Private Eyes

by chillbook2

Rating: mature
Tags: Drama, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Mystery, Profanity, Violence, Pinkie Pie, Death, Narcotics, Twilight Sparkle, Anthro
Length: 6572

A killer with a sick idea of fun. A rookie officer in over her head. The only solution: Detective Twilight Sparkle

There's a killer in Canterlot. A murderer with a game to play. The only worthy opponent? Retired detective Twilight Sparkle.

ARCHIVED STORY

WARNING: Story is incomplete and dead
Posted unchanged, unedited, and wholly intact
Originally written: May 26, 2015

Published 2018-08-24 02:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-08-24 02:30:01 UTC

Chapter 1

I was sitting at my desk, finishing up a file from my latest case. A pen in my right hand, a glass of scotch in my left. The case was pretty open-and-shut, and I had it figured out within an hour. The case was simple and quick. The paperwork was not.

My desk was cluttered with papers and folders, most of them I could hardly focus on. I just craved a challenge, something to put my mind to work. Somehow, I didn’t think I’d be getting anything to that effect, which was why I was melting my brain with Equestria’s favorite poison. That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

The room around me was splashed with shadow, the only light emanating from a small lamp on my desk. My window behind me let in a cool night breeze, filling my office with the mingled scent of crisp, fresh air and the stench of the littered Canterlot City streets. Perhaps the word “stench” was a bit harsh. Canterlot City was a big city, it had a lot of cars, and it had a certain smell that wasn’t altogether offensive, but it was far from pleasant. Still, we had it better off than Manehattan.

I polished off my scotch and grabbed my bottle from beneath my desk. I had about a quarter of a bottle left, which I probably would finish off by the end of the night. I couldn’t care less, I just needed something to occupy my time. Mindless paperwork, mindless drinking, and nothing at all to stimulate my brain.

“God, I need a case,” I muttered to myself. I filled my glass again and was about to take a sip when I heard a knock at my door. I took a gulp of booze and ignored it. Whatever jackass was at my door could probably read, and they’d probably get bored of being sandbagged and go bother someone who gave a damn. Still, they knocked again, and again, and one last time, just to make sure I heard.

“It’s unlocked,” I said finally. She spent no time opening the door and stepping into my office, closing the door behind her. She was one of our “boys in blue”, a badge on her blue work shirt and blue work pants with her little blue hat and her shiny black gun on her hip. She was an intrusive, agonizingly bright pink, her mane and tail even brighter than her skin. She looked like she just ran through a tornado, her hair was so disheveled.

“What do you want?” I asked, lowering my glass slightly.

“You’re Dr. Sparkle, right?” she asked. I coughed in disgust from the sudden title drop.

“Doctor? Only technically,” I said. “Private eye now. Who are you and what do you want?” She stepped closer, stopping a few feet away from my desk.

“I’m Officer Pinkamena Pie,” she said. “I'm a rookie with the Canterlot City Police. I’ve come to ask you a few questions. Do you have a minute?”

“No, I really, really don’t,” I said. “But lay it on me. You have two minutes. Make them count.”

“You used to be in the FBI, right?” she asked. I nodded. “That's my goal, too. I’m a big fan of yours, Ms. Sparkle. I just finished your third book. How did you learn about microexpressions?”

“I have a cynical outlook on life and trust issues,” I said shortly. “And I’m gonna ask you to cut the bullshit. What did you come here for?” She barely flinched, and just kept on going with her questions.

“We at the force would really appreciate if you came and settled something for us,” said Pie. “You see, we have a… a problem. We’re kinda stumped, actually.”

“What makes you think that I can help?” I asked, leaning forward on my desk. “What can I do that you can’t have one of your guys do?”

“We just want to get an outside perspective,” said the Rookie. “Could I bother you to take a look at the crime scene, maybe give us a clue as to what we’re looking at here?” I rubbed my temples tiredly, taking another gulp of scotch.

“What’s the case?” I asked. A small grin broke out on her face.

“Sorry, Detective,” she said, her voice nearing a laugh. “Can’t tell you unless you’re officially an advisor of the case. You want details, you need to help us out here.”

I drained my glass and stared at the paperwork I was filing. My pen hadn’t dropped ink onto the page since before Pie walked in. I pushed myself up to my hooves and stretched out my legs. I grabbed my purple windbreaker and pulled it on begrudgingly.

