Chapter 7: Pointing Fingers

Anya dropped into her seat at her desk, her mind a torrent of thoughts. It was only 11 in the morning, and she was already wishing she was at home in bed. She just spent the first half of her morning (and most of the night before it) investigating the murder of Oliver Peers, examining evidence, reviewing witness reports, and deriving theories from her findings. Now, she had to prepare to spend the second half of her day confirming her theories derived from the work she did all morning.

As cut and dry as the case was, she refused to accept it. It all sounded far too convenient. Pepper Peers just receiving an e-mail when she was at her most vulnerable which confirmed her worst fears all but screamed set up. She was convinced whoever sent that e-mail knew exactly what Pepper's reaction would be, and that was why they sent it to her. But when she tried to go to the captain, he ordered her to come up with concrete evidence before they started muddying the waters. Of course, she couldn't blame him. If the defense got wind Pepper was possibly coerced, she could be looking at less time or even walk if they played it right. Anya knew the e-mail theory was circumstantial at best. Why rock the boat and ruin a slam dunk case? Because she preferred to see the right person behind bars even if it meant blowing up her own case. In some ways Pepper was just as much of a victim, and she couldn't let that slide. George believed her theory was sound, but he still agreed with the captain. Unfortunately, she had yet to come up with any leads to give her a person of interest, yet alone an actual suspect.

Anya scoffed and sipped her coffee. Trying to track the e-mail back to its sender raised more questions instead of answers. According to their tech expert, Kendra, the e-mail came from Oliver Peers' computer. The man sent the e-mail to his sister that drove her to kill him. George claimed it wasn't the first time someone had done something like this, provoking someone who snapped and killed their tormentor. Either way, Anya didn't care. Their recent findings blew her conspiracy theory to pieces.

She rose from her chair and went over to the window overlooking the station's parking lot. Other witnesses confirmed Oliver liked to taunt people. He had crossed the line several times, and left many wanting nothing more than to bash his head in. But the theory still didn't fit. It would have been easier to make a story about a third party who cheated both of them and ran off with all the money. If Oliver had done that, he would have been off the hook and avoided any suspicion. Why purposely let Pepper know that she had been cheated out of everything she had?

She took another sip of her drink as she watched people walk by. She could come up with a hundred reasons behind it (she already had more than enough to make her head spin), but at the end of the day without evidence backing it, they were just that, theories. And unfortunately, the captain gave her three days to find something that backed up the idea someone else was involved in the Peers' murder.

And it had been four days since he set the three-day deadline.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, interrupting her thoughts. A wolf anthro named Paul Jareau was standing behind her, wearing a dark scowl on his face. At first, Anya figured she had done something to upset him, but for the life of her, not a single incident came to mind. She was always a bit distant with her fellow officers, but for the most part, she was left alone and got along pretty well with everyone. They knew she preferred her privacy, and she never went out of her way to start trouble.

Before she could ask what was wrong, Paul softened his expression. “Hey, Corázon, me and my partner were going out for drinks when our shift is over. You and George wanna join us?"

“Thanks for the invitation, Jareau, but I kinda got my hands full on this murder case."

“Yeah, I know," the wolf said, chuckling. “Word's gotten around you're ruining your own case. There's actually a pool going to see if you succeed in messing it up."

Anya frowned. That was why she made a point of being alone. She would stand by her fellow officers if they needed her, but sometimes, they could be very immature.

Paul laughed again, but he sounded more nervous than before. “Damn, Corázon, take a joke. You're so serious all the time." The friendly smile on his face changed into one of annoyance. “Anyway, the other reason I'm bothering you is because some guy is here asking for you. He's over by your desk." he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a human male standing next to her desk. The man reminded her of a lawyer or a really uptight businessman. Wearing a button-up shirt and a pair of jeans, his outfit could pass for casual, but the clothes were so neat, they looked as if they hadn't been worn in yet. He didn't look like anyone she knew, so it must be something work related.

“Thanks, Jareau. I'll go talk to him," Anya said. 

