Vulpecula knew he had seen one of them before, but he just couldn't put his finger on where. Oh, yes, it's a hand, a bloody hand. “Fetching,” The Fox said, although, he really didn't know why. Just sounded like the right thing to say. That bloody, severed hand is downright fetching. The truth of it is he was in-shock and he knew it.
“I know you were likely expecting something more grotesque and theatrical,” Officer Rofus said, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke.
Vulpecula looked over at him. The Dog was being sincere. “No, I think this just about covers everything I was expecting in both those categories.”
The hand looked cleanly cut. The marks didn't seem jagged, and it looked almost surgical. But also looked just as much like it could have been cut off with a meat cleaver.
Vulpecula made a note of this in his blank chalkboard. Dried blood leaked out from the hand and ran down the deck of the toilet, some dribbling down onto the toilet seat.
“We had some of our men look at it. All of them seem to agree this wasn't done postmortem, and blood-work has come back verifying the, ahem, hand belongs to Comet Fowley.” Officer Rofus hardly sounded shaken by his own words, which surprised Vulpecula. Rofus must have been used to the crimes in Urgway. An aghast disposition was on Apus and Lacerta by the Officer's words though.
“They cut off his hand!?” Lacerta asked, his voice sounded both disturbed and shocked by the revelation.
“Yes,” Rofus replied.
“What can you tell me about Comet Fowley?” V asked, his eyes looking over at the hand. Dirt and grime beneath his finger-nails.
“Not much. I've maybe met him once or twice, and each was only for short intervals. The man was the coach for the Hounds for God's sake, about the closest thing we have to a celebrity, minus the actual team, of course.”
“You interviewed the family though, correct?”
“Oh, yes, of course, that's standard procedure. Fact is it took them a couple of days to even report his kidnapping. That's the thing about Fowl, at least, according to them. They figured he could have been at the bar or the casino, or wherever else. Though, they said he had stopped.”
“Drinking?”
“Gambling. They knew better than to ever ask him to stop drinking, but after he nearly lost his home because of it, even he decided it was time to stop with that stuff.”
“Does he have any enemies?”
“Probably, the guy's an alcoholic, and has been arrested once or twice for starting bar-fights. Though, it's been said he didn't start them. He chased after some cat who was looking at him funny, cat might as well been asking for trouble.”
“I read an interview from Rescue Alerts with the cat saying Comet Fowley and one of the Hounds' football players beat him black and blue.”
“I wouldn't believe everything I read on the internet. Especially not anything from Rescue,” The Officer replied fast before stopping and adding, “No offense. I know your dad kind-of came up with that group.”
“None taken. I only read it because I have a free subscription. Is there anything else you have to show me?” Vulpecula took his eyes off the severed hand and threw his vision over to the Officer's general direction.
“There aren't any cameras in this room, and when games in-session, it's easy for individuals to blend in. Some of the football players have speculated a rival group might have killed him to hurt the Hounds' chances of winning the championship this year. The Labradors from Italina were here, and yes, they might not look like they'd do something that crafty, they are a sneaky bunch.”
Vulpecula heard a small giggle from Lacerta.
“Was Comet Fowley present for the match between the Labradors and the Hounds?”
“Yes,” the Officer answered.
“And did the Hounds beat the Labradors?” Officer Rofus didn't say anything.
Vulpecula finished washing his hands in the sink and reached for some paper towels. After drying his hands off, he threw the remnants away in a waste basket.
“I think we can count off fear of inferiority as a motive for the Labradors, Officer.” Vulpecula said at last. “No, I don't think any of the Labradors would have done it. A member of the Hounds, mad at their coach for not training them wel
l enough, however?”
“No member of the Hounds would do such a thing, all of us have too much respect for the sport.
“Considering that Urgway has, by far, the highest crime rate in all of Maharris, I don't think it matters at all how much respect one has for a sport.” V said plainly.
The Officer offered no retort or comeback.
