Chapters Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton
Cane Sugar lowered his sunglasses and leaned his head against the train window. He slid his body deeper into the seat, letting the crossbow strapped to his foreleg shift so it didn't rub into his ribs. His saddlebags still rested on his body. He probably should have taken them off, but he just felt so naked and exposed without them. This was one of the downsides of being an officer for so long—you just become accustomed to wearing them. Honestly, he would sooner have taken off his crossbow. Twenty-seven years of service will do that to you.
Twenty-seven long years of service. All in the same city. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, he had started to lose his focus. He lost sight of what he was doing.... and ended up paying for it. He exhaled slowly, his mind drifting back to the earlier conversation that had put him on this train.
“Cane! Congratulations on catching the Green River Killer!”
Cane didn't even look up from the paperwork he was filling out. “Your name, not mine.”
“...You'd think you'd be happier that you stopped a serial murderer with five mares under his saddle.”
“Yeah.” Cane shrugged. “Well, there'll be another. I'll probably catch him, too.”
“You're a lot... colder than the stories say.”
Cane Sugar shrugged. “Yeah, well, ponies lie.”
“I kindof assumed you would love your job more, you know? Be more personable or something. Especially after how much you accomplished.”
Cane spat out the pen and rolled up the paper. “Assumptions and accomplishments mean nothing.”
“What happened to you? You loved your job, you loved your work, now you're... you're like an animatron or something.”
Cane turned to face the speaker. Had Cane not been wearing his sunglasses, the other pony might have well been burned from the heat of his glare. Even so, he couldn't help but take a step back, and he flinched as Cane spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You're talking about things you know nothing about.”
There was a very tense pause.
“I do my job. Now go do yours.” And with that, Cane ended the conversation, and the other pony scurried away.
“It's a valid question,” a third voice broke in.
Cane replied without lifting his head. “Director Order. I assume you have a new assignment for me?”
Director Order cocked his head. “Didn't you just say something about never trusting assumptions?”
“That's when they're not mine.”
“But you haven't gone off on an assumption for a long time now. It's all facts, evidence, and you're scaring the innocent ponies you're interviewing because you're so... flat.”
“Not as flat as the filly thrown off the Bridle Towers.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop a little. Cane Sugar had referenced the murder that started the case that had started—and cemented—his transformation from a pony who loved his life, into a dull robot going through the motions, and Order had long since learned to tread carefully around this situation. Seven months had passed since Cane had been cleared to return to work, but he had not even begun getting over it. Order cleared his throat nervously. “Cane, you know that you shouldn't...”
“I know.”
“You didn't even know what I was going to say.”
Finally, Cane turned to look at the director. “Would I have listened?” he asked.
That, too, was a valid question, and the answer was likely 'no'. The director sighed. “Well, the higher-ups like your work...”
Cane rolled his eyes and faced his desk again. “I always knew they weren't the sharpest bolts in the quiver.”
Order ignored that. “..and they are thinking of expanding the department of Field Services and Technical Evidence Teams, commonly referred to as Crime Scene Investigation, to other departments.”
Cane might have cracked a smile. Might have. “Oh, good. Will the Royal Guard finally do something besides look shiny and provide a minimal amount of theft deterrent?”
Order took slight offense to that. “The Royal Guard does great work in Canterlot...”
“But we're not in Canterlot. And while murder rates in Canterlot may be zero, they certainly aren't here in Mareami. The Royal Guards here are here to look pretty, scare off pickpockets, and put down riots. That's it.”
And this was why exactly why Order never liked talking to Cane. Not since... that day. His light-heartedness was gone, replaced by cynicism and cold sarcasm.
“All right,” Order said. “I'm just going to go straight to the point.”
Cane Sugar blew out a puff of air. “Thank Celestia.”
“When I said other departments, I didn't mean other departments here." Order slid over the official-looking piece of paper with Cane's orders printed. "They're transferring you.”
Cane took it and began to read.
Order could count on his hooves the number of times Cane Sugar had been shocked into silence. Now made time number four. Cane Sugar removed his sunglasses carefully, staring straight ahead and not meeting Order's eyes. After about thirty seconds of gears turning in his head, Cane spoke again. “Explain.”
“Your orders are to start another Field Services and Technical Evidence Team in Riverton. If the experiment is successful, you may start training teams in all cities.”
“Ah, the thriving metropolis of Riverton... And they expect me to leave my team?”
“Yes, they just requested you. I'm glad we aren't losing all of you. I think Blue is ready to lead, don't you?”
“I don't doubt his skill. I just doubt that I'm needed over there.”
“Well, doubt or not, there are your orders, and they're from the big mare on top, so I guess it's either turn in your badge or start packing. Your train leaves tomorrow morning.”
Cane grumbled an assent and said, “If you throw me a good-bye party, I'll kill you and make it look like an accident.”
So here he was, riding to a smaller town, with the assignment of starting a field services team there. He hoped this would end well.
Actually, on second thought, after what he had done, he didn't deserve anything ending well.
* * *
Upon exiting the train, he soon met his contact—there was only one pony wearing a badge and crossbow waiting on the platform. Cane Sugar sized him up as he stepped off the train. He looked young, but that was possibly because of his short stature. He was just a small-built earth pony with a green coat and a standard cut dirty-yellow mane. He even still had the excitement in his eyes.
“Mr. Cane Sugar?” the colt asked.
“Just Cane is fine,” he replied, bumping the proffered hoof. “You must be Officer Slippery Glide.” The unspoken question hung in the air—how did he get a name like that?
“Yes sir, but I usually go by Slip.” He shrugged apologetically. “My father was a train mechanic. I guess he just really liked lube or something.”
Cane blinked flatly, the various implications of that sentence running through his head.
With a dawning look of horror, Slip also realized that what he had said could be taken in a very wrong way, and tried to verbally backpedal, but only ended up making it more awkward. “Well, I'm not saying he did like it, you know, and even if he did, it's really no concern of mine. Ponies do some strange things, you know, and though everypony's walked in on their parents, you know, I never saw... well, it's not like I was looking or anything, but...”
“Slip?”
The other earth pony looked up sheepishly. “Yes, sir?”
“Put a sock in it.”
Embarrassed, Slip averted his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
Cane Sugar preferred efficiency to flashiness, and so he never owned much. He had only needed one bag for all of his personal effects. Heading back to the luggage car, he found it among a group of other suitcases and dragged it out.
“I can get that for you,” Slip offered.
Cane Sugar turned and gave him a look. Even through the sunglasses, it made Slip wilt slightly. “Or I could... you know... not touch your stuff,” he stammered.
Cane Sugar hooked his rolling suitcase to his saddlebags, looking for all the world like a giant taxi driver pulling a tiny cart. “Much better.”
Cane scanned the city as they traveled. Riverton seemed like a smaller city; much smaller than Mareami, but still fairly large. It was a strange difference. Not the cold, not the lack of humidity, not the abundance of clouds; but the fact that there were foals playing happily and safely outside. Once again, Cane wondered why he was here.
The two officers walked along in silence away from the train station. Silence that reigned for only about two minutes, that is.
“So the rumor is you're here to start a team like you ran back in Marami,” Slip started. “I think that would be a great experience.”
Cane Sugar gave a short, disparaging sigh. “If you want to be good at your job, Rookie, you don't put stock in rumors until the evidence backs it up. Ponies lie. Evidence doesn't.”
Slip pouted slightly. “I'm not a rookie, sir. I've been here near 17 months now.”
Cane Sugar didn't even break stride. “I've been wearing this badge for twenty-seven years, five months. Since that's nineteen times longer than you, I think I'll call you Rookie.”
“But...”
“Unless you'd rather be promoted to 'Gelding'?” Cane Sugar asked flatly, not even moving his head as he spoke to the younger officer.
“N- no, sir,” Slip stammered again.
“Then zip it, Rookie. And if you want to be even considered for my team, you'd better pay more attention to important things, like where you're going.”
