Chapter Text
They said the river could sing, which was not something rivers were supposed to do. That brought about the concept of sirens, water-dwelling mammals who lured young children or easily coerced adults with a sweet song before dragging them into the swift currents, never seen from again – alive, anyway.
And anyway, the expression was usually used to describe something positive about a generally inanimate land feature or body of matter, was it not? This was something entirely different, an admission of activity where there should not have been, noise where there should have been solitude and serenity. Maybe that had something to do with the way that its natural course had slowly eroded the soil over time as it bent near Main Street of downtown Bunnyburrow, creating a rocky bend beneath a bridge that led to the surrounding farmland. The way it hit that curve, water flowing on a slightly downhill trajectory before washing up against the steep riverbank and continuing onward in a 90-degree angle the other way, created a rippling sound, however faint, that often eluded usual passersby as the hustle and bustle of a new day drowned its protests.
But at nighttime, businesses closed and the twinkle of the downtown traffic lights the only movement around, one could hear the river faintly in the distance, smashing and flowing against rocks and rough clods of dirt and mud before its trip back into the leveled-out countryside, like a comet passing nearby in the night sky preceding its return journey to the stars.
The stream had once been the site of an engine-powered boat race in decades prior, but concerns about the depth of the river from its surface to the riverbed cut out most of the activity that might have graced its shores otherwise. Aside from the sound it emitted, it was a quiet place, uneventful, an integral part of postcards showing downtown Bunnyburrow – visit soon, y'hear? – but more of a background landmark than an area of bustling activity.
Tonight, however, was different.
Danny Brerington had parked his car on County Line Road not far from downtown. The cigarette smoke that usually accompanied him in town when he stood outside the town police department's main office (or lingered within it, tiny as it was), at The Icy Koala or even in thin wisps outside his car window as he drove by was present in even more copious amounts than usual. He had picked up the habit as a hobby in college; it turned into tradition into his early middle age, though the rabbit did not usually need it to calm his nerves.
He most certainly needed it for its medicinal purposes that night, however. Blame the lack of sleep the previous few nights or perhaps the impending general election for county clerk for which his brother was a candidate; one hour before, he might have chalked it up to nothing more than that.
Then came the phone call. Check out the river a little past town, his brother-in-law had said. You know, right after where it bends? Near the bridge, yeah, that's it. Something's there that isn't normally there. That's weird, right?
Any designs on an early bedtime were shattered when Brerington, still fairly new to his current role as Bunnyburrow's constable, laid eyes on his brother-in-law's late-night concern. And given the late hour, coupled with the Bunnyburrow police station's lack of a great deal of equipment necessary for a waterborne development, he knew he would need outside help.
He was relieved to see that assistance approaching, the county patrol car crossing the road's middle yellow line and pulling into the ditch where the rabbit cop stood. He offered a small wave, ditching his nearly finished cigarette by smashing its lit end against the door of his car.
Officer Perkins, a longtime presence of the county police department, had practically stepped out of the passenger side door of the car before it had rolled to a stop. The coyote stretched once he stood, cracking his neck once, twice, a third time while looking both ways down the road. His eyes found Brerington shortly afterward, and a quick nod was his only greeting. Two other officers stepped out of the car, the driver and another who seemed to have been situated in the backseat, and both immediately set off to the car's trunk.
"Thanks for comin' out on such short notice," Brerington told the coyote, his gruff voice low to match his drowsiness. "Wouldn't call ya if it weren't for… well, y'know…"
"Ain't no problem," nodded Perkins, holding up and wagging the plastic coffee cup he held in his paw. "Gas station's open late, bless 'em."
"Oh? Place with them lat-tays or whatever they call 'em, right? Wife loves 'em, but I don't get the point, I mean –"
Perkins cleared his throat. "Ain't we here for somethin'?" He averted his gaze toward the woods.
"Ah, shoot, right. All right."
