From Hay Bale Lane to Wild Street
The smoke in the room was as thick as pea soup, making it almost impossible to make out who was that contemplative and quiet pony at the desk.
An aura of light shimmers around a nearby ash tray, lifting it to the stallion's muzzle, as he shook some of the grey ash off of his Marebollo cigarette.
A stack of unfinished paper work taunts him, shaking its hypothetical ass at the mustang's face. With another shimmer, the top of the stack comes down in front of this intriguing equine, a nearby well pen starts to scrawl its tip across the paper.
Oh how he hated this work. He could be finishing up multiple cases right now, out in the field, catching the bad guys and bookin' them. But he had to guess that the fun that he had must have a price, though he thought this was an unfair price to pay.
A creak from the door on the far right opens a ray of light from the other office, a mare poking her head inside.
"Mr. Case?"
The grizzled stallion lifted his head in acknowledgment, with a low humph. Another bit of ash falls onto the desk.
"We have an immediate situation. Chief wants you to head to the scene, now."
With a bit of life, the abstract pony stood up, and levitated his trench coat over to him. He hastily put it on, the scratching of the sleeves on his hooves light and soft.
It was about time he got some action again. He wondered what kind of trouble some shmuck got himself in this time? Could be Robbery, Assault, anything exciting. They wouldn't call him out for a minor case.
He squinted as the light blinded him, but then he adjusted and walked through the bland work area. Ponies, writing away at paperwork, answering calls, checking information, gave a small admirable nod to the colt as he walked to the dispatch room.
"Hey! Cold Case, wait up!" A high voiced called, as the stallion looked over his shoulder. His assistant, a young law school graduate from Fillydalphia, galloped up to him, papers jutting out of his sash. His chocolate brown eyes shone with a bit of excitement, his light caramel coat tussled and shaggy. His short, spiky dark brown mane shimmered with hair gel. Cold Case never understood why his assistant would ever even think to put that shit in his hair. It makes him look like a douchebag.
Cold Case turned towards the ecstatic colt. "Private Eye, I see your ready to head out." He said with a gruff voice. "Do you have the location of the scene?" Cold Case turned back around, trotting at a brisker pace. Private Eye joined his side, pen in mouth.
"Yep. 253 Hay Bale Lane." A mechanical device hung underneath Private Eye's belly. Since he was an Earth pony, he couldn't levitate many things at once without stopping. This machine, though, was attached to his lower nerves, in which he can control two thin arms, which proved to be very, shall we say, handy.
"What happened?" Cold Case asked.
"I haven't gotten the full details yet, but it's a possible suicide."
Great. Another pointless suicide. Cold Case gets these one after another. Time to find out why, investigate the scene, call the parents and all family relate. Such a pain.
"Right, let's get this over with." The grizzled pony pulled out a small set of keys from his coat. With an open of a large metal door, the two ponies entered the station garage. The standard vehicle for the Manehattan PD was a good Ford Queen Celestia, but Cold Case found them bland and tasteless. At the end of the garage was his beautiful ride.
An old 1368 Doge Charger, although now it is a faded mix of dirt and black paint.
Private Eye ran ahead, swung the car door open and hopping in shotgun. Cold Case sighed to see someone abuse his ride. Damn rookie.
With a squeak, the driver door opened, Cold Case slumping onto the seat. With a firm close, Cold Case lifted his keys to the ignition, and with a satisfying rev of the engine, pulled out of the garage.
The drive was short, with the rain beating down on the windshield. It was always a familiar sound to Cold Case. He looked over for a second at Private Eye, who was answering a call from the police at the scene.
"Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah. Alright." Private Eye set the communicator back into his sash. "Got some more info. 36 year old mare, found in her home, throat was sliced open. Friend of hers made the call, said she arrived a bit earlier. No one in the neighborhood noticed anything strange at the time of the suicide."
"Are you completely sure that it is a suicide? I'd imagine the process of slitting your own throat would be difficult to do yourself." Cold Case doubted this new info. He would get so much more when they get to the scene.
After a grueling drive, with some road rage, the two finally arrived at the scene. A small apartment building stood, only about 3 floors. Five Police cars were scattered on the street, some passing ponies stopping to try and see what it was all about. The old Charger swerved into a space, Cold Case and Private Eye hastily jumping out.
Cold Case trotted up to one of the officers. "Where's the scene?" He huffed. With a jump, the officer turned and recognized the detective. "Right this way. Sir." The officer trotted into the building, leading the two investigators to the elevator.
