The tape recorded was stopped and catalogued, Blathers was thanked and escorted out. Everything had been done accordingly, just as would have been done it a sanctioned police station. Copper upheld proper protocol and ensured everything was done by the book despite the limited resources and conditions they had found themselves in. Once everything was prepared accordingly, Copper and Booker were left to look upon their makeshift office. Both of them not necessarily sure what to do. After moments of consideration, Booker turned to Copper.
"I suppose we'd better leave it as it is? Whoever Blathers was talking about, we're going to need to interview them. I think."
"You're right." Copper said, brows furrowing, "We'll have to ask Nook and Isabelle permission for a longer period to stay."

Booker nodded in affirmation, looking over the room. He waddled over to a pile of documents, partially filled in, that was laying on the table. After putting his notebook in his breast pocket, he heaved the pile up, struggling to see over the top of them as he looked up at his partner.
"It might just be me…" he started, drooping with the thoughts forming in his mind, "But…I mean, it can't just be that easy. Blathers knowing who the killer is, it's just a little bit…straight-forward."
"Oh, darling," Copper muttered, turning his back on the office, knowing full well that they'd be back there far more often than either of them would have liked, "Nothing's ever that straight-forward."

The two left out of the office and entered the main reception area. They were greeted with Isabelle, paw balancing her face as she leaned on her desk and stared wistfully out of the window at drizzles of rain beginning of patter on the glass and streak downwards. Her focus was shifted, neither exactly conscious of her attention nor distant. An empty bottle of whiskey was placed beside her. Copper's heart sank.
Nook was trying his best not to acknowledge the problem in the room by busying himself on his computer. A Booker closed the back-office door behind them, he peered over the monitor and smiled warmly. "I hope everything went as good as it could be for you, guys!" he beamed, his smile twinkling with pleasure for a second. Copper could smell the insincerity of his tone. The typical businessman charisma that he'd become so accustomed to Nook using, as if his real interests were elsewhere rather that in the present and with the people who actually needed it.
Nook gestures over the reception counter, drawing Copper and Booker's attention over with him. "You have someone who wanted to talk to you." he said.
And, yes, waiting over by the lost and found box, submerged within the shadows and occupying himself with some notices that had been pinned on the wall was Poe. Undressed from his protective suit and a suitcase in one wing. He turned at Nook's declaration and waved at the two dogs. Copper was taken aback by the appearance, for sure. The last he knew of the fur-ensics team was that they were taking a flight back to the mainland, back to the City. He expressed this concern as he made his way through the counter, meeting him in the foyer.
"We were." Poe said, making his awareness of the presence of Isabelle and Nook evident by his expressions. Shifty eyes and awkward shuffling. "Before we packed, we did a thorough investigation on the skull. We've found something out that we'd think you'd like to know."
Another obvious glance towards the Resident Services desk.
"In private, please."

There was an attempt of a dirt path that wound its way through the island and separated one forest of weeds and abandoned twigs from the next. Poe led the dogs through a circle, by the rivers, in an aimless wandering to head straight back to the airport. Not that sightseeing was on any of their priorities. Booker attempted not to get distracted by any of the common or yellow butterflies that were flittering past, but Cooper ensured his attention was stuck firmly on Poe's conversation.
"We've got a positive I.D." Poe said grimly, his head bowing somewhat, "Buried in the hole, must have been left with the body. Elderly tortoise. His name was Tortimer."
"Yes." Copper confirmed, nodding, "We had an identification from the owl that found it. It's a shame."

Copper caught himself uncharacteristically zoning out of the present and getting lost in a memory that had decided to surface. Back when he was younger, when he was barely a pup. Graduating from the Paw Patrol Police Academy and getting his first job. The job where he met Booker, he job that had started the rest of his career. The rest of his life. Tortimer was at his graduation, it was him that handed him his degree. That tortoise was there awaiting Copper at the other end of the stage. Copper remembered as he walked over to him and firmly grasped his hand as Tortimer handed his degree over to him and smiled a 'congratualtions'. "Firm handshake," the tortoise had commented during the celebratory dinner afterwards. Copper was starstruck at the conversation at the time. He knew of Tortimer's status back then, he was widely versed in politics. He never always agreed on his policies, and the way his track record showed how he ran his villages was…questionable. But he was speechless all the same. "Thank you." Copper had responded, barely managing to get the words out of his mouth. He believed it to be a compliment, anyway. Strong handshakes, straight posture, and strong beliefs. The three elements of what separates the boofers from the puppers, his dad had told him.
"Firm grades, too." Tortimer had went on, looking at Copper with those glazed eyes. "From what I've read, you're the top of your class. Within the top of the school."
Copper blushed, which was a something he rarely done. "I didn't know that." Copper said, which was true, but something he had always believed. He was committed to this career, and he was delighted someone had acknowledged that.
Tortimer had hummed in consideration. "Impressive history at any account," he had said, "Graduated from Foxford University with a double first in politics and sociology. Displayed impressive aptitude in both field training and theoretical studies. You've excelled way beyond your peers. And your tutors have told me you've furthered your skills with elective training courses in advanced driving as well as pioneering the use of a mountain bicycle. Raised the morale of the whole cohort with an inventive use of desktop publishing, and you've become heavily involved in many extracurricular activities, holding the Academy record for the hundred-meter dash. Oh, do tell me I have got the wrong person. It is…it is, Copper, isn't it?"