“Good luck. Listen, if you ever change your mind about that drink, we'll be at the bar on seventh," Jareau said. He looked at the man standing by Anya's desk and growled. “I'll catch you later. I'm gonna take a walk before I do something stupid."

Anya wanted to ask the wolf what he meant by that, but she had kept the man waiting at her desk long enough and Jareau was already halfway to the door. Indignation joined her already souring mood as she watched the man stand over her desk. He was sifting through the files scattered around the desk. The man frowned at the mess as if he belonged there and she made a mess of his things. 

Anya sighed and approached the man. She wasn't the mood for this; she hadn't even spoken to the man yet, and she already knew he was going to say or do something to piss her off.

As she drew closer, she got a better look at him. The first thing she noticed was that his outfit was more than just clean; it looked like it had been tailored. He was very close to George's height or possibly taller, but was nowhere near as thick. The man definitely cared a great deal about his appearance; he had a manicure, and Anya couldn't identify a single strand of hair out of place on his head. His face reminded her of a doll; no blemishes or flaws stood out, and his smooth skin and strong jaw probably made most women swoon over him, but it did nothing for Anya. As she watched him, only one thing jumped out in her mind:

This guy was definitely going to get on her last nerve.

“Hello," Anya said as nicely as she could. The man looked up at her as if she asked the man to meet her and forgot to show up. Anya did her best to hide her offense to the man's attitude. “Can I help you?"

“I already told that wolf, my name is Luther Creed. I'm looking for detective George Watson," the man replied, his voice full of annoyance.

Anya's first reaction was to tell the man to check his attitude, but she decided against it. She was in a bad mood anyway, and if she escalated things, she may wind up doing something that could get her suspended again. She also chose to ignore the man's emphasis on the word “wolf". It implied something she didn't care for, but she knew better than to jump to sudden conclusions. She could've just heard him wrong since she had already decided she didn't like him. “I'm sorry, George isn't available right now. But I'm his partner, Anya Corázon." She held out her hand to the man. “What seems to be the problem?"

Luther took her hand and shook it firmly. His hand was smooth and soft. Anya remembered being told by her father (and every other male role model in her life) that a lot could be learned about a man from his handshake.

Shaking this man's hand confirmed her assumption that she wasn't going to like him.

 Luther scanned the floor around him. “Is there somewhere I can sit?"

Anya pulled up a chair next to George's desk. “Here you are."

Luther sat in the chair and frowned.

“Is something wrong?"

“No, it's just that over here sort of smells like…well, dog."

Anya raised a brow. She'd been George's partner for well over two years now and she couldn't once recall him ever smelling like anything. And she spent a great deal of time sitting across from him or locked in a car together.

As if sensing Anya's suspicions, Luther, chuckling nervously and quickly said, “To answer your previous question: I understand that you're investigating the death of Oliver Peers?"

Anya's brow rose again. It was one thing to know about Oliver Peers' death and that the police were investigating. It was another thing entirely to know the names of the detectives working the case. If the man was keeping tabs on the case, then he should know Pepper confessed to the murder and the case was just two steps away from being closed.

But right now, she didn't want to let him know her radar was up. She could figure out whether to add him to the suspect list after she learned what he knew. “I'm afraid that case is still ongoing and I can't discuss it. Are you a relative of Mr. Peers?"

“I'm not a relative, and I'm here to give you information," Luther said. There was an undertone of smugness in his voice. Anya realized it wasn't a hidden smugness in his voice; he wanted it to be noticed. It was that haughty tone someone took when they stated what they believed to be obvious, but knew the other person had no idea what they were talking about. He might as well had started dancing on her desk while singing, “I know something you don't know!"

“You see, I hired a private investigator, Samson Thomas, to do some investigative work for me. “Almost a year ago, my fiancée, Lori, was killed, and the person responsible still walks the streets." Luther paused and took out his cell phone and began swiping his finger across the screen.

Anya's radar went way up. Did he really just stop to answer his phone? Was it an attempt to be more dramatic, or was he really just that much of an ass?