Slip cocked his head in confusion... until he stepped in a pothole and tripped, landing flat on his face.
Cane might have smiled. Maybe.
Thoroughly embarrassed, Slip stood up and scampered back along Cane Sugar's side, and was quiet.
For about a minute, anyway.
“Did you do that math in your head?”
Cane nodded, and answered in short, clipped sentences. “Mental math, one of my strong suits. Was also my first indication that baking wasn't for me.”
“Baking, sir?”
Cane answered, with the drawn out, exaggerated patience of a parent who has been forced to answer the same question repeatedly. “My parents' career. How do you think I got a name like Cane Sugar? It's not because I deal drugs sweetly, I can tell you that.”
Slip instinctively looked back to see his cutie mark, but police-issue saddlebags in larger cities often come with a smaller version of the Royal Guards' cloaking spells, and the only thing on his flank was the seal of the police department of Marami—a design of a blindfolded pegasus mare holding scales of justice in her mouth, with the logo tueri et servire emblazoned on a unrolled scroll underneath.
“Admiring my flank, Rookie?”
Slip started. “Wha- No!”
“You like colts, Rookie?”
“No!”
“Then stop staring. And for Celestia's sake, pay attention to where you're going.”
Slip was confused... until he turned and ran into a low-hanging branch, getting a face full of leaves and wood. Instinctively, he raised his crossbow, but only ended up getting it tangled too in the thin branches, and while trying to pull it free with his other hoof, he lost his balance. He fell to the ground amid a shower of leaves, sticks, and dust.
He could only lay there, slightly dazed, as Cane Sugar walked up in front of him, looked down, and smiled a real—albeit slightly patronizing—smile for the first time that day. “You know, I changed my mind. I hope you are on my team, Rookie. I can tell you'll be just oodles of fun.”
Slip smiled sheepishly, unsure if that were a compliment or an insult. “Thank you, sir?”
* * *
“Are you sure you don't want to go to your apartment, sir?”
Cane shook his head. “Rookie, I've been sitting on my haunches all day on a train. It's time to work.”
“All day? But it's only noon,” Slip protested.
“Day started at eight. Chop chop, Rookie.”
Together they walked into the Riverton Police Station. The first thing he noticed was how much smaller it was than his former one. Cane Sugar didn't remove his sunglasses as he entered, and he scanned the office with hooded eyes. As small-town police offices go, there wasn't much going on. It wasn't anyplace special, that's for sure. There were two secretaries and three file-seekers, and apparently they served the whole department. In Mareami, his team had had one secretary and three file-seekers. This place was tiny; so tiny there was just one receiving flame. Cane had heard that some places in Canterlot had actual dragons for sending and receiving messages, but he was pretty sure that was just a rumor.
This, however, brought up that same question as before—why was he here in such a tiny town?
Before he could arrive at a conclusion, he felt a tingling in the back of his neck. An officer who has served as long as Cane had has instincts, honed by years of street experience of being stalked, stared at, and even jumped, that tell him when he is being watched. He quickly turned and got a face full of white.
He had already pulled up and clicked his crossbow and had the firing ring in his mouth before he realized that the white was actually a pony, and that the pony was also wearing a badge. She was a white pegasus with a bright yellow curly mane. Her crossbow was smaller, but still standard issue, except for the little pink ribbon which dangled happily from the top bracer. Since RPD obviously didn't have a large budget, her police saddlebags (which seemed to be stuffed abnormally full) didn't disguise her cutie mark—three purple balloons. She smiled, revealing white teeth even brighter than her coat.
“Hi!”
Cane Sugar cocked his head in confusion. “What are you?” he asked.
If the pegasus noticed his word choice, she didn't comment on it. “I'm Surprise!”
“I bet I'm more surprised.” He lowered his crossbow. “Do you sneak up on everypony who comes in?”
“Nope! Just the new ponies. Here!” And she held out a large cupcake, with a huge mound of frosting on top that seemed to double its size. “Happy welcome to Riverton PD!”
Cane Sugar winced as he fought off the harrowing flashback that the sugary treat threatened to unleash. He pulled a bolt from his saddlebag's quiver with his mouth, and prodded the offering experimentally. “Are there any surprises in there, too?” he asked.
“Besides sugary goodness? Nope!”
Sweet Celestia, did her smile ever go away? Cane Sugar returned the bolt to his quiver, but didn't take the cupcake yet. “How did you manage to pass the final exam at the Academy?”
Surprise wilted slightly at that. Even her mane seemed to flatten slightly. “I'm not sure, really...”
“Uh, sir?” Slip spoke up. “Surprise does a lot of things that don't make sense. If I were you, I'd just take the cupcake and let it go.”
Cane Sugar turned and stared at the younger officer until he quailed under the power of his stare, and then turned back to Surprise, who was still holding out the cupcake expectantly. “So why are you in here instead of out there?”
Surprise shrugged. “I was going to be patrolling, but I got this feeling that something big was gonna happen today, so I made a cupcake just in case!”
Cane Sugar didn't think that this was a logical conclusion, but even with twenty seven years of service, he had not had any similar experience to use as a reference point. Since he did not know what to say to this, he settled for taking the cupcake. “So I'm looking for Chief Burns.”
“Well, you've found him!” Surprise said happily, pointing behind him. Cane turned to see a rather large earth pony sticking his head out of an office.
“So, you're Detective Cane Sugar,” he said.
It almost came out as a growl. Already, this pony brushed his coat the wrong way. Cane looked up blankly. “Depends on who's asking.”
“Me.”
A small smile might have touched Cane's face. “Then yes. But most just call me Cane.”
Burns grunted and gestured with his head to enter the office. Cane nodded farewell to the two other ponies and followed.
As soon as Cane had shut the door, the chief slid a new badge, this one bearing the Riverton seal, over the desk. Cane slowly picked it up and began to remove the Mareami one from his chest plate. From just that one motion, Cane could sense that Burns didn't like him; which theory was only confirmed when Burns spoke. “I'm going to be honest with you. I don't think we need you here, or any CIS team. We've been good so far, our city is safe, and if it wasn't for those orders from up top, you wouldn't be here.”
Ah... honesty was quite refreshing. Cane carefully finished switching out his badge and smiled a small half-smile before replying. “Well, then,” he began, “I'm going to be honest with you . First off, it's Field Services and Technical Evidence Team; but if you must abbreviate it, it's CSI. Furthermore, I don't like you either. Therefore, I think we'll get along just fine.”
Burns gave a grunt as a response.
“So,” Cane continued, gently polishing his new badge, “they said you'd have a team picked out for me.”
“I'm sorry, I never got around to that.” But judging by the slight smirk on his face, Cane knew that that was not the case. “I'll be sure to get you a good team, though. Nothing but the best.”
That, too, was a lie. Cane was not wanted and, in Burns' opinion, was not needed. That was not entirely a foreign feeling for Cane, but he preferred to let his past record and future work speak for him. After all, evidence was the only thing that counted, even in a little (relatively speaking) city like this. So Cane merely nodded and waited.
“What?” Burns finally asked.
Cane put on an innocent face. “Do you have orders for me, chief?”
“Nothing yet. Go unpack or something.”
“Do I have a desk?”
Burns chuckled mirthlessly. “You're still on probation here, you know. Limited office space means no desks for the newbie.”
Cane nodded. “It only makes sense. I'll tell you what—let's make a deal. I get a large desk, after I catch my first murderer.”
Burns smiled. “Agreed. It's not like we have many around here anyway. Until then, you get the floor.”
Suddenly, the room flared green. Both spun around to see the receiving flame's light die down, and a paper flutter slowly to the ground. One unicorn secretary grabbed it and brought it to the office, and knocked lightly on the door (even though she could see clearly what was happening inside). Burns grunted permission (and Cane decided he was going to count the number of times he did), and she opened the door and gently levitated it to the middle of Burns' desk.
Cane let a wide smile spread across his face. “Well, how about that?” With reflexes born of a street officer that had spent too much time in seedy neighborhoods, he snatched it out from under Burns' hoof and flipped it towards himself.