Copper was flabbergasted. He couldn't respond beyond an open mouth and lose jaw. His heart was pounding faster than it ever had before at Tortimer's extensive knowledge of him. It only concluded the way that Copper had desperately hoped it would – hoped to the degree that it seemed improbable, nearly impossible. Except it wasn't. Tortimer had turned to him, wettened his lips and said, "I say, you wouldn't be interested in a little position I've got in a village of mine, would you?"

Copper was brought back to the present with a look from Poe as he squinted his eyes. "The owl? You mean the curator of the museum, he identified him?"
Copper blinked back into reality. "Yes." he said, remembering of the proper topic of conversation and reeling himself back into professionalism before he became lost into the vortex of grief and nostalgia that threatened to rear its head. "Yes, Blathers. We just interviewed him."
"He correctly identified the victim just from looking at the skull?" Poe asked, expressing his suspicion prominently. And that did strike Copper as odd. Innocent until proven guilty, as it always was and should be, Copper thought. But nobody was exempt from being above reproach.
"I mean, he is a paleontologist. I think." Booker commented, forcing himself away from the flutter of another butterfly. "He'd be able to a species from its bones, I suppose."

"Paleontology isn't biology." Poe muttered, but loudly enough that Copper and Booker could understand, "Tortoises, funnily enough, are a species that exist beyond the Holocene Epoch. And even then, identifying the specific individual before we had the chance to…I don't know. Strikes me as queer."

The airport was coming closer to them, their walk having taken them around a good percentage of the woodland of the island now. Copper regarded the airport and turned to Poe expectantly. "Anything else that we need to know?" he asked.
In response, Poe reached inside his pockets and pulled out a series of film photographs. He passed them to Copper, who stood aside and showed them to Booker. They flicked through the stack and examined them. All of the skull, taken at different angles. And a strong majority focused on the back of the skull. A crack that had left a hole in the skull had been focused on.
"He was struck with a blunt object." Poe informed them as they filtered through the photographs. "No doubt the curator had informed you of that, too."
"He had." Booker muttered, focusing on the hole. It was longer that it was wide, and only the one blow to the head meant that he had only been struck once. "You don't need a degree in bone analysis to decipher that one, though."
"Blow to the back of the head." Poe said, taking the photographs and putting them back in his pocket once the two had finished with them, "He was attacked from behind. Obviously we can't get the whole story from the remains that there are, but I'd say there wasn't a fight."
"I wouldn't expect there would have been." Copper said, "He was an old man. A slap around the face would have harmed him, let alone a full squabble."

The three sighed. Copper and Booker hadn't found anything they hadn't known before, but now it was official. Which Copper did speculate on how Blathers could have known before the official report. Paleontology could have been an excuse…but was it enough?
Poe checked his watch. Gazed over at the airport. "Flight's about to leave. Vlad and Griffon are waiting for me. They send their regards."
"Send them back for us." Copper smiled. Booker, too, beamed with a thankful glee.
"We're only a flight away if you need anything more from us." Poe said, "Give us a call on any developments."
"Will do." Booker responded, "Have a safe flight."
"We'll certainly do our best." Poe said back, as he turned away and walked onwards towards the airport. "Salutations."

Night crawled around, and that called for Copper and Booker to head to the campsite. Nook had set up a tent up for the two of them that glowed with the warmth of the lantern inside, illuminating it against the deep purple the night sky bathed the rest of the island in. The gentle lapping of the waves from the side of the beach next to them felt like a gentle rocking to help them get to sleep. Booker had managed to become accustomed to the ambience of locusts chirping within the grass surrounding them, but Copper still couldn't get used to it. City living had suited him too well, and the silence made him itch. He tried to read the novel he was making progress through, but he barely lasted a minute after he had put his reading spectacles on his nose. Booker was tightly packed into one of the sleeping bags provided, making his bear the resemblance of a caterpillar, or perhaps a plump sausage. His face poked out of the hole as he looked up at Copper.
"I'm sorry that we can't be in the same bed. I think Resident Services are still open, I can go and ask for a blanket if you like."
"It's fine." Copper said.
"It just might, y'know, make you feel more comfortable if we're both together." Booker added, "Less alone."
"It's fine. Honestly."
Copper slumped. Still not in his own sleeping bag. Just lying on top of it, staring upwards to the roof of the tent and sighing. Booker recognised the distant look in his eye. His mind was elsewhere. He did often distract himself when he wasn't at work, and Booker speculated that maybe the lack of focus on something to do left him with too much time to think about other things. Whatever went on in that brain of his, Booker was desperate to know. He was desperate to help.
"What's going on?" Booker asked, shifting his body on its side to face him. "You've got your face on."
"Nothing." Copper lied, "I'm fine."
It took a couple of seconds, as it always did. But eventually Copper gave and turned to Booker.
"Tortimer was a good tortoise." Copper said. "He didn't deserve this."
"I know." Booker said, turning back to stare at the roof himself. His face sunk. Saddened by the grief that Copper was trying so hard to keep at bay. "I don't see why anyone would want him dead."
"It's not that." Copper said, "I can see why. He was a political figure, and there's always someone who wants political figures dead. It's who'd do it out at sea. On this island, in an unmarked grave. It's unceremonious. It's…it's disgraceful."
Booker sighed. Looked towards Copper with those wide eyes again. Softly, he said, "You know you can cry if you want to."
"Crying won't get anything done." Copper said resiliently.
Booker frowned. Closed his eyes. Shuffled to get more comfortable in his sleeping bag.
"I'm here if you need me." He said. "Can you get the light?"