Luther returned his cell to his pocket and continued, “Sorry about that. Personal call. As I was saying, the police have been investigating her murder, but I honestly felt that they're not doing enough. So, I asked Mr. Thomas to investigate and report to me his findings. His last message said he had uncovered something very serious, but he wanted to meet in person. When I went to our usual meeting place, he never showed. I've called him several times and he hasn't called back."

She had no idea what this information had to do with her case, but she did notice the way Luther's gaze was no longer fixated on her as he spoke and now he didn't have his cell phone, he had started playing with his hands. “How long ago was your last conversation with Mr. Thomas? And what does this have to do with Oliver Peers?" she asked.

At that moment a squirrel whose name Anya didn't remember walked by. The most she could remember was that he had recently just joined the force. Luther leaned in the opposite direction as if something on the desk caught his eye. Anya tensed up when she saw him glance at the squirrel out of the corner of his eye, and it wasn't a pleasant look she saw in those green irises.

It wasn't until the anthro was out of earshot that Luther spoke again. “I honestly thought it would be obvious, Detective." The smugness from before had returned. “Lori and Oliver were close friends. She was murdered and Oliver spoke out about it. Now he's dead. I asked Samson to investigate and he goes missing. It's clear that Lori's murderer is trying to cover his tracks. They were killed by the same person. If you had done your job, the one responsible would be behind bars by now."

Anya sighed. She had it up to “here" with this guy's attitude and pretending as if he was doing her job for her. As far she knew, she didn't work for him. Scratch that—even if she did work for him, she wasn't about to put up with his attitude. Whoever this Lori was, her name never came up in their investigation, so how were they supposed to connect the dots when the dots weren't even there?

 “And who would that person be?" she asked.

Luther's expression changed to disgust. “A filthy mutt named—"

“Mr. Creed, was it?" she interjected, making no attempt to hide her annoyance. If she was questioning his feelings toward Anthros before, that mutt comment put those doubts to rest. It was bad enough she had to listen to him talk down to her as if she was incompetent at her job. She was not about to listen to him go on a racist rant also. “I'm sure you're very upset, but I'd like to ask you to keep the racial commentary to yourself."

Luther cleared his throat and the disgust vanished from his face, but it was still clear in his voice as he spoke. “I apologize. As I was saying: It was a m—young husky by the name of David Somerson." The disgust in his voice deepened as he said the name. “He's the one who killed my fiancée."

 “Before we get into that, I have to ask: You say this David Somerson may be responsible for the murder of three people. Do you have any proof of this? I don't want to call you a liar, but I need more to go on. Did you witness any acts of violence? Did he ever threaten you or Lori? Did Samson give you anything? I can't go arrest someone just because you “know" he did something."

He straightened up in his seat and folded his hands in his lap. “I understand, Detective. Unfortunately, if I had any real evidence, he would already be behind bars. The best I can say is I have first-hand experience just how violent he can be. He attacked me at my place of work and threatened to kill me. He has a record of violent acts. His employer, Brent Caldwell, had to fire him because he feared for his life. I know Oliver Peers feared for his life because of him, and I'm certain he was beating Lori."

Anya nodded as she wrote down quick summaries of Luther's explanation. She made a point of underlining all the names. “Wait, how did you say you knew him again? I thought Lori was your fiancée. You let some guy beat the woman you planned to marry?"

“I didn't let him do anything," Luther said, scowling. “I just didn't take matters into my own hands. And while I knew what was happening, I had no proof. Not to mention that furry bastard is well connected. If I had confronted him, he would have sent his friends after me. On top of that, Lori refused to leave him alone."

Anya chewed on the end of her pen. Luther's story sounded credible, but there was a hole in his story. He slipped on Lori and her connection to David. She found it hard to believe that any man would allow his fiancée to be beaten by someone. Say Luther was telling the truth about the murder, but lying about how they knew each other. Why keep that a secret? Were they doing something illegal and he was trying to save Lori's name, or was he simply trying to save face for not doing anything sooner? Then there was the connection of Pepper and Oliver Peers in all of this. It was possible Pepper made the whole thing up to cover for him, but Anya saw the e-mail—it was real. Maybe it was planted beforehand, and Pepper and David cooked up the scheme together. But it still didn't make sense why Pepper would take the fall.