"Third floor, room 305." The officer stepped back from the closing elevator doors, and with a lurch, the two ascended. A second later, with a ding, the doors open, many ponies choking up the hall. The sound of camera flashes were heard on the farthest door down the hall, officers busily moving in and out of the room.
"That's the room, then. C'mon, private."
"Yes sir." The rookie caught up to Cold Case.
The scene was gruesome, to say the least. You could also call it tragic, terrifying, whatever. An older mare was slouched in the couch, her soft red/purple coat covered in blood. Her bubbly purple hair was frayed, stained with her own blood. A large slit was visible on her neck, the splotched border of blood already drying up. A large puddle of another liquid lay on the far right of the room, next to a smashed bottle. Cold Case could tell it was alcohol, he could smell it from here.
"Looks as if she had a last drink." Private Eye stated.
"Yeah, but I don't think you noticed this." Cold Case walked over to the table in front of the couch, making sure to not move the body. With a small grey light, a transparent arrow appeared over a half full wine glass.
"Here's one wine glass." Cold Case pointed out.
"Yeah, and?" Private Eye raised a brow.
"And here is another." Another arrow appeared in the far corner, over a small pile of clear shattered glass, with the stains of wine. "Now who would invite someone over for their last drink?"
The rookie's mechanic appendage scratched his scalp. "Huh. That must mean there was another person involved." With lightning speed, Private Eye started to scribble notes down in a notepad.
"I think it's obvious by now that this wasn't a suicide. Call headquarters, we have a murder on our hands." Cold Case grinned. This is what he liked the most about being a detective; solving mysterious and cold blooded murder.
"Take note, Private. There was a clear struggle in here." Cold Case trotted up to the body, his horn illuminating a light grey. The mare's leg lifted, revealing smaller cuts and several bruises on her sides. "Do we have the forensics team on site?"
"They're almost here, about 5 minutes until arrival." The rookie colt lifted another note out of his sash. "The other officers are already collecting evidence, and the scene will be preserved for further investigation. But right now, we gotta break the news to family members."
Cold Case growled. "Dammit. Alright, let's head out then." With a brisk turn, Cold Case walked out of the apartment room. He despised this part of the job. It wasn't a problem, it was a simple task, but the emotional weight that it brought really put Cold Case into a deep, depressing thought. He could never really understand the devastation of losing family. That's why he worked; To protects those from evil, to bring justice to the wrongdoers, to bring peace to the city. But what he worried for the most was to clean the future for his family.
"You have an address?" Cold Case asked.
"Yes sir," Private Eye pulled out another slip from his sash. "2306 Wild Street."
"Those are the city slums, though. Seeing that the victim lived in decent housing, why would the family be in that area?"
"No idea, sir. All I have is a recent divorce case between the victim and her ex-husband."
That sounded very suspicious. A recent divorce means tension between the husband and wife. Sounds like a perfect motive for murder, now doesn't it? Cold Case asked himself. But that thought will be for later. A tight turn around a city block caused the tires to screech, Private Eye holding onto his seat with his metal claws for dear life.
"Celestia Damn it, Case! Can you try to not kill us?" Private Eye cried.
"Don't worry about it, private, I know what I'm doing. Just sit tight, you big pussy." Cold Case chuckled as he drifted another corner, barely missing a solemn looking pony.
"Right here, around this block." Private Eye chirped, the cold sweat on his face still dripping. With another turn, the charger screeched to a sudden halt. The two ponies stepped out, the slamming of the car doors echoed throughout the streets.
Now, the slum district of Manehattan was not a pretty sight. The streets smelled of garbage and rotten food, the houses were crumbling from the foundation. The crime rate in these parts were astronomical compared to the main city, due to the influx of minority species. But it didn't matter to Cold Case whether or not somepony was a zebra, a deer, or a Diamond Dog; if they broke the law, they are nothing more than a villainous scumbag who took too big of a risk.
The said house that the two investigators pulled up in front of was well lit, although it had a noticeable tarnish about it. Pieces of trash lay in the yard, a run down Minivan sat in the cracked driveway. As Cold Case walked up to the door, a worn down mat that read "Home is where your heart is." crunched under his hooves. Private Eye walked right behind him. He always hated when a case was brought to this part of town. Reminded him of his lonesome and cruel upbringing.
Cold Case knocked on the chipping door 3 times. The light clip clop of small hooves rushed on the other side, the door swinging open. A filly, no older than 6 celestial years, peeked from the crack in the door. Her bright olive eyes looked curiously and fearfully at the two large investigators. Her pink and light purple mane was fuzzed and unkempt, her dark pink coat stained with some dirt and juice.
