A Study in Blue

“Designer saddle bags!  Don't miss out on your chance to pick up the latest in Plota's new summer fashion!  Only sixteen hundred bits!”

White Collar's eye was drawn to the stall at the vendor's cry.  He noted the dark cobalt dyed leather and shook his head with a wan smile.  With a color like that, they were clearly not a summer line.  A winter one, perhaps.  Likely not even the previous winter's if the vendor was willing to...embellish the truth that much in the first place.  Grossly overpriced in either case.  Doubly so in both.  The number of zeros on the tag didn't seem to discourage every shopper though.

Part of the fun in a bazaar was the battle of wits played out between the merchant and buyer as both vied for the favorable bargain.  Of course, in the end, the vendor always won, to a degree.  They weren't going to sell anything at a loss after all.  It simply came down to a matter of how closely to a Pyrrhic victory you could whittle them down to.

He was generally rather good at the game.  His practiced eye was well versed in identifying flaws and inconsistencies in the product being haggled over.

Yet, that was not why he was out and about in this place today.  He wasn't looking for trinkets and baubles.  What White Collar was after was a distraction.  Some novel activity that wouldn't remind him of his past and could distract him from the pains those memories stirred.

His saddle bag was brushed by that of another stallion who galloped through the crowd at what was undoubtedly a rather careless amount of speed for so populated an avenue.  Still, he seemed aware of this, as the verdant pony called out what seemed to be an endless stream of apologies and warnings as he barreled along.  A bundle of sealed scrolls protruded from one of the bags, suggesting both his occupation, and the likely reason for his haste.

The ivory pony bit back an annoyed outburst.  The nudge had been unintentional, and minimal besides.  Plus, White Collar was pretty sure that at least one of those apologies had been directed at him.  He was mostly out of earshot anyway.  Enough of his other victims were voicing their displeasure at the moment to make his own moot.

“Thief!” a familiar voice rang out above the din, “Stop!  Thief!”

White Collar narrowed his eyes back in the direction of the saddle bag vendor he'd passed.  His mind idly wondered if the merchant was making a comment on the prices of his own wares.  The genuinely distraught look on the maroon face suggested otherwise.

A pair of piercing whistles cut through the air, prompting the milling ponies in the street to shift to either side.  A pair of steel-clad guards displaying the blue and gold livery of the city authorities sprinted through the parted crowd, the tin cylinders in their mouths blaring harshly to warn those ahead to move aside.  When they were past, the assembled citizenry looked on for a few seconds before resuming their previous wanderings or haggling.

White Collar did likewise.  Once upon a time, a perpetrated crime might have held interest for him.  Even one as mundane as petty theft.  But today was about finding a new distraction, not falling back into old patterns.  The local authorities looked to have things well in hoof anyway.

Or so he had thought...

A block further in his travels, White Collar happened upon a ring of ponies surrounding the pair of guards who had run by earlier.  They had an equally familiar green coated stallion pinned beneath them.  A dusting of scrolls, bits, and small squares of yellow paper lay scattered about, buffeted by the flapping wings of one of the guards.  A glowing ring of violet surrounded the prone stallion's hooves, matching the glow of the unicorn guard's gray horn.

“Stop resisting!” the azure pegasus guard—a mare, by her voice—commanded of their captive, “you are being detained under suspicion of shoplifting!”

“But I didn't take anything!”  the green stallion insisted, a note of fear in his voice.

“If that's true, then we can sort it out at the station,” the mare declared.

“But-but...” the prone pony protested feebly, his eyes darting to the nearby scrolls.

Something brushing under him drew White Collar's gaze.  He noticed a little yellow earth pony filly slipping beneath him on her way through the gathered crowd.  His eye fell to the blue bags across her back.  With a sigh, he quickly reached out and clamped a hoof down on her chestnut tail.  Understandably, the little pony gave a sharp yelp, drawing the attention of several nearby onlookers.

“Ow!  Hey, get off!”  The filly protested, tugging fiercely at her trapped tail.