“How long ago did you say all of this happened? If you're so worried about this guy, why didn't you come to the police sooner? You say he threatened you at work; did you file a report? Why wait until the bodies started lining up to say something?" Anya asked. To be honest, she already had an idea why someone would threaten this guy.

Luther sighed and his expression turned sour again. “To answer your question, all of this happened in the last year. I didn't say anything because I knew no one would believe me. I'm talking to you right now, and you don't believe me. Besides, that m—Somerson has already been arrested and charged with Lori's murder. But it seems her death isn't enough for him."

Anya sighed and rubbed her temple. She didn't like the idea of letting a murder go unsolved, and she especially didn't want the wrong person being blamed for it. But he had not given her any reason to believe Somerson did anything to with Samson Thomas and nothing solid tying him to Oliver Peers. And she needed something solid if she was going to mess with another detective's murder case. Plus there was the most obvious question: If Somerson was going after anyone tied to this one murder, why was Luther still breathing? Right now, all she could think about was getting Luther Creed out of her sight; she could figure out the rest later. It bothered her that he was so well-informed, but sat on the information for so long. The fact that he hired P.I. instead of calling the authorities didn't sit well with her either, especially now that it most likely got him killed. There were a few questions she wanted to ask, but if she had to suffer Luther Creed another minute longer than she had to, she might do something stupid.

Luther leaned forward in seat and lowered his voice forcing Anya to move closer in order to hear him. She could smell his expensive cologne as well as a hint of alcohol. “Listen, I know my story sounds a bit far-fetched, but I know what I'm talking about. He has a way with women. I don't know what they see in him, but they will do anything for him. That's why he was able to convince Oliver's sister to help him murder her family and why Lori refused to see him for the monster he is. Even now, I assure you there are other females in his life that he is manipulating. He has been allowed to prey on others for far too long. He needs to be put down."

Luther took a small business card out of his pocket and placed it on Anya's desk. “I've written Samson's home address on the back. Detective, I know you require proof, but I assure you Samson has it."

Luther stood and offered his hand again. “Thank you for your time, Detective."

 Anya shook Luther's hand, but said nothing. She counted the seconds until he was gone. The moment the man was out of her sight, she sighed and leaned on her desk, placing her face in her hands. Talking to Luther had left her with a massive headache. This whole case was making her head hurt. If things weren't a mess before, they certainly were now. She wanted to believe Luther, but something just didn't feel right. No matter how hard she tried to wrap her head around the man's theory, a single thought kept jumping to the front of her mind:

His appearance seemed far too convenient.

It was like one of those hunches cops talked about having in the movies. There was just a strong feeling deep in her core telling her not to put too much stock into what she just heard. But in the movies these feelings were always a hundred percent accurate, and always lead to the cops to the one clue that exposed the bad guy. Then there was a shootout, or a quick fight scene which culminated with the bad guy dying and the cop going home to his family.

But her life wasn't a movie. She knew her hunches weren't precise, and she definitely wasn't hoping for it all to end in any kind of fight. She couldn't expect her partner or the captain to accept her theories just because of a “gut feeling." And if her feeling was accurate and led to an arrest, trying to make that logic to hold up in court was a pipe dream. But now, she had to say something. A potential witness just came in with what could be valuable information. Hunch or not, she had to follow up because there would be hell to pay if the whole thing turned out to be true.

George's deep growl came from somewhere behind her. “You look like you just ate something spoiled."

Anya jumped in her seat and whirled around to face her partner. “Where'd you—? Y'know what? Never mind. C'mon, partner, I just got a lead on something." Without waiting for her partner's response, she snatched the business card from her desk and her jacket from the back of her chair and headed for the nearest exit.

It didn't take long for George to catch up. “Is it safe to assume that this 'lead' is the reason why you were so deep in thought? What's going on, Anya?"

