//------------------------------//
// Coutre 
// Story: Breadcrumbs 
// by TantiMount 
//------------------------------//

“Welcome back, Keen! I see you didn’t tear your mane out over Clean Cut like you did last time,” the secretary chided. Keen was able to deal with her much better this time than the last time they had to deal with a suspected murder. She’s not the most tolerable pony in town.
        “Yeah, she cut to the chase this time. Not a whole lot of waiting for the next word.” He did find that a bit unusual. Clean was a wordy pony despite her slow speech, but she didn’t mince words at all. Must have gotten to her, too, even if she didn’t look it.
        Keen magicked a mug of coffee over to him from the lounge area before sitting down at his desk to look over the two days worth of notes. He was getting closer, he knew it, but something still wasn’t adding up. What sort of killer drops off a pony without leaving a trace of magic, wingbeats, or hoofprints? How did Rainbow Dash die, and why was she butchered the way she was? Could there really exist such a sick and depraved mind in Ponyville?
        He glanced at his suspect list: empty. He couldn’t think of any pony or creature in Ponyville that could even think about doing this, let alone one that did. He sipped his mug and nearly spat it back out when he realized he forgot to sweeten it. He forced a swallow, added a bit of milk and sugar, and tried again. Better.
        Motives… Why would anyone want to kill Rainbow Dash? he pondered. That one wasn’t too difficult. With such a prideful attitude and competitive spirit, it wasn’t farfetched to think that somepony would want to kill her as retribution. He continued thinking and decided that he couldn’t write down anypony’s name for that, either. Too many suspects based on motive.
        Keen took off his hat, placed it on the desk, and ruffled his mane. This wasn’t supposed to happen here. He sat there, hooves in his mane, for a few minutes. I transferred from Manehattan to avoid this stuff. He sighed once again, moved his hat to the floor beside his desk, and continued to think. Something wasn’t adding up, and he had to figure it out.
        He sat in silence for hours. He’d tap a quill for a few minutes at a time, jot something down, then scratch it out just as soon. The clock above the office ticked away. He took out the autopsy report and reread it for the thirteenth time. Suddenly, he paused, then slammed his hooves on the desk.
        Everypony in the room turned towards him to see what had happened. Keen swept up his hat, notebook, and autopsy report in a flourish and galloped to the conference room where the rest of the officers threw ideas back and forth.
        As he burst in, he exclaimed, “Did we ever find the body?” The patrolponies looked at him, then snickered.
        “Of course we did. You were there.”
        “No, that was the skin. I’m talking about what goes inside.” The ponies stopped snickering and just stared at him.
        “No. We weren’t able to find a trace of it anywhere.”
        “So? If we find it, we find the killer!”
        “What do you suggest we do to find it, then?” a pony interjected.
        Keen stared back at the pony, then slumped his shoulders, and began to walk out. “I can’t even stomach the prospect that it just vanished…” He slowly closed the door to the conference room behind him, and began walking to his desk. He glanced at the clock. Four-thirty. Only half an hour more before he could go home and get some rest. Keen was always very attentive, and was usually the first to figure a case out. It was his special talent, after all.
        “Detective! Detective Keen!” the secretary yelled from the other side of the room. “We got another one!”
        He lifted his face, stared in her direction, before simply shouting, “What?”