“I’ll take a look at the body and the crime scene,” I said. “I’ll give you my first thoughts and nothing more. I am not on your payroll, and I will leave whenever I see fit. I left the CCPD for a reason.” Pie smiled smugly at me, then gestured towards the door.

It was at that time, as Pie led me out of my office and down the stairs, did I think about why. Why I had agreed to do this. Was I drunk? Did I think they really needed my help? No, I think the answer is much more simple than that. I think it’s as simple as boredom.

Pie and I made it outside and onto the cold dark streets. Her squad car was parked right outside my building. She went around to the driver side and slid in, me following on the passenger side. We remained quiet for most of the time spent starting up and pulling off. This silence persisted until she hit the first red light.

“I really appreciate you doing this, Ms. Sparkle,” said Pie with a small grin. “Or should I call you Doc? Nah, you don’t like that, do you?”

“If you have to call me anything, Detective is fine,” I said.
"So, what's your beef with being called 'doctor'?" asked Pie. "If I was a doctor, I'd make everyone call me Doctor Pinkie!"
"Pinkie?" I asked blandly.
"That's what my friends call me," she said. "So, pretty much everyone calls me that, then."
"I'll stick with Pie," I muttered. That silence from earlier returned with a vengeance, which gave me something to be grateful for.
The quiet remained until she pulled up to a rundown, dilapidated apartment complex in the shady Lower West Side of Canterlot City. I knew the place fairly well, seeing as I spent most of my teenage years in this sort of neighborhood. That was before Celestia set me straight. I had at least that to thank her for.
“You dragged me all the way over here to investigate a gang crime?” I asked. Pie shook her head.
“We don’t think so,” she said. “This is a bit too violent for the average street hustler. What we’re looking at is something more like they’d get in Appleloosa, dealing with the Cartel.”
The first thing to come to mind was the image of Pie laid out on her back with her head rolling a few feet to the right. Somehow, I didn’t think she’d be amused to hear that vision, and so I kept it to myself. I wanted an interesting case, didn’t I? Looks like I’d get one.
I shoved my hands in my jacket and pushed the door open, exposing my face to the nipping chill of the night. I gave a quick little survey, just to see what I could see. Only thing of note was a unicorn mare slumped against a dumpster across the street. Whether she was passed out from drugs or booze remained to be seen. By someone else, of course. Not my problem.
Pie got out of the car, went around the side, and popped open the trunk. She withdrew a tag-like badge labelled (CASE ADVISOR), which I stuck to my chest, and a gun that I glanced at before refusing.
“You sure?” she asked, lowering the revolver.
“I feel like taking the gun would be signing a contract of sorts,” I said. “I’d like to hold onto whatever’s left of my soul, thanks. Besides, I won't need it to look at a crime scene, now will I?” Pie just sorta shrugged, lowered the brim of her hat down, and led me forward. We slipped through the front door of the complex and up four flights of stairs before we reached our door, 1211. There was one other officer standing guard, and he barely looked up at us. Pie grabbed the knob and pushed open the door, gesturing for me to go in first. I did, and then I realized that I might’ve been a little too vague in my request for a case.
In the middle of the floor, laid back in a pool of blood, was a shockingly bright white Earth pony. His naked body was covered in slashes and cut marks of a uniform depth and in various states of freshness. There was a large stab wound, probably from the killing blow, positioned over his heart. His ears had been removed, leaving behind bloody stubs on top of his head. His eyes were mutilated, so much so that they resembled curdled milk more than eyeballs. Whoever killed him had also sewn his lips together and severed his… His stallion bits, leaving behind a bloody mass on his crotch.
“This isn’t our unsub’s first kill,” I said.
“How do you figure?” asked Pie, stepping in behind me. I reached back for gloves, which she placed in my palm.
“The cuts,” I said, pulling on the blue latex. “They’re too neat. See how they're all the same depth?" I pressed my finger just beneath a wound on his arm. "You only cut like this if you're calm and comfortable, and if you know what you're doing."
"We were thinking that this might be a crime of passion," said Pie. "Given the extremeness of the violence, we thought it could've started over an argument that went south."
"I thought I just said that it was premeditated," I said impatiently. I ran my finger down the wound. "These cuts weren't meant to kill. Look where they are. Just barely away from any major arteries. These cuts were for fun."
"And the eyes?" asked Pie.
"Probably also for fun," I said. Even as I said it, I began to second guess myself. It was part of my process to devise the simplest hypothesis and then internally debate how true it was.
"Do we have a name for our victim?" I asked.
"Currently, he's a John Doe," said Pie. "The only ID on him was his license, and we found it covered in some sort of paint or ink." I nodded and kept looking up and down the body. The unsub had most likely mutilated the eyes first, then worked from the legs up. Unless, of course, the unsub wanted the victim to see it happen,which was a possibility
"I've gotta ask," said Pie. "What's the deal with his... Er... His willy?"
"No clue," I admitted. "I can't reach any conclusion with this little information on the victim. He could've been a rapist, and our unsub killed him for 'justice'. It also could've been to humiliate our John Doe here." I looked over the body one more time before rising to my hooves.
