The Ripper - The Trottingham Murders

Three full days had passed since the first of the murders occurred and I was going mad. I watched the chimneys on the rooftops as they billowed their smoke into the air adding to the already dense clouds which blocked the moon’s rays. The winter chill called for a lit fireplace and the smoke made it hard for the pegasi to clear the sky, so it was not unusual to find the town blanketed in complete darkness several nights at a time. I had heard of Trottingham’s gloomy weather when I first arrived but it still surprised me how shifty the winds were; even after 5 years I still felt as though I was nothing more than an outcast in the city I looked after. I unscrewed the cap from my flask and took a hot gulp of coffee and I relished it’s what as it traveled down my throat. After putting the tube back into my saddlebag I replaced it with a cigar and held it up to the fire from the lantern at my side to light it. I brought it to my lips and inhaled, drawing the smoke into my lungs and feeling the burn of the tobacco as I exhaled in disgust.

“I hate these things.” I said as I spat to rid myself of the taste.

I kept the cigar in my mouth as I sat patiently on the rooftop of my apartment building waiting. It was foolish to quell my own fears by starving myself of sleep and watching over my lonely avenue but it was all psychological. I wanted to put myself at ease the only way I knew how. I felt an obligation to the city to do my best in finding the killer but it was becoming apparent that not only was I the only one who was competent enough to do the task but I was also the only one who wanted to so.

“So a broad or two gets offed, and you want to play hero all of a sudden?” The Commissioner's voice rang through my head like an echo that just wouldn’t leave.

“Not just two, boss. The guy who was with me told me that there were three ponies who disappeared before Dewdrop’s death, only a few days apart. I went to talk to Madame Dolce herself and she told me that today’s murder was definitely somehow connected. Even her boys are getting antsy.” I told him matter-of-factly.

“It’s a coincidence.” He grumbled.

“Then what do you call today’s murder?” I asked him impatiently.

“Business as usual.”

I had learned to resent that phrase. It was the one that was most often used by the Commissioner to describe the goings-on we encountered on a day to day basis. Looking down on the street below me I thought of just how many thugs I had come in contact with and how many of them had been put behind bars thanks to me. I began to reminisce about my first year on the job as a junior investigator and how my mentor, Detective Specs, would go around talking about how me and him would one day clean up the city for good. Unfortunately, he never saw any of my future promotions since he died after a botched raid on one of Madame Dolce’s own brothels. I shook my head clear of the lingering memories and took another drag from the cigar. Over time I began to realize how great an influence crime had on the city and as I became desensitized I still felt as though there was something that could be done.

As I gazed upwards looking for the non existent moon I felt my body shudder under the force of my tired yawn. It was growing incredibly late and this would mark my third doing this late-night vigilante work which was taking a toll on my body and mind. Still, I needed to persevere so I fished around my bag and retrieved a copy of the day’s autopsy report to keep me occupied. I mentally thanked Dr. Splint for sending me so many copies so I could burn them later for stress relief.

“Victim was found at approximately 3:00 in the morning in an alleyway off the corner of Pine and Trough St.” The paper read.

That much was true. I was woken by the sound of heavy pounding at my door and I knew exactly what it was before I even arrived. As I walked through the archway and into the back alley formed by the crowded housing, I almost slipped into a fit of fury as I gazed at the body on the ground.

“The victim was originally found at the site, prostrate and upright, with several marks on her face and torso indicative of cuts with a sharp utensil. Her clothing had been removed and cast aside, probably after her death. Wounds are indicative of slashes, with 4 cuts around the mouth, 2 deep horizontal cuts to the neck, and a single horizontal cut across the upper chest.”

I remembered looking at the horribly mangled body on the stone and in those short moments I felt like a failure. I was good for nothing more than serving the purpose of another spectator watching his world slip under his grasp. I couldn’t help her, or anybody for that matter.

“The body was shown to have suffered extensive blunt force trauma in several areas of the body with a tell-tale bruising of the right foremost hoof.”

This was not the work of a person with a purpose, or a conscience, or a heart. This was the work of a monster. A monster I had failed to so much as find.

“Autopsy reveals that the heart of the victim was removed. No other organs had been lost or taken from the body.”

