Private Eyes

Apparently, Pie didn’t see the clue as obviously as I did. I promise you, it was painfully obvious. The hardest part was finding the thing, and even that was pretty simple. Whoever set the whole thing up must’ve been terribly unimaginative. Or so I thought.

Pie didn’t ask why I had her drive me to the playground, which was probably for the best. I really didn’t want to have to explain it to her. We had another one of those awkward, but welcome, silences that were apparently becoming the norm between us. About halfway there, she tried to break the ice.

“Sorry about pointing a gun at you,” said Pie. “And for ‘arresting you’. I promise, I didn’t really mean it. I just hoped I could convince you to help me out.”

“Well, it clearly worked,” I said, hoping that would put an end to it.

“Ya know, I don’t think it did,” said Pie, further solidifying my belief that I should never hope for anything. “I think our killer convinced you.”

“Would it kill you to use the proper terminology?” I asked, mildly frustrated. “Unsub, unsub, unsub!”

“Sorry, Detective,” said Pie. “Unsub. Uh… What does that mean, exactly?” It was that sentence that confirmed my suspicion that this broad was trying to get me to kill myself.

“For fucks sake… Don’t they teach you kids anything at the academy?” I snarled. “Unsub means unknown subject. It’s more versatile than ‘killer’. What if this guy also burns down houses? Now, he’s a killer and an arsonist. But, since we don’t know, we use the word unsub.”

Pie nodded in understanding, though I’m pretty sure her head was filled with one of those cymbal-playing monkeys. In any case, she shut up after that, and stood quiet until we arrived at the playground.
We stepped out of the car and onto the pavement, crossing over to the cool woodchips and mulch that were used to cushion dumb children’s heads and prevent concussions. There was a multitude of child attractions, ranging from swings to slides to roundabouts to the thing I came for in the first place: The teeter-totter.

“You sure we came to the right spot?” asked Pie. I ignored her, changed gloves, and made my way over to the teeter-totter. I ran my hand along the underside of the wooden plank. I eventually found a slip of paper taped there. I ripped it down and unfolded it. It was another note, typed just like the last one.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” I said, waving the note for her to see.

“What’s it say?” asked Pie. I glanced at it and read it aloud.

“I bore terribly of this game,” I recited, studying each word. “Which is a tragic truth. My work is tiring, and I was hoping this game would entertain me. I truly hope you join the game, lest this be the final round.”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Pie. I took an evidence bag from my pocket and deposited the note.

“It mean that you guys are awful at your jobs,” I said. “This guy has been leaving these clues for you for a long time, and nobody picked up on it.” I ran a hand through my hair. This ran deeper than I ever could’ve thought.

“What now?” asked Pie.

“Go to the station, and pick up every homicide and wrongful death case file you have from the last six months,” I ordered.

“Bring them to my office, then get to work on finding out who the victim is. You don’t sleep until you have a name, got it? Go, I’ll take a cab.” Pie nodded and ran over to her car. There wasn’t much of Pie for me to be envious of, but I wish I had as much piss and vinegar as that airhead.

By the time a taxi got to the playground and brought me back to the office, Pie had already done her first job and dropped the box of files outside my door. I scooped them up, opened the door, and dropped it on my desk. Ironically, my quest to avoid paperwork resulted in even more paperwork.

I spent hours filtering through the files, eliminating all deaths that were solved and those that came from gang-violence or crimes of passion. I was left with somewhere north of a hundred possibilities. I eliminated all but the most violent, which gave me fifteen. I looked over those fifteen, and used the autopsies and police reports to match the M.O. with my unsub. I was left with just two. Both Earth pony mares, one named Scarlet and one named Aiden. The two had very few similarities, other than their race and cause of death. Both were sliced several times all over their bodies, had their eyes smashed, and the killing blow came from a stab wound to the heart.

After I isolated Aiden and Scarlet as the most likely victims of my unsub, I tore into their history. Scarlet, a former soldier who was honorably discharged after losing an eye, was a standing citizen: No priors, no parking tickets, never been in any kind of trouble as an adult. She had a bit of a shady past, involved in an illegal underground fighting ring and culprit of quite a few petty thefts. Thing was, she was orphaned at a young age and she only broke the law out of necessity, so most people looked the other way.

Aiden, however, was quite different. She was a hacker, stole a bunch of people’s personal information. She didn’t do anything too malicious with it, and it seemed as if she did it just to prove that she could. As far as scumbag criminals go, she was pretty decent, all things considered. She had no family that could be tracked down, no Social Security number or ID of any kind, and they only got her identity from dental records.

In every other sense, they were totally different. They were in different age brackets, from different parts of Equestria, different records, different histories. Aiden had a Master’s in both Information Technology and Computer Science, while Scarlet never passed the tenth grade. Scarlet, being a soldier, has multiple confirmed kills, while Aiden never harmed a soul. It didn’t make sense, how they were chosen. If they were were killed by the same man, then he was just killing indiscriminately, which couldn’t be possible. Nobody tortures and kills two entirely random people with no similarities whatsoever. No, there must be something I was missing.