"Well, Officer, I did my job," I said. "You're looking for a sadist with multiple kills under his belt. When you ID our victim, check his record for sexual assault charges, see where that leads."
"Is that all, Detective?" asked Pie. I nodded. "Thanks. You helped us out a lot here. With your help, well catch that evil son of a bitch before you know it."
Evil. That word caught my attention for some reason. I'm glad it did, cause otherwise, a massive clue would've flown right over my head.
"Evil..." I muttered. I glanced at the victim's body one more time, and it all fell together.
"Detective?" said Pie. "Are you-"
"Evil, Pie, evil," I said. She didn't understand, and that was starting to annoy me. "Don't you get it? No ears, no eyes, closed mouth, no penis? It's a symbol."
"A symbol of what?" asked Pie stupidly. Why did everyone else have to be so... So slow? Why couldn't they just keep up?
"Evil, and rescue!" I exclaimed. "Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil, do no evil. The unsub sees the victim as evil, and he's trying to save him!"
"How do you know the killer is a male?" asked Pie, apparently ignoring everything in my speech that was important and not totally obvious.
"Statistics. More males act upon Messiah fantasies than females," I said, although it should've been obvious. "Plus, look at this guy. He's pretty ripped. He's not sitting there and letting some chick rip off his dick."
"Can you help us narrow it down anymore?" asked Pie, crossing her arms. Before she even fully formed the question, my mind went racing.
"Male, between ages 25 and 35," I said. "At least somewhat muscular. You're looking for a guy who lifts after work, not Mr. Universe. Possibly a cop or former cop. He's probably arrogant and boastful. Say one good thing about him and he won't be able to shut his..." My eyes fell on the victim's sewn lips. "Mouth... Pie, I need scissors. Now. Scissors and tweezers." I didn't really expect her to have any on her, and was pleasantly surprised when she produced what I had requested. Pie was annoying, and a bit slow, but I had to say she was at least prepared.
I took the scissors in my right hand and carefully leaned forward. I slipped the blade into a loop in the wire by the corner of the Doe's mouth and severed it. I pinched with the tweezers and pulled it out in one quick tug.
"Evidence bag," I ordered. Pie pulled a little baggie from her pocket and held it open for me. I dropped the wire in and waved her away.
"You think we could use this?" asked Pie. Such a stupid question deserved no answer, which is what I gave it. I was far more concerned with Doe's mouth than the wire. Specifically, I was interested in what may or may not be in it.
I dropped the scissors to the floor and passed the tweezers into my right hand. I gently pried open Doe's lips, and peered into its depths.
"Interesting," I said. "Unsub left the tongue in tact. He had no trouble busting the eyes, but he left the tongue."
"Why would he do that?" asked Pie.
"He wanted to hear his victim clearly," I explained. "To beg, to threaten, maybe even to thank him. Which means the lips came after death." I dug into my jacket for my pocket flashlight and beamed its light down Doe's throat. There seemed to be something there.
"He has some sort of obstruction in his throat," I noted, digging my tweezers into his mouth and pinching the foreign object. I got a good grip and yanked it from our victim.
"It's a piece of paper," I said. "It's rolled up and wrapped in some sort of plastic." I peeled it open and spread it out onto the floor and read the typed text out loud.
"He saw it coming, in the way the damned always do," I read. "Perhaps, when you see the good I'm doing, you'll understand what I said as truth."
"What the hell does that mean?" asked Pie.
"It means that I'm officially dropping this case," I said. "Before I get too involved."
"Detective, you can't do that," said Pie, unaware as to how horribly wrong she was. "We need you now."
"That's too bad. I'm not working for CCPD again," I vowed. "Until you get a new captain, you'll be lucky if I spit in your direction." I got up and went for the door when Pie drew her gun and aimed it at me.
"Put that down before you hurt yourself, Rookie," I said calmly.
"Doctor Twilight Sparkle, you're under arrest for tampering with a crime scene and interfering with a police investigation," she said.
"Better cuff me, then," I said, offering my wrists sarcastically. I was surprised, but not altogether afraid, when she slapped a set of metal handcuffs on my wrists.
I let her lead me out of the apartment building, a small smirk on my face all the while. When we got to the street and her car when I decided I'd had enough.
"You forgot to give me my Miranda Rights," I said. "Which means I don't know that I can stay quiet or that I can be supplied with a lawyer if I can't afford it. Therefore, this case would be thrown the fuck out. That's a rookie mistake, Pie."
"Detective, please don't make me do this," she begged. "You can solve this case."
"And what leads you to believe that?" I asked.
"Cause you already figured out what that note means," said Pie. "Didn't you? Look, I don't know your beef with the captain, but she won't be involved in the case. If you accept it, you'll be working as a special agent, not an officer. Please, Detective. This is my first real case, and I’m way out of my depth."
I sighed and offered my cuffed arms to be unlocked. I rubbed my wrists and ran a hand through my hair.
"I must be crazy," I said. "Fine. I'll find your unsub, but understand this: I get full access to anything I need to do my job. I get files and reports as I need them and without question. And you work for me, not the other way around."
"Understood," said Pie. "Where do you need to go?"
"Isn't it obvious?" I asked. "You read the note, didn't you? We're going to the nearest playground."

