The world whooshed by in a blurry haze as Rowan sped towards the residence of the cat who had been murdered. His mind was already busy calculating which member of the family was the most likely to murder the elderly tom. Neither the son of the victim or his mate had any crime records— but if there was one thing he'd learned in his many years on the job, it was that there was a first for everything.

What were their names again? The son of the victim was either Cloudy or Clover; he couldn't necessarily remember his name. His wife was Ink— he remembered that much. And their kit was Dahlia, wasn't she? Something along those lines.

     He was jolted out of his stupor by a loud beeping noise that seemed to suddenly come from every direction at once. Shaking off the cobwebs, he suddenly realized he'd run a red light without realizing it. Muttering a curse word he'd rather Ebony not hear under his breath, he shot an apologetic glance at the angry driver in the car to his left.

     He peeked over at Ebony at the next stop, rather unnerved by her silence. She was staring out the window, her tail twitching slightly and an odd look he couldn't place in her normally bright amber eyes. Shaking his head a little in confusion, he turned his focus back to the road.

     Ten minutes and several almost-car-accidents later, he pulled to a stop in front of an apartment building. The cold, reflective steel towered above him in a way Rowan didn't particularly enjoy, and the sharp contrast between the steel and the harsh white of the windows made the structure downright menacing.

     Pushing aside his fears, he walked over and pushed open the door, shivering involuntarily at the sudden wave of freezing air that issued from within. The foyer was a rectangular room with stark white walls, gray carpet, and simple black decorations that made it seem even more unwelcoming. They really need better decor here, he thought to himself, padding over to the elevator. Floor 6, Room 2A.

     The whole ride up, Ebony's eyes were fixated on the door, a purposeful feeling radiating from her body that said quite clearly, 'This woman is on a mission and no one will stop her.' It was a far cry from the cat Rowan usually saw, and he wasn't really sure he liked the sudden change.

     A soft hiss entered his ears as the doors slowly opened to a hallway just as starkly decorated as the foyer. As much as he tried, Rowan couldn't find even a spot of color gracing the interior. Only shades upon shades of grey met his eyes.

     Room 1A, bathroom- there it is! Room 2A! He jogged over to the door, Ebony's pawsteps quickening in time to his own. Stretching on his hind legs, he pressed the doorbell to the right of the door and waited.

    A light brown tabby tom opened the door, looking at him curiously. "If I may ask," he said somewhat awkwardly, "Uh... who are you and why exactly are you here today?"

     Rowan straightened up a little, trying to seem a bit more professional to the tom. "I'm Rowan," he replied brusquely, "and I'm here to investigate the murder that happened here a few nights ago."

     The tom nodded, opening the door and letting him in. A flash of curiosity appeared in his light green eyes as he spotted Ebony. "And who is this?" he inquired, casting a glance at the sleek black she-cat with something like awe on his face. Rowan couldn't blame him; his partner held a certain allure that set her apart from most she-cats.

     Rowan opened his mouth, but Ebony beat him to it, flashing him a look that said she could do it herself. "Name's Ebony," she replied just as professionally as Rowan had. "I'm his partner."

     The tom nodded for a second before a flash of realization came over his face. "I'm Clover," he said rather awkwardly, stumbling over his words. "Ink!" he called, alerting his wife to the situation.

     A pitch black she-cat with a white flash on her chest padded out from a different room. "Oh! You must be the investigators! Sit down, your paws must be tired!"

     Rowan sank gratefully into the brown leather couch, but couldn't help noticing that Ebony stayed on her feet, watching the family intently. "Okay, we have to ask you two a few questions," he said easily. "Just to get some more information on the case."

     Ink nodded, waiting for his response, but Clover seemed a bit anxious. Narrowing his eyes fractionally, Rowan considered the possibility that the nervous brown tom could be the murderer. Well, there's only one way to find out.

     "The first one is easy— what was the victim's name?" he asked, directing his question at Clover. The tom seemed startled, but he answered quickly enough.

     "His name was Hickory," Clover answered, biting his lip as he finished the sentence.

      Rowan nodded, coming up with another question easily. "Where were you when the herbs were being prepared, Ink?" he inquired, casting a glance at the black she-cat.

     She answered with ease, seeming unruffled. "I actually was preparing the herbs, but I had to go the bathroom, and left the herbs unattended. When I came back, they were eaten and poor Hickory was on the floor choking. I-I didn't know what to do," he choked out suddenly, tears in her eyes as she recalled her father-in-law's demise. "Within a few seconds, he was lying there dead."

     Rowan couldn't help but feel a stab of sympathy for the other feline. "I'm sorry," he said gently, breaking the silence. Reminding himself that he had a job to do, he glanced at Clover, realizing the tomcat seemed downcast as well, his eyes full of sorrow. "And you?" he said softly, hoping he didn't make it worse for the grief-stricken family.

     Clover looked up at him, blinking away tears. "I was away shopping at the time," he replied. "I was driving home when I got the call from Ink. She was distraught. I just-" he closed his eyes for a second. "It was really sad, and I don't remember much."

    Rowan wanted to know more, but his conscience got in the way as he looked at the now sobbing Ink and the mate that was trying to comfort her. A small, guilty voice told him he had caused her sadness, but he brushed it off. "I'll be back tomorrow," he said quietly, heading towards the door. A sudden wave of realization washed over him as he realized suddenly— "Don't you have a kit?"

     Clover replied, a note of sadness in his tone. "Yes, but she's sleeping. I didn't want to wake her up," he said.

     Nodding slowly, Rowan turned and headed towards the door, flicking his tail for Ebony to follow him. I shouldn't wake her up, he reasoned. Besides, what harm could a mere kit possibly do?

1180 words. Written by Catty, unedited as of yet.