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Underbox: Twenty-One
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
Capt. Horatio Hortense Bezoar
After the initial shock, training and experience set in, and the two paws were tagged, imaged and packed away to join the increasing number of boxes containing evidence. A folding wagon had been brought, and it was quickly filled with the carefully sealed boxes before two of the crime scene technicians wheeled it out with a uniformed police escort.
Hamo met Joachim in the apartment’s main room and whispered in the boar’s ear. When they finished, Joachim gulped and said, “Good Lord.”
“Yeah. We need to find out about his parents while they get those paws identified,” Hamo said, “and now I definitely want to know what the hell’s in his bloodstream.” The pair were the last policefurs in the apartment, and as they walked out the cross-fox said to the landlord, “You might want to keep that door locked, in case we missed anything.”
“No problem,” the bear said. “The way that place looks, the only way I could rent it to anyone would be to strip it to the bare concrete and redo the entire thing.” He closed the door, locked it, and stood aside as one of the forensic technicians affixed police tape across the entrance. “When can I start ripping things out?” he asked.
“Probably after the case is closed,” Joachim replied as he and Hamo walked away.
The bear stood there for a moment, looking first at the sealed door and then at the retreating detectives.
“Shit.”
In the police train car, Joachim glanced at Hamo, who had adopted their usual slouch against the window, gazing out as the car sped through the tunnels. “Hey.”
The cross-fox stirred. “Hm?”
“You going to be all right?”
Hamo shuddered slightly. “I’ll be okay, Joachim. I’ll be seeing the department psychiatrist before I retire, though. I’ve got some bad memories to work through.”
“No doubt.” There was a short silence. “What are we doing next?”
The senior detective regarded their reflection in the window. “We see what’s waiting for us; hopefully we have some reports. Then we brief the Captain.”
The boar’s look became calculating. “What do you think?”
The cross-fox smirked. “Tox report. Five euro?”
“Sounds good.”
Much to their mutual disappointment, the report on the illegal firearm that Saled-Diaz had with him was waiting for them. Neither had bet on that report coming first, but Hamo and Joachim were willing to accept it. Captain Eisler would insist on them having something tangible.
“Okay,” the raccoon said once they’d entered the supervisor’s office. “Where are we?”
Hamo, as lead detective, said, “We tossed the suspect’s apartment. Found parts for making cyberways, drugs, and two severed paws.”
Eisler’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes, afraid so. With your permission, I’d like to send inquiries to the U.S. and Tunisian Foreign Ministries to see if his parents are dead – and if they were intact.”
Eisler nodded. “No problem. What else?”
Joachim studied a few pages of hardcopy. “The firearm had the serial number on the receiver removed pretty thoroughly, but whoever did it missed the second number.” While firearms had a visible serial number on the receiver or the barrel, there was another number code engraved on another part of the weapon, in a location known only to the manufacturer. “It’s former military ordnance, and it’s not a smartgun,” he said, referring to the finger and palm scanner that prevented unauthorized furs from using a firearm thus equipped for crimes.
That caused Eisler’s ringed tail to flick. “Almost an antique, then. Any chance of tracing it?”
Joachim nodded. “Its last home was the NATO arsenal in Freiburg, just before the Euroforce took over.”
“Still nothing from IT Crimes yet? Tox report?”
“We expect the tox report shortly,” Hamo replied. “Forensics will probably find the stuff we found in the apartment to be a great help in sorting out what’s in his blood.” They sighed. “Same for IT Crimes.” The cross-fox paused as Eisler’s phone rang.
The raccoon answered it. “Eisler . . . yes? Ah . . . all right then. Yes, I’ll tell them.” He closed the call and said to the two detectives, “That was IT Crimes. You know that ‘It Comes’ nonsense?” Hamo and Joachim nodded. “IT’s traced it. Seems it first showed up about a month ago, and has been steadily increasing in the cyberbahn ever since.”
“Source?” Hamo asked.
“Our boy,” Eisler replied.
The boar huffed a soft chuckle. “Well, that’s one mystery solved.”
“Right. Get those inquiries sent out to the Foreign Ministries and see what they come up with. Maybe we can tie him to two more murders,” the raccoon said, and with a wave of his paw the two detectives left.
Hamo immediately went to their computer, bringing up the addresses of the Tunisian and U.S. Embassies. They both had cyberbahn addresses, so the cross-fox slipped on their jackglove and entered the virtual landscape.