“No, no, but that's not what happened either. This was about sending a message, and this wasn't about hiding anything. This was done hours after the football game, Rofus.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nothing else makes any sense.” Vulpecula fired back fast. “Nobody in their right mind would've kidnapped Comet Fowley in such a crowded environment. They would've waited until it was less encumbered. But this wasn't rushed, and it wasn't hasty, this was methodical.” Vulpecula's eyes looked down at the blood on the porcelain. The blood on the mirrors. “They would've heard him scream.”
“Unless they muffled his mouth with something,” the Officer suggested.
“And then they just walked him out of the arena with blood pouring out from his hand? Premeditated and meticulous, but it still doesn't make any sense. There couldn't have been anyone outside of this bathroom because they would have heard the commotion and the struggle. Maybe they shoved a tranquilizer in his neck. They could have walked him out of there and acted as if he was being his alcoholic self and they were helping him out of the arena to his car. That would've made sense since they just lost the game. But that doesn't make any sense at all. That doesn't explain the struggle. The bloody hand-print on the mirror. Why didn't they clean up the blood? Because they wanted us to know he was kidnapped. Why would they want us to know he was kidnapped? Are they looking for a ransom? Does the hand mean anything? Is this a trademark?” Vulpecula uttered his words beneath his breath but audible enough to let everyone know his wheels were turning.
“Is he going to be okay?” Vulpecula heard Officer Rofus ask, although, he ignored it.
“About as close as he's ever been,” Lacerta responded quietly, but once more, Vulpecula heard it and ignored it.
"Who found the hand first?" Vulpecula finally said above his breath, his eyes still not directed at any of them.
"Maintenance found the hand while they were cleaning the Stadium, as they do every time after a game," Officer Rofus remarked.
"How exactly did Comet Fowley treat them?"
"The maintenance crew?"
"Never mind, that doesn't make any sense. It still doesn't cover all the variables of this," Vulpecula turned himself away from the mirror and looked over toward Lacerta and Apus.
"Any alarms going off in that brain of yours?" Lacerta asked.
"A few," Vulpecula remarked.
Vulpecula walked beyond Apus and Lacerta, out of the bathroom and back to the V.I.P. main lobby.
His eyes frolicked around the area with an aimless precision. He didn't have anything he was looking for. Just inspiration and entertainment. Neither of his thirsts were quenched by the scenery though. A large step acted as the distinction between the lobby and the entrance to the arena.
"That leads to the private booth. Fowley would have no business being there, after all, he can see the show front-and-center." Officer Rofus explained.
Vulpecula hadn't even heard him step out of the bathroom.
"Right," Vulpecula said. "Who was the last person to see Comet?"
"The strangest thing about it all is that everybody we've asked says that they downright remember Comet Fowley walking out from the arena. They're supposing that he must have come back or something."
"Either that, or he was brought back against his free-will. That would leave a message," Vulpecula said, but he wasn't convinced about it. "Did any of them recall anything strange about him that day, about anything that he did, or maybe any reason to believe that he was in trouble?"
"No one said anything like that, far as I know he was his normal everyday self, nothing out the ordinary. A little glum about the Hounds losing their match, what with them having the home-town advantage and all, but nothing unreasonable. Some said he wasn't even really all that sociable though, but that's not really what he's known for, and that he spent most of his time on his cellphone."
"Talking?"
Vulpecula looked over at Officer Rofus. Eye-contact seemed to completely throw Rofus off as he stammered for a moment or two before shaking his head, "He was just texting all night," Rofus said. His hands dangling off to his side, Vulpecula noticed the black-gun strapped at his waist.
"I see, and where, besides here in the Stadium, would Fowley be? Perhaps at the lower-sectors of the arena, maybe a locker-room or somewhere else?"
"Of course, there's a locker-room down below but nothing was of value to this, sweaty jerseys and empty water bottle containers."
"Have you been monitoring Comet Fowley's credit-card spending, made for certain that nobody has been using any of his money?"
"If somebody has been using his credit-cards, it'd more than likely leave a trail," Apus replied.
"I didn't know you could talk!" Officer Rofus cried out with that fake and phony hysterics he had mastered.
"Focus, Dofus," Vulpecula demanded, snapping his fingers as he spoke and not acknowledging what either one said.
"It's Rofus," The Officer cried out, sounding offended.