This was a crafty killer, this one. On his way to the crime scene, he dropped by Sugarcube Corner for a confectionary pick-me-up. Pinkie assured him that these spiral-iced cupcakes were brand new, using another new ingredient, and were guaranteed to satisfy his hunger. “I fashioned them out of a few spare ingredients I had,” she informed him before chortling. They were certainly different than the ones he had a few days prior, but just as delicious.
        He was headed to the other side of town to Carousel Boutique. Apparently, Rarity, the owner, was the victim. He thought it odd that two of the Elements were now dead, and immediately requested the department move the other four into their custody to protect them. He told Pinkie while he was there that she needed to go to the department immediately, and had his closest friend, Powdered Prints, collect Applejack.
        He arrived at the Boutique to the same smell he experienced last time, at Rainbow’s house. This is going to be another nasty one… he thought before passing the perimeter and parting the curtains into the shop.
        Sitting in the middle of the shop, wearing a garment, was the one and only Rarity, attached to a mannequin the same way Rainbow was when she was found. Strangely, though, there were less visible cuts on the body, her cutie marks were left alone, and her face had been made-up like she was heading to an important appointment.
        “Same MO, but where did she get this…” he started, gesturing toward the “dress” she was wearing. It was sewn in a way similar to the way Rarity sews her own dresses, fitted especially for her, but the fabric was made of pony hide. Not her own, as the colors didn’t match her own coat, and quilted together using bits and pieces from looked like six different ponies. None of the coats matched the color of Rainbow’s coat, either.
        “We’ve confirmed those as the coats of six missing Ponyville residents: Quenched Thirst, Frothy Foam, Woodwind, Starch Naked, Hour House, and Year Long. None of their bodies have been found, and given the business this place gets, our hoofprint and wingbeat evidence is a no-go.” Keen stared at the hodgepodge on the deceased Rarity’s flank.
        Rarity, dead and wearing a dress made up of other ponies… He took out his notebook and started writing down more notes.
        “Whoever this killer is, they’re targeting the Elements of Harmony. Rainbow and Rarity both died to the same pony, that’s for sure. The killer practiced on other ponies before enacting this sick plan and I’m sure one of the other four are next.” He continued to examine Rarity’s body, trying to figure out if they left a clue. Serial killers tend to do so, just as a way to taunt the investigators, to taunt him.
        Just a game to them.
        He wrote a few questions down in his notebook. Why did they cut up Rainbow so much, but left Rarity’s skin essentially untouched? How were they able to mimic Rarity’s style with this dress so well? What did they do to those other six ponies? Are there others?
        He put away his notebook and started to investigate the rest of the boutique on a hunch. It looks like a dress Rarity would make, so what if it is? Most of the officers were still investigating the bottom floor, and only a few had made it to the top floor. They were mostly searching her designing room and hadn’t wandered too much farther. He kept going until he found a door labeled with “Sweetie Belle’s Room! Keep Out!” Her sister, he thought. Where is she, anyhow?
        He nudged the door open to peek inside, sure there wouldn’t be anything in the room. As it opened he saw a fully furnished room fit for a filly. Nothing out of the ordinary from an initial glance: her made was unmade, toys were strewn about the room, and most importantly, it was empty. No Sweetie Belle anywhere to be seen. He sighed, relieved. Whoever the killer was, they didn’t kill foals.
        As he was about to leave, he noticed a trail leading to her miniature sewing machine, with toys and crafts pushed to either side. Curious, he followed the trail and inspected the sewing machine. It was a normal kid-version of the professional machines Rarity used herself for the industry, and of an exceptionally high quality. However, it had been used recently, with bits of hair littering the machine. Colorful hair.
        “GET UP HERE!” he howled downstairs. Four officers entered the room shortly after the outburst, with weapons at the ready. When they saw Keen standing near the sewing machine, they reholstered their weapons and carefully tiphoofed over. “The sick fuck made her do it! The killer forced Rarity to make her own death cloak!” Keen frothed. He pushed past the ponies to the hallway, taking his notebook out briefly to record the new information before putting it away and hurrying out of the shop.
        Too many thoughts clouded his head. The killer, the victims, the way they’re found. He vomited outside of the boutique, in front of several officers. He thought he had a strong stomach for these things, but he’d never seen anything as depraved as this. Whoever did this was sick beyond measure for even thinking about it, and sicker still for actually going through with it.
        He threw up again. He never signed up for this. He wanted a peaceful retirement. He wanted to live the rest of his life in a peaceful podunk town, saving the occasional cat or dealing with a petty theft here and there. Not this. Not even Manehattan-
        Again. This got to him more than he cared to admit. He wiped his muzzle with a hoofkerchief an officer handed him, pocketed it and assured that he’d get it back to him after Keen washed it, and walked back inside. Everypony turned toward him, but didn’t look up at his face. They knew what he was feeling, as they all felt it too.
        He walked back over to Rarity, put a hoof around her lifeless, stuffed shoulder, and sighed. “I’m… so sorry. For your sister… I’ll catch this fuck.” He walked back toward the door, nodded at the officer standing watch, and went home. Everypony understood completely. No detective can work when he’s emotionally compromised. Nopony can.

He groggily stumbled back into the department, immediately grabbed a coffee, and gulped it down. Before leaving the lobby, he filled a second cup, didn’t bother with the milk and sugar, and flopped down into his chair at his desk. The papers he needed were already there. He could always trust his fellow officers to come through.
        He opened up the investigation notes the other officers gifted him, to read over what other discoveries they made. At the top of the first paper, he read a note: “You’re in charge now. Sorry.”
        Thanks, guys, he thought. And truly, he was grateful. He wanted to take this perp down and give ‘em the chair. Nopony deserved the deaths these ponies were forced on them. Nopony.
        He continued reading. They noticed that the skin-cloak she was wearing had been washed, and found traces of Rarity’s blood on the chestpiece. They concluded that the killer tortured her while she was wearing it, killed her, removed and washed the garment, and then refitted it on her. They still couldn’t discover any traces of her innards anywhere on the property, but were confident that the murder happened in the boutique.
        He flipped through the pages. One page was labeled “Sweetie Belle.” There were a few lines mentioning her sewing machine, but one was circled: “staying at friend’s clubhouse since day before, doesn’t know.” He sighed. It was hard to lose a friend, but harder to lose a sister. He didn’t want to be the one to break the news.
        Anything he thought important, he jotted down into his own notebook. He perused every page, making sure not to miss a single detail, reread it, then put down the packet. He glanced around the desk to see if they dropped off anything else for him. The autopsy report was a ways off. Clean Cut had only just got Rarity that morning, so he had to let her do her job.
        He picked up his coffee and noticed a note with a dark coffee ring marring its surface. It mentioned something about “E---men--”
        “Oh! The other Elements!” he realized. He grabbed whatever notes he could and trotted over to the interrogation rooms on the east wall. They weren’t prisoners, but nopony was safer than when they were in the department. It was one thing they were proud of.
        He walked into the holding room they were kept in and saw Twilight Sparkle, Pinkie, and Applejack huddled together. Keen noticed they were all recovering from the news of their other friends, wiping tears from their eyes.
        “Ah can’t believe Rainbow’d go this way… She always seemed like the racin’ accident type…”
        “Who would do this? I mean, nopony in history was ever this… this…” Twilight sobbed.
        “They’re gone. Jus’ gone.” None of the ponies glanced up at him when he walked in. Twilight used her wings and pulled her friends closer to her when he got closer to them.
        Keen knelt down beside them, and stated, “I’m so sorry.” He placed a single hoof on Applejack’s shoulder, lifted it, and walked back out. He had planned to talk with them about who may have done this, when they last saw their other friends, but didn’t realize they weren’t ready to talk about it. He wandered to the next room over, the observation room, and entered. Several other ponies were watching the three in the room, discussing the case.
        “Where’s the...um… Fluttershy?” Keen interrupted. One of the officers stopped talking and turned toward him.
        “We’re still looking for her. She wasn’t in her cottage, and we still haven’t been able to find her in her usual hideouts.”
        “Asked anypony?”
        “Yessir. Nopony has seen her since Rarity was discovered.”
        “Shit.”