“Murder in the Commons,” Cane read. A sly smile crept across his face. “Hopefully this case will be a walk in the park. ” Picking it up, he rolled the briefing up with his teeth with a smoothness that only came from years of practice, and he turned and trotted out of the office.
“Where do you think you're going?”
Cane didn't even look back. “The Commons, of course. It says 'all available officers respond' and that's me. You want to show me the way?”
“You can't go there,” Burns protested. “You just got here. You're not ready yet.”
“The badge on my chest plate and the crossbow on my foreleg say differently.”
“Well, you... you don't even have a team yet,” Burns stammered.
Cane didn't even slow down his pace. “Looks like I'll be forming my own team.” He strode confidently through the nearly empty office. Without breaking stride, he called the only other two officers in the room. “Rookie, Spaz, on me. We're going to the Commons.”
“What if they have other responsibilities?”
Cane snorted. Burns just didn't know when to shut up, did he? “Murders are always priority one, and they certainly take precedence over... what was your top call last year? Cats in trees?”
This happened to be true (Cane had the annoying habit of knowing more than you wanted him to), and so Burns tried—and failed—to come up with a quick comeback. Slip and Surprise looked from their blustering chief to the still-trotting new pony, and finally at each other with eyebrows raised. One thing was for certain—this was going to be like nothing they had ever done before.
Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton
The unicorn Royal Guard turned and his eyebrow raised as he saw Cane Sugar approach. “I haven't seen you before,” he said.
Cane nodded in greeting. “Detective Cane Sugar,” he introduced himself shortly, “Team Leader of FSTE. Recent transfer from Mareami.” As per protocol, the guard didn't provide his name in return, though the identification number on his chest plate was very visible. Although the armor he wore concealed his identity under the generic gray stallion guise, his mannerisms and stance indicated to Cane that he was most likely in his early twenties, unmarried, and wore his crossbow on his left forehoof.
Cane knelt to look at the body. A rather nondescript blue pegasus lay sprawled on the ground, with a lightning bolt gracing his flank and a crossbow bolt gracing the back of his head. Blood trailed from around the entry site and had puddled on the ground. A half-eaten sandwich lay on the picnic blanket he had been sitting at, along with settings and food for at least one other pony. “So what happened?” Cane asked, not raising his eyes.
Correctly assuming that he was the one being addressed, the Royal Guard answered. “Bad-luck Blue Sky here (1) was having a picnic with his marefriend, got shot from behind. I sent the call as soon as I could, but I was probably here ten minutes after the fact, maybe more.”
“So it's been about twenty-five minutes,” Cane said. This seemed to agree with the size of the blood spread.
“That's his marefriend,” the guard said, jerking his horn over his shoulder. Cane turned to see a very distraught pink pegasus sobbing uncontrollably while hanging on to Slip, who looked very uncomfortable as he tried (unsuccessfully) to comfort her. Cane also noted that Surprise was nowhere to be seen. He returned his attention to the body as the unicorn continued, “Guess they were having a romantic picnic or something and this bolt came out of nowhere.”
“You got anything on him?” Cane asked.
The guard shook his head. “Nothing. This rotation we have only one pegasus guard, and the rumor mill is pretty slow in terms of pegasi.” Royal Guards had the advantage of all looking the same, so they could be swapped in or out at a moment's notice. This had given rise to a system of liberal information sharing among the guardsponies, so that a new guard would not be blindsided by a tradition or city-wide quirk or something that every other guard had learned.
Cane thought that such would be a strange life, but he had heard that the benefits were good. Reaching into his saddlebags, he pulled out a pencil and a piece of enchanted paper, and began to sketch the fallen pegasus's cutie mark, which looked like a thundercloud with a lightning trail surrounding it. After drawing and labeling its colors, he turned to the unicorn. “Could I trouble you for a light?” The overused joke rolled smoothly off Cane's tongue, even though his voice was still flat and level. The unicorn smirked as he lit his horn, lifted the paper, touched the paper, and set it on fire. The guard then pulled a candle out of... wherever they kept their things (Cane was pretty sure that armor had more enchantments on it than a bank vault) and lit it, too, awaiting the reply.
“Until the file-seekers get that back, I'm going to go talk to the mare.”
The guard looked at Slip, who seemed to be having trouble breathing as the mare held on tightly around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. “Better you than me, detective,” he said.
Cane Sugar is many things. Cuddly is not one of those things, and that “don't touch me” aura radiated off of him like heat off the street in the middle of summer.
Still, after a traumatic event like watching your coltfriend suddenly collapse and die, you don't notice this body language; and when Cane walked up to talk to her, she dropped Slip (who mouthed a silent' thank you, sir' to Cane and scampered away) and latched on to the much larger, much more protective-looking pony.
Cane fought back the flashback that flared through his mind at the tight hug, and he responded as comfortingly as he could. “Ma'am? I need to ask you a few questions.”
She answered by sobbing into his chest.
Cane spoke gently. “Let's start with your name.”
“A- Amber Rose.”
“That's a nice name," Cane said, bringing up a hoof to stroke her mane. "Not common for pegasi.”
“M- my father was a florist," she said, her breathing calming slightly. "He was an earth pony, you know.”
“Ah. But you don't have a flower mark.”
Amber gave a slight smile as she shook her head. “I like the air.”
Cane turned back to the fallen colt. “With a mark light that, I think it's safe to say that he did, too.”
“Yeah, Lightning Rod is a cloud pusher. He loves... loved the weather.” This simple statement made her dissolve into sobs again. Cane winced, realizing that that might have been a bit fast. He let her just cry for a while, knowing that at times, that was what was necessary.
“We were going to be engaged!” she wailed when she had calmed enough to speak again. “He even bought me a necklace and everything!”
So that explained the poking in his chest. Cane looked at the engagement necklace with a wary eye. He was no jewelry expert, but he had cracked quite a few forgeries cases in his day, and had a sense for what felt like gold and what didn't. And this definitely felt like real gold.
“Ma'am? I need to examine this a bit more closely. Do you mind...”
“Please don't take it from me!” she screamed, crossing her forearms over it protectively.
“It's only for a moment. I need to know if it's real gold.”
She raised a wary eyebrow. “It is."
"Yes, but I need to document that it is."
"What are you going to do?” she asked.
Cane smiled. “I'm going to put it in water, and see how dense it is.”
“Or, you could ask a unicorn,” the royal guard broke in. “We deal with forgeries all the time. Every guard knows the spell.” Holding it in his magic, he closed his eyes and cast the spell.
As he did, a green flame burst into existence, and a small scroll fluttered to the ground. Cane nodded appreciatively. The file-seekers here were a bit slower than the ones in Mareami, but that was not bad for a small town. He slid the scroll over to Slip, who picked it up and read carefully.
The unicorn stood back up and returned his verdict. "Pure gold.”
“Told you,” Amber said. “I went with him when he bought it.”
“Where did he get it?” Cane asked.
“Gold Dust's shop on fifth. Paid it all in cash, even.”
Cane bit his lip. Every city was different, but cloud pushers were known for not making a lot of money. Not that their duties weren't important; but there were so many pegasi looking for work that wages weren't very high. What was too low for some pegasi was just right for others, and it was a safe bet to assume that every pegasus had worked the clouds at least once in their lives. So for Lightning Rod to pay in cash for such a large necklace... “Interesting,” he said.
“What did you find, boss?” Surprise asked. Cane noticed that she sounded like she was eating something, and he turned to see her enjoying a large green ice cream cone.
Cane blinked in surprise. “Surprise, where did you get that ice cream cone?”
Surprise pointed with a wing. “From the unicorn selling them over there. I'm pretty sure he saw something.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
Surprise took a big bite of her cone before answering. “Because he said he didn't see anything,” she said, spewing little pieces of waffle cone everywhere as she spoke, “but he was lying.”
“I said don't trust assumptions, Surprise,” Cane said flatly.