Anya was silent the entire walk to her car. Part of her was still trying to come up with an explanation that her partner could find plausible. The other part was trying to convince herself it was a good idea.  Her suspension may have ended early, but she knew she was still on thin ice. The captain wasn't going to be happy if he learned she was wasting police time and resources on a wild chase.

It wasn't until they were in the SUV and driving down the street that she told George about Luther's visit and what she learned from it. George remained silent while she spoke. She stole a few glances at her partner during her explanation. She noted how during certain parts his ears rose or his jaw shifted. It definitely piqued his interest. When she finished, George still remained silent. Anya tightened her grip on the steering wheel and focused on driving. It was never a good sign when her partner was this silent.

After driving several blocks, George spoke. “Okay, let me get this straight: this David Somerson supposedly killed someone. Samson Thomas was hired to investigate and found something shocking, but was killed before he could tell anyone what it was?"

“I know. It sounds like something ripped out of a mystery novel, but that's what the man said," Anya replied.

“Let's assume all of that is true. How does Oliver Peers fit into all of this?"

Anya shrugged. “You got me. I don't trust this Luther guy. I'm convinced he knows something but isn't telling what it is. For one, he refused to acknowledge Pepper's involvement in Oliver Peers' murder even though she confessed, and we have the murder weapon with her prints all over it."

“Not to mention he was vague as to how Lori and David know each other," George added. “It does sound too good to be true. But you don't wanna ignore it." He sighed and pulled out his cell phone. “Might as well call Jill now and tell her it's gonna be another late night."

“Look, George, you don't need to stay out late and look over paper and cross-reference names with me. I can handle that by myself. You should go home and—"

“Forget it, Anya. I love my family, but if I leave all the paperwork to you, it'll feel like I don't care about this case. You know I can't allow that."

Anya nodded. She was always the first to come in and the last to leave, but in many ways, George was more committed to his job than she was. Somehow, after close to 30 years of marriage, Jill stood by him through all the late nights, gruesome murders, and close calls with death. Anya found herself wondering if she would ever find someone who cared about her or understood her that well. She had few friends, and it was hard to find time to date with all the late hours she kept. Besides, most men ran for the hills when they found out she was a cop. But all of that didn't matter now. Maybe when the case was over, she could worry about her non-existent social life.

“Don't you think it's odd that Creed knows where his P.I. lives?" George asked.

Anya didn't respond. It was odd. Everything about Luther's “tip" was odd, but right now her mind was a storm of random thoughts. She could do without adding more suspicions.

Samson's apartment building wasn't hard to find. There was no answer when they tried to buzz Samson on the intercom, but an old lady who had just returned from grocery shopping was kind enough to let them in. She was also kind enough to inform them that Samson lived on the fifth floor in apartment 503. Anya and George jumped into the elevator. Anya's heart beat against her chest like a hammer on a drum. It started when they were halfway to Samson's place and only worsened the closer they got. The inside of the building provided a calm, homey feel, but it did nothing to calm her nerves.

They got off on the fifth floor reached a landing and noticed a male tiger just exiting his apartment. The tiger noticed them and approached.

“Please tell me the landlord sent you here to do something about that smell."

Anya and George exchanged glances. “What smell?" Anya asked.

“The god-awful smell coming from apartment 503," the tiger said matter-of-factly. “I swear that Samson Thomas could've at least dumped his garbage before going on vacation. It's a shame; he's usually very courteous. But our stupid slum-lord refuses to do anything about it."

“Did you just say Samson is on vacation?" George asked. “Do you know where he went?"

“Sorry, I didn't even see him leave. He's been gone for a while now, but that's not surprising. He's always disappearing for days at a time." The tiger scanned the hall before lowering his voice: “Between you and me, I think he's into something…illegal. I think its drugs, but other people think it may be something worse. Anyway, I took up enough of your time. I should let you two get back to work." The tiger stepped around them and disappeared down the stairs.

George turned to Anya looking just as confused as she felt. “What the hell just happened?"

Anya shrugged. “I…don't know. Either that guy knows we're cops or he really wants his neighbor to get caught. I actually hope Samson isn't into drugs. But that comment about a bad smell worries me."