Chapter 2

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:

Our unsub has at least three kills under his belt

Unsub is a male

Unsub is extremely violent in regard to his victims

Unsub is probably physically adept

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:

Our unsub has at least three kills under his belt

Unsub is a male Unsub is female

Unsub is extremely violent in regard to his victims

Unsub is probably physically adept

The unsub seems to be targeting Earth ponies

The unsub sees this as a game

Unsub seems excited by the idea of someone who presents a challenge to her

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.

Chapter 3

Pie and I cruised around the apartment complex we found the latest victim (I had since learned his name to be Swiftwind) in search of any suspects. We poked around the inhabited apartments, and found nothing of use. Aparently, as soon as those good people saw anyone that even resembled a police officer, they went blind, deaf, and dumb.

“It’s no use, Detective,” said Pie after having the door slammed in our face for the hundredth time. “Nobody knows anything.”

“I’ve been saying that for years,” I snorted. “Apparently, that makes me a cynical asshole.” Just as we turned to leave, we saw something that might gift us with the suspect we’d been searching for. A few doors down, fiddling and fumbling at her lock, was a unicorn mare. A unicorn mare with a knife in her right hand, both of which were covered in blood.

“You!” called Pie, moving at a decently brisk pace to our suspect. “Hands in the air, now!” The mare, whose mint-green skin, dark blue jeans, and teal blouse were all splattered with blood, turned to face Pie. She tried to play it cool, but I read her like a book. Eyebrows down and pushed together, narrowed lips, and a slight glare of the eyes, all flashing for a fraction of a second: The microexpression for anger.

“Leave me alone,” said the mare, still struggling to get into the apartment. Pie grabbed her right hand, and, as she shook free, I caught a flash of something else. Slightly wrinkled nose, a raised upper lip, combined with a slight squint. It came as quickly as the anger, maybe even quicker, but this was definitely disgust.

“CCPD! Drop the knife, now!” said Pie. “I won’t say it again!” She reached to her hip and grabbed a pair of cuffs, which she slapped onto the unicorn’s wrists. After a bit of wrestling, she managed to pry the knife from the unicorn and slip it into an evidence bag. Then, surprisingly, Pie shoved the mare against the wall, and started to pat her down.

“Hey! Get off me!” shouted the mare. “You can’t do that! You can’t just search me! I have my rights, dammit!”

“Actually, she can,” I said. “The rights you’re referring to protect you from unlawful search and seizure. Based on all that red on you, I’d say she could argue for probable cause.” Pie finished her pat-down, and came out with a wallet, a cell phone, and an ounce of coke.

“Oh, this doesn’t look good for you,” I said. The mare was, understandably, nervous, and very pissed off.

“That’s not mine!” she shouted, as if that line ever worked. “You can’t do this!”

“Look at my face,” I said, pointing to it. “Do I look like I care whose blow this is? You and I, and the pushy-shovey lady, we’re all going to have a nice little chat, and you’re going to have to sit tight and deal with it.” Pie handed me the contraband, which I slipped into another evidence bag. She was about to start walking out when I cleared my throat loudly to remind the idiot of something she should already have known to do.