<Good afternoon, and welcome to the United States Embassy,> said the official at the other end of the connection. The minkess asked, <How may I help you, sir?>
Hamo decided to let the honorific pass. Of course, the ‘person’ at the other end might just be a computer. <I’m Detective Hamo Suleymanoglu, Berlin Police. I’m making inquiries into a recent murder case.>
Construct or not, the minkess looked concerned. <One moment, Sir.>
Her image fled, replaced by a slim, dapper terrier. <I’m John Parsons, Detective. I’m one of the Foreign Service Officers.>
Hamo introduced themselves again, adding, <We have a suspect in custody, but we’re interested in his parents. According to our records, his mother was an American diplomat.>
The terrier’s eyes widened. <Why weren’t we informed that you’re holding a citizen?>
<He holds a Europassport.>
<That’s . . . interesting. What’s his mother’s name, please?>
<Anna-marie Diaz,> Hamo replied, adding the rest of the information. <The suspect’s father is a Tunisian diplomat,> they added as the terrier began checking.
The canine twitched an ear. <Have you contacted their Embassy?>
<I will.>
The terrier nodded. <Yes, we do have records of Ms. Diaz. Hmm, caused a minor diplomatic disturbance when she and Mr. Saled got married. She left the service and moved back to Georgia. What’s the problem?>
<Do you know if they’re still alive?>
Parsons looked surprised. <Alive?> he asked, and he looked appalled as Hamo described the two paws that had been found. <Good Lord. I’ll send an immediate inquiry to the police over there. May I give them your contact information?>
<Please. Thank you very much, Mister Parsons.>
<You’re very welcome, Detective,> and the connection ended. Hamo immediately re-entered the cyberbahn, armed with the access address for the Tunisian Embassy.
Unfortunately, the officious fennec that Hamo was transferred to had very little information to give them. They had lost track of their diplomat after he’d married and moved to America, but there’d been no record of him renouncing his citizenship. Hamo supplied the fox with Parsons’ contact information, and ended the connection shortly afterward.
When the transgender vulpine pulled the jackglove off their paw, Joachim was sitting across from him. “What’s up?” Hamo asked.
“Tox report arrived while you were in the cyberbahn,” the boar replied. “He had two stimulants and a strong hallucinogenic in his blood when we caught him.”
“Ugh. Nasty.”
“Should be burned out of him in another day, though, now that he’s eating better. How’d things go with the embassies?”
Hamo sighed and sat back in their chair. “Possibility that his parents aren’t dead. U.S. Embassy’s checking.”
“If they’re still alive,” Joachim said, “whose paws are those?”
“Hopefully we can get those answers from the medical examiner,” Hamo replied.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST<
© 2021 by Walter Reimer
Thumbnail art by
Capt. Horatio Hortense BezoarAfter the initial shock, training and experience set in, and the two paws were tagged, imaged and packed away to join the increasing number of boxes containing evidence. A folding wagon had been brought, and it was quickly filled with the carefully sealed boxes before two of the crime scene technicians wheeled it out with a uniformed police escort.
Hamo met Joachim in the apartment’s main room and whispered in the boar’s ear. When they finished, Joachim gulped and said, “Good Lord.”
“Yeah. We need to find out about his parents while they get those paws identified,” Hamo said, “and now I definitely want to know what the hell’s in his bloodstream.” The pair were the last policefurs in the apartment, and as they walked out the cross-fox said to the landlord, “You might want to keep that door locked, in case we missed anything.”
“No problem,” the bear said. “The way that place looks, the only way I could rent it to anyone would be to strip it to the bare concrete and redo the entire thing.” He closed the door, locked it, and stood aside as one of the forensic technicians affixed police tape across the entrance. “When can I start ripping things out?” he asked.
“Probably after the case is closed,” Joachim replied as he and Hamo walked away.
The bear stood there for a moment, looking first at the sealed door and then at the retreating detectives.
“Shit.”
In the police train car, Joachim glanced at Hamo, who had adopted their usual slouch against the window, gazing out as the car sped through the tunnels. “Hey.”
The cross-fox stirred. “Hm?”
“You going to be all right?”
Hamo shuddered slightly. “I’ll be okay, Joachim. I’ll be seeing the department psychiatrist before I retire, though. I’ve got some bad memories to work through.”
“No doubt.” There was a short silence. “What are we doing next?”
The senior detective regarded their reflection in the window. “We see what’s waiting for us; hopefully we have some reports. Then we brief the Captain.”
The boar’s look became calculating. “What do you think?”
The cross-fox smirked. “Tox report. Five euro?”
“Sounds good.”
Much to their mutual disappointment, the report on the illegal firearm that Saled-Diaz had with him was waiting for them. Neither had bet on that report coming first, but Hamo and Joachim were willing to accept it. Captain Eisler would insist on them having something tangible.
“Okay,” the raccoon said once they’d entered the supervisor’s office. “Where are we?”
Hamo, as lead detective, said, “We tossed the suspect’s apartment. Found parts for making cyberways, drugs, and two severed paws.”