And the most damning thing of all was that this very monster that stalks the streets I’m sworn to protect has not had his fill. Perhaps it was a sign directed towards some of the owners of the houses of ill repute. These women do what they must in order to survive, but also represent one of the many illnesses that plague the city. This monster could be nothing more than the surgeon dedicated to slowly removing the cancerous infection, but I feared that this was not the case I was afraid. The only message that was being spread was that of fear. We were meant to fear this “thing” and it was not going to stop until the entire city was under it’s cold grasp.

I let loose a large yawn and shivered as an exceptionally cool breeze pushed past my wool coat as I brought myself to my senses and stuffed the report back into my bag. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and as I looked at the little oil left in my lantern I decided that it was finally time for me to call it a night, or morning as it was more appropriate. It was a labor in patience and self discipline to stay awake at such an unholy hour but it wasn’t anything I didn’t do as a cadet on the force. I drove the cigar into the tiling and stowed by belongings away as I floated the lantern towards the hatch on the oddly slanted roof of my building. I ducked through the hatch and shut it tight making sure that none of the heat from inside my room could escape. The top-most room of the small vertical building served as my personal quarters where my bed and most importantly, my fireplace, was located. It had been some time ago that I bought the entire building from it’s original owner and I had since converted it into my personal headquarters as a means of mixing my life with the dying love of my career.

Morning came and I woke to the sound of my alarm clock as the dull yellowed light filtered through the filthy windows of my room. My mind was bleary and I stared at the ringing clock before knocking it to the ground and mustering the will power to rise from the magnetic pull of my warm sofa. With the hardest part of the day over with I went over my daily ritual of rushing through the various rooms of my home in order to get ready for the long day ahead. Shower on the second floor, back to my quarters to get dressed, back to the second floor towards the ‘armory’ and office, and then out the first floor door for some quick breakfast. I made a mad dash for the door and I swung it open prepared to tackle the day ahead, almost tackling an understandably surprised pony in the process. I opened the door and nearly bumped into the pretty looking mare who had her hoof place precariously over my eye as I caught her mid-knock.

“Ah! Woah. Hey watch it...” I yelled out in surprise.

“Oh. Pardon me. Is this the residence of a Mr. … Spotter?” The poor mare in front of me seemed to be lost judging by the look on her face and the map she was silently tucking away.

“It depends, do you need some help?” I asked.

“Oh, sorry. My name is Octavia and I was looking for Mr. Spotter. I heard he was the local detective and I needed some help retrieving a very precious item that seemed to have gotten lost. I like to think that ponies that steal don’t exist.” Her tone was elegant and honest but her words made her seem distant. She wasn’t a native, that’s for sure.

I mulled over her request in my head and while I could have easily dismissed Ms. Octavia as nothing more than another tourist with lost baggage I decided to entertain her request. It wasn’t everyday that life delivers a charming thing like her to your doorstep..

“Well in that case I’m your pony. Detective Spotter at your service. I hope you don’t mind if we talk while we walk. I haven’t eaten breakfast, you see.” I said as I shut the door behind me.

“Not at all. Please, lead on, Detective.”

We began our walk down the city streets and I looked around noticing just how out of place the two of us were. The neighborhood definitely left something to be desired but I felt it difficult to leave behind the Equestrian form of dress especially since I disliked the uniforms the station issued. Octavia herself had a nice accent reminiscent of a local but seemed far more educated and polite in her speech. She was also neat and tidy with long black hair that seemed meticulously combed and a nice pink bow and collar around her neck made her stand out from the shabby dress of the common Trottingham folk.

“So, Octavia, what exactly was it that you wanted to see me about?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve lost something very near and dear to me and I was wondering if you can find it. It’s a cello. A very valuable one. I’m a cellist. It was a Starditaurius Cello.” She added redundantly.

“Ah, so you’re a musician. That would explain your Cutie Mark.” I quickly tore my eyes away from the pink treble clef on her rear as she turned to look at me. I would go so far to say it contrasted nicely against her grey coat.