"They don't have cameras in the V.I.P. room, for reasons that I don't care enough to speculate on, but do they have them outside? More specifically, would we be able to see who left and who entered the V.I.P. room? If Comet Fowley left, we'd know it, and if he came back, we'd know it." Vulpecula said.
"They might. But it's a lot of footage. Comet could've come back even a day later for all we know, and it'd be easy to lose him in the crowd when the game was still going. Even in the After Party," Officer Rofus remarked.
"That's fine," Vulpecula remarked. "Lead the way..."
2.
Footage, footage, and more footage. That's what Vulpecula's life had been reduced to. Or, at the very least, that's how it felt in this instance.
The cameras were low-tech and didn't use cutting-edge technology. Low-quality and grainy footage that could very well not end up mattering, but at the same time, it made it a lot more difficult to point Comet Fowley out in a crowd.
V could remember very well how Fowley looked. The terrier had grayish white fur with two spots for each of his eyes, sort-of like a raccoon. His face sagged down some, but he didn't look like he was close to killing over.
That's what Vulpecula got from looking at his photograph in the newspapers and on television. On their way to the back-room, however, which was a hefty climb down a lot of stairs, Officer Rofus filled him in on some of the more intimate details.
Comet Fowley wasn't married, and he lived in an expensive apartment down on the outskirts of Urgway. That was a considerable drive away from the Supreme Stadium, and was done because, according to those who knew Fowley, he absolutely despised the thick, smoggy air that engulfed the main-parts of the city.
An esteemed bachelor that valued his personal freedom more than anything else. Which seemed almost contradictory to the fact he remained very close to his mother.
Fowley had two sisters, and his family was closely knit. In an interview conducted by Rofus, his mother recalled having a sit-down intervention for his addiction. She was not specific about which addiction that was, be it narcotic, alcohol, or something else.
Vulpecula sat inside a comfortable computer chair, his knees up by his chest, with his chin resting on his walking stick. It wasn't very comfortable. His eyes were glued to the screens in-front of him.
There were many of them, more than fifteen, each small and barely distinguishable, but his eyes were only on one. A black-and-white screen with numbers and times on the bottom and top. The door leading to the V.I.P room was clear and obvious, even with all the crowded folk running around.
Lacerta was to his left, leaned back in a computer chair of his
own. His eyes were shut and he was leaned back against the couch.
Officer Rofus stood on his feet behind Vulpecula, and while V couldn't see him, he found it easy to allege Rofus' disposition. The Officer was likely uncomfortable. Very, in-fact. Like he wasn't comfortable in his own skin and was completely obsessed with making everybody not notice it.
Apus, bless his heart, sat beside Vulpecula in a chair, and his eyes were just as focused on the screen as V.
"You do realize that there's a fast-forward button on these things, right?" Lacerta said, sounding like he wanted more than anything to leave.
That's what Lacerta brought to their little outfit. A desire to leave and disinterest. That and keeping up with the emails and advertising their service online.
"If I fast-forward through the footage then I'll be more likely to miss him, and besides, we've narrowed it down to only about two hours’ worth of material."
"Yippee," Lacerta said.
Vulpecula smiled, excited that Lacerta was finally getting in the spirit of things.
Everybody from an angled view made them all seem insignificant. Small pups walking around with their families, and kittens walking with theirs. The screen didn't really offer a clear view of any of their faces. It made them all seem like bricks in the wall. In this view it was as if everybody was in perfect harmony with each-other.
Everybody was One. And that was more like what Hensley Noel was looking for. What Vulpecula's father had been trying to achieve. Or, at least, what Vulpecula would’ve wanted him to want.
"I wish Urgway would've thought its one commodity was worth protecting with more than twenty-dollar cameras," Vulpecula said, scratching at the whiskers on the side of his cheeks.
Officer Rofus let out a breath like he was about to say something, but he didn't. That was likely for the best.
"Your medieval cameras have to have some sort-of zoom feature on them," Vulpecula said, readjusting his position and resting his walking stick on the carpeted floor below him. He fiddled with the remote control which had blank buttons without any indication whatsoever of what any of them did.
The Canes Files Page 11
