“Say that again,” Phillip said, frowning as he held the payphone up to his ear.
“As I told you, I have examined the hairs from Headline Jot’s apartment and from his car,” Suunkii said through the phone. “And while I can confirm that both of them match, I have not identified the species of origin. They do not belong to a pony, griffon, donkey, thestral, hippogriff, dog, cat, or any other species that I know of. Of this I am certain.”
Phillip frowned and glanced over his shoulder at the apartment behind him, his eyes traveling upwards to the window of Jot’s room on the second floor. There was no sign of any cruisers nearby, which means that he hoped that there were no more officers allegedly guarding the scene.
His eyes went downwards to the curb. Trace Evidence was leaning against the hood of his Commander, watching him with his heavily-bagged eyes. After ensuring that Mint Breeze was settled in at the Apple Pie, Phillip had hailed a cab and rode down to Flotsam Street. He had arrived just as Trace was pulling up. The detective had explained that he had finished a series of interviews at the Foal Free Press where he had learned very little other than Headline Jot spent a lot of time out in the field, lived alone, and did not associate with his coworkers. “Didn’t even attend the bimonthly cookouts,” Trace had snorted. “First stallion I’ve ever heard of who was willing to pass on free food.”
Phillip returned his focus to the conversation. “What else did you find?”
“The blood is pig’s blood,” Suunkii continued. “It was most likely purchased at a griffon butcher’s shop. Per my suggestion, some uniformed officers are already making inquiries at butcher’s shops in the Dockside District. I can also confirm that the cartridges you found are both from a .38 caliber hoofgun. Said ammunition is very common and, unfortunately, is likely untraceable. However, there was no sign of any gunpowder residue on or near the car.”
“Means the gun wasn’t fired there,” Phillip concluded.
“Correct,” Suunkii said. “Twilight Sparkle is comparing the cartridges to samples from recent shootings but has so far discovered no matches. Though it has not been for lack of trying or eagerness,” he added in a somewhat drier tone than normal.
Phillip imagined Twilight bent over the comparison microscope, squeeing like a schoolfilly as she examined cartridges beneath the lenses, and couldn’t help but smile. “But you don’t have anything that can ID who drove the car there?”
“Unfortunately none at this time,” Suunkii confirmed. “However, we shall both keep looking.”
“Good. If I find anything at the apartment, I’ll bring it down for you,” Phillip said.
“Phillip Finder, please be careful,” Suunkii said, his voice suddenly dropping to a lower volume. “I have had three officers come into my laboratory and ask me about this case since the car was impounded, and there has also been an unusual increase in requests for examination. I suspect that there is foul play about.”
“Noted. I’ll watch my back. And both of you watch yours.” With that final warning, Phillip hung up. Stepping out of the booth, he walked over to Trace, subconsciously glancing up at the sky above him for any sign of a greyscale rainbow.
“So what’d the doc have to say?” Trace asked.
“Blood was pig’s blood, hairs match but don’t belong to anything he knows of, and he has no idea who was driving the car,” Phillip relayed.
Trace sniffed and frowned. “So we’re nowhere with this,” he said.
“Not nowhere,” Phillip replied. “Just need to keep looking.”
“You sure that witness will be able to help?” Trace asked.
“We’ll find out,” Phillip said, unable to ignore the prickling of a warning in the back of his head like a thorn scratching the inside of his skull. He studied Trace carefully, scanning him with his eyes. The grease stains on his inner forelegs told him that he’d been tinkering with his car again earlier today: the little splotches of shaving cream along his jaw and the little red dot of dried blood beneath his chin told him that he had slept late this morning and shaved in a hurry, and the remnants of blue chalk dust in his neck told him that he’d been playing pool with Lug Nut again last night.
But there was nothing on him that told him for sure that his closest associate on the force was truly, completely trustworthy.
“I sure hope so,” Trace muttered. “Anyway, we—”
The payphone began to ring. Both stallions paused, looked at it, then at each other. Phillip walked back to the payphone, glancing up at a metal pole a few feet away from him. The blue eye of the surveillance crystal slowly swiveled to track his progress.
