Chapter Text
“State your name.”
“Must I?” Cattrick snorted. His legs were up on the interrogation table, arms crossed behind his head nonchalantly, as if he were merely enjoying the radio and not being interrogated for his family’s crimes by extension.
“State your name.” The detective repeated, voice echoing in the cramped interrogation room. He was a polar bear, towering over Cattrick and taking up most of the space in the room.
Anyone would have felt horribly claustrophobic.
But Cattrick didn’t feel claustrophobic. He was familiar with this. He had actually been in jail before, even gotten interrogated before. Thankfully though due to a combination of family wealth and a sister who took the law very seriously, he was always easily bailed out.
The only thing that made it hard for him was his father’s verbal abuse afterwards, but eventually it’d drown out into background noise.
It was a plain, blank room, all gray walls and bare wooden furniture, accompanied by the most rudimentary ceiling light he’d ever seen. He’d seen it before, but just like last time, he felt like a peasant in this room.
He lifted his head in mock superiority. “Cattrick Lynxley. Oldest son of Milton Lynxley and heir apparent. Well, until my little brother screwed up.”
The bear ignored him, and continued. “What were you doing at the scene of the crime during this incident with your younger brother?”
Cattrick shrugged. “I don’t know, being with my dad at home? I know Kitty was researching something, but–”
The bear slammed his heavy paw on the table.
Cattrick flinched, and immediately put his feet down, sitting ramrod straight. Whenever his father did that, it meant he was seconds away from the patriarch’s massive claws shredding his limbs. He wasn’t so much intimidated by the polar bear as much as the response was instinctive to him.
“Keep it on topic.” The bear said, keeping his paw on the table. “How did you aid your brother in his schemes?”
“I–” Cattrick knew what was coming-–the detective would fabricate facts in the form of a question, and if the suspect denied it, he was proven guilty. But he had nothing to lose this time. None of them had anything left to lose.
“Why would I?” He said, keeping his voice low, lifting his paws up in a display of appeasement. “I wasn’t going to give the little idiot my time of the day. I didn’t even know where he was! I was with dad.”
The bear hummed, then circled around the Lynxley, or moreso semi-circled around him due to the small size of the room relative to his own space.
“We found evidence of drugs when we conducted an investigation in the manor.” The bear said, sniffing Cattrick, trying to smell the deceit off him. “Were you under the influence when you attacked the mayor?”
"Uh, no.” This was another trap. He hadn’t attacked the mayor on his own volition. Though he admittedly had the residual effects of catnip in his system. “Dad pushed me.”
And that was true. Cattrick reasoned Milton must have thought he was strong enough to handle the mayor-–once a renowned actor before delving into politics.
Milton was wrong.
The polar bear glowered at him, his claws scraping against the table.
Cattrick felt his heart pound in his chest. The polar bear wasn’t his father, but the sound, the visual of claws against the table, it was so familiar.
He needed a distraction. Now.
“Well…” he quickly said. “I would hope dad’s more angry at Pawbert than he is at me.”
He usually was.
“State your name.”
A heavyset deer sat across from Kitty at the table, voice smooth and soft despite the oppressive nature of the interrogation room.
Simple gray walls, even simpler furniture…the room was perfectly designed to avoid distractions, and designed to isolate the suspect. She wasn’t bothered by it. She’d spent hours in the bathroom before as a teenager, sobbing, hiding her emotional vulnerability from the rest of her family.
She became very good at that as a result. No one could know what she was feeling. Not in the glint of her eyes or the twitch of her muzzle.
“I have a right to remain silent, you know.” Kitty said. She sat straight in her chair, paws on her lap, feet planted to the ground, and kept eye contact with the detective. She learned if she were ever to be taken seriously as a woman, she had to make eye contact and keep herself emotionally restrained. Easy.
“I’ve studied law before.”
Nobody was going to intimidate the only heiress to the Lynxleys.
“Hm,” the deer adjusted his glasses. “I don’t doubt somebody of your caliber is well-educated. But I do need your full name.”
“...Katterine Lynxley. Kitty for short. I’m not responsible for whatever my little brother did.”
She had successfully bailed her older brother out of jail before, using her knowledge of the law and acting as surrogate attorney when Milton didn’t bother to hire one for Cattrick. She always felt she was the only one who took her role among the siblings seriously.
But Pawbert? How was she going to defend him? As far as she was concerned, he’d all but ruined the entire lineage’s reputation. There was no going back from that.
God forbid what their father would do with him now that they weren’t in the false comfort of their home.
“On the contrary,” The deer pulled some paper out from a folder. “Evidence shows you were tracking Mr. Lynxley down at the request of your father, and you collaborated with your father and older brother in destroying the original Weather Wall patent.”
“What?” Kitty’s eyes narrowed, but she kept her composure. “I didn’t even know a patent existed. I knew there was something in the weather wall, but I couldn’t have known it was connected to the clock tower. Again, what my brother did is not my responsibility.”