"Is your father home, sweetie?" Case put on a softer tone.
"Daddy said not to talk to strangers, mister." The little filly squeaked. Her eyes watered a bit, clearly scared of Case's grizzled complexion. Private Eye took a step forward, and bent down to get to eye level with the filly.
"We're not strangers. We're the good guys." A mechanical arm swiped to Private Eye's sash, pulling out his Manehatten Police Department badge. The two symbols of the city, the bronze hammer and the silver pen, wrapped around each other in blue and gold ribbon, representing Equestria's rulers, Princesses Celestia and Luna.
The filly's face seemed to calm down a bit with this reassurance. "Daddy is at his job, but he's gonna be home-" Suddenly, the filly stretched her gaze behind the two stallions, a bright smile lit up on her little face.
"DADDY!" The filly ran past Case and Private, her bubbly mane bouncing behind her. Cold Case and Private Eye turned around simultaneously. A slim, light brown Stallion held the filly tightly. His grayish hair was matted and scratchy, unkept like the filly's.
"Hello, sweetie." The Father said softly. "How was your day? Did school go okay?" The filly nodded happily, and whispered something to her father. Solemn, tired eyes met the gaze of the two investigators, with worry and fear. The stallion whispered to the filly and in an instant, she trotted inside of the house. Standing, the father stepped up to the investigators.
"Evening, officers." The Stallion spoke. "Doing the night patrol? You guys don't look like Officer Brooks and Noble." A closer look added a depressing amount of detail to this Pony, his coat ruffled and dusty, his dark blue eyes sunken and tired.
"No, we're from Headquarters. We're here about your Ex-wife." Cold Case nonchalantly said. A saddened look came across the Stallions eyes at the mention of Wife.
"So she's really dead?" The Stallion, named Silver Whistle, mumbled under his breath. A cup of coffee sat on the scratched coffee table, little wisps of steam swirled into the air. The inside of the house was definitely better than the outside. A simple, tan carpeting covered the floor, eggshell painted walls held portraits and photos of a once happy family. A single lighted fan spun slowly, barely cooling down the room on this warm summers night.
"I'm sorry, but yes." Private Eye bowed his head. Cold Case, however, kept a straight face. He was so used to this old routine, the emotional punch was no more than a mosquito flying by. Whistle brought his hooves to his face, slight shudders of breath passing through. Private Eye moved next to the trembling stallion, a hoof patting his back.
"How do I tell Pinchy?" Silver Whistle whispered. "I can barely take it, my sweetheart would crumble to pieces."
"Tell her the truth. I have seen too many parents lie about this kind of thing to their kids, and it turns uglier than it would have been. You have to be strong with her throughout this. And as of now, you need that strength. We can't really investigate without some information, Mr. Whistle." Cold Case sat up, his eyes deadlocked at the broken stallion.
Silver took a deep breath, and paused.
"Alright. What do you want to know?"
(I recommend listening to this {http://www.listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=6Z676IOGY7E} throughout this chapter, adds to the atmosphere I am trying to build up.)
“She was the love of my life.” Silver Whistle took a sip of coffee from his grey mug. “Met her on the Hooflyn Docks about 17 years ago.” His eyes met the pictures on the wall, a glum expression filling his face. Cold Case sat still, absorbing every word, while Private Eye scribbled in his notepad.
“I was with her, after I finished up a gig that night at the local piano bar. You may have not noticed, but back in my glory I was one of the best singers in all New Yoke.” Whistle pointed to his cutie mark, a beautiful array of notes and air danced on his backside. “Man, it was great. The mares would fall to my hooves, with me only but singing a pleasant toon. But, that evening, while I sang, I saw her, sitting at the bar. By Celestia, she seemed to become the only person in the crowd at the moment. Her luscious, purple hair glimmered with the faint lights, her beautiful toned body sat in the most graceful and pristine position. She gave me such a small, lovely smile, so lovely I stopped singing for a moment. First slip up I’d ever had.” Silver Whistle chuckled a little bit, looking down at his coffee.
“After all was clear and done, I walked out of that bar, that beautiful mare still grasping my mind. I heard hoofsteps behind me, and saw the goddess trotting behind me.” He stopped for a bit, eyes closed, remembering that spare moment of true joy. “We talked for a while, got to know her a bit. Berry Punch and I continued to talk and hang out to the point of dating. It was wonderful, being with her.”
“That sounds like heaven.” Private Eye sighed.
“Although, she did have a certain problem...” Cold Case and Private Eye’s ears perked up.
