The Ripper - The Trottingham Murders
My initial briefing was that a body was found in a back alley near Horseshoe Avenue and Stonewall street which wasn't all that far off from where I lived. It was early in the morning, about 6 or so, when I was sent for by a winded cadet and lead to the crime scene near the lower east side. The morning sun struggled to peak through the heavy grey clouds that clung to the sky just like the ice on the cobblestone-paved streets. When I arrived I saw that the immediate area had been cordoned off with tape and as I ducked under the tape to enter and assess the situation I found myself confronting the living, or dead, embodiment of an understatement. My initial reaction was one of disgust, followed by stomach-churning pity, and a disconcerting feeling much like a child would feel when given a task too hard or complicated to accomplish. The smell of iron was still rich in the air and I counted myself lucky that the freezing temperatures had preserved the body since anything above room temperature would have made it impossible to breath. The gore that surrounded me was intense and unlike anything I had ever seen but my mental scarring from years as a detective staved off the lurching in my stomach and internal screaming.
I spotted Commissioner Bolt Lock standing over the body with a fellow colleague who was snapping pictures a little to close to the body for my own personal comfort. I walked over and, knowing what little else to do in such a situation, gave an unusually cheery hello as I received a tip of the hat from Trickshot the photographer and a deep sigh from the Commissioner. He spoke a few hushed words with Trickshot and sent him on his way before turning his attention to me and the body. Years of being on the force had not been kind to him but despite his age he still stood strong and tall with a coat as blue and eyes as fierce as the day he joined. Still, the sour look on his face was not something he was born with and perhaps only those that truly understood were the likes of us, who served to protect, and those like the poor mare before us whose lack of protection defined our lives. In this instance we both shared the same feeling of uselessness but it was, as the Commissioner often reminded me, "business as usual".
"I hope you brought yourself a nice big flask of coffee, Spotter. You're going to need it." The Commissioner grumbled.
"I brought tea, actually. I figured that I've lived in Trottingham long enough to finally get into the spirit of things." My mood had changed and I matched his somber attitude.
It was hard to keep one's spirits up when in the middle of a crime scene and small talk did little to distract us from our jobs. Perhaps that was what we wanted all along, given the circumstances. We both turned in unison and almost literally soaked in the sight as we examined the puddles of blood at our hooves. It didn't exactly serve to boost my morale.
"So what's the story.?" I asked him.
He gave a deep sigh as he began. "The boys over there found 'er about a half hour ago when some broad came runnin' 'round the corner screaming bloody murder. That cadet with his head in the barf bag over there was the first ta' respond and sure enough they found 'her' layin' here as dead as a doorknob and just as frozen with the temperature as low as it is. Other 'n that it's a right bloody mess and I'd be daft ta' think that word hasn't already spread. With any luck, word'll spread, and when it hits the presses we'll catch whoever did this."
"Except we never do." I added bluntly.
I didn't turn to look but I saw him turn towards me out of the corner of my eye, no doubt to lecture me about the ins and outs of police work. In the past month we were lucky to only have two murders but in the years that I've worked as a detective I saw many cases similar to this one go unresolved countless times. The lower part of the city was a hotspot for crime and not everyone could be caught, while many others simply couldn't be arrested.
"Lad, you know it's not like we don't try our damned best but it isn't in our jurisdiction. You know damn well that ponies like these risk bein' cut down every night so we can't go blamin' ourselves when things like this happen. Can't help 'em if they don't want to be helped ya know? It's their Mistress' responsibility now so the best we can do is tidy up and ID the body." The Commissioner gave another deep sigh and shook his head.
My instincts told me otherwise and I fished out my magnifying glass. "Uuuhh I dunno. Everything just feels...off." I wasn't sure what I was looking for but it finally clicked. It was almost embarrassingly obvious. "I mean just look at this mess."
The Commissioner's blank stare told me everything I needed to know.
"This isn't Madame Dolce's work. Her hired help is a lot 'cleaner' when it comes to their crimes so I'm sure that it wasn't a thug or pimp that did this. In every other case it's been 'business as usual' but I doubt they'd stick around to play with the bits and pieces they've torn out from their victim. This was the work of a monster, not a hit-for-hire. Nopony would want to attract this much attention."