Brerington stalked into the woods, murmuring something about underbrush that Perkins could not quite make out since he was talking away from him. The coyote glanced at his two underlings and nodded, jerking his head toward the cop and motioning with a paw to follow. The officers picked up a handled black box they held with one paw on either side and stalked behind Perkins, ducking under a low-hanging tree branch to find the meager path to the river.
The path was not long; the river was not far from County Line Road, and motorists traversing the long, straight-as-an-arrow roadway might have never known a body of water was that close had it not been for the clump of trees that separated it from view. It was clear to Perkins, too, even in the late hour with Brerington's flashlight the only illumination, that few walked this particular thoroughfare, and it certainly had no one to upkeep it, with unkempt bushes and errant branches and roots marring what may have once been a straight shot to the river.
When they reached the river, its waters were calm, quiet, the kind of serene scene the coyote expected, based on his knowledge of the thing when it made its way to Deerbrooke, where the county municipal offices were located. Light from downtown Bunnyburrow twinkled somewhat on the surface of the slowly moving current from the west, but what he mostly saw was a black torrent, barely discernable from the ground except for the gentle sound it emitted.
Once all were riverside, Brerington flicked his flashlight's illumination out onto the water, at first a seemingly futile gesture as the light – which seemed to be nearing a low point on battery power – barely showed up on the surface. But just as Perkins was about to say something, maybe lend the cop his own heavy duty flashlight, Perkins and his crew realized that his purpose was not to shine a light onto the water; rather, he was looking for something inside it.
And what they found, approximately a fourth of the way across the river, was a large tree branch that had fallen into the water however long before, swept down the stream until it apparently became caught somewhere on the riverbed, resting in the middle of the current until it could be freed once more, water rushing around the worn-down wood all the while.
Brerington's light shone onto the rightmost limb of the branch, and he waved it around in that spot a few times for good measure. Perkins could see why; there was something ensnared amid the mess of tree limbs, and it appeared to have limbs of its own.
"DeSoto, Miller, head on out."
Perkins' associates set down and opened the black box they had been carrying and began inflating a small dinghy that could carry two, maybe three smaller mammals. After a minute or so, both officers, a fellow coyote and a raccoon, pushed the inflatable onto the water, clambered inside and began rowing into the river, bowing slightly outward at first but then adjusting to the admittedly slow-moving current.
"When's the last time y'had to use one of these things?" The cop muttered the question as he and Perkins watched the two animals row into the river, his voice only audible due to the quiet of the evening.
Perkins sniffed, scratching at the fabric of his police blues on his left arm. "Think it's been about five years," he answered after a few moments' pause to consider the question. "River ain't this deep most places."
"Yeah, yep, guess that's true."
"Suppose that means it'd be a good investment on Bunnyburrow's part to get one of their own."
"I'll bring it up at the next city council meeting, but I ain't gonna get my hopes up. Cotton ain't approvin' much budget-wise these days, 'specially not from our department."
Perkins, whose eyes had been trained on the dinghy that had since reached the waterlogged tree branch, shot the cop a side-eyed glance. "Think it's still got to do with the whole Clover business a few months back?"
"Oh, everything to do with that, I reckon, yessir."
The sound of a vehicle driving by on County Line Road filled the air, growing in intensity as its headlights neared the town and fading again once it slowed at the blinking red light that led to the intersection of Main Street. As though choreographed to the sound of rubber tires against pavement, the dinghy returned to the shore as the car passed, bumping gently against the shoreline.
Perkins held out a paw to steady the dinghy against the shore, laying eyes on its contents, which had been obscured by dimness (and the cop's underwhelming flashlight) prior to its return trip.
DeSoto scaled the shore ledge first. He turned around and, with Miller's help and Perkins' stabilization, pulled that which they had retrieved from the water onto the shore.
