//------------------------------// // Case Four, Chapter Seven: Shadows Cast by Fireflight // Story: Ponyville Noire: Tails of Two Private Eyes // by PonyJosiah13 //------------------------------// The fire department arrived in time to prevent the blaze from spreading to other houses, but it could not save Carved Timber’s home. By the time that the responding hoses were shut off and the last of the smoke cleared away, there was little left of the house but a burned-out shell with only half of the roof remaining. Timber, Robin, and their daughters were currently sitting in the back of an ambulance, being treated for minor burns and smoke inhalation. The couple’s relief at being alive had been muted by the tragedy of the loss of their home and the realization that they had nearly been murdered by a neighbor. They could only sit numbly, holding their children as paramedics fussed over them. Phillip watched from the Diplomat, leaning against the hood. A few feet away, Red Herring was speaking into a police callbox, transmitting a BOLO for Charcoal. “Earth pony stallion, gray coat, black and red hair. Cutie mark of a burning charcoal. Approximate age, thirty. Armed and dangerous, last seen on hoof near Flotsam Street, wearing heavy jacket, boots, and gas mask. GSW to chest, will likely seek medical...what?...yes, I said gas mask! No, gas! Mask!” Looking up at the sound of tires on pavement, Phillip spotted Trace’s car pulling up. Trace parked next to them and he and Daring exited. “You find the worker?” Phillip asked, approaching the pair. “We did,” Daring replied, shooting a bitter glare at Trace. “And then trigger happy here shot him.” “He was running right at me,” Trace replied flatly. “I wasn’t going to take chances.” “Whatever happened to ‘stop or I’ll shoot?’” Daring snapped. “Who was he?” Phillip interrupted, shooting Daring a warning glance. She scowled at him. “Worker by the name of Quick Fix,” Trace replied. “I’ve got a couple plainclothes we can trust combing his home and locker for any clues. What happened here?” “Truck was borrowed by a neighbor, named Charcoal,” Phillip explained. “When we went to question him, the yobbo panicked and tried to torch us and the neighbors with a flamethrower.” Trace blinked. “A...flamethrower?” “Trace,” Red shouted from the callbox, his eyes betraying his fear. “He’s a Scorcher.” The color drained from Trace’s face. “You’re sure?” he asked. “Who else would come at us with a gas mask and a hoofmade flamethrower?” Red shot back before turning back to the phone. “What’s a Scorcher?” Daring asked, her anger momentarily forgotten. “A for-hire arsonist and assassin,” Trace replied, sitting down on the ground. “There’s a network of them across the nation. They specialize, as you might’ve guessed, in using fire as a weapon.” “Must’ve been working with Quick Fix, then,” Phillip concluded. “Fix messes with the valves, Charcoal sets the fires.” “The Scorcher’s leader is a mare named Tinderspark,” Trace continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Nasty piece of work. Locked her parents in the house and burned it to the ground when she was twelve, spent six years in a juvenile prison, then escaped when she was being transported to an asylum. By the last count, she’s killed over a hundred ponies.” “Worry about her later,” Phillip cut in. “Need to figure this out.” “You said the Scorchers are for-hire, right?” Daring said. “So somepony hired them to set these accidental fires in the Everfree. But why? Who profits from it?” "And how does this tie to the housing project?" Trace mused. "Phoenix Life insures those homes," Red grunted. "And Gold Dust was killed for something he knew about that." “And I’m willing to bet that whatever he knew, it’s still at Phoenix Life and Home,” Daring added. “Right,” Phillip nodded. He turned back to Trace and Red. “Enough ponies have died over this. We get down there and we don’t leave until we get to the dinky-di of all this. Right?” “Right,” Trace nodded grimly. Red repeated the gesture himself. A pair of cruisers arrived to take over the scene. Red Herring gave the four responding officers a briefing and sent them out to begin their search, then both detectives turned to their respective vehicles. Daring shot Trace a look and went to follow Red Herring into his car. “Daring,” Phil called her back. She paused, looking over her shoulder at him. “Trace couldn’t have taken that risk,” he said quietly. “You know that. I wouldn’t have either.” “But—” Daring started to say but stopped herself. She closed her eyes, then sighed; Phillip’s eyes went down to her right hoof, which was pawing at the ground. “I don’t want to talk about it now,” she grunted, walking over to the Diplomat. She climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Sighing, Phillip walked over to the Commander and climbed into the passenger seat. Trace looked over at him as he buckled his seatbelt. “I did what I was trained to do,” Trace said softly. “We both would’ve