He grasped the payphone and held it up to his ear. “Hello?”
“You have two hours to bring the witness to the precinct, or you won’t see your marefriend alive again,” a muffled voice hissed into his ear, then there was a click as the line hung up.
Phillip stared at the phone in mixed confusion and disbelief, then slowly hung it up. “What was that?” Trace asked, frowning at Phillip’s expression.
“Don’t know who it was,” Phillip said. “But they said they had Daring. Wanted me to bring the witness to the precinct.”
Trace’s eyes widened slightly. “You think they’re bluffing?”
The radio in Trace’s car suddenly crackled to life. “Bishop Eight to Bishop Nine! Bishop Nine, come in!”
“That’s Red,” Phillip said, a ball of ice forming in his stomach in response to the urgency in his voice.
Trace opened up the door and grasped the hoofset in his magic. “Go, Bishop Eight.”
“Need a number for a 21, urgent.”
“What’s the number on that payphone?” Trace asked Phillip.
Phillip checked the label on the phone. “Eight-seven-six-nine-nine-zero-nine.”
Trace relayed the number through the radio, and a moment later, the payphone rang. Phillip answered it, his heartbeat speeding up. “Red?”
“Where’s Trace? I need you both on,” Red said, his voice quick and taut.
Phil beckoned Trace over and held out the phone so that they could both hear. “Red, what’s going on?” Trace asked.
“They got Daring,” Red panted. “Daring’s been kidnapped.”
Phillip’s heart stopped for a beat. “How?” he breathed.
“They ambushed us,” Red said. “Five griffons and two ponies, one unicorn and one pegasus, all wearing masks, plus at least one more driver. They carried Daring off in a white van, no marks or license plates, headed west on Trout Avenue. I’ve already canvassed for witnesses, but nopony saw anything. Of course they fucking didn’t,” he muttered under his breath.
“When?” Trace asked.
“No more than five minutes ago,” Red asked.
Phillip barely heard him: a rapid, heavy thudding noise was growing in his ears, drowning out all other sound, drowning out his own thoughts. He sucked in air like a drowning pony, his heartbeat hammering against his skull. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, Daring was gone, they took Daring, shouldn’t have left her, they took her, she was going to die—
“Phil? Phil!”
A heavy blow struck Phillip across the face, shocking him back out of his thoughts and into reality. He shook his head, forcing himself to breathe more steadily, and nodded at Trace. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me,” Trace said. “Red and I have both been waiting to smack you for ages.”
“Just wish it could’ve been me,” Red said over the phone. “Listen, I’ll look around for any more clues, then meet you back at the precinct. You two get back to the precinct and start checking surveillance crystal footage.”
“Will do,” Trace nodded and hung up the phone. He and Phil both ran back to the Commander, Phillip vaulting over the hood and jumping into the passenger seat just as Trace turned the ignition with his magic. The car peeled away from the curb with a roar of the engine and a loud shriek of tires, the siren wailing out its warning cry.
Trace fastened his seat belt with his magic, glancing over at Phillip. The stallion hadn’t bothered with his seat belt; instead he was braced against the dashboard, every muscle taut, as though he was preparing to jump out of the car before it even stopped.
“We’ll find her,” he reassured him.
Phillip didn’t reply, keeping his narrowed eyes on the road. Trace tried to suppress the uneasy squirming in the pit of his stomach.
He recognized that gleam in Phillip’s eyes, like distant lightning flickering beneath the clouds of an oncoming storm. Whenever he got that look in his eyes, it ended with somepony going to the hospital.
Trace pulled the Commander into the side parking lot of the PPD Precinct. Phillip jumped out almost before the car stopped and started running towards the side door. Trace switched off the ignition and jumped out, sprinting after him.
Phillip shouldered his way through the door and rushed down the hallways, shoving past several ponies. He finally reached his destination: the dispatch room. He barged into the room, shoving the door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. Everypony in the room stopped in the midst of their tasks, their heads turning towards him.