I turned around to see the Commissioner gingerly slap a hoof to his face before finally giving in. "My boy, I just hope you know what yer' doin'. I'm not going to stop you but If push comes to shove then you better start shovin' like there's not tomorrow. There's a reason some ponies end up the way they do and there's a better reason as to why you don't go snoopin' around and finding out who dunnit."
"I was never a big fan of how things work around here and you know that plain as day. I don't expect you to come running to my rescue like last time so you won't have to worry about that. Besides, even if this is one of Dolce's girls I doubt this was planned. Anyway, I'll let you know if I dig anything up. I have work to do."
I didn't bother to look back as I began my investigation so I assumed that the Commissioner had left with an unhappy grumble at my insistence. Turning to my work, I instantly noticed many things and kept them in my log that I carried around in my trenchcoat. The crime had happened in a short alley behind a housing block that connected two adjacent streets and the area was relatively out of the way, but perhaps a regular spot for this particular filly. She was, in fact, a female a lot younger than I was and wearing the same dress and make-up that so many other "tramps" I knew wore. Her coat was a silky hue of periwinkle with a dark-blue mane that flowed delicately around her face which I had the audacity to call pretty. It was a gentle sort of interest much like one finds a loved one lying peacefully when they die so I had no qualms over admiring beauty ill spent. All it took, however, was a look a few inches south before all of that beauty was erased and replaced with the shock of the extent of the crime.
"Ugh...damn..." I muttered as I vented the ugliness of it all.
Her coat was plastered with the congealed blood from her wound and was pooled under her, as well as on the walls and splattered about in several other locations indicating that she had moved since she had started bleeding. The body itself wasn't in any better condition.There was a single defining cut which ran down her body that had cut through her blouse and coat leaving them hanging at her sides as she lay on her back. Her torso had been cut vertically in this way with two other cuts along the bottom and top creating an "H" like position that would have given the culprit easy access to inside her body. The very though was sickening but that seemed like the only possible explanation besides marking the body for whatever reason. There were many other sections of her body filled with cuts and stab wounds, especially near the torso, but the coagulated blood and temperature had made it all but possible to investigate further.
"Hey Stormbend. Come over here." The sickly looking cadet made his way over and as I mentioned that I'd need help carrying her to the morgue. His eyes shifted nervously from the body and back to me before I made it clear that what I really wanted was for him to call the coroner for transportation. Relieved from having to carry the stiff to the morgue he ran off while I fruitlessly investigated the rest of the crime scene. I had managed to piece together a possible point where she was attacked but it did little in helping figure out who did it. It seemed that not a single second went by before the cadet returned with my good friend Dr. Splint who was hooked up to a cart.
"Now there's something you don't see everyday. I bet that's a good thing huh?" As always, he bore a smile you couldn't help but imitate and while the subject of his joke was base I couldn't help but smirk at how crude it was. While any self-respecting pony would have gladly shut his trap with a good right hook he made it incredibly easy to enjoy some of the harder parts of my job. I took every joke as a welcome dose of humor and ever since my transfer had been a steady source of laughter in the workplace.
“Thaat's what I like to see." He gave me a playful punch on the arm. "Laughter, just what the doctor ordered. Sorry I haven't been able to pay you more visits but I actually have a life. Just kidding, hah. Now, I assume that bleeding beauty on the ground there is our 'patient'?" He unhitched himself from the covered wagon he was pulling to inspect the body.
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“Well I certainly have my work cut out for me. I assume you'll want to assist in the autopsy, as always?” He asked.
“Yeah. That’s actually one of the reasons I called you out here in the first place. What’s your impression on all this?"
He placed a hoof to his chin as he eyed her down. “Well...she's dead. Not much too it. Pretty nasty wound too so I assume whoever wanted her dead wanted to make sure she stayed that way. This doesn't look like a typical murder though. Whoever did this is obviously out of his mind. Maybe they were looking for something..." His voice grew softer as he looked at me. "Am I right?”