Eventually, the attention of the guards was drawn to the high pitched protests as well, and White Collar found himself now the focus of the pegasus mare's dour gaze.  Exchanging a look with her partner to confirm that he had their suspect well in hoof, she fluttered over to the new disturbance.

“Is there a problem here?” she inquired, her violet eyes darting between the cowled stallion and the little yellow filly whose tail he had pinned.  The lingering stare she focused on him hinted that she already had an idea of whom the trouble-maker in this situation was.

White Collar kept his expression carefully neutral, “I caught your thief,” he stated simply.

The filly's blue eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as she finally noticed the nearby guard.  She jabbed a hoof at the caped pony who had caught her, “nuh-uh!  I didn' steal nuthin'!  He's...he's foalnapping me!”

The ponies surrounding them took a step back, a fervent murmur spreading among them.  Even the unicorn guard and his prisoner were staring now.  White Collar kept his expression impassive beneath the cowl, “I assure you, this filly is the thief, and your suspect is innocent; and I can prove it.”

The mare regarded him coolly, “let the filly go.”

White Collar considered a moment.  Of course, if the filly bolted, it would only serve to lend credit to his own case.  He lifted his hoof.  To her credit, the filly did not run; likely suspecting that the opportune time to make her escape was not while under the watchful eye of a hovering pegasus guard.  Satisfied, the mare nodded, “let's hear it.”

“Firstly, the pony you have there is a courier,” White Collar began, matter-of-factually, “he wasn't running because he was trying to make off with some stolen goods, but because he probably invokes some sort of time-sensitive discount to attract clients.”

“Half an hour or it's free,” the green hued pony confirmed, nodding his head vigorously.

“And how's that working out for you so far?” White Collar asked drolly, “have you caught on yet why every other courier service in Equestria no longer advertises those sorts of gimmicks?”  the stallion grew silent.

“That's an awful lot of bits for a courier...” the pegasus commented.

“That's an awful lot of receipts,” the white coated stallion countered, indicating the yellow slips of paper spilling out of one of the bags, “I'd wager that they account for every coin.

“Now, on to our little friend here,” White Collar continued, earning a scowl from the filly, “that's an interesting set of bags you have there.  Plota, aren't they?”

“My mother bought them for me last year!” the filly insisted vehemently.

“You have a very generous mother,” he remarked with mild amusement.  He had to award the little pony points for her commitment to the charade, “although, I have to wonder why she couldn't find you a set of bags in your size...” he prodded a hoof at the pair of blue dyed leather satchels which were nearly as large as the filly herself.

“She says I'll grow into them,” was her answer.

“...and why she bought you bags styled for a stallion,” White Collar finished, a prompting look on his face.

“I...” the filly's words caught, but only for a brief moment, “...don't hold to those gender things.  I like 'em this way.  Who cares if they're 'fer colts'?”

Credit where it's due, the white stallion conceded.  The filly was determined to go down clinging to this story with all hooves, “I see.  When did you say your mother bought them?  Last year?”

“Yup,” the filly dared, nodding her head.

“How did she get her hooves on this winter's new Plota line?”

“They're this summer's new line!” the little yellow pony countered smugly, proud at having corrected the stallion confronting her.

White Collar turned his gaze to the pegasus, his lips cracking a small smile, “my mistake.  She is correct.  They're for this summer; and she got them last year,” he moved his hoof and flicked up a little square of paper on one of the bags, “and still with the tag, after all this time...”

The mare's eyes widened, as did the filly's.  But, while the pegasus' expression was one akin to saying, 'Well, I'll be banished!  He's right!', the filly's was one of, 'oh, horse-apples!'

The little pony decided that now was the moment to cut her losses and hope for the best.  She bolted.

Or rather, tried to anyway.  Her legs flailed furiously in the air for a good ten seconds before she finally noticed that she wasn't making any headway.  A violet glow surrounded her, holding the filly's body off the ground, while simultaneously relieving her of the purloined bags.  The courier was back on his feet, now free of the magical binding.  He was busy collecting his property, and that of his current clients.  He didn't even wait for the guards' apologies before taking off at a gallops once more, resuming his string of warnings to the throng of ponies in his way.