done the same in that situation.” “I know, Trace,” Phillip nodded, his tone and expression flat. Sighing, Trace turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb, driving up the street. The Diplomat fell in behind them. The group walked through the front doors of Phoenix Life and Home and into the lobby, which was just as ostentatious as before. The same receptionist was behind the desk, looking up at them in mild surprise. “Office 308,” Phillip said, walking past the desk and towards the elevator. The four of them climbed into the elevator and Trace hit the button for the third floor. As the car started to trundle up the floors, Daring turned to face the back wall. “What are you doing?” Red asked her. Daring just smirked at him over her shoulder. Phillip let out a quiet sigh and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling with a small smile. “Least she’s back to normal, more or less,” he whispered to Red. The elevator dinged and halted at the third floor, the doors sliding open. They exited the elevator and turned right, heading for office 308. The door was closed and locked, but Trace quickly defeated the lock with a simple lockpicking spell. The interior of the office was the same as it was when Phillip and Daring left it, except for a fresher layer of dust over everything. “Trace, that spell that you used in Phosphero,” Daring stated. “Can you use that here?” "Depends on what I'm looking for," he said. "Policies on the housing project," Phillip suggested. "That's where the money's going." Trace closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling energy into his horn. A moment later, several drawers in the office opened up and papers began to fly out of them, orbiting around Trace. "What's this?" Trace asked, holding up a larger sheet of paper. "This looks like a survey map for that oil pipeline that the federal government is working on. Why would Gold Dust have this?" "Not sure that that's important right now," Red cut in. “Okay,” Trace said, studying the papers. “These are all related to the policies for the project—whoa!” he cried in surprise, ducking as more papers suddenly flew through the door and added themselves to the collection around him. A moment later, two stallions poked their heads into the room. “Oh, it’s you again,” Safe Deposit said, smiling at Phillip and Daring. “I thought that my files had learned how to fly,” Red Mark chuckled. “Hey, did you find out what happened to Gold Dust?” Phillip and Daring glanced at each other, then Phillip stepped forward. “Gold Dust is dead,” he announced in a quiet tone. Both stallions reeled backward like Phillip had struck them. “D-dead?” Red Mark stammered. “How?!” “Murdered,” Phillip replied. “Holy Mother,” Safe Deposit whispered. “Phil, c’mere a sec,” Trace said, squinting at the papers in front of him. “‘Scuse me,” Phillip said quietly, turning away from the two coworkers and walking over to Trace. "So these are for payouts of the houses on the project that burned down," Trace said, holding up some documents. "Looks like it got spent out into some random companies and trusts." "Right," Phillip said slowly. "And these are other notes on the beneficiaries," Trace continued, holding up another sheet of paper that he'd gotten from Gold Dust's drawers. "Looks like most of them are shell companies. And if you trace them back a little farther..." Phillip frowned. "I know those names. Monopoly owns every last one of them." “And check the signature on the payouts,” Trace muttered. Phillip looked down at the bottom of the sheet and frowned. Daring peeked over his shoulder, then scowled herself. “You and Trace, keep searching,” Phillip instructed her. “Red, I wanna talk to this guy.” “You got it,” Red nodded grimly. He turned and approached Safe Deposit. “Would you step into your office for a minute? We need to speak.” “Uh...okay,” Safe Deposit said, his eyes darting up and down the hallway as he spoke. He led the two detectives to room 309 and opened the door. The interior of his office was virtually the same as Gold Dust’s, but the papers were scattered across the table in disarray and the personal decorations were replaced with photos of Safe Deposit in the middle of various activities: riding a fancy motorcycle, skiing, snorkeling in the Hay Barrier Reef. “Been there,” Phillip said, noting the last photograph. “Water’s plenty warm.” “Yeah, it was great,” Safe Deposit nodded. “So, what did you need?” “You work on the payouts for the housing project houses that burned down?” Red Herring asked. “Yeah, I did,” Safe nodded. "They've got a pretty generous policy for accidental fires…” “Did you know it was an accidental fire at the time?” Red cut in, frowning. Safe Deposit blinked and his eyes darted quickly towards the door, which Red instinctively moved to block. “Nice ring on your hoof there,” Phillip stated, looking down at Safe Deposit’s right foreleg. A golden ring with white and purple diamonds was adorned around