While my fears were not assuaged I knew now that I wasn't alone in my school of thought. "Here, let's grab her and make sure this place gets cleaned up. I want to wrap this up quickly." Splint and I grabbed her and laid her as we found her on the wagon, covering her body with a white tarp to dissuade the nosy.
As we walked I took a few sips from my vacuum flask hoping that the taste of boiled herbs would wash away the smell of blood. We made our way to the police station and parked the wagon near the back where the medical bay lay adjacent to the main offices. The Regional Trottingham Police Department, as it was known, was so far removed from proper Equestrian society that we were not under the protection of Celestia's guards so a task force was created long ago to solve this problem. The station was a 2 floor complex and composed of the booking office, which also served as the main hub; the jail, which is where ne'er-do-wells went after processing; the medical bay, for autopsies and other assorted services; and my office, which was up a flight of stairs and would have overlooked the booking offices if it weren't for the frosted glass windows. "The Morgue", as I like to call it, was only added as an afterthought seeing as the town's hospital could not accommodate an autopsy center to fit our own needs and it was clear given the sterile atmosphere so far removed from the grimy jail cells. As we walked in through the back I talked to the nurse at the front desk and filled out paperwork while Splint carried the body in on a wheeled stretcher. Splint went through the usual rituals of cleaning himself for the procedure and I followed suit remembering to put on my mask and remove my coat to better assist the doctor.
I walked through a set of plastic dividers and my nose itched at the smell of formaldehyde. "There's my lovely assistant. It's a shame we have to skip the part where we cut the poor girl and half." Splint's mask blocked his face and muffled his speech but I was sure he was sporting a smile beneath it. "I took the liberty of removing her clothes and washing the body so you're welcome in advance. Now, for the main event!" He waved a hoof over the table and quickly pulled the white cloth from one edge to reveal our victim that we would be operating on. A stronger part of me prevented me from cringing at the awkward disregard for the sanctity of the dead.
Being a surgical unicorn of the highest caliber, he levitated all the instruments from the table beside him and floated them across the body so that each instrument would be available in a moment's notice. As he spoke, he operated, and as he operated he made sure to pause frequently to point at things worth noting with his scalpel.
"There seems to be some major bruising of the legs and X-rays have verified that her legs were indeed fractured. I don't know how this was accomplished and whether or not this occurred before or after her death. There are several wounds to her torso all delivered with what I assume was a knife. One...three...five separate wounds not counting the obvious cuts. Let's dig a little deeper." At this point all I heard was the sickly separation of skin from tissue as I turned my head. "It seems our friend saved us the effort of having to dissect her which is odd because I'm not seeing anything."
"What do you mean?" I asked as I finally managed to stomach having to look at an open body.
"Look here. Nothing has been moved around or removed which is weird since the kind of cut that was made only serves to access the cavity. Another thing that I find odd is that the incisions were meticulously made. Whoever did this managed to skin her and didn't so much as scrape at the ribcage while they did it." As his intrigue grew so did his haste. "We have to go deeper."
I leaned in closer as I watched him work, slowly cutting away at several ligaments and body parts and carefully cataloging them by arranging them in separate bowls. He had a primitive way of working but he was an expert and I wasn't so I left it at that. Only after removing her stomach did he notice a disturbance and I watched closely as he snaked a pair of tweezers into the cavity. It went deeper than I was comfortable with and all I had in order to gauge his success was his half-hidden face, brow furrowed in concentration. After what seemed like an eternity his eyes widened and he withdrew the tweezers as I stared at the small circular object he managed to fish out.
“It’s a...bit.” He said in confusion.
“A bit.” I parroted.
We looked at each other hoping that the other would speak up first to explain what this meant but that moment never came. He dropped the coin on a seperate tray with a clatter. I was completely baffled by what this could mean and my brain lurched an awkward pace as I struggled to piece together any meaning from something so surreal.
"So what do you think it means.?" He finally broke the silence with the question on both of our minds.