“Oh, I got normal information, too,” Surprise said, taking a long lick of her ice cream. Slip flinched—had he tried that, he would have had a killer brain freeze. Surprise, on the other hoof, seemed unfazed. “His name is Double Scoop, and that's about it on him. Besides the fact that he was born without front legs and uses magic for everything, there's nothing too special about him. His business license checks out and everything, says he's been doing this for about seven years. He also said he was serving ice cream with his head in the freezer when the shot was fired and that's when he said he saw nothing.”
“We'll check for any record on him when we get back to the office. Please take miss Amber back home.”
Surprise saluted, and took Cane's place as Amber's comforter. She didn't seem ready to fly home just yet, so Surprise just held her and offered her some of her ice cream, which was flatly refused.
Cane turned to Slip. "Anything?"
Slip shook his head. "His name really is Lightning Rod, graduated Riverton High three years ago. Cloud pusher for seven years. Worked through high school. No criminal record, aside from a suspected FWI that got dropped." (2) Slip shrugged. "He seems a good-enough pony to me, sir."
Cane scanned the area. “There are always ponies in a park. Somepony must have seen something.” He turned to the guard. “Can you at least get them doing something besides milling around? We need to take their statements, and I think there are few enough that it would be worth our time to talk to them all.”
The guard nodded, then turned to face the crowd. “Citizens!” he called. He paused as they settled down, and then continued. “I know you are shocked by this event. I mean, I'm a Royal Guard, for Celestia's sake, and I, too, am surprised at this.”
Surprise perked up at the mention of her name, but when she realized that she was not being addressed, she shrugged and continued to stroke Amber's mane.
“But we have here a detective who came all the way from Mareami, along with his team of special scene investigators, and they are here to solve this case and find our murderer.”
“It could have been any one of us!” one mare wailed.
The guard nodded. “It's true. And that's why I'm certain we'll have your unconditional cooperation in this matter. After completing his initial analysis, he, myself, and the others on his team, will come around, asking each of you a few questions. Please try to remember any details, anything at all. Any information will help us in this investigation.” His voice hardened. “Because if there's one thing I know about murderers, it's that they never strike just once.”
A gasp ran through the gathered ponies, and a mare among the crowd fainted.
“We're asking you to stay calm at this time. Please form three lines, so we may get our questions asked, and you good ponies safely at home, as quickly as possible. Thank you.”
As the crowd began to drift into formation, Cane raised an eyebrow appreciatively. “Not bad.”
The unicorn shrugged. “Charisma is a personal talent of mine. It's part of how I got my job.”
Cane laughed darkly. “If I needed charisma, I would still be unemployed.” He circled the body again, paying special attention to the angle of the bolt. Hopping on to the bench, he grabbed one of his own bolts, and positioned it in the same angle. “The angle of the bolt indicates it came from high up. So we're probably looking for a pegasus.”
“Probably?” the guard asked.
“Yes. Now I'll look around to see if I missed anything else, and the rest of you start taking statements, see if anypony saw anything suspicious.”
“You want us to ask about suspicious pegasi?” Slip asked.
Cane facehoofed, and when he spoke, his words dripped with disgust. “If I wanted you to ask about pegasi, I would have said 'pegasi'. But I didn't say 'pegasi'. I said 'anything'.”
Slip protested. “But you said it was a pegasus, sir.”
“Clean your ears out, Rookie; I said 'probably',” Cane said, returning the bolt to its quiver. “Never make assumptions. For all you know, it was an earth pony off the back of a flying moving truck. Now go.”
* * *
Surprise had left and returned during the statement-taking. Slip hadn't even seen her leave. Cane, however, had sensed her coming up behind him, and merely passed her a clipboard--without even looking at her--and continued asking questions.
Eventually, all four regrouped, with the results of the statements.
“Did you get anything?” Cane asked.
Surprise saluted. “Amber is safe at home!”
"Plenty," Slip said, as he looked at his notebook. “Seems like most ponies mentioned a funny cloud, a fast pegasus, and the ice cream pony.”
Surprise nodded. “Fast pegasus, ice cream pony. How weird would it be to not have front legs?” Surprise let out a gasp of horror. “That would be awful! That would be like being born without wings!”
The rest of the group (none of whom had been born with wings) gave her a flat look before moving on.
“Yeah. I'm thinking these ponies aren't so bright,” the Royal Guard said, shooting a look at Surprise. “I got mostly ice cream pony and his magic, and one mention of a colt who could fart the ABCs.”
Cane pulled a wry face. “Same on my end, minus the flatulence. No disturbance, no conflict, just 'he was there, and then he was dead'.” He sighed. “There must be something I've missed. Surprise? Follow up on that funny cloud lead.”
Surprise saluted before taking off.
Slip chewed his lower lip. “How is it possible that nopony saw the shooter?”
The unicorn shrugged. “It's a park,” he noted. “Here, you're in your own zone, with your own group. I can't tell you how many ponies we've snuck up on and apprehended in parks because they get so engrossed in their activities.” He lifted a hoof to his head, remembering one incident in particular. “We found one pony playing horseshoes. He decided to play with my head from close range.” The royal guard paused as something occurred to him. “Can't you tell how far away he shot from depending on how deep the entry wound is?”
Cane shook his head. “I need two points of reference. If I know where he shot from, I know how fast it was going, and can look up which crossbow fires at that speed. If I knew what crossbow he shot, I can calculate how far away he was. With just one point, I can't tell. Maybe he was a hundred feet away with a Big Thunderer. Maybe he was fifteen feet away with a Mini-me training bow.”
The guard smiled. “I remember having one of those. I preferred magical combat, though. Easier to reload.”
Slip unconsciously brushed a hoof against his loading mechanism. Loading crossbows was always a bit complicated. It required using your mouth to cock the lever back, loading in a bolt (which had to be straight and level, or else you might misfire or worse, hit something or somepony you weren't aiming for), and then aiming. Most crossbows went from fetlock to knee, but some larger and more powerful crossbows, like the one Cane wore, went nearly up to the elbow. These larger bows had two stops to shoot from, and firing it required snapping the weapon so that the braces (normally disengaged to allow for bending the leg and walking) locked into a straight sight. Slip was never very quick at reloading, and seeing somepony using a snapping crossbow usually meant that they knew how to use it, and use it well. Briefly, Slip wondered just how fast Cane Sugar was.
“Anyway, I don't think I'll be much help anymore.”
“Leaving already?” Slip asked.
The unicorn shrugged. “I'm a Royal Guard. I'm here to look pretty, act scary, and call you guys when we need detectivey stuff done. I'm trained in riot quelling and beating down the random pony who doesn't know when to shut up, not figuring out who did the beating down.”
Cane smiled. “Finally. Somepony who understands his job.”
Having taken absolutely zero offense to that comment, the guard nodded and left.
“How many of those are here, anyway?” Cane asked, out of curiosity.
“There are fifteen or sixteen, they're always rotating them. We're not too big of a city, but we're pretty close to the forest, so they have a small presence.”
“That makes sense.” Mareami had had a much larger presence. They had also had a much larger police force, and a much higher crime rate.
Surprise landed, eliciting a squeak of fright from Slip (which, in turn, elicited a facehoof from Cane). She saluted. “Nothing to report, boss. Found a couple clouds broken up and out of place, but it was probably some foals playing with them.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
Surprise shrugged. “Light, wispy clouds aren't good for much else. No good for riding, no good for hiding, no good for raining, good for playing cloudfight and throwing at each other.”
Cane accepted this. Being an earth pony, he liked having the earth beneath his hooves. Much of what pegasi did in the sky was a mystery to him, and not one he was inclined to investigate further.
“All right. Now we follow up on any other leads.”
Surprise giggled. “Ooh... I heard that there's this one place on fifth that is selling two-for-one muffins this afternoon! We should totally investigate that.”
Cane turned to Slip. “Where did you guys find her again?” he asked, jerking a hoof at the nutty pegasus.