The unicorn guard floated the now panting filly over and began to question her, though not nearly as roughly as they had been interrogating the courier.  Meanwhile the pegasus mare returned her attention to White Collar.

Her eye's darted to his cowl, the stallion noticed, but only for a second; then they held his own gaze, “we appreciate your help, mister...?” she prompted.

“Collar.  White Collar,” he supplied with a shallow nod.  He turned away and resumed his progress along the road, bidding her a, “good day,” as he departed.  There was nothing else for him to do there.  He'd caught their thief for them, and recovered the stolen goods.  Not that he had really intended to.

Not that he'd really had to, either.  He could have opted to let the filly go on.  It wasn't his job to catch shoplifters.  They would have found out the courier was completely innocent back at the station once they seen he had no stolen material, and that the receipts accounted for the bits in his bags.  He'd have been late for all his other deliveries, but that wouldn't cause any lasting harm.  And given what the saddle bag merchant was pulling on his customers, he could stand to have one or two items stolen.  Call it karma for one thief to be the victim of another.

But he'd stepped in anyway.  He always stepped in.  Even before securing a contract.  The number of times Meadow Lark had been forced to negotiate payment from a 'retro-active client' because he'd solved their case before actually being hired on to investigate it...

He'd never done it for the money.  It was just...fun.  He enjoyed it.  A puzzle that needed solving, no different than a crossword, or a cryptogram.  Meadow Lark had been the driving force behind turning his talent into a business.  Otherwise, he'd have still been following his mother around from one diplomatic function to another, pointing out all the various little bits of intrigue that he notice between the other delegates for her to use in negotiations.

White Collar shook his head.  New hobbies!  He had come here to look for new hobbies!

With a cleansing breath, he cast his gaze about at the surrounding shops and kept walking.

* * *

Technically this was a 'new' hobby, White Collar thought to himself as he snapped another of the little cardboard shapes into place.  He'd never actually tried his hoof at solving a literal puzzle before.  He could see why, too.

Unlike political intrigue, suspicious spouses and lost merchandise, he knew exactly what he would have when all of these pieces were finally put together.  There was a picture of it on the box that he was looking at.  It...sort of sucked the fun out of it.  Knowing where he would end up for all of the effort that he was putting in.

Maybe if he just blindly picked up a random box next time and never looked at the cover?

White Collar sighed as he put the last piece of the border into place.  Maybe.  He'd at least give it a try...

A knock at the door drew his attention, and a frown.  He wasn't expecting any deliveries today.  Certainly nopony would be coming by seeking to hire him on; not with the rather obvious 'Closed Indefinitely' sign sitting on the windowsill.  White Collar glared at the offending portal and rose from his seat on the still-covered couch.  He reached out to pick up the cowl sitting beside him, and then hesitated.

Unexpected guests got unexpected surprises.

The scarred stallion approached the door and pulled it open.  Whatever his visitor had been about to say died a violent death on their lips, coming out instead as a gasp so forceful that it sent them tumbling onto their haunches.

It was somepony he recognized, White Collar noticed as he finally got a look at who it was that had come to see him.  The guardsmare from the market.  Surprised by her own reaction, the azure pegasus at his door flushed with embarrassment.  She reached up to brush several stray wisps of golden mane from her eyes and cleared her throat.  She remained seated on her rump, however, her assumed posture insisting that she had meant to sit down so abruptly.

“H-hello, Mr. Collar,” the mare began, her words catching briefly as she got over the last of her flustered state, “I don't suppose you remember me-”

“The guard from yesterday,” the stallion interrupted in an even tone, “What do you want?”  She shouldn't have needed any sort of statement.  Shoplifting was not the sort of transgression that warranted a trial, especially when it was a foal which had committed the infraction.

