A Cold Case

(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.