"I… uh… goodness…" the cop could not string together a full sentence as he shone his light onto the body before them, his paw visibly shaking the flashlight. "I hadn't hoped… but…"
"DeSoto, get the folks from Tri-Burrows General out here," ordered Perkins, swallowing once. "Amy should be heading operations there tonight, I think. Give her a call."
The coyote stalked into the woods, retrieving his cellphone from his uniform pocket, while Miller returned to shore as well and pulled the dinghy with him.
"You recognize her?" Perkins solemnly prodded the rabbit.
"Y-yeah, I do. And it…" the cop's voice was low, guttural, perhaps disbelieving, "…it don't make no sense."
"These things rarely do," Miller chimed in.
"But she ain't supposed to be here. Parents had 'er in school two counties away, and it's darn near finals week, I imagine."
Perkins frowned as he stared down at the rabbit, still fully clothed and slightly bloated from being underwater for as long as she had; he was no specialist in this field, but the coyote estimated it could not have been more than a few hours. Someone would have noticed in town, anyway.
Her neck was what bothered him the most. Everything else – the waterlogged blue flannel shirt, the blue jeans slightly torn in the knees, pockets that clearly still held something in them, probably a wallet – that was not normal, but it at least pointed to something other than an accidental drowning via swimming, for whatever reason, in the river somewhere upstream. It could have been suicide, maybe a slip and fall, something like that, and the veteran officer might have let his heart rest at the notion of anything else.
Except that was not the angle at which a neck should be positioned, and it seemed unlikely that it would have happened from a fall and subsequent impact with the riverbed.
"Who is it, then?" Perkins asked.
"Bernice Thumper," the cop said. "One of the Thumper kids, yeah. You know 'em, don't you? Decent people, despite all that recent unpleasantness in town. Bernice was… they had her in a trade academy past East Meadow… I don't…"
"You're sure?"
"I've watched her grow up, man. I'm sure."
"General's on its way with the fixings," DeSoto's normally chipper vocal cut across Brerington as he returned from the woods. "Give 'em 20, maybe." He knelt beside the body of Bernice Thumper, daring not to touch but studying her features, his eyes lingering at different parts of her body with a discerning, studied look. "Perkins, you see the neck…?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Don't seem right."
"Was thinking the same thing."
Perkins straightened to his full height, massaging his forehead with a paw. Another car sped by on the nearby road.
"Brer?"
Brerington had been lost in his own thoughts, staring blankly at the river's slow-moving surface. "Oh, uh… uh huh?"
"We can handle it here if you want to attend to anything back in town. It's late, but maybe someone's still awake.
Brerington checked his watch and flinched at what he saw. "Yeah. Suppose yer right. I'll, uh… hold on, lemme get my phone, it's back in the car, might have my overnight guy head over…."
The county officers watched the rabbit disappear back into the brush, silence save for the sound of the water invading the space as he hiked back to the road. Murders were not uncommon in the county, but it was rare that any of them had to perform such a retrieval operation, especially since rivers of that size were not abundant in the Tri-Burrow area. In fact, Perkins was not totally sure that their methods of salvaging the Thumper girl had been completely copacetic, and he was expecting an earful from Amy and her team once they arrived.
"Hey, Perkins."
"Hm?"
Miller cleared his throat as he slowly removed the gloves that had covered his paws, DeSoto holding out a plastic bag in which to dispose of them. "Didn't notice 'til just now, but… well, I was gonna deflate the dinghy, and…"
The coyote followed the raccoon's glance toward the inflatable boat, pulling out his own flashlight and shining it onto the yellow rubbery surface. His eyes widened.
"Blood," he muttered.
"Not a lot of it, but yeah, blood. Don't know where it's comin' from, but it's somethin', all right."
Perkins' gaze was fixated on the red splotches against the yellow material, heaving a sigh uncharacteristic of the cop's usually nonplussed disposition.
"Fellas," he warned with a quick shake of his head, "think it's gonna be a long night."
Across town, Gideon Grey awoke at the sound of resilient pounding at his front door.