In fact, now that he thought about it, White Collar didn't remember giving out his address.  Only his name.  This guard would have had to do a fair bit of asking around or combing through records in order to have found him.  Her steel plated barding was absent, as was her livery.  The pegasus wasn't on duty, so this wasn't anything official.

“I wanted to thank you,” the mare ventured, her eyes favoring the door frame and nearby frosted picture window, “for what you did yesterday...”

“You're welcome,” White Collar responded simply, “good bye.”

He started to close the door when the azure mare shot out a hoof to halt its progress, “...and to ask for your help!”

The stallion hesitated.  He looked at the pegasus.  He had not missed the note of desperation in her voice at her last words; and he could see similar apprehension played across her features.  She met his gaze now, her eyes no longer looking away.

Taking his hesitation as a good sign, the mare continued, “I...looked you up.  I've only been with the Trottingham Guard for a few months, so I didn't recognize your name; but my sergeant did.  He told me about how you used to help out with tough cases.

“I need your help now,” she begged, “please...”

“We should help the Guard whenever we can,” a voice from the past played out in his mind, “they'll mention ISPI in the paper.  It's like free advertising!”

He wasn't interested in getting his name out there anymore.  It wasn't his responsibility to aid the Guard in tracking down elusive crooks and thieves.  It was exactly what they were all paid and trained to do.  Besides, it was directly counter to his intended course of action.  He wasn't supposed to be doing things that would remind him of his past loss.

“I don't take clients anymore,” he replied, jerking his scarred head in the direction of the window, and the sign that it contained.  Once more, he began closing the door.

And once more, the mare stopped it with an outstretched hoof.  Now White Collar was beginning to feel annoyed.  If this mare thought that her position as a member of the city guard entitled her to pester him even after he'd clearly dismissed her; the pegasus had another thing coming.  It'd been years since the last time he'd joined the Trottingham Guard on one of their cases, but the stallion was willing to bet his past reputation would still carry some weight when it came to recommendations on what to do with some upstart guard that was overreaching...

He'd almost said as much before the mare spoke up again, “lives are at stake!”

White Collar paused, his intended reproachful comments going unsaid.  He stared at her in silence for a while.

“Screw the 'puzzle'!  This is somepony's life we're talking about!  Don't you dare tell me that doesn't matter to you!”

It had mattered back then.  It mattered now.

“Please...”

White Collar sighed and stepped back from the doorway, turning and walking deeper inside.  The door remained open, an unspoken invitation for the mare to enter.  She did so, casting a cautious eye in the stallion's direction for any indication that she had misread his actions.  She watched as he scooped up a white swath of fabric from the sheet covered couch.  The stallion bowed his head and pressed the fabric up to the left side of his face, wrapping a pair of dangling straps around his neck and muzzle.  She heard a couple of metal clicks as his hooves passed over the straps and then he turned around.

The scarred side of his face was now completely covered by a cowl whose color nearly matched that of his coat.  Though it did nothing to hide the stretch of gnarled pink and reddened flesh that extended down his left foreleg and most of his side.  Still, it was nice to be able to look at his face and not feel disgusted with the horrific sight; or the overwhelming shame she felt when she couldn't keep from looking away.

According to her sergeant, he had not always had those scars.  He certainty hadn't had them the last they'd met on a case.  Supposedly, according to one of the other veteran guardsmares the pegasus worked with, this stallion had been quite handsome.  Looking at the right side of his face, and mentally mirroring it, the mare decided that she would have agreed with that assessment.  Once upon a time, the white earth pony had been handsome.

Now, he was just...dour; and he was staring at her expectantly.

The pegasus slipped a wing into one of her saddle bags and drew out a large envelope with her pinions.  She held it out to the stallion, “I think there's a serial killer in the city.”

White Collar took the offered parcel in his mouth and set it on the coffee table, atop the unfinished puzzle.  He flipped up the unsealed flap and slid the contained dossiers out with his hoof, spreading them out.  His eye scanned the cover pages briefly, which contained little more than basic demographics about the victims.  What puzzled him was that none of the files was flagged as being an equicide...