It wasn’t until I thought about the most recent victim, the one who still lacked a name, did I put it all together. They were all Earth ponies. Maybe it was a coincidence, but it was certainly something to consider. I stood up to find a notepad when my hoof knocked something to the floor. I picked it up with my horn’s levitation and my half-empty bottle of scotch from earlier floated up and into my hands. I popped off the top and took a massive gulp while I went over to a shelf to grab paper and a pen. As I drank, I made a little list.

Things I know about the case:

1. Our unsub has at least three kills under his belt
2. Unsub is a male
3. Unsub is extremely violent in regard to his victims
4. Unsub is probably physically adept
5. The unsub seems to be targeting Earth ponies

By the time I was done writing, my bottle was empty, and I was feeling a little bit dizzy. I thought I was fine, that I’d take a cold shower and get back to work.

Then, as I went to put away my notes, I found my hidden flask of vodka. I picked the silver flask up and held it in my hands. I had hidden it away a while back, maybe a month or so, back when I was still trying to quit. I had a moment of decision, to make a choice. The professional part of me wanted to chuck the flask clear across the room. That part was significantly smaller than the part that wanted… no, needed the drink.
I screwed open the flask and drained it in record time. The room spun around me, and I knew I should probably get home soon. Now, I don’t actually remember all of what happened next, but I can surmise that I dropped my flask, collapsed onto the ground, and blacked out.

KNOCK!
KNOCK!
KNOCK!
I wasn’t awoken so much by the sound as I was by the throbbing pain in my head that followed each knock. I drunkenly and drowsily pushed myself to my hooves. I almost fell right back down, but I managed to catch myself. I was willed to move only by my desire to punch out whoever the hell was pounding on my door at whatever obscene hour it was. I ripped open the office door, and prepared to give the intruder a piece of my mind, but she started talking first.

“Did you find anything?” she asked. She was a cop, a rookie, based on how nervous she seemed. Something about her seemed familiar… particularly her hair. It was a wild, puffy mess, and an obnoxious shade of pink.

“What?” As soon as it left my mouth, everything came flooding back. Pie, the case, the booze. I swore under my breath. “Yeah, right. Well, I found something, probably. Uh… I have a list here somewhere…”

“You okay, Detective?” asked Pie. “You look really under the weather.”

“Oh, so you’re a terrible cop and a doctor now?” I said scathingly. I made way for her to enter, which she did without hesitation. “I’m fine. I’ve been working late, must’ve dozed off for a few minutes.”

“Wow, you’ve been studying those files until just now?” asked Pie in awe. “It’s ten in the morning!”

Shit. I got so hammered that I blacked out for hours. Not the most professional thing I’ve ever done. Then again, it wasn’t the least professional thing, either.

“You get the name of the latest victim?” I asked, trying not to let on exactly how hungover I was.

“Yeah, but there’s something you should see before you worry about him,” said Pie. She withdrew a piece of paper and handed it to me. “This letter was found taped to the station’s front door. What do you make of it?”

Well, it’s about time somebody found one of my clues. I was afraid that nobody was playing, and that wouldn’t be any fun! Now that I seem to have a worthy adversary, I decided to extend this letter to let you know that the game is on. I wanted this to have a bit more of a personal touch, which is why I’ve handwritten this one. Good luck, player, and may the best mare win.
Let the games begin,
XOXOXOXOXO
P.S. That clue was horribly obvious. Let’s ramp up the difficulty a bit, shall we?

“Well, fuck,” I said. I hovered my notes and pen from my desk and into my hand. “Shit! I was wrong.”

“About what?” asked Pie.

“Our killer is a mare,” I said. “Look at this handwriting! Lot of loops and curves. Clearly a girl’s handwriting. Plus, she even writes ‘may the best mare win’. She’s a chick, no ways around it.” I altered my notes;

Things I know about the case:

1. Our unsub has at least three kills under his belt
2. Unsub is a male Unsub is female
3. Unsub is extremely violent in regard to his victims
4. Unsub is probably physically adept
5. The unsub seems to be targeting Earth ponies
6. The unsub sees this as a game
7. Unsub seems excited by the idea of someone who presents a challenge to her
8. The “game” has only just begun

“Well, this is just dandy,” I grumbled. “We know nothing! All we have to go on is that she seems to be targeting Earth ponies.”

“She’s going after Earth ponies?” asked Pie nervously. “Why would she do that?”

“Why would she capture Earth ponies, slice at them for hours, smash their eyes into their skulls, and stab them through the chest?” I asked. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s almost like she doesn’t like them or something.” Pie didn’t seem to enjoy that.

“Could you lay off the jokes?” said Pie uncomfortably. “This isn’t a game, Detective! This woman is killing Earth ponies. That means I’m potentially a target, doesn’t it?”

“You’re a cop,” I scoffed. “You’re de facto a target. Get over yourself and help me work. We need to start working through possible suspects, see if we can dig up a witness.”

Pie nodded, and we went out in search of our game master of a killer.