Slip shrugged. “She's been around as long as I can remember. I think she's just always been here and is never going to leave.”
Cane smirked. “A bit like that one old bit that you keep spending, but somehow it keeps ending up in your pouch, right?”
Slip tried to suppress a very filly-like giggle, while Surprise frowned. “I'm standing right here,” Surprise said flatly.
Cane smirked. “I know. I just don't care. Now how about you go up to Riverton Weather Center and see what you can dig up on Lightning Rod. Talk to his boss, his co-workers, heck, even the janitor.”
Surprise saluted and flew off.
“Now what, sir?” Slip asked.
Cane readjusted his sunglasses and smiled. “Now, we do detectivey things.”
“Like?” Slip prompted.
“Like take the body to the medical examiner and see what turns up.”
Slip cocked his head. “What's that?”
Cane turned and stared at Slip, before realizing that he was in the wrong this time. “Right... Riverton probably doesn't have one. Looks like we're going outside department. What do you do when you want some information about dead ponies?”
Slip shrugged. “Take them to the morgue. That unicorn's been there forever. I don't think there's anything he hasn't seen.”
“Then that's exactly what we're going to do,” Cane said.
“Take the body?” Slip asked.
“Are you volunteering?” Cane gave him a congratulatory slap on his shoulder. “Thanks, Rookie! Go grab a cart while I take one last look around.”
Slip gave a small nod. “Yes, sir.” He shuddered as he turned around. There had been plenty of adventure already today. Meeting the undertaker on top of that was really not something he wanted. Actually, if he had had his way, he would never have stepped hoof in that morgue again. But procedure was procedure, and Cane seemed serious, so he swallowed and headed out.
This was going to be fun...
Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton
The two earth ponies stood outside the Riverton Morgue. Cane noticed that Slip seemed hesitant to enter, and couldn't keep a small smile from playing at one edge of his lips. “I promise you, Rookie, they don't bite in there,” he said.
“Oh, it's not the victims I don't like,” Slip said as he shuffled nervously in the harness.
“Explain, please.”
Slip seemed hesitant to answer, but finally spit out, “Sir, I don't like this guy.”
“Ah... And why not?”
“He's creepy, sir. He talks to the bodies, he's always cracking jokes, I'm pretty sure he's mentally insane and he's just creepy. Also, I think he thinks I'm cute.”
“But you are cute, Rookie. You have a slight build, large eyes in proportion to your face, and you're carrying a weapon that is a bit too large for you. I'm amazed I'm not beating the mares off of you with a stick.”
Slip huffed, slightly offended; but Cane just laughed.
“I'm just messing with you, Rookie. As for your first point, he's probably just trying to keep himself from objectifying them. Sometimes we get so caught up in catching the criminal that we forget the victim was a living, breathing pony with hopes and dreams. I imagine he talks to them to try and keep their legacy alive, if only for a short moment. After all, life is sacred.”
Slip paused as he took this in. “Sir, I think that's the most profound thing I've heard all day.”
“Don't get used to it. And if you call me sir again, so help me I will take your badge and shove it down your throat.”
“Yes, si- ss... sure.” Habits die hard. Slip looked up and giggled nervously.
Cane patted him on the head gently. “You live for now.”
With Cane leading the way, the two entered the morgue. Cane looked around. The place was clean, though not spotless, and there was the overwhelming smell of cleansing alcohol. Slip wrinkled his nose, but Cane was used to it. It was a smaller place, with apparently only one undertaker, but since that undertaker happened to have his name followed by M.D. on the window outside, Cane felt certain he could get the information he desired.
A unicorn secretary, still very young, looked up and was mildly taken aback by the sight of two police ponies and a dead pegasus on a cart. Even so, she smiled and went with a generic, “Can I help you?”
Cane jerked his head towards the body on Slip's cart. “Could use a little help on c. o. d.”
“Looks like he got shot in the head to me,” the secretary said flippantly.
Slip saw the line under Cane's left eye twitch slightly, and he took a subconscious step back. He hadn't seen Cane angry yet, and doubted that he ever would, but that didn't stop him from being scary.
“All right. So did he have any drugs in his system?”
The unicorn cocked her head. “What?”
“And if so, which kinds, and are they prevalent in this area? Perhaps subtle differences indicate that he's visiting from a nearby town. Or are there previous breaks of bones? And if there are, do they indicate accidents, defensive wounds, or gang-related punishments? Are there defensive scars, like from knife fights? Removed tattoos? Blunt force head trauma? Was this a first-time hit, or do bodily bruises indicate they have tried before? What kind of bolt is it? How deep did it penetrate? Where did it penetrate? How soon after impact did he die?”
“I...” the secretary stammered, “I don't really know.”
Cane chewed his upper lip thoughtfully. “You don't know... Well, please go find somepony who does.”
Frowning, she turned and walked into the back of the building. Soon, she returned with a rather fat unicorn, dark blue, wearing a white coat and smiling brightly. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses, and Slip took a slight shuffle-step back.
"Cane Sugar," came the introduction.
“Nice to meet you! I'm the Doctor.”
Cane knew what was coming. “All right. I'll bite. Doctor who?”
“No, Doctor what.”
Cane blinked.
The unicorn sighed. “As the sign on the front should have indicated, my name is Deep Water. Most just call me Dr. What for short.”
Cane digested this. “And you're a doctor who is also an undertaker?”
The unicorn smiled. “Well, certainly not at the same time. Let's just say my life took some interesting turns, eh?”
Cane shrugged. “Very well. What can you tell me about c. o. d.?”
Dr. What leaned in, and studied carefully before lifting his head and responding, “Looks like he got shot in the head to me.”
Slip cast a wary look at Cane, who merely nodded. “All right. So did he have any drugs in his system?”
The unicorn pulled over a pair of what Slip thought looked like little tongs, and began to examine his mouth and nose. “Well, answer the nice pony,” he said, addressing the body. “You a user?”
Slip suddenly found himself wishing for a pair of sunglasses to hide behind as well.
Summoning a pair of tweezers, the unicorn nonchalantly removed and examined a booger from the dead pony's nose, prompting Slip to shudder in horror. A little more prodding, and he looked up. “If he did use, he just started again, because what damage is here isn't recent. I see no recent traces of powder. I'd need to run a hair sample, but I'd say he's been clean for a while.”
“What kinds do you usually see around here?” Cane asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Around here it's mostly the powder stuff. Our stuff is a little stronger than the surrounding cities, so our OD-ers usually have scarring of the septum. Very sensitive piece of skin, that.” He addressed the body again. “But you were trying to clean yourself up, weren't you?”
“Broken bones? Defensive wounds? Head trauma?”
“Before the x-rays? You're a pushy one!” The doctor wagged his hoof in scolding, as if Detective Cane were being an over-eager foal. “Come along, then," he said to the body. "Be back in a jiffy!” And he quickly unhitched Slip from the cart and gleefully wheeled it through the double doors into the back.
Slip, Cane, and the receptionist stared at each other. None of them were entirely sure what had just happened, and none were sure what to say.
“Well,” Cane finally broke the silence. “He sure loves his job.”
The unicorn stuck his head out of the doors to reply. “More than life itself!” He grinned impishly before pulling his head back inside.
Cane was starting to see why Slip was so creeped out by this unicorn.
“That's not normal, is it?” the secretary asked fearfully, her face clearly reading 'what did I get myself in to?'. “This is only my first day.”
“Hopefully you stick around longer than my last receptionist.” Dr. What came back out with a bolt in his hoof. “This is the bolt. It caused some major damage to the frontal lobes and passed through the hippocampus. The guy was dead before he knew it.”
Slip looked at the bolt. “That's a G series with a barbed tip.”
“You know where to get these?” Cane asked.”
Slip smiled. “I know where to start.”
* * *
“Welcome t' Everything 'Bout Bows. Owner and proprietor Keen Eye. How can I help you?”