“What?” asked Pie. She studied my glare for a moment before realization dawned on her. “Oh, right. You!” She tapped the suspect on the side. “Name?”

“My name?” said the mare. “First name’s Howbout, last name’s Fuckyourself. Middle name is You.”

“Her name is Lyra Heartstrings,” I said, after glancing at her ID.

“Lyra Heartstrings, you’re under arrest for drug possesion,” said Pie. “As well as the murders of Scarlet Force, Aiden Aigo, and Swiftwind. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law. Uh…”

“Attorney,” I said impatiently.

“You have the right to an attorney, thank you, Detective,” said Pie. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as they’ve been read to you?” Heartstrings grunted some form of confirmation, which was enough for me to wave Pie forward.

“Time to see what she knows,” I said, following them out. Of course, I would be doing just that. Listening to a suspect is so boring. It’s much more entertaining, and effective, to see another person lie.

Pie booked Heartstrings and put her into an interrogation room, all cuffed and angry for me to interview. Pie led me through the station, and, to my pleasant surprise, I never once ran into Celestia. Not that she could do much of anything to stop me, I’d just rather not deal with her.

“So, are you gonna do the thing?” asked Pie, leaning against the interrogation room’s door. Heartstrings was just on the other side, still in her confinements and still covered in blood.

“What thing?” I asked.

“The super-cool ‘tell when you’re lying’ thing!” she said excitedly. I rolled my eyes, amazed at how she managed to reduce my complex, practiced science to the realms of a party trick.

“Just sit there, shut up, and let me talk,” I ordered. “Don’t talk to her unless I tell you to, got it?” Pie nodded, opened the door, and followed me in. I walked into the grey, soulless interrogation room, which contained nothing more than a steel table, two chairs, and a suspect. Pie stood behind me as I took a seat across from Heartstrings, still cuffed and fuming, and we stared at her for a few seconds before either of us said anything.

“Lyra Heartstrings,” I said. “Or do you prefer Ms. Fuckyourself?” I saw that flash of anger again, solidifying that expression in my head, which was the only purpose of such a smarmy comment. Besides, of course, how entertaining it was.

“Do you know who I am, Ms. Fuckyourself?” I asked. “I don’t imagine you do. Doctor Twilight Sparkle, Private Investigator. I’m here to uncover the truth.”

“What truth? I’ve been telling the truth the whole time,” said Heartstrings. “The coke isn’t mine. I just got back from hunting with my dad up north, and I didn’t have time to clean up.”

“See, she’s not lying about the coke,” I said. “It really doesn’t belong to her. The hunting trip is bullshit, though.”

“It’s not,” said Heartstrings, making far too much eye contact. I sighed, deciding to wear her down.

“In that case, you wouldn’t mind telling me exactly how it went down?” I asked.

“Friday morning my dad called me up to go hunting,” she said. “I drove up there, he has this little cabin a few miles north, I met him there. We didn’t start until Saturday at 11:30. We grabbed our rifles, we went out into the woods, and we grabbed two turkeys that day. Sunday, we went back out, didn’t get anything until 6:30 P.M., when I shot a deer. Me and my pops went to bed early, about 9, and woke up at the crack of dawn. I went out by myself and shot two more deer. The last one didn’t go down easy, and I had to finish it with my knife. I fucked up while cutting, and I got myself coated in blood. I drove home, went to unlock my door, and Officer Pushy arrested me.”

“Hm. Seems believable enough,” I said. For a fraction of a fraction of a second, a smile flashed on her face. “Now, could you tell me that story in reverse order? Start with your arrest and work backwards.”

“Uh… I got arrested. B-before that, I shot two turkeys, and…” struggled Heartstrings. “I-I…”

“Let me stop you there,” I said. “You’re lying. Liars only rehearse their stories in chronological order, which makes it nearly impossible for them to tell it backwards. Another thing, you were making too much eye-contact.”

“I thought people looked away when they lied,” said Pie. And here I was thinking that she actually did read my books.

“Common misconception,” I said. “No, liars tend to make more eye contact, to see if you believe the story.”

Author's Note

No more content exists for this story. It will remain incomplete.

Though, if you're curious as to who the killer was going to be it was going to be Rarity, a unicorn-supremacist who had her hands (specifically, her fingertips) burned after orchestrating a gas fire to kill her abusive earth pony parents as a child.