She sighed. Milton was right. She hated to admit it, but he usually was.
“Denial of wrongdoing is admission of guilt.” The deer said. Kitty already knew this.
“The only thing I can fully admit to is tracking down my little brother.” Kitty said. “As you said, per my father’s request. Is there anything else you need to know?”
“Hmm, why do you think your younger brother attempted four counts of murder?”
Given Pawbert had all but spilled his entire heart out telling Milton his plans, and in front of Mayor Winddancer no less, it was very easy to answer this, but she had a different answer for now:
“It’s like how our father raised me and Cattrick before him. Always obey. Always pay attention. Do not step out of line. But Pawbert wasn’t doing enough…disappearing often, being clumsy and awkward, stepping on stage when he was told specifically not to…”
Kitty shook her head. “I don’t think he has a rebellious streak. It’s not like him. He just wanted to be seen. To be accepted. But he will never get that.”
She remembered, when she was younger and a little more innocent, when Milton would yell at Cattrick into standing straight. When he would force him to go to the gym and train–to metaphorically strip him bare of his skin and mold him into something he was never meant to be.
She remembered when Pawbert came into the equation. He was a sickly child. Often hospital-bound. Those trips didn’t stop when he grew either. Eventually she ran out of excuses, because there were only so many ways you could tell the nurse that he fell down the stairs again.
And, all of that wasn’t even factoring her in. Milton telling her not to eat too much because a lynxley woman shouldn’t be portly despite his own girth. Milton telling her to keep her emotions under a tight lock.
He was not nearly as physical with Kitty as he was with her brothers, because he believed hitting a woman was undignified and savage behavior. But, what he did still left scars in her mind.
Kitty thought for a second, and said, expression steely, making sure her eyes were fixed on the deer’s.
“None of us did. And now none of us will.”
“State your name.”
“I’m–” Pawbert sat crooked in the chair, one arm dangling over, his feet crossed awkwardly. “Are you a sea lion? I mean, if you came from Marsh Market, I’m sorry, my dad’s–”
“State your name.”
Pawbert bristled, shoulders tensing up. He didn’t like that tone of voice, it sounded like his father. “P-Pawbert Lynxley.”
He’d never been in jail. Either he was too young, too weak, or simply ignored. Well, he wasn’t being ignored now. All thanks to something he did, that he eventually realized was incredibly stupid.
He felt very small in the interrogation room. He thought that might be the intent, but it didn’t stop his mind from wandering back to when he was a child, and his room was similarly bare and cold. Just a mattress and a drawer. The little oasis he had out in Sahara Square was a refuge from that.
He had made sure the oasis was the polar opposite of his room; it would be filled to the brim with entertainment, food and milk, music to play, and yarn balls to unravel. It would be bathed in warm sunset tones and contain soft blankets.
The sea lion glanced over at Pawbert’s file. “You are the prime suspect and mastermind behind the attempted burning of the original Weather Wall patent–”
“Whoa!” Pawbert cut in, putting his paws on the table and leaning forward in sudden interest. “Did you call me a mastermind? Really? I–I mean, I don’t think I’m–you know? I don’t feel like the mastermind here. I just got lucky.”
“Okay,” the detective corrected himself. “You are the prime suspect behind the attempted burning of the original patent–all the evidence points towards you, including four cases of attempted murder, and arson.”
“Wow, that’s–” Pawbert chuckled humorlessly. A wave of regret briefly washed over him, remembering the poor rabbit, her expression twisted in agony as she tried to plead for him to change his ways.
This whole casual act in the interrogation room was just that too, an act. He would have torn himself apart from the inside otherwise.
He took in a deep breath, and rambled on. “That, uh. I did do that, I can’t lie. Is there a lie detector in here? No? Well. I can also say I feel a little bad about the whole thing, I mean…Gary? The poor thing had no idea it was coming! And I thought Judy knew, I thought she knew I was trying to be a Lynxley–”
“Officer Hopps and DeSnake are fine. Stay on topic.”
He sighed in relief. Of course they were okay. Of course. At least there was that. They’d be fine. Gary would be happy now that he’s the rightful owner of the patent and whatnot. Judy would resume her officer duties, and Pawbert himself…He didn’t know what was going to come, to be honest.
“Well, that’s another thing…staying on topic, uh.” Pawbert said, ears lowering on his head. Asking Pawbert to stay on topic was like asking a snake to juggle.
He continued, “Okay. So I tried to kill four other animals, all in a futile attempt to gain access to Reptile Ravine and burn the original patent there…” He trailed off, guilt crushing his heart once more.
He was never much of a longtime planner. Always an opportunist, though. If his father had taught him anything, it was to seize the opportunity every time.
His father also taught him he was worth next to nothing.