“And what would that be, Mr. Whistle?” Cold Case asked.
Silver shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. “She was a bit of a drinker. Always had a taste for alcohol on her tongue when we kissed, one day might be Apple Cider, the nest scotch, and then on. When she was sober, she was calm, lovely. But give her a bit of what she called “Water for the Gods”, she became wild and exciting.”
“So she was a common drunk then?” Cold Case said gruffly, Silver Whistles face molding into a disgusted face.
“Yeah. It came to the point where it began to be a problem.” Another sip, the mug tapping against the hard wooden table. “When we had Pinchy, our doctor told us that she might have a deformation due to the alcohol. We were relieved to find that she came out perfect and beautiful, that night at the hospital.” A small smile came onto his face, as he turned his head to the flight of stairs on the other side of the room, evidently leading to the filly’s room. “That moment, she swore to not drink in excess, for the safety of our daughter.” Another sip, another tap. “But it was too much to just let it go. Some nights, I would find her sloped on the sofa, a bottle of Jack dripping onto the carpet. There were hidden flasks underneath the mattress in our room, in the back of the cabinets. She would leave the house to “Go out with some friends”, only she was getting wasted at the inner city club.”
Sip.
Set.
“Her behavior became a total nightmare. No longer did I see a beautiful mare, but a desperate and needing drunkard. She would yell at Pinch for no reason, sometimes hitting her when she got the bottle. But after she sobered up, she would do the old routine saying, “I didn’t mean it sweetie, I would never hurt you.” And then the cycle would loop, see.”
Sip.
Sip.
Set.
“The fighting was almost an everyday thing now, and for little things, too.” Whistle twiddled his hooves, the strain on his face showing the pain of this memory. “There was no getting past the foreshadowed divorce. She got almost all of our savings, and alimony. She allowed me to watch my daughter indefinitely, which was the only thing that shown throughout the whole damned thing. She went to live off in a penthouse in the city, I was forced to move out to here.” He waved his two legs across the room.
Private eye continued to scrawl in his notepad, the mechanical arms clinking and lightly squeaking. Cold Case kept focus on the pony in front of him, feeling the slightest amount of pity for him, for he could never know what it was like to watch the love of your life turn into a monster.
“Tell me, Mr. Whistle, did you have a grudge after the divorce?” Cold Case asked.
Silver Whistle chuckled. “I never held a grudge against her, even after what she did. I had the hope she would cure herself of that addiction, but now...” small streams of tears fell down the Stallions face. “I guess there is no point in waiting anymore.”
Cold Case looked at the far wall clock; 1:49 A.M.
“Well, Whistle, it is pretty late, we should wrap this up and continue tomorrow.” Cold Case shifted off of the couch, his coat hovering over to him. Private Eye quickly, but neatly, put his pad and his pen into his sash. “We’ll be back by tomorrow.”
Silver Whistle gave a small nod, and bowed his head in sorrow. Private Eye stopped for a moment in front of the door, and began to trot to him. Sitting down with the weeping stallion, a hoof patting his back, he thought of what to say. What can really relieve a pony of such a terrible sadness? Then, the words popped into his head.
“We’ll find the one who did this to her, I swear.” Private blankly said. Whistle lifted his head, a bit of reassurance filling his watering eyes. A honk from outside pulled Private Eye to the door, leaving the devastated pony behind. The squeak and the loud click of the car’s passenger door wasn’t heard by Private, still wondering if he and Cold Case can really keep that promise, to avenge the fallen and let justice prevail.
“So.” Private Eye spoke up for the first time in the whole drive.
“Did you look at him?” Cold Case asked.
“Of course, we had to have our eyes on the poor guy the whole time.” Private Eye shifted on the old, worn leather seat. “I almost had to look away a couple times.”
“No, I mean, did you watch his movements? Detailed, unnoticable shuffles and ticks to the untrained eye?” Cold Case turned a corner, shifting his body slowly to the right, the leather seat grumbling underneath his coat.
“I can’t say I did. But it’s obvious you did.” Private Eye let out a long yawn. “You think he’s giving us bullshit?”
“No, what he said was true, but I doubt that was the whole story. We need to look into this a bit more.” Cold Case glanced at the car’s radio clock. It was about 2:30 in the morning, not to his surprise
“What do you say we call it a night, rookie?” Cold Case looked over at the passenger seat. Private Eye’s jaw sagged open, a loud snore eradicating from his small maw, his mechanical arms droopy and lifeless. Cold Case chuckled, turning another corner to the block of the police station.