Slip made a mental note that were he ever to retire from the force and take up business, he too would address himself as 'proprietor'. Something about that word just sounded good.
Cane extended a hoof in greeting. “Detective Cane Sugar, with the Mareami PD.”
“You're a long way from home,” Keen Eye noted as he bumped the proffered hoof.
“I'm part of a special task force,” Cane answered smoothly. “I go many places, but technically-” and here he gestured to his flank, where the Mareami PD seal gleamed proudly, “-I'm still a member of Mareami PD.” He shifted conversation topics easily. “With a name like Keen Eye, you're a natural for crossbows and such.”
“Of course. Anything that has to do with 'em—you want it, I got it; or I know how to get it.”
“What do you know about this crossbow?” Cane asked, hefting his own on the counter.
The shopkeeper's eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “You don't see many of these around anymore. It's a shame, too. Locking action, large bolt, double stop, this is one nice crossbow. The style looks at least twenty-five years old, but it's in excellent—dang near pristine—condition. It's a little heavier than they make now-a-days, a real solid weapon.”
“And bolts?”
“The double stop means you can either fire 24s or 60s. The only downside is you can't shoot 40s, like most of the modern single stops do. If you're ok with sacrificing some accuracy, you could probably go up to a 26, but I wouldn't load anything bigger than a 62."
“And what of barbed bolts?”
Keen Eye gestured to a pallet of bolts. “Yeah, I make 'em in 60s, but nothing smaller than a 40. You looking for protection or target practice?”
“Something a little more drastic. See, there was a murder this morning, and the killer used a barbed bolt.” Cane pulled out the wrapped bolt from his saddlebag and set it on the counter. “Look familiar?”
Keen Eye barely had to look at it before rendering a verdict. “Yeah, it's a G series 42. I sell a ton of these. They fit most smaller and tournament bows, like that one.” He gestured at Slip's crossbow, and Slip nodded to confirm his words. Keen Eye continued, “They're popular with shooting ranges because the barb will stick to a hard target better than a normal bolt. Otherwise, they gotta use a softer target and replace it more often.”
“Do you know who bought them?”
The shopkeeper pulled out his records book and tossed it on the counter. “In the last month alone, I've moved at least three hundred G series 42s, not counting the others. I sell 'em by packs of five, ten, and fifty. They could be anywhere with anypony.”
“You'd think such a dangerous item would be categorized differently,” Cane remarked.
The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. “This close to the forest? With animals comin' out every so often? Every pony here either has a crossbow or knows somepony who does, and it ain't always for practice at shooting ranges. It's for protection.”
“And apparently murder. Thank you,” Cane said, and turned to leave.
“I don't suppose you'd consider selling that weapon,” Keen Eye asked quickly.
A ghost of a smile may have crossed Cane's face. “Never.”
As the two left, Slip realized something. “You said Mareami. You forgot you were in Riverton, didn't you, sir?” he asked, a playful smile on his face.
Cane didn't even break stride. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
* * *
Burns growled as he caught sight of Cane and Slip in the office. That probably wouldn't be a problem in and of itself, but Cane was laying on the ground playing with a marble, and Slip was very sheepishly playing with a spinning top. “What are you doing back here?”
Still in his position laying flat on the ground, Cane rolled a marble in between his outstretched legs. “Thinking. Regrouping. Waiting for a break to come.”
At that moment, Surprise walked in. She looked at Cane and shook her head. “They didn't have much,” she said. “He'd been working as a cloud pusher while still in high school. He had many infractions for showing up late, but he got his work done so they usually let it slide. His boss was shocked when she heard the news.”
“How do you know she wasn't lying?” Burns demanded.
In response, Surprise flared her wings. “We're pegasi. We speak and listen with more than just words.” She shook her head condescendingly. “You should know that!” She turned back to Cane. “She couldn't think of anypony who would want him dead. And when I talked to some of his co-workers in the break room, they said he was engaged and didn't want to do anything stupid. He was even turning down some of the more dangerous jobs, like managing lightning. And the janitor said he wasn't mean or anything.” Surprise shrugged. “Maybe it was a random fly-by shooting?”
Cane shook his head without losing a beat with the marble. “It was a hit. The morgue ponies took the bolt out and I got a good look at it. It was barbed. Somepony was shooting to kill. If they wanted to scare ponies and kill randomly, there were foals everywhere that would have sent a bigger message. I say we keep digging into his life.”
“And that's why you're laying on the ground with a marble?” Burns snarked.
Cane made a noncommittal grunt. “Sometimes you think of things, when you're not thinking of things. There's a bouncy ball in the back left pocket of the suitcase if you want it, Surprise.”
Surprise gleefully pulled out the red ball and began bouncing it off the walls with her wings (much to the surprise and horror of the secretaries).
Burns rolled his eyes. “Now I'm no CIS, but do you really think the answer's just gonna waltz in that door?”
As if on cue, a pegasus pony walked in, holding a camera and a folder.
“First off, it's abbreviated 'CSI', and secondly, stranger things have happened,” Cane said, rising to meet the visitor. He met him with outstretched hoof. “Detective Cane Sugar,” he introduced himself.
The pegasus returned the gesture. “Flash Bulb. Freelance photographer, but today I'm a father who got lucky.”
Tactfully ignoring the possible connotations of that sentence, Cane nodded. “I assume you have something for me?”
“That I do." He set the folder on the desk. “I developed some pictures from earlier today, and I found something in the background of one that might help.” He slid the picture out, and Cane lifted off his glasses to get a better look. In the edge of one of the pictures, above the smiling family (well, the colt was pulling his sister's mane and her face was screwed up with rage, but isn't that normal for a family portrait, anyway?), there was the hindquarters of a cyan pegasus, with a rainbow trail leading behind her. It was blurry, but the color was clear. There was even a slight hint of what her cutie mark could be—three colors under a cloud.
“You said anything suspicious, and this called my attention.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bulb. We'll return the picture at the conclusion of our investigation.”
“Keep it,” Flash offered. “I kept the negative.”
As he left, Surprise (in the air) and Slip (on the ground) looked at it carefully. Surprise dropped to the ground in surprise. “Rainbow Dash?”
Cane lifted an eyebrow. “You know this mare?”
“Well, more like she's an urban legend among us pegasi. She pulled off a sonic rainboom at the Best Young Fliers competition a few years ago.”
Her companions stared at her blankly.
Surprise thought for a moment. “Uh... I think the earth pony equivalent is a mountain mover?”
Slip nodded in understanding, and Cane blinked impassively. “Ok. So what can you tell us about Rainbow?”
“She's fast. They say she lives in Ponyville, which is a little town on the other end of the Everfree.”
“And how far away is that?” Cane asked. Geography was never his strong point. Mental math? Yes. Lie detecting? Better than most. But geography had always evaded him.
Surprise tapped a hoof thoughtfully. “Well, far enough that unless she really likes night flying, she'll be staying here tonight. It's such a small town that the train only goes there like three times a week.” She examined the picture again. “And if she's flying that fast, she's going to be tired tonight.”
“How do you know she's still here?” Slip asked. “Maybe she skipped town already. Look how fast she was going.” He paused. “How fast was she going?”
He wasn't really expecting an answer, but Cane provided anyway. “Judging by how far her shockwaves are moving the pine trees, I would guess she's pushing 95 miles an hour.”
Slip stared. Cane shrugged. “Don't ask a question unless you want an answer, Rookie. So even if she went at a quarter that speed, in these two hours, she could be anywhere in a sixty mile radius.”
“Oh, I doubt it. She's probably still here. Pegasi just like to fly around fast sometimes. I mean, don't you?”
She said this with such a straight face that Slip had trouble deciding if she was serious or not. Fortunately, Cane's mind was much more linear. “Then unless she's staying with a friend, we've narrowed her location. Show me where the hotels are. They're usually all in one row, right?”
Slip nodded. “Competition breeds success,” he said.
Cane put his sunglasses back on. “And cheap rooms breed something else entirely. Let's go.”