it. “Oh, uh, thanks,” Safe Deposit stammered, looking down at the ring. “It’s an engagement ring. I got a matching one for my fiancee, Grape Jam.” “You just got it?” Phillip asked. “Yeah,” Safe Deposit nodded. “Bought it yesterday, proposed last night.” “Then why was it refitted twice, several years apart?” Phillip asked, nodding down at the ring. Red, upon looking closer, noticed two bands of silver in the ring, one of them bright and shinier than the gold material, the other faded and obviously much older. “And does Grape Jam know about Chiquita Banana?” Phillip added, his hoof pulling out an envelope that was partly hidden underneath the papers on the desk. The envelope was pink and addressed in a flowery dark red ink; it smelled faintly of bananas and chocolate, and there was a lipstick stain on the seal. Safe Deposit swallowed and took two steps back from Phillip. Phillip took three steps forward, lowering his head slightly so that he was glaring up at the insurance agent from beneath the brim of his trilby; the look in his eyes was as cold and hard as an oncoming storm front, unstoppable and inevitable. “That’s Gold Dust’s wedding ring,” he growled in a voice so quiet that the other two stallions almost had to strain to hear him. “You invited him to Lucky Lane’s, met him in the alleyway, and beat him to death with a brick.” Safe Deposit’s body went very still, blinking rapidly, his eyes darting everywhere in search of an escape. Red and Phillip pressed in close to him, cutting off every avenue. “Okay, yeah, I did it!” Safe burst out. “He was looking into the payouts for the fires and figured out that the payments all went back into Monopoly's pocket! I was helping to launder the funds!” “Did you hire the Scorcher?” Red pressed. “What? The fuck is a Scorcher?” Safe Deposit asked, looking bewildered. “All I know is, it was my job to overestimate the values on the houses, then make sure that the payouts went to where they needed to go! Just a little insurance scam, that’s all it was!” “And Gold Dust clued into it,” Phillip added. Safe Deposit nodded. “About the insurance and about the pipeline! I invited him over to Lane’s to talk about it, took him back into the alley. He said that I was a thief, and he was gonna go to the cops, the press, everyone. I panicked! If I let him go blabbing, then he would…” He stopped suddenly, his expression showing that he’d almost revealed something that he shouldn’t have. “Who would have what?” Red asked. Safe Deposit slowly stood up, his body trembling even as his expression settled into a mask of resolution. “I want to speak to a lawyer,” he declared. Red and Phillip looked at one another, then Red grunted. “All right, let’s head down to the precinct,” he said, plucking a set of hoofcuffs from his belt. He cuffed Safe Deposit’s forelegs, then he and Phillip escorted him out of the office and down the hallway. Red Mark stared in shock as they passed by. “Safe?! Wh-what—?” “Trace, Daring, stay here and keep searching. I’ll call for a black and white to back you up,” Red called into office 308 as they passed. Trace and Daring both nodded and continued looking through the files in the office. Without another word, Red and Phillip brought the silent, trembling Safe Deposit back to the elevator, down to the ground floor, through the lobby and into the back of Red’s Diplomat. Red started the car up, and they began the drive back to the police precinct just as the rain began to fall in cold, silvery sheets. Safe Deposit sat at the table in the stark white interrogation room, staring at his cuffed hooves in front of him on the tabletop. The bare white light over his head flickered intermittently as if to purposely annoy whoever was in the room. Beside him, a donkey wearing a suit that was a lot less expensive than it appeared to be and an obvious toupee was whispering urgently into his ear; the donkey’s hoof kept straying down towards the black briefcase on the floor beside his chair. Phillip and Red Herring stared at him through the one-way mirror in the wall. “He hasn’t said a word,” Red reported. “At least he can do something smart.” “He’s working with somepony,” Phillip said. “No shit,” Red grunted. “That little thing with the ring, if anything else, shows us that he’s too fucking stupid to do something this big on his own. And he’s scared of somepony.” “Detective Herring,” a female’s voice called. Both ponies looked up to see Cold Case striding towards them, her trench coat billowing about her form and her face as cold and serious as always. “Ma’am,” Red said, standing up straighter. “Your BOLO hasn’t come back yet, Red,” Cold reported. “We’ve widened the search area. And Detective Rainfall has come back from searching Quick Fix’s home. He found letters from Charcoal: he bribed him into altering the valves so that he could switch them into releasing gas.” She paused. “Too many ponies have died, Detective Herring. This needs to end.” “We’re all doing our best, Captain,” Red replied. He