Phillip looked towards the back of the room and spotted a familiar rotund white unicorn with brown hair standing in the back. “Roger,” he called, approaching the head dispatcher as Trace entered the room. “Need you to check footage for Trout Avenue in the Dockside, about twenty minutes ago.”
Roger Breaker blinked at him and swallowed. “Uh, okay.” He walked to one of the crystals embedded in the walls and began to tap it. A projected image appeared on the wall in front of him, Phillip, and Trace, showing the abandoned warehouse on the dock with the Diplomat 600 sitting in front of it. The trio watched as Red and Daring both appeared and walked to the car. Suddenly, a trio of masked griffons descended from the sky; two of them dropped a net on Daring, while the other attacked Red. A white van pulled up to the scene, partially blocking the crystal.
Phil let out a short exhalation through his teeth, the muscles in his shoulders and forelegs tightening. “Shouldn’t have split up,” he muttered. “Should’ve stayed with her—”
“Phil, stay focused,” Trace interrupted. “You need to concentrate on finding her, not on what you should’ve done differently.”
Phillip nodded and refocused on the image. The truck moved away, headed down Trout Avenue; the viewers caught a brief glimpse of Red Herring flying out of the frame in the opposite direction, pursued by a griffon armed with a carbine.
“Follow the truck,” Phillip said.
Roger turned and pushed some more crystals. The image disappeared and was immediately replaced with a view looking up a street, traveling along the northern bank of the Maresippi. The white truck passed by the crystal, headed west along the bank.
“That’s further down Trout,” Roger explained. “Um, let’s see if they turned off at Jetsam Street.”
Phillip glanced at the map at the head of the dispatch room, a web of streets and labels covered with blinking colored dots that marked cruisers, unmarked cars, and surveillance crystals. He located Trout Avenue and followed it west along the bank until it reached Jetsam Street, a T-intersection traveling north-south.
The door opened again and Red Herring stepped into the room. “Oh, there you are,” he said, walking up to Phillip. “I didn’t find anything useful at the scene, but I did turn over the body of the guy I killed to Mortis, and gave his gun to Suunkii. They’re examining them now.” He paused for a moment. “I did see something on his body, though.” He pulled an instant photograph out of his pocket and held it out to Phillip. Phillip took it and studied it.
It was a close-up photograph of the dead griffon’s neck. Tattooed on the skin was a mark: a curved silver claw. “The silver claw,” he observed, handing the photograph back.
“We both know what that means,” Red Herring replied, his face a grim mask.
“Whitestone,” Phillip said.
“I’ve already done what I can to track her down, but you know she spends most of her time out on the river,” Red said. “And even if we do manage to track her down, she obviously won’t have fuckshit anything to do with this.”
“Find Daring first. Worry about her later,” Phillip muttered.
“Found it!” Roger suddenly cried. Red and Phillip both looked up to see a projection of a T-intersection, where Trout crossed with Jetsam. The white van from before trundled into view, heading up towards the intersection, then turned south and drove out of sight. Breaker brought up another view that showed the truck driving over a bridge across the Maresippi River and disappearing over the southern border of Ponyville.
“We lost ‘em there,” Breaker said, pausing the image. “They could be miles away by now, probably in Fillydelphia or Appleloosa. You could—”
“What’re you playing at?” Phillip suddenly growled at Breaker.
Breaker stepped back, his eyes widening. “Uh, what?”
“The shadows,” Phillip said, pointing at the image. Everypony turned to observe the shadows on the bridge that extended from the light posts and the cars, noticing that they were long and extended perpendicular to the bridge.
“It’s nearly four o'clock now, but those shadows are long and facing west,” Phillip said. “That’s from early this morning. Show me footage from twenty minutes ago!”
Breaker swallowed and nodded, turning back to the crystals and pressing them, causing more projections to appear before them. He scanned the moving pictures, his eyes twitching from one to another.