Author's Note
I apologize for the doctor's introduction. Try reading it when sleep-deprived; it's a lot funnier then.
Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton
“Report,” Cane commanded.
Surprise shrugged. “Nothing. They let me check their books myself and everything. No cyan pegasuses, and certainly no lightning cutie mark.”
Cane decided to ignore her grammar error (but seriously? Misconjugating the name of your own race?) and looked at Slip, who wore a sheepish expression. “I got three of four, sir," he confessed.
“Explain.”
Although it was not said harshly, Slip still flinched. “She refused to let me see the book without a warrant, and since I wasn't a paying guest, didn't let me in the back.”
Cane stared impassively.
“I told her it wasn't over yet, though,” Slip said, trying to save some face.
“Confidence, Rookie. You need to exude it.”
Slip hung his head. “Sorry, sir. I guess I'm more of a thinker than an enforcer,” he said.
Cane patted him on the head. “You're young. You still have time to grow. Now, which hotel was it?”
* * *
The mare at the desk popped her gum obnoxiously. (1) “Like I told Mini-me over there, unless you got a warrant or you're paying for a night, you gotta bounce.”
Cane's voice was flat, but laced with scorn. “I'll thank you to show some respect for the officers of the law that make it safe for you to walk home at night. Now, we're investigating a murder. Do you, or do you not, have a mare known as Rainbow Dash with this cutie mark staying here?”
“Couldn't say.”
Cane nodded. “Very well.” He turned back to his team. “Surprise? Take the main entrance. Slip, you take the east side. Load your weapons and stay alert.”
As the two other officers obeyed, the receptionist protested. “You can't just stay here with your crossbows loaded!”
Cane nodded. “You are perfectly correct. We can't be here, what with it being private property and us without a warrant. However, they are quite within our bounds standing outside on the sidewalk; which, as I'm sure you know, is public property. And we can't let a murderer out of our reach, can we? That wouldn't do at all. So my team is going to watch the exits, and I'm going to go get a warrant. Hopefully the judge is still at the courthouse." Concern entered his voice. "I'd hate to traumatize your guests by the prolonged presence of armed police officers. That really would be bad for business, wouldn't it?”
The receptionist looked around. She could see ponies pointing and whispering, and caught some of the conversations.
“Lookit his bags, he's from Mareami...”
“Mareami? That place is full of criminals! Maybe one's hiding up here!”
“Three officers? What happened here?”
“I don't know if I should feel safe or scared.”
“This is kindof freaking me out....”
She looked back to Cane, who dragged his hoof absentmindedly along the desk. The resulting scraping noise revealed that he was wearing a metal ponyshoe. “And I feel I should warn you: police are not held responsible for any damage incurred while fulfilling the terms of a warrant.”
“Fine!” the receptionist hissed. “Room 304!”
Cane jerked his head, calling his team back. “Thank you. You have been most helpful.”
* * *
Slip rapped on the door. “RPD! Rainbow Dash, open up!”
There was no response.
Cane loaded his weapon with a satisfying 'click'. “Slip? Kick it in on my count.”
“Or we could use this handy key,” Surprise suggested, holding up a key with a wing.
Cane raised an eyebrow. “Surprise? Where did you get that key?”
She shrugged.
Cane turned to Slip. “Do I want to ask?”
Slip's response came instantly. “No, sir. Not if you value your sanity.”
Opening locked doors was always a bit of a task for any non-unicorn, but Cane had had much practice and the lock soon yielded. On Cane's nod, the three rushed in... nearly tripping over a cyan pegasus, sprawled on the ground. The cutie mark made it clear that this was their target, and the reports hadn't been exaggerated; she really did have a rainbow-colored mane.
“Clear!” Surprise yelled.
“Well, we found her, sir,” Slip said, looking down at the prone pegasus. She lay on the ground with legs splayed everywhere and a wing trapped under her body. Her prismatic mane actually might have looked nice, were it not splayed haphazardly across her face. All in all, she didn't look comfortable.
“She's not dead, is she?” Surprise asked hesitantly.
Cane nudged Rainbow Dash with a hoof. “No. Judging by the smell, I'd say she's just passed out drunk.”
“Drunk already?” Slip was surprised. “It's not even six thirty!”
Surprise shrugged. “Some ponies just can't hold their liquor.”
“A common concern,” Cane observed drily. “Slip? A cup of water, if you please.”
Slip entered the bathroom, and returned with the requested item. Unceremoniously, Cane poured it on the pegasus's head. She came to painfully, groaning and pushing away at him with her hooves. Or, at least, she was attempting to. It looked more like she was attempting to lazily wave off a fly. Eventually, though, she managed to sit up, and painfully held her head in her hooves.
“Go 'way,” she whined.
“Good morning, Rainbow Dash!” Cane said forcefully and a bit louder than necessary.
Rainbow Dash groaned and held out a hoof. “Stop talking so loud,” she slurred.
“I'm speaking in a normal tone of voice,” Cane lied. Surprise couldn't hold in a chuckle, which elicited another pained protest from the cyan pegasus. “We're from Riverton PD, and we're just here to ask you a few questions. Then we'll let you get back to sleep.”
“Not so loud...” she protested.
“I'm being very quiet, miss Dash. You just appear to be hung over.” He paused, as if remembering something. “I do have some zebra hangover cure that I carry with me for emergencies. Would you like to try that?”
Rainbow nodded blearily.
“Do you consent to this treatment?”
Rainbow Dash didn't say anything, but she did groan pitifully and make a “gimmie” motion with her hoof, which Cane took for permission. He pulled a syringe from his saddlebag, uncapped it, and, after tapping it to ensure there were no air bubbles, injected it into Rainbow Dash.
“Now,” Cane said, “In about ten or minutes, depending on your metabolism, you're going to...”
But at this point, Rainbow's eyes widened in horror, and she sprinted to the bathroom and locked the door. The bystanders could hear various noises, most prominent being the sounds of flowing liquid and small screams of pain.
“Sir? What did you do to her?” Slip asked, raising a hoof nervously.
“Zebra cleansing cure,” Cane replied. “Clears the alcohol right out. It's a bit painful, but very effective.”
“Where do you even get that?” Surprise asked, obviously intrigued.
“I had a zebra on my last team. Colt could mix up just about anything. Great pony, once you got over the constant rhyming.” He gave a slight snort of laughter as one particular memory came back, when the zebra had taken a shot to the leg. Cane had never heard so many swear words used so creatively.
“For a cure, it's a bit... loud,” Slip commented.
“But effective,” Cane repeated. “Hey. The alcohol's gotta come out somehow.”
Slip blinked, but then realized the implications of that simple sentence. He tucked his tail under himself protectively, feeling a bit of the sympathy burn.
About three minutes later, Rainbow Dash staggered out of the bathroom. Her back legs moved stiffly, and she was gasping in pain. “What was that?” she demanded.
“Zebra hangover cure. It hurts, but hey—no headache.”
“Next time, I'll just have the hangover,” she muttered, gingerly touching her still-burning marehood as if to reassure herself that it was still there.
Surprise always looked on the bright side of things. “Hey, it's not so bad. At least now you can go drinking again!”
Rainbow Dash turned to glare at the speaker, but suddenly her eyes widened, and she cocked her head in confusion. “Pinkie Pie?” she asked.
The white pegasus shook her head. “No, silly, I'm Surprise.”
“So am I.”
Surprise leaned in close to Rainbow Dash and squinted. “I thought you were Rainbow Dash,” she said accusingly.
“No, I am, but I... ugh..." Rainbow Dash shook her head. "Never mind. You just look a lot like one of my friends from back home.”
“I don't think we're friends... but we could be!” Surprise smiled broadly. Then she frowned. "Unless you really did kill Lightning Rod. Then I'm gonna arrest you."
“Ok, that's just creepy,” Rainbow muttered, before turning back to Cane. “So, since you're obviously the brains of this bunch, what was worth interrupting my nap for?”