jerked his head towards the interrogation room. “This asshole here killed an insurance agent for Phoenix Life and Home who found out about the scam. We’re hoping that he can shed some light on the connection between the Everfree fires and the fires at the Phoenix Home Project, and what he meant about the pipeline.” “You won’t find any proof of that,” Cold Case replied flatly. Red blinked. “Why not, ma’am?” “Because, as you know, the Phoenix Housing Project is being funded in large part by Phoenix Life and Home. And guess who is on the board for Phoenix Life and Home?” Red scowled. “Monopoly. Who's also one of the biggest funders of this department.” “Ding. We have a winner,” Cold replied flatly. “And that is why you will find no proof of these connections. Not unless you find that Scorcher. And perhaps not even then. I am sure that Chief Tumbler will be quite sure of that.” “Then we find that Scorcher,” Phillip stated. “We will find him, Finder,” Cold corrected, turning to him for the first time. “Not you. And not your partner.” Phillip frowned at her. “Cold, I can find him just as fast, if not faster, than your officers. If he’s still loose, more ponies are going to die. I—” “You are a consultant, Finder,” Cold stated. “You are on the department’s payroll. We give you instructions. And I am instructing you and your partner to go home and stay out of this. You found Gold Dust’s killer. Your contract with your client is complete. You no longer need to do anything else.” “Yes, I do,” Phillip replied, his voice as cold and hard as hers. “I need to find him and stop him.” “Finder,” Cold cut him off. “Go home.” Phillip stared up at her in silence for a moment before sighing. “We were partners once, Cold,” he whispered. “We were,” Cold stated, her tone and expression not changing in the slightest. “But then you left.” And with that, she turned and walked away. Red sighed quietly. “Sorry, Phil,” he grunted. “Not about you,” Phil muttered, giving Red a brief nod before turning around and leaving. He walked back down the hallways to the front lobby of the precinct. Daring was waiting for him near the front doors. “Was she a fucking bitch when she was your partner?” she growled as he approached. Phillip just gave her a quiet, disapproving look before sighing. “Let’s go home.” Daring followed him out the revolving door, back into the rainy streets, and they hailed a passing cab to bring them back to Honeybee Bakery. With a click, Flash stamped his timesheet and pulled it out of the punch clock, setting it back into its slot in the wall. “You did good out there today, Flash,” Bumblebee said, punching out as well. “That mugger didn’t have a chance against you. Pow! One hit and he’s down.” “He was out of breath from running and he slipped in a puddle when he swung at me,” Flash replied flatly, placing his hat and duty belt in his locker and unbuttoning his shirt. “Well, you were the one to catch him!” Bumblebee pointed out, also doffing his gear and placing it in his locker. “Be thankful that there was somepony with wings responding to that call,” Prowl pointed out, taking a jar of light blue wing ointment out of her locker and gently rubbing it onto her right wing. “You really need to exercise more, Bee.” “Here, boss, let me,” Bumblebee offered, stepping forward. “Thanks, Bee,” Prowl said, sitting down on a bench and spreading her wings. Taking the jar, Bumblebee began to spread the ointment across her left wing. Prowl sighed softly in relief. “That feels much better. Thank you,” she said. “Don’t mention it,” Bumblebee smiled. “You going straight home after this?” “Maple Leaf’s going to be working late at the tree nursery,” Prowl replied. “I have to go pick up Skysong from the daycare and take her home.” “She’s such a sweet kid,” Bumblebee said. “She is,” Prowl smiled. “She called me mommy for the first time yesterday.” Bumblebee’s face lit up like a Hearth’s Warming tree and he let out a delighted squeal. “That’s so great!” He continued to rub the ointment into Prowl’s aching joints. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay out a bit longer? Maybe just one drink?” “Sorry, Bee,” Prowl said. “Maybe next time.” “What about you, Flash?” Bumblebee asked, looking up. To his surprise, he found that Flash’s locker was shut and the stallion was long gone. “Flash?” he called, looking around. Prowl sighed. “He’s just not coming out of his shell, Bee.” “I worry about him, you know,” Bumblebee said. “You see how tired he was today? Like he’d been up all night?” Prowl frowned. “What’s he doing?” she muttered. Flash, having already changed out of his uniform and into a black hooded sweatshirt, was flying over the storm clouds, the chill night wind flying through his mane. He breathed deeply, keeping his eyes forward except to occasionally glance up at the faint but discernible stars in the twilight sky overhead to make sure he was still heading northwest. “Maybe I should bring them into this…” he muttered to himself, looking