But Phillip’s eyes were on Breaker himself. Specifically on the bead of sweat that was slowly trickling down the back of his neck. He noticed the unicorn’s tense posture, the way he kept licking his lips and swallowing. A suspicion grew in the back of his mind. He looked over at the map at the head of the room. His eyes focused on a blue dot that marked the position of a cruiser traveling along Pear Street, then on a cluster of blue and yellow dots that surrounded the precinct.
The suspicion grew stronger, feeling like a growing flame against the back of his head. He looked over at Roger, causing the unicorn to quickly look away from him.
“Planting the crystal on Trace’s car was easy, wasn’t it?” he said.
Roger Breaker froze, his hooves halting over the crystals embedded in the walls. His throat convulsed as he swallowed: his eyes, locked straight ahead, dilated into pinpricks. Trace and Red both tensed up, instinctively drawing their coats away from their holsters in a calm, trained motion.
“It was you all along,” Phillip said, his voice suddenly very quiet and very calm, like the wind that heralded a massive storm. “You track us with that map of yours, watching with your crystals, calling your bosses whenever we get too close for comfort. You called in Twisted Root when we stopped at the motel; that’s how he teleported in to attack us. You called Tinderspark and warned her we were coming.” He glared in silence, compelling Roger Breaker to slowly turn around and face him. The unicorn had paled, his eyes wide.
“How many ponies have died because you were greedy?” Phillip growled. The room had gone abruptly silent, every head turned to watch the confrontation.
Roger Breaker let out a quiet, indistinct noise of fear, then bolted like a rabbit, shoving past Phillip and making a beeline for the door. He barely made it three steps before he was halted in his tracks by Trace’s stunning spell to the face, quickly followed by Red punching him across the jaw, knocking out some teeth and sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Cocksucker!” Red roared at the cowering Breaker. “Traitor! Whore! Two-faced son of a bitch!”
Phillip walked calmly over to Breaker and glared down at him. “Where is Daring?” he whispered.
“I’m n-not telling you!” Breaker stammered through his bloodied mouth, trembling.
Phillip glared at Breaker for a moment more, then looked up at Trace and Red. “Five minutes alone,” he said.
Trace frowned. “Phil, I know you’re desperate, but this is the precinct. You can’t expect us—”
“Trace, you think he’s gonna listen?” Red replied curtly. “Listen, if this piece of shit knows something, we gotta get it out of him and fast. And you and I both know that Phil can do that.”
“Thought you hated it when he did that,” Trace muttered at his partner.
“I do because it makes a mess out of our lives,” Red replied. “But I’ll take the extra paperwork if it gets us Daring back.”
Trace frowned at Red, then at Phillip. Phillip just glared stonily back at him, the same gleam in his eyes. Slowly, he nodded.
“Five minutes,” he said, trying to ignore the acid bubbling in his stomach.
Phillip nodded and seized Breaker by the scruff of his neck, dragging him out of the room. Breaker kicked and struggled all the way, letting out indistinct bleats of fear and pleas for help. Nopony dared to intervene as Phillip and Breaker disappeared around the corner, followed by Red.
“You,” Trace barked to one of the other dispatchers, a young unicorn mare. “You know how to work these things?”
“Y-yes, sir,” the mare nodded.
“Good, come here and help me track that van,” Trace said, shooting one last nervous glance at the door.
Red opened the door to an adjacent office and glanced inside. “Nopony home,” he grunted, holding the door open for Phillip. “Five minutes.”
“Just need that,” Phillip said, dragging Breaker into the room behind him. The room was furnished with desks gathered in a few rows with a center aisle, facing a podium and a blackboard up at the head of the room. Phillip tossed Breaker against one of the desks; the traitor crashed into it and tumbled to the floor with a pained grunt.
“One last time,” Phillip growled, approaching slowly. “Where did they take Daring?”
“I ain’t t-telling you shit!” Breaker cried, crawling away from Phillip, clambering over the overturned desk and chair.
“Whatever happens next is entirely up to you,” Phillip said, looming over Breaker, his shadow casting him in darkness.
“Go...to...hell!” Breaker cried, his voice containing slightly more fear than actual defiance. His horn lit up and the table flew up from the floor right at Phillip.