“You 'think'?” the stallion prompted as he flipped open one of the dossiers; an older peach hued stallion.

“It's hard to say for certain,” the mare winced slightly, “the style is...unusual...”

“Distinctive styles are typically a firm indicator of a serial killer,” White Collar pointed out as he delved deeper into the file, looking for copies of the investigating officer's notes.

“I know,” the pegasus agreed sourly, “but this pony is being extra unusual...”

White Collar found the page he'd been looking for and skimmed over the appraisal of the scene and deposition of the body.  Then his frown deepened and his eye shifted back up to the mare.  She winced away from his expression, as though she could already sense what he was going to say to her.  The stallion imagined she had heard the same appraisal before.

He put the file down and picked up the second.  The picture of a pink mare on the cover.  He quickly found the report he was looking for and read through it as well.  He didn't bother to read the third.

White Collar turned to look at the pegasus, “I'm certain that you somehow find this all very amusing; but I don't.  Take your things and get out, and I probably won't even bother to report this harassment to Gold Peak,” he growled at her, dropping the name of the current captain of the city's guard, whom he had had personal dealings with in the past.

The pegasus blanched, her eyes widening in fear and desperation, “it's not a joke, I swear!”

“You said this was the work of a serial killer,” White Collar snarled, jabbing a hoof at the scattered files, “run over by a cart?  Drowned in the river?  Those aren't murders, they're accidents!  How did the third one die?”

The mare winced again, “his arm was torn off by a millstone...” she admitted.

“An accident,” he snorted.  He glared at her once more, “get out.”

“But...but look at the dates!” she insisted.  White Collar kept his disapproving gaze on her for a moment longer, but finally relented and looked at the dates of the incidents.  His scowl shifted slightly when he saw them, “the second of the month,” the pegasus confirmed, “for the last three months.  Within an hour of each other.”

The stallion paused.  Admittedly, that was...odd.  However, it was hardly any sort of 'proof' that they had all been murdered.  The causes were all pretty clearly identified as having been mere accidents.  Each report contained at least two eye-witness accounts that confirmed the events as the investigating guard had appraised, and none of those witnesses were the same pony.  The idea that so many unrelated ponies would all be conspiring to give false reports in order to cover for what seemed to be obvious accidents...it was too unlikely to seriously entertain.

“Were these the only ponies to die in accidents in those three months?” he inquired, suspecting the answer.

The pegasus bowed her head, “...no,” she looked up then, and cut off what White Collar had been about to say, a shaky certainty in her voice, “but these were different; and I don't just mean because they happened on the same day.”

White Collar raised a curious eyebrow, inviting the mare to elaborate, “the stallion who was crushed by the cart?  He was a lumberjack, and the cart was full of logs.  The mare who drowned?  Two time medalist in the Equestria Games, quarter-mile freestyle.  The dismemberment?  A miller.

“All three of those ponies died on the same day of the month, in the span of the same hour, and they all died in a manner that was...ironic.”

“I don't think that's what 'irony' means...” White Collar corrected.

“Then whatever it is when a lumberjack is killed by the trees he cut down that morning,” the mare amended in exasperation, “or a champion swimmer drowns.”

“I think it's just called 'tragic',” White Collar said in a bored tone.  He was suddenly beginning to think that the mare wasn't trying to play some obscure joke on him.  More than likely, she was just another example of a new guard trying to prove that she could handle the more prestigious assignments by cracking a 'case' that nopony else had caught on to.  It wouldn't have been the first time an overeager guard had seen conspiracies where there were only misunderstandings.

“It's not a surprise when a pony dies in an accident associated with how they spend a lot of their time,” the stallion explained in much more even tones, “lots of lumberjacks are killed by falling trees.  Lots of sailors die at sea.  Lots of miners die in collapses.

“Accidents happen.”

“But within an hour of each other the day after the Bazaar?” the guardsmare insisted, sounding almost desperate, “and only after Trottingham began participating in the Bazaar at all?”