Eisler’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes, afraid so. With your permission, I’d like to send inquiries to the U.S. and Tunisian Foreign Ministries to see if his parents are dead – and if they were intact.”
Eisler nodded. “No problem. What else?”
Joachim studied a few pages of hardcopy. “The firearm had the serial number on the receiver removed pretty thoroughly, but whoever did it missed the second number.” While firearms had a visible serial number on the receiver or the barrel, there was another number code engraved on another part of the weapon, in a location known only to the manufacturer. “It’s former military ordnance, and it’s not a smartgun,” he said, referring to the finger and palm scanner that prevented unauthorized furs from using a firearm thus equipped for crimes.
That caused Eisler’s ringed tail to flick. “Almost an antique, then. Any chance of tracing it?”
Joachim nodded. “Its last home was the NATO arsenal in Freiburg, just before the Euroforce took over.”
“Still nothing from IT Crimes yet? Tox report?”
“We expect the tox report shortly,” Hamo replied. “Forensics will probably find the stuff we found in the apartment to be a great help in sorting out what’s in his blood.” They sighed. “Same for IT Crimes.” The cross-fox paused as Eisler’s phone rang.
The raccoon answered it. “Eisler . . . yes? Ah . . . all right then. Yes, I’ll tell them.” He closed the call and said to the two detectives, “That was IT Crimes. You know that ‘It Comes’ nonsense?” Hamo and Joachim nodded. “IT’s traced it. Seems it first showed up about a month ago, and has been steadily increasing in the cyberbahn ever since.”
“Source?” Hamo asked.
“Our boy,” Eisler replied.
The boar huffed a soft chuckle. “Well, that’s one mystery solved.”
“Right. Get those inquiries sent out to the Foreign Ministries and see what they come up with. Maybe we can tie him to two more murders,” the raccoon said, and with a wave of his paw the two detectives left.
Hamo immediately went to their computer, bringing up the addresses of the Tunisian and U.S. Embassies. They both had cyberbahn addresses, so the cross-fox slipped on their jackglove and entered the virtual landscape.
<Good afternoon, and welcome to the United States Embassy,> said the official at the other end of the connection. The minkess asked, <How may I help you, sir?>
Hamo decided to let the honorific pass. Of course, the ‘person’ at the other end might just be a computer. <I’m Detective Hamo Suleymanoglu, Berlin Police. I’m making inquiries into a recent murder case.>
Construct or not, the minkess looked concerned. <One moment, Sir.>
Her image fled, replaced by a slim, dapper terrier. <I’m John Parsons, Detective. I’m one of the Foreign Service Officers.>
Hamo introduced themselves again, adding, <We have a suspect in custody, but we’re interested in his parents. According to our records, his mother was an American diplomat.>
The terrier’s eyes widened. <Why weren’t we informed that you’re holding a citizen?>
<He holds a Europassport.>
<That’s . . . interesting. What’s his mother’s name, please?>
<Anna-marie Diaz,> Hamo replied, adding the rest of the information. <The suspect’s father is a Tunisian diplomat,> they added as the terrier began checking.
The canine twitched an ear. <Have you contacted their Embassy?>
<I will.>
The terrier nodded. <Yes, we do have records of Ms. Diaz. Hmm, caused a minor diplomatic disturbance when she and Mr. Saled got married. She left the service and moved back to Georgia. What’s the problem?>
<Do you know if they’re still alive?>
Parsons looked surprised. <Alive?> he asked, and he looked appalled as Hamo described the two paws that had been found. <Good Lord. I’ll send an immediate inquiry to the police over there. May I give them your contact information?>
<Please. Thank you very much, Mister Parsons.>
<You’re very welcome, Detective,> and the connection ended. Hamo immediately re-entered the cyberbahn, armed with the access address for the Tunisian Embassy.
Unfortunately, the officious fennec that Hamo was transferred to had very little information to give them. They had lost track of their diplomat after he’d married and moved to America, but there’d been no record of him renouncing his citizenship. Hamo supplied the fox with Parsons’ contact information, and ended the connection shortly afterward.
When the transgender vulpine pulled the jackglove off their paw, Joachim was sitting across from him. “What’s up?” Hamo asked.
“Tox report arrived while you were in the cyberbahn,” the boar replied. “He had two stimulants and a strong hallucinogenic in his blood when we caught him.”
“Ugh. Nasty.”
“Should be burned out of him in another day, though, now that he’s eating better. How’d things go with the embassies?”
Hamo sighed and sat back in their chair. “Possibility that his parents aren’t dead. U.S. Embassy’s checking.”
“If they’re still alive,” Joachim said, “whose paws are those?”
“Hopefully we can get those answers from the medical examiner,” Hamo replied.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST<
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Fox (Other)
Size 85 x 120px
File Size 53.4 kB
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