Without missing a beat, without even blinking, Phillip snatched the table out of the air, yanking it free of the magical grip and tossing it aside. “You asked for this,” he whispered, and lunged, bringing his left hoof and, with it, his full weight down onto Breaker’s knee.
The screaming was faintly muted by the closed door, but it was still loud enough for Red to pause in his pacing and glance up at the door. “Traitorous little bastard,” he muttered, turning his head away and resuming his pacing.
“Detective Herring!” a voice called. Red looked up to see Flash Sentry running towards him. The younger pegasus skidded to a halt in front of him.
“Where’s Phillip?” Flash asked. “I just overheard that there was a call about a kidnapping in the Dockside District. They said it was Daring?”
“It was,” Red replied. “But Phil’s—”
A loud crack and a scream from inside the room cut Red off. “What the—?” Flash asked, walking into the room before Red could stop him.
Phillip was standing over Roger Breaker, pinning him to the floor with one hoof to the head. Roger was trembling, tears of mixed pain and fear running down his bloodied face; every breath came in a whimper.
“You’re going to tell me,” Phillip growled. “By my count, I still have six more ribs I can break. You want to spend a month in traction? I can arrange it.”
“P-please!” Roger wailed. “They’ll kill me if I t-tell you anything!”
Phillip’s reply was to press down on Breaker’s broken knee, eliciting a howl of agony. “And I’ll make you beg me to kill you. Where are they?”
“Okay! Okay, okay!” Roger sobbed. “Th-they took her to a truck depot on 1516 Northway Drive! I helped them plan a route that would take them out of view of any crystals, then had them take that fake route to throw anypony off! That’s all I know, I swear!”
Phillip stepped off Breaker with a disgusted grunt. “Make a full confession, or I’m coming back for you,” he warned, then looked up. He noticed Flash standing in the doorway and froze, his heart suddenly seeming to pull away from the younger stallion. Flash was staring at him with an expression of open-mouthed shock, his eyes flicking from him to Breaker to his hooves. Phillip glanced down and realized that his hooves were stained red with blood.
“I…” Flash stammered slowly, fear and confusion shining in his blue eyes. “You...what the hell?”
Phillip glanced back at Breaker, and for a moment, he flashed back to a small apartment room. It was dark, the only light coming from the flickering bulb of an overturned lamp. The remnants of a coffee table were spread out over the golden carpeting before him, like rubble after a battle. A body lay sprawled across the floor, covered in a dressing gown whose scarlet coloring matched the blood that was everywhere. A bloodied knife lay on the floor next to Phillip’s hoof.
He shook his head and refocused. “He’s a traitor who sold us out to the mob,” he explained to Flash. “Get him booked.”
Flash swallowed and nodded, sticking his head out of the room. “Hey, uh, we need a medic down here!” he called. A few moments later, two officers appeared carrying a stretcher. They and Flash carefully lifted Breaker onto the stretcher and carried him out of the room.
Red followed them out. “Once the docs have looked you over, you and I are gonna have a very long talk, scumbag,” he growled at Breaker.
Phillip exited the room, closing the door behind him. He looked down at his bloodstained hooves again and realized that they were shaking slightly, along with his own breathing. Spotting a stallion’s bathroom across the hallway, he walked into it, shutting the door behind him, and bent over the old, slightly cracked sink. He turned on the faucet and held his hooves beneath the ice-cold water, scrubbing away the red.
Try not to think about how it smells. Try not to think about that night. Try not to think about how heavy the bags were when you dropped them in the river. Try not to think about the sound of the saw as you carved his limbs and his head off…
He paused, gripping the sides of the porcelain for support, sucking air through his mouth. In and out, slowly.
You had to get him to tell you where Daring was, he told himself. He wasn’t going to talk otherwise, and her life was in danger. No other choice.
“Right,” he muttered, nodding at his reflection in the dirty mirror. “Right.”
The door opened and Trace entered. “You okay?” he asked Phil.