They approached Samson's apartment, and George raised his large furry fist and banged on the door. The door swung open the moment his hand made contact, and a foul, decaying stench filled Anya's nose, making her frown in disgust and her hand instinctively reach for the Glock at her side. It was a smell she knew all too well—the smell of a corpse. The expression on George's face said he smelled it as well. The door continued its soundless movement, revealing a body laying on the floor.

The first thing Anya did was check the hall for signs of anyone trying to make a break for it. No one was running down the hall or watching from the relative safety of their doorways. The look in George's eyes told her that he was fully alert. George took point as they moved into the apartment. He examined the body, sighed, and returned his Glock to its holster. “The blood's dry, and judging from the smell, he's been here a while. Whoever did this is long gone," he said. “Since no one called 911, I assume this is Samson Thomas."

“Shit!" Anya took off for the stairs. She peered over the railing and saw the tiger was still somewhere around the third floor. She ran after him, taking the stairs two at a time. He must've heard her following him because she could hear his footsteps speeding up. She started jumping once she was halfway down a flight. If there was to be any chance of catching him, it had to be done before he reached the street.

She was just one flight away from the ground floor when she saw the tiger limping down the hall. She raised her pistol and shouted “Stop!"

At that moment, the elevator door opened and George came barreling out of it. He slammed into the tiger with enough force to send him flying sideways into the wall.

As Anya approached her partner, he searched the tiger for any weapons and picked him up by his shirt collar.

“Hello, we didn't mention this before, but we're cops," Anya said. “Now, you have exactly one minute to explain to us why we shouldn't arrest you for murder."

The tiger's eyes bulged. “Wait, wait, wait please! I didn't kill him, I swear! I went to his apartment to complain about the smell, and I found the door was unlocked. I saw the body on the floor—"

“And instead of calling 911, you decided to help yourself to whatever valuables he had," George said, his hackles rising. “You're downright disgusting."

Tears streamed down the tiger's face. “Yes, yes, I'm disgusting, but I didn't take anything. When I went to his bedroom, it looked like someone had already been inside, so I decided to get out of there before someone found me and got the wrong idea. I was gonna call the cops, but when I saw you two get off the elevator, I figured you would never believe me."

Anya rolled her eyes and tapped her partner's shoulder. “All right Let him go, George. You said it yourself: Samson's been dead awhile. If he killed him, he would've been cleaned the place out by now."

“I know," George said calmly, releasing the tiger. “I just wanted to be sure he didn't have any evidence."

The tiger wiped his face with his shirt. “S-so you'll let me go?"

“Actually, we have to arrest you for trespassing, failing to report a murder, and there is the possibility of tampering with police evidence as well as impeding a police investigation, not to mention conspiracy if we play it right," Anya said. Half of those charges wouldn't stick, and she knew it. But she didn't like having to chase him down just to find out that he didn't know anything. “But I'll make you a deal: Tell us who Samson's last visitor was, and we'll pretend you aren't a waste of air. Otherwise we'll have to take you in."

The tiger started crying all over again. The pitiful sound of his weeping filled the hall. “I-I don't know! Samson d-didn't have visitors! All I-I know is th-that the last time I saw him, he was leaving in a-a hurry. When I-I saw him again he was-was dead. That's all I know, I s-swear! Please, let me go; I won't survive in jail!" He fell to his knees, his fur damp with tears and mucus.

Anya frowned at the tiger. The whole display was beyond pitiful. The sad part was the worst the tiger had to face was a slap on the wrist or a few months jail time, and he was blubbering as if he wouldn't see daylight again. Besides, she didn't want to deal with this now; there was a body upstairs and she wasn't in the mood to deal with the paperwork processing this guy.

“Lucky for you, we're busy. Get up and get out of here before I change my mind."

The tiger jumped to his feet and ran out of the building as if it were on fire. Anya rolled her eyes and followed her partner back to the elevator.

“You got down there pretty quick," she said. “I had no idea the elevator was that fast."