This got White Collar's attention, “Bazaar?  What Bazaar?”

“The Equestrian Merchant's Bazaar.  It's a new initiative thought up by the Trade Ministry,” the pegasus explained, sounding a little surprised that the stallion knew nothing about it, “it's held on the first of every month in Trottingham, Manehattan on the eighth, the Empire on the fifteenth, and Canterlot on the twenty-second.  Then it starts over again.  It's supposed to help encourage more trade between within Equestria.

“And ever since it started up, we've been having those 'accidents' the next morning,” it was clear from the emphasis on the word that the mare was more than a little doubtful of how apt a label it truly was.

And, given that new information, White Collar found himself giving the files a second, closer, look.  Accidents were one thing.  Accidents at similar times was something...odd, but explainable if it was a time that saw a lot of general activitry among the ponies of the city anyway.  After all, it wouldn't be considered suspect if a lot of ponies tended to choke on something they were eating during a time when meals were commonly served.

However, throwing in a large event on the previous day...an event that would see a lot of unfamiliar ponies arriving in town for a couple of days.  White Collar looked at the details given for the witnesses once more.  Addresses had been recorded, in addition to the names.  They were all local.  It was possible that they were fabrications, and that maybe the names were false too.  There were no pictures of the witnesses in the file after all, and the investigator had been different each time.  A couple of ponies staging murders and then passing themselves off as bystanders?  It was possible...A stretch, but not a difficult one.

Easy to check though.  All he'd have to do was swing by the addresses listed and make the acquaintance of the pony that lived there to see if the names matched...

The stallion shut his eye and shook his head.  No!  He wasn't going to let himself get sucked into this.  He was trying to find something new to occupy his time.  Getting back into investigating was just going to remind him of how things would never be again.

“Verify the witnesses are who they claim,” White Collar said allowed, addressing the pegasus, “go to the addresses, make sure they live there and that they were the ones who saw these accidents happen.”

The mare nodded vigorously, looking relieved to have gotten at least some small bit of help in her investigation.  Then a pensive look flashed across her face, “and if they are?”

White Collar shrugged, “then unless you can come up some actual evidence: these were all just accidents.”

It obviously wasn't what the guardsmare had wanted to hear.  She deflated back to her previously frustrated state, a deep frown on her face.  She shook her head slowly, “it's just too much of a coincidence,” she complained, “the timing is just too...they have to be related.”

“Timing isn't enough,” White Collar reminded her, “you're going to need more than that.  Some way that these ponies were physically or socially connected; and I'm not seeing that in these files.  Without that connection, you don't have a case.  Just a few curious accidents with freak timing.

“Now, if there is nothing else...” the stallion shuffled the files into a neat stack, slid them back into their envelope and passed them to the pegasus mare.

“Right,” the azure flier took the parcel under her wing and sighed, “thanks.  I'm sorry I bothered you with this.  I just...I feel like something is wrong with this.  I can't explain it.”

“You're a guard,” White Collar observed, “ponies are dying, and you want to do something about it.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, offering a meek little smile, “I guess that's it.  I'll check out the witnesses.  If nothing pans out, well, the next Bazaar is next week,” she shrugged, “I'll wander around, see if anything stands out.

“If I do find anything,” the mare began hesitantly, “can I bring it to you?  My sergeant said you were the best,” she regarded him hopefully.

The room was silent for a long while.  Then, “I don't do this anymore.”

New things, White Collar reminded himself.  He was trying to do new things.  Running around Trottingham with a pegasus trying to crack a nigh-impossible case was hitting dangerously close to some old wounds that he'd just as soon leave well alone.  Besides, there wasn't really much of a chance of a case existing anyway.  It'd be a waste of both their time.

“I see,” the mare deflated even further.  She left without another word.

White Collar stared at the door after it closed in the pegasus' wake.  His eye went to the scattered cardboard shapes, and he briefly considered resuming the effort.  However, there was zero desire remaining within him to do so.  A pity there wasn't anything to the mare's case.  A puzzle like that would have been fun to solve.