“Yes. I was invited to Trottingham for a benefit concert and I traveled all the way from Canterlot to play. Unfortunately there was a mix-up in the luggage and I was told that I would have my items returned to me by today. When I went to retrieve my luggage, however, I was told that they could not find it. The clerk at the baggage claims office hinted that it might have been stolen.” Octavia shifted her head as we talked as though it would help her find it on the streets. “And please bare no offense when I say that the more of the city I see the more I’m suspecting it to be true.”

I did little more than listen and sustain my laughter from her naivete. I remember when I shared her thinking in that no other pony would go so far as to steal from another, but that was before I was introduced to the job. Poverty was a problem and the deeper into the slums you got the more crime you encountered. Many resort to stealing and selling their stolen goods to a peddler for a quick buck either to support themselves or their habits. I made a mental note to check out Rob’s store later as we approached the cafe and took our seats inside the mom and pop restaurant as Octavia continued.

“I was originally told that I would have a much better time visiting the center of town like all the other tourists but even I grow tired of the same old sights. It was also important for me to seek someone to find my cello, seeing as I can’t play without it.”

A rather young but able colt came trotting to our table wearing a cooking apron and was about place two menus on our table before he caught sight of me.

“Oh, hey there Mr. Spotter. I guess you won’t need these after all. The usual I’m guessing?” The pale yellow colt asked.

“Yeah, and a maybe a little something for Ms. Octavia here as well. Toast and tea should do.”

“You got it, boss.”

I turned to see Octavia about to interject but cut her short and explained that it was the very least I could do. The grumbling of her stomach suggested that she had probably skipped breakfast to find me and after our meals arrived I found that her hunger betrayed her intentions.

“So tell me, Octavia, how is that you managed to find me in the first place?” I asked between bites of my raisin-studded oatmeal.

“I asked around a bit and I was told that the police station might be able to handle my request but when I arrived they told me you weren’t in at the moment. They refused to give me your name but that’s when I read today’s newspaper. Apparently you’ve been handling a string of crimes and your name and address came up. I bought a map from the vendor along with the paper.”

The last sentence caught me off guard and I choked on my meal as I fell off my chair dramatically. I regained my composure but it seemed that Octavia bore the brunt of my knee-jerk reaction.

“Octavia, are you trying to tell me that you found me in the local newspaper? Th-that my name is on some article pertaining to the murders?” I choked out, desperate for answers.

“Murders? I-I-I had no clue. What murders? Somepony was murdered?” Octavia was more than flustered now. “I was just glancing through the article when I found your name. They had your address on it and...” Judging by the look on her face she had become very concerned about her personal safety.

I stifled a swear and I groaned as I stared at my unfinished bowl of oatmeal. The news was definitely out that these murders were somehow connected and that meant that I would have to work twice as hard to prevent any of my leads from getting away. The media had a way of scaring away those who might offer leads and it made it harder for me to talk to them when they knew they might get ratted out. It also meant that whoever was behind this would either flee, or be a lot more careful when going around killing off the locals. Even worse was the fact that my address was in print for the entire town to see, if it wasn’t bad enough that he knew who I was.

“Octavia, can I please see the paper?” I extended a hoof for the paper.

“You are going to catch Jack aren’t you?”

I gave her a puzzling look. “Jack? Jack who?”

“Well that’s what the papers are calling him. I thought you knew.” She handed the paper over and I managed to read the section over.

They wrote of the murders from the little information they received from the station as well as from their network of photographers and reporters. They had most of the facts and spared little detail in trying to provoke a sense of fear amongst their readers with descriptions of the dead and the incompetency of our force. It angered me especially when they called into question my skills as a detective and how much more information they’ve managed to piece together than I alone. They mentioned receiving a letter from this “Jack”, and how it described his feelings towards the town which bordered on the curious. My brain went fuzzy and I let my head hit the table.

“If they think they can do a much better job they why don’t they? No...no this...is not happening is it? I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t keep doing this. I need to find him.” I was beside myself at this point.

“Mr. Spotter, you are going to catch him aren’t you?”

I lifted my head and met Octavia’s gaze. Her look had changed from that of a scared little filly to that of someone who had found some purpose besides seeking help.

“Of course...” I mumbled.