“I just got lucky," George replied. “But for the record, partner, you shouldn't've ran off like that. It was reckless. There's no telling what could've happened. What he tried to fight back?"

“I'd rather not risk letting a potential suspect get away," Anya said. “This whole case has me on edge. I'm getting sick of having questions and no answers."

They exited the elevator and re-approached the apartment. Just before going in, George blocked the doorway. “I get it, but I'd rather risk losing a suspect than let my partner put herself at risk especially if she didn't need to."

It was better to just agree than to get into an argument; plus she understood what her partner was getting at. She shouldn't be so quick to put herself at risk unless it was absolutely necessary. So she nodded before joining her partner next to the body laying a pool of their own blood. The corpse was a human male. She couldn't be sure of the exact age, but he looked to be around middle-aged. The holes in the man's plaid shirt were clearly visible despite being coated in dried blood.

“You are not gonna convince me the neighbors didn't know about this. Especially after he started to smell," Anya said while checking the man's arms for defensive wounds. There were no markings on his face, hands or arms. She did find his apartment key clenched in his fist. She then checked his pockets, finding a worn leather wallet and a movie stub dated nearly a month ago. Flipping the wallet open, she found a credit card, 28 dollars in cash, and his I.D. which confirmed that the man laying on the floor was indeed Samson Thomas. She lifted his pants leg and found an ankle holster with a revolver tucked inside. “Looks like it was a blitz attack. He never even drew his weapon in self-defense. My guess is the killer ambushed him while he was entering his apartment."

“The killer left the wallet and the gun behind though. Rules out robbery. Which means Samson was targeted. Why don't you look around? I'll call this in."

Anya nodded and began searching for the bedroom. If Samson had anything hidden in his apartment that was most likely where she would find it.

Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bedroom was a complete mess. Clothes were thrown haphazardly all over the room; the closet looked as if a bomb went off in it. The dresser had been laid completely bare, drawers and all. The worn, memory-foam mattress was bare, its sheets abandoned on the floor and large gashes were cut into the sides of the mattress. Most of the insides of the memory-foam mattress decorated the floor. The only thing in the room still intact was a large suitcase, most of its contents laying around it, sitting in the middle of the gutted mattress.

“Looks like someone was already making plans to leave," Anya half-shouted as she approached the closet. Most of its contents sat all over the floor, leaving nothing inside by a few empty boxes and a single wire hanger.

She put on a pair of gloves opened the suitcase. What little remaining inside was unfolded clothing with a few other toiletries wrapped up inside or tossed in. She dug through the articles of clothing, feeling a strange chill up her spine that grew progressively colder as she dug deeper.

The same gut feeling—the one she called her “hunch"—was telling her there was nothing in this suitcase worth finding. The whole thing didn't make sense. What were the odds that the killer would ransack the entire bedroom, but leave the suitcase, which was the most obvious place to look, almost completely untouched?

There were lots of explanations. The killer maybe thought the suitcase was too obvious and ignored it, or maybe they simply didn't have the time to search it. The suitcase showed signs of being run through, but whoever started didn't finish before they had to run. And yet they made no attempts to return. The lack of a police presence suggested no one else had been by, and Samson had clearly been dead for days if not longer. The killer had more than enough time to come back and pick up where they left off…or leave behind a gift for anyone snooping around.

Anya told her gut that if the killer really wanted to do something, they would have been more careful in their search and not had torn half the apartment down. The search then would've gone unnoticed. It was clear to her that whoever was responsible didn't care if anyone knew about their presence just so long as they got what they wanted.

Anya reached the bottom the suitcase, finding a large, manila folder.

“George! I think I got something!"

Her partner appeared in the doorway as if magically summoned. “What is it?"

She held up the folder for her partner to see. “I think I found what got Samson killed."

