Free Zorilla At Large! by William Stafford

remarkable device is called a zoetrope.”
    Miller blinked. The SOCO wrinkled his nose.
    â€œAnd you think that’s what got that poor woman ripped open?”
    â€œWell...” Brough didn’t know what to add.
    â€œPersonally, I’d run with the large animal idea. A trained gorilla or some such. Could happen.”
    â€œUnlikely,” said Brough. “I think Miller’s right. Our killer wears fur, not grows it.”
    Miller’s chest swelled with pride. She smiled sweetly at both men and returned to her car.
    As soon as she was in the open air, she gasped. The cloying stench of the blood had made her nauseous but she’d be buggered if she was going to let those chauvinists know that.

Chapter Eight
    â€œZoo, zorilla, Zumba, zoetrope...” Wheeler counted off the words. “Whatever’s next?” She scanned the gathered faces around the briefing room.
    â€œWe could warn people to keep off the zebra crossings,” suggested Pattimore.
    â€œTwat,” said Stevens.
    â€œActually, that’s not a complete load of shit,” said Wheeler. “Impossible to police, of course, but...”
    Stevens sank back in his chair, folded his arms and chuntered into his moustache.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Brough. “There’s CCTV at most crossings and we could deploy the PCSOs.”
    Pattimore sent Brough a smile brimming with gratitude for the support for his idea. Brough looked away sharply, maintaining an expression that could have won him any poker tournament going.
    â€œOK,” said Wheeler, “We’ll give that a go. Any more ideas? And has that little shithead turned up yet?”
    â€œThe zorilla, Chief?”
    â€œYes, Harry; the zorilla.” She rounded on Stevens. “Tell me you’ve had a whiff of it at least.”
    â€œSorry, Chief. Harry’s the only one who’s had a close encounter.”
    â€œThat was a different bloody animal. And you took it back to the zoo, didn’t you, Harry?”
    â€œUm, yes, Chief. And then I went to the dry cleaner’s. About that,” he pushed his glasses up his nose. “If I bring in the receipt, will you reimburse - ?”
    â€œYou can stick that up your arse!” Wheeler snapped with surprising vehemence. “We haven’t the budget to support your habit of going around in clean clothes.”
    â€œYeah,” said Stevens.
    â€œMeanwhile,” Wheeler ignored the moustachioed prat, “Try to think of more things around the town that begin with zed. Anybody?”
    The detectives’ brows creased in thought. Several long minutes passed before Harry Henry jumped up, knocking over a table in the process.
    â€œZucchini!” he cried with an air of triumph.
    â€œAnd what the fuck is that?” said Wheeler.
    â€œHe means courgettes,” said Brough. “That’s what they call them across the pond.”
    â€œOh, of course you’d know that,” Stevens scowled. “Any excuse to bring that up!”
    Wheeler flapped at him to be quiet.
    â€œWhat about them?” She looked from Brough to Harry Henry and back again.
    â€œUm...” Harry deflated. “I only said it because sometimes me and the wife play the Alphabet Game and-”
    â€œOh, God!” Brough cut him off. “No need to go into all that again. Perhaps the killer’s next target will have something to do with courgettes - zucchini. Someone who sells them...”
    â€œOr...” Miller chimed in, “Someone who buys them...”
    Wheeler’s face scrunched up like a discarded paper bag. “I’m not buying it. You’m assuming our killer’s a Yank. Fucking courgettes. It’s a stretch.”
    â€œIt could just as easily be a Yank,” said Stevens with a spiteful glare in Brough’s direction. “Easy as it could be a performing fucking monkey.”
    â€œZodiac!” blurted Harry Henry. The others looked