Feeling tears threaten to well up in his eyes—he couldn’t show weakness, not in front of his father, not infront of law enforcement—he gulped again and forced a smile. “When I lay it out like that, it sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”
“Well, you nearly succeeded.” The sea lion shrugged. “You seem tense. I need to let you know you’re not in any danger during the interrogation process. We simply want information.”
Pawbert nodded. “Well, don’t stop me from giving out too much information, ha. I smuggled Gary in from overseas. He spent seven days in a crate, but I told him, ‘No, no, I’ve been through worse. You should see my dad!’”
“What about your father?”
“Well, uh.” Pawbert sighed. He could go on about how Milton would berate him, lock him in closets, all that ‘character building’ that transpired…but, no. There were too many things he’d done wrong, things he’d ruined for him…
…Curious. Pawbert could not think of a single time in his life where Milton had been even the slightest bit merciful to him.
“...I thought I could try and repair things with him while in prison. I-I know it’s really stupid, but…I thought about what Judy said.” He broke eye contact away from the detective. “That I could be different. Well. I don’t want to be, but that’s…I was already different. So I got this book from her, she told me…if you ever change your mind–”
It was funny. He really didn’t believe in his father’s ways in the end. Sure, he’d grown up thinking reptiles were all stupid and evil and that was why they’re not here, but all that changed when he met Gary.
And yet, somehow, he doubled down on his original plans. Not because he believed Gary was lesser–God, no, but because he wanted his father’s approval above anything else. Even if it meant betrayal. Even if it meant going against what was moral and righteous. Even if it meant losing everything and more in the process.
“I know dad’s mad at me,” He said, finally, his expression turning somber, voice low. His mask was cracking. “I, uh. I don’t blame him. I just wish I knew why he hates me despite everything I do for him.”
“State your name.”
Milton had been glaring at the tiger detective for several minutes already.
The room meant nothing to him. It was a means to an end for the law enforcement. A cliche in media, a transitional space that only existed for the purpose of yanking information out like a tooth.
Finally, he spoke, in a low voice: “Everybody knows who I am. You would have to be deaf and blind not to know.”
The detective’s expression did not change. “State your name. Legal procedure.”
"...Milton Lynxley,” he growled, holding his head up high. He knew he was a little on the short side, but he made it up for his girth and voice. “I had a bodyguard like yours. I fired him months ago for disobeying orders.”
“Right. According to investigations, it was found that you were partially if not wholly responsible for your youngest son’s schemes, including attempted murder and arson.”
Milton’s face scrunched up in disgust. Who was this detective, to blame the runt’s idiocy on himself?
“He is no heir of mine,” Milton kept his voice low, again, with a distinct growl. He had been here before. He knew how it was to speak to officers. He had to keep it diplomatic, but not soft.
“He stated you were the main motivation for his actions.”
“Hm. He’d say anything if he knew it would please him. If he knew it meant nobody could hurt him. I have tried to mold him into a suitable heir–just like Cattrick. But he failed every step of the way.”
Milton closed his eyes, and took in a deep breath. He had no regrets in denouncing that runt, but diplomacy was more important at the moment.
“I believe he has some severe mental impairments that need to be looked into.
Not that it’s my fault, Milton thought.
The tiger nodded, jotting down some notes in his notepad. “We can refer him to a psychologist, or send him to a mental institution when appropriate.”
“Please,” Milton said in mock-desperation. “I cannot bear having to look at him any longer.”
“What about your other children?”
“They may stay.” Milton said quickly. “This is enough punishment for them. Maybe they will learn not to cross me again…although I’m not sure the runt ever will.”
“...Do you ever call him by his legal name, or is it just the runt?” The detective raised an eyebrow. He was not asking out of the goodness in his heart, of course.
“Pawbert. I struggle to call him a Lynxley,” Milton sighed. “I have tried, believe me, tried to do everything in my power to get him to do what I wanted. To be a real Lynxley.”
He felt the need to stand up, as somebody of his status would, but the tiger detective shot him a warning look.
“...What, are you afraid of an old man?” Milton gave the smallest smirk, his voice dripping with venom.
The detective shook his head and continued, “Did you ask for your son to find and burn the patent?”
Milton thought about this for a second. When he had seen Pawbert barge into his office, disheveled and somewhat frazzled, he’d immediately gone on the offense and tried to teach him a lesson. Then, Pawbert spilled all the details, everything about betraying the snake, about the patent—in front of the mayor, no less.
For a second there Milton had thought, maybe, just maybe, this pathetic little runt might mean something to him.
Then came the beaver.
“Yes.” Milton admitted. “If he was telling the truth, and if I knew he would…I said yes to his plans.”
“So you are complicit in—”
"Complicit?” Milton knew what was coming. The confessions. The admittance of guilt.
“I have done what I could to keep order in Zootopia. The runt…upended all that.”