Phillip shook his head and wiped his face, realizing as he did so that there were tears in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he grunted. He exited the bathroom with Trace.
“I managed to pick up the van again, but I lost it somewhere near Promenade Avenue,” Trace explained. “You get anything from Breaker?”
“Daring’s at a truck depot at 1516 Northway,” Phillip stated. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
“As tempting as letting you both get killed can be sometimes, if you think I’m gonna let you go on this alone, you’ve got another thing coming,” Trace scoffed.
Phillip blinked at Trace. “Trace, I…” He swallowed, licking his lips as he tried to forge his emotions into actual words. “You and I…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Trace replied quietly. “I know.”
“FINDER!” a voice bellowed. Both stallions looked up to see Cold Case storming towards them.
“Would you care to explain to me why our head dispatcher is headed to the infirmary with several broken ribs, a cracked jaw, and a broken knee?” she spat at Phillip.
“Ask Red about the jaw,” Phillip said. “The rest was because he wouldn’t tell me where Daring was.”
“There are laws about this, Phillip!” Cold snapped. “It was bad enough when you did this as an officer, but now—!”
Cold’s rant was interrupted by the sharp barking of a gunshot from up the hallway, followed by panicked screams and yells. Cold, Trace, and Phillip all froze, then sprinted up the hallway. The shouting became more distinct as they ran towards the corner.
“What the fuck, Current?!” Red Herring’s voice was shouting.
“He was going for your gun!” a stallion’s voice replied.
“Luna, there’s blood everywhere!” another voice cried. “Ah, shit, it’s on my uniform!”
The trio rounded the corner and saw a group of ponies standing in front of them. They pushed through the crowd and froze at what they saw. The stretcher upon which Breaker laid was sitting in the middle of the hallway. Breaker was sprawled across it, a bullet hole carved through his skull. Blood and brain matter was sprayed over the wall and on the uniforms of several officers gathered around the scene. Flash was standing off to one side, his eyes wide with shock, pink goo spattered across his shirt. Red was berating another officer, a blue earth pony with white hair and the cutie mark of a running river who had his revolver held by his side.
“So you’re gonna tell me that some busted up dumbfuck being carried on a stretcher tried to grab my gun while I was five feet away from him, much less that I wouldn’t notice if he tried?” Red snarled. “And put that thing away, you’re gonna shoot somepony’s eye out!”
“Give me that!” Cold shouted, snatching the officer’s gun away in her magic. “All of you, out! This is a crime scene!”
The crowd quickly dispersed, leaving Cold Case standing in the hallway, staring at the corpse and the stretcher. Officer Current walked away quickly, his expression cold and his brow slightly furrowed. Red followed Trace and Phillip around the corner; Flash came after them, still shaking a little and trying to wipe the goo off his uniform.
“So what now?” Red asked.
“I’m going to get Daring back,” Phillip said, already walking away.
“And we’re going with,” Trace said, following. “Right, Red?”
“Damn straight,” Red Herring grunted, joining the group. “I must be losing my marbles,” he muttered to himself.
“Wait for me!” Flash cried, running after them.
Phillip paused and turned around to face Flash. “You don’t have to,” he said.
“You’re going to rescue Daring, right?” Flash swallowed. “I want to help.”
Red, Trace, and Phillip all glanced at each other. “It might be dangerous, kid,” Trace warned.
“I took an oath to protect and serve,” Flash said firmly, his shaking slowly subsiding as he spoke. “If I back out of this, that oath is meaningless.”
Phillip considered for a moment, then nodded. “Fifteen sixteen Northway Drive. Let’s go.”
The group walked quickly out of the precinct and out into the parking lot. Phillip, Trace, and Red climbed into Trace’s Commander, while Flash sprinted over to his motorcycle and kickstarted it to life. Flipping on the bike’s lights and sirens, Flash escorted them out of the parking lot and onto the street, heading southwest.
Hang tight, Daring, Phillip prayed from the backseat of the Commander. The clouds above their heads finally broke and the rain began to fall, drenching the streets and casting everything in gray.