"It means that whoever did this is one sick bastard. All I know is that I'm not going to get any sleep tonight." I said dejectedly.
Splint made a motion with his scalpel as I walked out of the room knowing he'd keep working until a report landed on my desk. I removed my makeshift scrubs and grabbed my coat as I made my way through the building and into my office where I belonged. I opened the door with and was greeted by the sight of a large pile of mail cluttering my desk and I groaned as I sat down to begin the task of sorting the junk mail from the even more worthless workplace mail. There was a fireplace in my office and I stoked the open flame with leftover office memos as I opened, scanned, and burned away most of the worthless mail. Anything that needed my signature or looked important enough went straight to my desk but I spent a good portion of my time feeding the flames with the curling black edges of things of little importance to me. Occasionally my mind would drift back to the filly downstairs and my body would go cold with the thought of a crazed murderer prowling the streets of the town I was sworn to protect. I prayed for a miracle and as I sat down at my table my prayers were answered in loud, slurred yells.
"I don't care if tha' Commissioner's in a meetin'. I'm expectin' a meetin' of mah own and bah Celestia's crown I'mma gettin' it." I could barely hear the sound of the officers arguing with our guest but I could make out their conversation from his yelling alone. "Who in tha' flippin' hay is Detective Spotter? What do you mean he's handlin' tha' investigation? I told ya I wan-don't touch me! This jacket 'ere was tailor-made."
I finally opened the door and peeked over the railing to see a pudgy looking stallion old enough to be my father wrestling against the might of two officers. It seemed like my presence went unnoticed and as he looked up all eyes fell on me. I remembered him from my last run-in with the local gangs and I froze knowing it was too late to head back into my office.
"Fer the luvva...It's you?!" He nearly screamed out.
I talked with the officers into letting him go and lead him to my office as he quaintly recalled my previous run in with him as I was at the apex of my investigation into illegal shipments of counterfeit bits.
"So yer the fellah who ruined The Lady's plans. Ooh I swear If I wasn' her on business I'd have ya hangin' from a lamppost by noon today." I let him vent as he continued to threaten and I knew better than to act against him. I knew his kind, and he would just jump at the chance to file a report for police brutality. Besides, I knew from our previous encounter that he was a lot stronger than he looked.
I finally lead him into my office and closed the door, tenting my hooves in front of my face as he exhausted himself with more verbal hatred and colorful insults than I could think of. After noticing how calm I was he settled down by laying across a guest sofa and dug his dirty hooves into it, another vain attempt at eliciting a reaction from me.
"Are you done or would you like me to hand you a baby bottle for your tantrum? Your here on business and the last thing you want is to be stuck with me inside a police office so I'll make this quick. I need info and for you, time is money, so I'll be happy to pay you for your time here." I seemed to have grabbed his attention and he tilted his head towards me in interest. "I know you're here to see the body under orders from the 'Lady' herself so I won't stop you. I will, however, need all the information you might have surrounding that poor filly's death and I mean all of it."
His face quickly shifted from shock to that of a pleasant smile. "Ya don't like ta mince words do ya? Alright, ya gots yourself a deal. I'd like to make sure you have our gal though. Oh, and the name's Bouncer."
I obliged Bouncer's request and led him downstairs to the medical bay where we caught Splint just about wrapping up the autopsy. It seemed odd that Lady Dolce would send somebody like him down to confirm the death of one of her workers and it was a while before Bouncer got himself together. He identified her as Dewdrop and was working with three other girls the night she was murdered.
"Were you close?" I asked him.
"As close as I could get with tha merchandise. We've been losin' a lotta girls out there since 'bout a month ago." He described a recent string of supposed kidnappings but there was never a ransom and it was so long ago they were all assumed to be dead. Three girls altogether: Sweet Tune, age 23; Taffy, age 28; and Hot Breeze, age 33; all of them taken and never seen or heard from again. When I asked him who could be behind this he replied with a shrug and some advice. "Usually they only pull these kinds a' tricks if they wanna send a message."