“Mr. Spotter, I assure you that if I took everything every critic had said of my work seriously, I would not be here today. Sometimes you have to look past what other ponies say of you and believe in yourself. Of course, there’s always the matter of proving them wrong.” Octavia’s stiffness was like a rock and I held onto it. Maybe I didn’t need comfort. “I know what it feels like to think that you’re no good but that’s a poor excuse to give up.”

“Are you saying you believe in me?” I asked.

“You don’t need me to believe in you. At least, I won’t until you prove me wrong.” Maybe what I needed was a swift kick in the rear to bring me in gear. She reminded me a lot of my old teacher Specs, except she was much prettier.

“Ms. Octavia, you make a good argument. Let’s just see if your own word is any good when I come back with your violin.” I walked over to the front counter of the restaurant and payed for the meal, plus tip.

“It’s a cello, Mr. Spotter.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, and one more thing. For your safety, I suggest you listen to the locals and stay near the center of town, at least for now.” And with that, I pushed my way outside into the now busy streets of the town.

It was nice to have a talk with another pony who did little more than belittle you or refuse to answer your questions. With my faith restored I quickly my way to my office to find the familiar bundle of letters, posters, fliers, and assorted paperwork stacked on my desk and I took my time reading through them. My adventurous spirit always fought back when it came to filling out forms and it was true that sleuthing on the streets was far more rewarding and fun, but I was working on borrowed time and fun was a liberty I couldn’t partake in. Digging through the letters yielded nothing of importance and I was half-expecting another letter from Jack himself, but there wasn’t anything I could use unless he was promoting that charity concert or advising for safer patrols. With my work done here I decided to update the Commissioner on my work but seeing as he was in a meeting, I decided to skip to my favorite part of the job.

After burning the leftover junk mail and talking with one of the rookies about how much better the day shifts are, I made my way into the shadier part of town to do some investigating. I made a quick round around the red light district, receiving various amorous coos from the ladies in the doorways and looks from the hired muscle, and then to Rob’s to look for Octavia’s cello. The store was worn-down and old but it had a charm about it that set it apart from the other curious shops that littered the crowded alleyways and crunched-together stores and homes. At night the warm glow of candles and auburn light would make it seem almost magical in the same sense that a ominous looking skull that glowed was magical. It was a trading post for thugs and other ponies of questionable taste to peruse wares that were once theirs, and to obtain things that are either hard to come by or one-of-a-kind. I really dug it.

As I walked through the double doors of the store I was amazed to see just how much the place had changed since my last visit, especially the difference in the wares. Half a year back I conducted a raid on the store after looking into anonymous allegations of the store serving as a front for a ring of sedative pushers, but it turns out that the calls were coming in from those same pushers looking to drive Rob out of business after their relationship sour. After busting the scumbags I developed what I could call a love/hate relationship with ol’ Rob and ever since he’s been one of my few tickets into the underworld besides paying my respects to the local barons and heads. Today, it seems, I took him by surprise as the grey-feathered griffon quickly pushed away the record player he was fidgeting with through a door behind the counter and turned to look at me.

“If it isn’t my good friend Spotter. What’s got your feather’s all rustled up this time? I bet it’s about the newspaper today innit?” He snickered as he flashed the periodical from under the counter. “Finally met your match with that reporter, eh?”

“Nitty Gritty always had a thing against me and the rest of the officers, even back when I first started. Probably jealous that she never made the force or something. I talked to her once too. I got the impression that she thinks she can do a better job than me.” I said, trying to disguise my loathsomeness.

“Well now everybody is in the same boat. This Jack character has the whole lower west side shaking in their saddles and everyone’s pointing at each other as the culprit.” He tapped his claws against the counter muddling his point over.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m here, actually. I’d like to talk some business first.” I said.

“Been some time since I’ve heard those words. Watcha buyin’?”

“I have a client looking for her stolen cello and I know you know where I can find it. Here’s how we’ll do this: you’re going to either give it to me or tell me where I can take it back, and I’ll turn a blind eye to all these counterfeits you got in here, for starters. My revolver's also been acting up and I wanted to know if you can fix it. You know I’d do it myself but I don’t have the time, plus, I’ll pay you for the repairs. How does someone like you even manage to counterfeit records this well?” I pulled a record out of it’s sleeve and looked at the Ink Blots vinyl disc, brand new despite the fact that they were now collector’s items.