 She looked down at her hands and realized they were shaking slightly. Was she afraid? In all her years of law enforcement, she'd never encountered a case like this. It was used to dealing with some vengeful boyfriend, an angry ex-employee, or even some random guy who was caught having a really bad day. This felt more like one of the cases she only read about in mystery novels or saw on crime shows. This wasn't a crime of passion, but even the planned murders were in the end, poorly executed. This felt more like a professional hit. The killer managed to catch Samson off-guard, kill him, and search his apartment without leaving behind any obvious signs of a struggle, forced entry, or witnesses.

All the items in the folder were photos and each picture showed a male husky with messy, ashen gray fur. His face suggested he was young, most likely in or approaching his mid-twenties. All the photos showed him doing various activities: walking down the street, talking to someone, or in a store shopping. The other thing the pictures had in common was the subject never looked directly at the camera. And judging from the distance the pictures were taken from, he wasn't supposed to.

“Hey check this out," George said. He picked up one of the photos. It showed a woman with long brown hair sitting on a park bench sitting next to the husky, the two of them locked in a passionate kiss. “I assume the husky is this David we were told about. Which means the woman with him must be—"

“Lori," Anya finished, “Hold on…I recognize these two. They were in some of the pictures at Oliver Peers' place. In fact, Pepper had one of these pictures with her. We can definitely tie the two of them to other victim. But wait, Luther told me he hired Samson after she died. This picture clearly shows Samson's been following him longer than that."

“He was having his fiancée followed which explains how he knew about the affair. Almost makes you wonder if he killed her and just wants the other guy to take the fall."

Anya didn't respond as she shuffled through the pictures. Luther mentioned that Samson had information. But looking at these pictures, there was nothing damnable about any of them. The pictures just showed the husky going about his day. Even the ones with Lori show what appeared to be a happy couple—even if it was an affair. It was possible Somerson killed Samson and took the damning evidence. But if that was true, why leave the rest? Without these photos, there was nothing linking them.

She reached another photo. It showed the husky in the park again only this time he was holding hands with a calico feline instead of the brown-haired woman. Judging from the way they were looking at each other, it was more than a friendly visit

Anya held up the photo. “George, check this out. Isn't this…?"

“Pepper," George finished, his face grim. “She was seeing David…along with Lori. Two women, one guy. One winds up dead and the other is going to jail for murder."

The last photo showed the husky standing over a human. She recognized the human as Oliver Peers without the blood and stab wounds. In this photo Oliver was alive and well standing in the middle of a sidewalk. Oliver cowered at the sight of the anthro standing over him, holding his arms in front of his face. The husky had his back to the camera, but he had the same messy grey fur as the other photos. David's fur was standing on end and he held his fists at his sides as he stood over the cowering Oliver.

 “That's Oliver," George said, “And it looks like he's being threatened. I guess Luther wasn't lying when he said Somerson had a temper. And look at this time stamp. It says this picture was taken two days before he was killed. I think it's time we paid Mr. Somerson a visit once we're done here."

“Hold on. I don't like this anymore than you do, but something about the picture doesn't feel right. Assuming the husky did kill Oliver, how did he know Samson took the picture and how did he get to Samson before Samson had a chance to send the photos to someone?"

George stopped at the door. “We can ask Somerson after we take him to the station."

“That's just it, George. Besides the tip from someone we obviously can't trust, what do we have that says, 'hey, the husky did it?' A couple of photos? C'mon, George, any lawyer with half a brain would have Somerson back on the street before the paperwork's done."

“Well, if Luther wanted set this up, he would've given us the pictures instead making us jump through hoops."

“Yeah, I know," Anya said quickly. Something just didn't feel right. There was an overwhelming feeling that someone was pulling strings, and that they were playing right into their hands. “Look, just give me a day. I want to do some research on this guy first and confirm something."

“No problem. What do you want to check out?"

“Assuming, this David does have a temper and he confronted Oliver, why did he let Oliver's sister do the deed instead? People with explosive tempers don't send other people to vent their rage for them."

George nodded in agreement. Anya was relieved that her partner was seeing reason. There was another reason for her research that she didn't reveal. There was also the possibility of a third person being involved—someone still skulking in the shadows, and hadn't been revealed yet. She didn't say anything because she had nothing backing that theory. No point bringing in wild speculations.