up at the waxing moon. He was silent in thought for a few moments, then grunted. “They’re cops. You know you can’t trust all of them.” He dropped down to check his position, rushing through the swirling dark gray of the clouds and then greeting the cold of the rain. From above, he identified the Everfree District, then the side road that led to the Phoenix Housing Project. He banked and followed the road, swooping past a billboard with Monopoly’s smiling face plastered across it. The millionaire's eyes seemed to follow Flash as he flew past. He had to suppress a shudder as the thought passed through his mind. Before long, he spotted the working lights of the housing project. Pausing atop a low cloud, he pulled out a set of enchanted binoculars that were meant to work in the dark and raised them to his eyes. Below him, he could see that the projects were populated only by the uniformed security guards. Most of them were simply standing around in a tent, sharing coffee from a small portable machine...except for one, who was walking towards one of the more complete houses, carrying a couple takeout bags. The stallion entered the house, then exited a half-minute later, retreating back towards the tent as quickly as he could. “Hmm,” he muttered to himself. Putting his binoculars back in his pocket, he jumped off the cloud and flew down to the house. Spotting a window that hadn’t been put in yet, he slipped inside and found himself in an empty hallway. Only part of the wall had been put in: the rest was just wooden frames. Walking past a worktable with power tools set upon it, he paused at a small pile of wooden boards. Something was written upon each of the boards. Flash picked up one of the boards and read the painted words. “‘Prop Wood—Not Suitable For Construction?’” he muttered. “What the—?” He paused suddenly, hearing voices from below. Tiphoofing over to a set of stairs, he peeked down the steps to behold two ponies sitting around a small gas heater, eating the takeout burgers and fries. One he recognized from the BOLO as Charcoal; the other was a muscular earth pony mare. Her coat was a burnt orange color and she had long reddish-orange hair. Her cutie mark was a burning matchstick. Her back was currently to Flash, but he noted that most of her body was covered in burn scars. “You can tell Monopoly to fucking shove it!” the mare was snarling to Charcoal. “The Spark is mine! I have it, and I’m not giving it back!” “You know it doesn’t work like that, boss,” Charcoal replied, looking slightly frightened. “He said you could use the Spark on these houses, but—” “But nothing!” the mare shouted back, standing up. “The Spark was part of the deal! We’ve upheld our end of the bargain, burning down those fucking family’s houses and burning up the houses here! He needs to uphold his!” “But what if he sends his goons after us?” Charcoal replied, the fright on his face and in his posture growing by the moment. “Those security guards outside aren’t just to keep other ponies out, you know.” “He comes after us, and I head out and blab to the press, the cops, everypony, everything I know about his crooked little scheme,” the mare replied, taking a lighter out and flicking it on and off as she spoke. “I tell everypony how he builds these houses out of shoddy materials, how he hired us to burn them down to cover up the evidence and get the city to pay for rebuilding it so he can complete it on time. I tell them about his little insurance scams, about that stupid oil pipeline and this land—” “Tinderspark, just…” Charcoal took a shaky breath and raised a hoof. “Just calm down, all right? We can work through this.” “Fucking right we can work through this,” Tinderspark replied, raising a hoof towards her neck. “I earned this thing, and nopony’s taking it from—” Flash leaned forward to get a better look, but inadvertently lost his balance. He gasped and reached out a hoof to steady himself, bringing it crashing down onto the top step, which loudly squeaked as though in alarm. Both ponies looked up at the noise and spotted him. “Crap,” Flash muttered and turned around. He sprinted back down the hallway, racing for the open window. Before he had even gotten halfway to his target, a jet of bright yellow flames roared past him, striking the wall next to him and setting it ablaze. He screamed in shock and stumbled back, flinching from the intense heat. Whirling about, he turned to see Tinderspark standing at the top of the stairs, smirking. She wore the Dragon's Spark around her neck, the carved eye seeming to glow as it glared at him. Her foreleg was raised, and a swirling, flickering fireball was held in her hoof. He froze at the sight of her face, his heart seeming to turn to stone in his chest. “Oh, I wouldn’t try to run away if I were you, little pony,” Tinderspark cooed, smiling at him with yellowed teeth as she approached. She sniffed loudly and licked her chops. “Mmm. I bet you’ll smell wonderful when your flesh burns…”