We talked a bit more and it turns out that while the disappearances and murder were all employed under Lady Dolce none of the other gangs had stepped up to claim responsibility. 40 Bits' worth of information netted me a lot of names, a lot more speculation, and absolutely no leads into the investigation. As I sat in my office alone thoughts began to swirl around my head as I tried to piece together what I feared would be an unsolvable case. I figured it would have been a rival gang but now it was becoming clear that there was a third party involved which only served to complicate things further. Rather than suffer through another headache I took a break and began to read through the paperwork on my table. I opened up one of the more important looking letters and signed it off, putting it aside and repeating the process for the next half hour.
By the time I reached the last few the urge to go sleuthing around the streets had me second-guessing my decision to read through cold-weather advisories and missing pet flyers. Just as I was ready to head out a knock came to my door and was greeted by an officer who presented me with the results of the autopsy. I thanked the pony and carefully tore open the manilla folder as I examined the documents within. As I read I felt a cold sort of feeling make it's way up my spine and an uneasy feeling of severe nervousness. Not toxins were found within the body, no outstanding injuries other than everything I already knew and a professional statement from Splinter that reciprocated my own feelings about the entire ordeal.
There was one section in particular that caught my attention, however.
"Several items were found lodged within the open cavity of the victim. Items listed were located under the lugs and hidden deep back within the cavity with minimal intrusion. List is as follows:
23 Bits Currency
1 Cloth Money Bag"
That one section dug held onto my brain and refused to let go. I felt a surge of hatred make it's way up my throat and I swore as I tossed the autopsy report onto my desk. In a desperate need for distraction I turned back to the paperwork when a particular letter caught my eye. It was a plain envelope whose paper had yellowed due to age or condition but it was so incredibly shoddy that it puzzled me how I had noticed it before. There was no return address and it was simply addressed to "The Detective" at "The Police Station" in a letter so crude it reminded me of how a child would address a letter. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened the envelope removing the equally yellowed piece of paper. The penmanship of the letter wasn't any better and was barely legible with spelling mistakes abound.
'This is odd...' I thought to myself as I squinted at the crude lettering. 'What is this?'
"dear mister detective
how are you? im doing fine today was a good day but the night was even better i had a really big din(n)er so i dont eat at night."
I felt a shudder through my body and my mouth went dry as I continued to read. The letter was folded several times over so I continued to unfold it as I read along.
"i learn(e)d toni(gh)t the average (w)hore carries 24 bits."
My mouth went dry and I glanced at the autopsy report on my desk. I suddenly noticed how much I was shaking.
"i take what i want but im done for now (yo)u can take this for keeps."
I placed a solitary hoof over my mouth as a single Bit fell from the unforld fold of the paper. The clatter of the coin could be heard as I continued to read.
"catch me if you can if we meet again i will give myself in
the fun begins."
I let go of the letter and let it drop on my desk as I finished reading. I wandered around my office and returned to my desk to find the letter exactly where I had placed it. Was this some sort of a joke? Was this all some part of an elaborate scheme by the local thugs to drive me insane? No. It couldn't be.
A part of me wanted to just lay down and die but then I'd be handing the murderer another victory. Confusion, anger, and despair were all heavy in my soul and I could do little but sit as precious time passed me by. I gave a final glance around my office as stuffed the report and letter into my trenchcoat pocket. Foregoing the rest of my work day I locked the door to my office and walked out pausing only to drop off the finished paperwork with the pencil pushers in the offices. As I walked outside into the open air of the city I glanced up into the sky to see the heavy cloud cover making a mockery of the remaining daylight. I began to walk, slowly at first, from the station towards the east side of town. It was only a matter of seconds before my motivation drove me to a trot and after a while I found myself running with my lungs burning, but the urgency kept me going. I was scared for my life and the life of those around me. It didn't matter who was behind all of this because I wasn't going to stop until I found them. I would never stop.
“Catch me if you can...”
I turned a corner as I ran through the backstreets of town. As went on I looked into my coat to find the handle of my gun at my side, insurance for when I finally found the maniac.
“The fun begins.”
The Ripper - The Trottingham Murders
Chapter 2: New Faces, Old Game
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.