Cane jumped that grammar error too and began. “We're investigating a murder...”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Rainbow Dash took an unsteady step back, holding up a hoof in protest. “I've pulled plenty of pranks, but I would never kill somepony!”
“That's what they all say,” Slip muttered darkly.
“Yeah, but I mean it! A criminal record bars you from applying for the Wonderbolts! And that's been my dream forever!”
“Forever?” Surprise asked.
“Forever ever!”
“Forever ever ever?”
“Forever ever ever ev-” Rainbow Dash blinked, and then turned back to Cane. “Ok, she's really creeping me out here. Can she leave?”
“We'll all leave shortly,” Cane promised. “Where were you earlier today, around four pm?”
“At the bar downstairs,” she said. “I was there all afternoon.”
“Can anypony confirm your story?”
Rainbow Dash just smirked.
* * *
“Did I see her?” The unicorn bartender rolled his eyes as he cleaned another of a long row of glasses. His martini cutie mark gleamed in the dull light. “Who didn't see her? Yeah, she was here couple hours ago. She an' a buncha others was here. They came right after their convention, so prolly around three or so they showed up.”
“Convention?” Cane asked.
The bartender smirked as he set down the first glass and picked up another. “You new here or sommat? They were havin' another one of them annual weather conventions. New techniques and such. Our town's famous for that big river, see, and they do their weather drills there usin' water from our river. Makes the fishin' bad for a couple weeks, but all them visitors is great for our economy.”
Cane turned to Surprise, who nodded to confirm what the bartender said. “Every weather team trains with our river. Best and largest source of fresh water for about fifteen leagues.”
Cane nodded and turned back to the bartender. “What else do you remember?”
The bartender made a noncommittal noise. “She was drinkin' mostly filly stuff, but bragging like she was drunk.” He raised his voice in imitation. “ 'Ooh, lookit me, I'm the fastest pegasus in Equestria. I'm going to join the Wonderbolts. Save my autograph, it'll be worth big bits someday!'” He rolled his eyes again as he picked up another glass. “So, of course, somepony called her out on it, and she took one of my coasters and flew out to get a visitor's timestamp at Canterlot Castle.”
Cane nodded. Getting a timestamp as proof of visitation was one of the things every tourist did when visiting Canterlot castle. “That far, eh?” Cane's best subject was definitely not geography, but even he knew that that was an impressive run. “How long did it take?”
“Don't remember exactly, but I do remember she came back faster'n I expected. Passed it around, they decided it was real, and then everypony was buying her drinks.” He let out a small chuckle. “Good fer business, bad fer her. And I thought she was bad sober... Not ten minutes later I had to cut 'er off and have Boomer over there escort her back to her room.”
The large earth pony bouncer gave a small smirk. Cane regarded him with interest, but showed no fear. Eventually, he returned his attention to the bartender. “Interesting... and is the coaster in question still here?”
The bartender jerked his head towards one end of the bar. “Still sittin' over there, I think.”
Cane nodded. “Thank you for your time.” And with that, Cane turned to go.
Slip, however, had another question. He had been examining the menu. “I recognize most of these, but what's an underground gargleblaster?”
Cane personally didn't care for alcohol, and didn't know much about drinks in general. But the slight chuckle from Boomer and the slight gasp from Surprise gave him more than enough cause to deem that 'a bad question'. “Slip, I don't think...”
But the bartender, with a huge smile on his face, had already begun to mix. “You've never had one? Well, take this little sample on the house. Anythin' t' show our appreciation fer Riverton's Finest.”
“Gee, thanks!” Slip said happily, accepting the drink and taking a long sip.
* * *
“He can't have anything more in his stomach,” Surprise said, her eyes wide in disbelief. “He just can't.”
“That's what I thought three and a half minutes ago,” Cane said, staring impassively at the bathroom door, “but it sounds like he's still going strong.”
Sure enough, Slip's misery was still readily apparent. At least, the noises were.
Surprise looked at him. “You're good with time.”
Cane shrugged. “I'm good with mental math. It's helped me out a few times. Like right now—I've eliminated Rainbow Dash from our list of suspects.”
“Yeah?” Surprise asked.
Cane nodded. “The timestamp is legitimate. The visitor's center at Canterlot Castle uses a special gold alloy in their ink that makes it shimmer like Celestia's sun, so you know it's a real souvenir.” Cane muttered something that sounded like 'tourist trap' before continuing, “The time stamped was the same time we got the call; which, according to the guard, was about ten minutes from the actual time of death. That means that unless she shot him and got to Canterlot in seven or eight minutes, which would require a top speed of around 300 miles an hour, not counting times for standing in line or slowing down for air traffic, or had pre-planned this with another partner who could also fly in excess of 168 miles an hour, or a high-mage level unicorn with advanced teleportation abilities, she didn't do it. And I doubt the last two would ever happen. She didn't seem like the organized type to me.”
Surprise nodded. “Because she was drunk before seven?”
“And by the state of her room. Papers on her desk from the convention were all out of order and most had more doodles than notes, and her bed was unmade from the night before, that sort of thing.”
“Wow,” Surprise breathed. “You're smart.”
“I try,” Cane said shortly.
“So now what?”
“Now? We wait until Rookie stops trying to puke his guts out. Then, we mock him mercilessly for getting drunk off of a sip of one drink. Then, we go back to the park and see if we can figure out what I missed.”
* * *
Cane rested his head against the tree in defeat. “It has been forty five minutes. It will be dark in ten. And I still can't find anything.”
“How about a broken crossbow?” Surprise asked. “Could be the murder weapon.”
Cane exhaled slowly. “And where, oh wise one, would I find such an object?”
“Right above you in that tree.”
Cane looked up, and sure enough, there were pieces of a crossbow. There was no legbrace part of it, but the bow itself dangled from its string, looped around a branch.
“Surprise, you're a genius.”
“No I'm not. I'm a police officer!”
Cane decided not to answer that. “Just go get it.”
Surprise pulled a clean cloth out from her saddlebags with her mouth so as not to contaminate the evidence, and flew up to retrieve it. She laid it on the ground, and the three gathered around.
“What do you see?” Cane asked.
“Probably an earth pony,” Slip guessed. “I recognize this model of crossbow. It's a training bow, so it's relatively cheap, but designed for taking a beating. Whoever broke it was pretty strong.” He paused, as if about to say more.
“But?” Cane prompted.
“It's not very accurate,” Slip continued. “Let me rephrase that—this model is notoriously inaccurate. So whoever did it had to be close.”
Cane nodded. “Good. Except for one thing.” He leaned in close. “Surprise? Grab me a stick from the tree.”
If Surprise found this a strange request, she didn't show it. She quickly brought one down. Cane held it up with one hoof, and stamped on it with the other, snapping it in half. He then picked one piece up in his mouth, and held it to the edge of the broken bow.
“Hee the diff-enth?” Cane asked around the stick.
“Yeah,” Surprise said. “That edge isn't all jaggedy like your stick; it's much smoother.”
“So either they are the strongest pony this side of the ocean, or they used a saw. How did nopony notice a pony carrying a saw?”
“I don't know,” Surprise said.
“It was a rhetorical question.” Cane sighed, both in exhaustion and in frustration when he realized that it was dark. “A better question that I do want an answer to is, why aren't there saliva trails on it?" He exhaled deeply. "This doesn't add up, but I don't think we're getting any further tonight. Go home, you two, and sleep on this. I'll see you in the morning.”
“Tomorrow's Saturday, right?” Surprise asked.
“Yes, why?”
“Because we get to come to work later on Saturdays,” Surprise said.
Cane turned to look at her. Even in the dark, she could feel the power of his glare. “But you work for me now. And I say come in regular time.”
Surprise gulped. “Sir, yes sir,” she said.
Author's Note
1) Now, I'm religious; and while I think that there is a time and a place for sharing beliefs, I firmly believe that FimFiction.net is not that place. Even so, I have to say that I also firmly believe that there is a SPECIAL circle of hell for those who do this.