“The same way I manage to fix your toys every time you manage to break them. These things aren’t easy to come by, you know, and you’re lucky I sold it to you and not some crazed lunatic. Speaking of, someone came by yesterday to sell a Starditaurius Cello of all things. I had a customer drop by recently poking through my things when he said he wanted to buy it. Guess he’ll be waiting a while longer.” I handed over my weapon and the usual fee for the repairs while he went back into the storeroom and brought out the cello which was surprisingly large in comparison to Octavia’s smallish frame. “Here it is. I don’t suppose you expect to cheat me out of another sale today?”

“Actually, I want to get back to talking about lunatics. I’m sure you know that I’m on the hunt for Jack. Have you heard anything?”

“I hear a lot of things. I’m not a snitch and I’m definitely not going to get anything out of this.”

“What if I made you a paid informant? I know about your connections with the local gangs and I’m sure you know that this won’t bode well for business either. While I’m certain they have nothing to do with it, somebody is doing the killing which means I need as much info as I can get.” I pulled out a few more bits and slapped them on the counter.

“You really are all business today aren’t cha? For yours and my sake you better know what you’re doing. I could stand here all day and chat your ear up but the walls have ears too. Drop by tomorrow and I’ll have some fresh info in stock. I’ll even wrap it up in a nice paper envelope, just how you cop-types like.”

“Thanks, Rob, I know I could count on you.” I said with a slight smile.

“Don’t get too comfortable. Now take the violin before I change my mind.”

“It’s a cello.”

“Whatever. Doesn’t matter to me now anyway. I’ll let you know when your shooter here is ready.” He quickly shooed me out of the curio shop leaving me to deal with the cello.

After fidgeting with the thing for a minute or two I managed to balance the weight of the instrument on my back and found that it was heavier than It looked which left me wondering how Octavia could manage to travel with it at all. I decided to make haste and bring it to Octavia but I figured that it would be a better idea to store it in my office seeing as walking around town with valuables on my back didn’t seem like a hot idea. I pulled my fair share of weight around as I made my way to the station and stored the cello in my office, hoping that my intuition had paid off and that I didn’t bring some knock off from an expert counterfeiter. Still, I figured I might as well track her down and let her know right away. It was an excuse as any to see her again.

I had just finished locking my door when the Commissioner spotted me and noted me of a rookie who needed some training. It was an odd request and I was about to spout some nonsense about having been out all day, which was partly true, but it could have waited until tomorrow. Still, it was what he said that caught my attention.

“He’s a little green behind the ears but he’s a good kid. He’s from Manehattan so the two of you should get along just fine. I know it’s short notice but maybe showing him the ropes would be a good eye-opener for him. Who knows, maybe he might want to switch over to investigative work like you.” He gave me a wink as he introduced the rookie. “Constable Booker!”

I peered around the Commissioner and saw a bespectacled officer speed towards us before standing at attention and saluting.

“The Commissioner saw it fit to relegate me to you so that I might better learn my duties, Sir.” He was shorter than the other officers I’ve seen and while he didn’t shout like the others that came straight from training, I could tell he was going to be a handful.

I saluted back with a reluctant hoof and whisked Booker away for my babysitting round. We left the station and I gave a brief glance up into the sky to watch the pegasi do the last of their rounds clearing the constantly filling sky and cursed the winter months for dragging what were valuable hours of daylight away. The rest of the officers were already gathering outside with their lanterns to start their beats early and I knew it wouldn’t be long now until the town was once again covered by the eerie dark. The dark has a powerful effect on the mind and I was no exception to the rule as my late night surveillance missions proved. Still, it was comforting to know that a fresh face also meant another chance for some good to be done, and already I was thinking of ways Booker could help me in my investigation. That was when I had a brilliant idea.

“Hey Booker, how do you feel about a getting a crash course in police work?” I called out to him.

“That’s what I’m here for, Sir.” He said.

“Perfect. Tonight we have a lot to cover and discuss so make sure to keep your mind sharp and your body warm. Any questions so far?” I asked.

“Just the one, Sir.”

“Alright, go ahead.”

“When do we catch some bad guys?”

It was a brilliant idea indeed. The long night ahead of us would prove whether he was ready or not.