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// Chapter 2 - The Questioning 
// Story: The Shroud of Manehattan 
// by Violet Mist 
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“Heh… wow, Dennis…” Philip exclaimed, astonished, as he put down his coffee cup and glazed his turquoise eyes over the file. “They really assigned you to do THIS?”

Philip and I were held up in our favorite bar to hang out, the Waltzing Horseshoe. It was a nice place, tucked in between a couple old restaurants. It was in a relatively old part of the city, but the bar itself was quite new. Its bright lights stuck out like a sore hoof but was nevertheless accepted by the mostly older residents.

Philip Schafer, despite loving this bar, never drank, nor did he smoke. Here was a stallion I had known for years, ever since high school, and he was nothing like the other ponies around us. I thought that a short stint in the military would toughen him up a bit, during the Second Great Pony War, but that did little to turn the colt into a stallion. Still, he was a friend and a great partner for this kind of case. This was because he was incredibly smart.

He was the kind of pony to put down a gun in favor of a book and quill. He let his imagination run wild right in front of my eyes. Philip could draw, and he could write, both at an elite level. And while he may not have been the most athletic Pegasus in the city, he was definitely one of the most intelligent.

Besides, he was just a pleasure to be around; the ultimate goof-off.

I grinned my widest grin, and he rolled his eyes. “Yep. But, here’s one thing old Bill ACTUALLY allowed me to do…” I said, trailing off at the end, preparing the surprise. But Philip kept a straight face as he looked away from the file.

“He’s letting you bring another pony along, correct?”

“Actually, yes,” I replied, not TOO surprised he got that right on the first guess. He had been waiting for one of these moments for a long time beforehand, and now that it was finally his chance to solve a case alongside me, I’m sure he was ready. “You done with the file yet?”

He wasn’t finished. “Felix Fritz, 21… Kyle Lewis, 20… Scott Nelson, 21,” He read off the names of the victims slowly, biting his lower lip as he got to the last one. “All juniors, huh? Look like nice kids, too.”

He passed the file over to me, and I took another look at it. As I glanced over the images of the three friends, I realized that I hadn’t really took the time to find out which one is which. And Philip was right; they looked like nice kids, with wide smiles on each of their faces as they took a picture of themselves in front of the Empire Stallion Building. I shrugged, closing the file and putting it on the counter. I grabbed my cup of cider and took a sip.

“From what I read, it looks like this case is a real mess for you to deal with, Dennis,” Philip pointed out, finishing off his coffee. “No suspects. No motives. Hell, not even how it happened. At least you got the weapon that was probably used.”

“Yeah. An old .38 revolver. The murderer dropped it fleeing the scene, I bet.” I responded, finishing my cider. Philip noticed this, and quickly motioned over the bartender, who speedily walked over to us from the other side of the counter.

I expected to see the same young mare who had been doing the bartending for the past couple of years, but I was surprised to see a new face. In her place was a slightly older mare, but no more than thirty years of age. She had sharp light purple hair to go with a duller light gray coat, but maybe her most astonishing feature was a pair of magenta eyes that were straight-up burning with other colors. 

It was a unique sight, to say the least.

“I’ll have another coffee,” Philip told her, and they both turned to face me. This is when I finally got a good look at her face.

Normally, I wouldn’t see much in somepony I had just met, but this was different. She wasn’t that kind of pony. Somehow…

She looked familiar.

I think she noticed it too, because I could tell that she was a bit taken aback to see me. But, she recovered quickly, and I was greeted with the warm smile of a mare treating me as any other customer.

“What can I get you today, sir?” She asked, holding a notepad in her magical grip. I thought for a moment, before finally answering the familiar mare.

“Cider, please.” I replied. I was about to ask her a question from a place and time I couldn’t remember, but I was cut off by Philip seated next to me.

“On my tab.” He announced, smiling at the mare. She nodded and walked away, but I caught her taking one last glance at me before turning the other way. I slumped in my barstool, sighing, trying to remember why she was familiar to me.

“...sorry I cut in when you were going to ask her out, Dennis, but you know you can’t trust new mare—“

“Now hold on for just a moment, PHIL.” I practically yelled out. I called him by his nickname, Phil, because he didn’t like it and knew perfectly well that I knew he didn’t enjoy it. Sure enough, his face scrunched together, wincing. I put my hooves in the air. “The thought never crossed my mind!”

“I’m sure it did, buddy.” He said, crossing his arms and crossing his legs, holding his head high in the air as he looked down at me in disgust. “And don’t call me Phil. It’s embarrassing.” He whispered that last part. I sighed and rolled my eyes, waiting for my refilled mug of cider.

Philip and I didn’t talk until the mare came back, and I tried to scan her face one last time without making it awkward. I was really, really sure that I had seen her somewhere before... I just couldn’t place my hoof on it. I rubbed my chin and sipped my mug as I watched the mare walk to the other side of the counter. She was walking with a pep in her step, as if she wanted to get from one place to the other as soon as she could.

This is when I figured I could ask her some questions about the case. If she was acting so strangely around me, I assumed it wouldn’t hurt to question her about what was going on.

I placed my hoof on the counter, took a quick drink of my cider, and turned to Philip. “I’m going to ask her.”

“Ask her out on a date?” This was Philip’s obvious response, as his ears perked up and eyes widened.

“No. Questions about this case. The mare seems… nervous, around us.” I revealed. Philip’s hopes fell.

“Aw. I thought you were finally going to go out in the world of mares, Dennis.”

“Shut it, Philip. You can’t talk because you don’t have the guts to either.”

He did as I intended, and I was finally alone with my thoughts. Time passed, and I remained in the same spot. My mug was empty after about a half hour, and since it was getting late, Philip was standing up to leave.

“It’s getting dark, D. I’m going to head out for the night… Chief might call me later about the case, so I should probably be home for it.” He said, adjusting his trenchcoat and putting on a cap. I nodded and stuck out my hoof, and he gave it one of his signature hoofshakes.

“I understand. Have a good one, buddy.” I replied.

“Good night, old pal. I wish you the best with that mare.”

Then, he was gone.

Not long after, I ordered another cup of cider, this time placing it on my tab. But before the mare could walk away, I made sure to capture her attention just once.

“Hey. When does the bar close tonight? Not too late, right?” I asked, placing my hoof on the counter and watching her movements attentively, looking for any kind of jerk in her movements that could lead to a suspicion. But, she acted as normal as she could be.

“11, sir. We just don’t want some buzzed stallions waltzing around this older neighborhood and disturbing the living folks’ peace, right? Thanks for the consideration, though.” Immediately after finishing her sentence, she rushed over to the other side of the counter to get me my mug of cider. After that was done, she offered me the mug with no issue, and soon enough, she was also gone.

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall above the bar counter. It read 9:47, which meant it would be another hour or so before everypony was gone. I sighed and took a drink from my 4th cider of the day.

I’ll admit; those last 60 minutes went by in a blur. And honestly, it was probably because I had a little too much cider.

So, here I was, slightly buzzed and dizzy as the last pony in the bar besides us left, leaving me alone with some random bartender that I kind of recognized. The mare unbuttoned her bartender’s shirt, revealing a white undershirt underneath, and gave me the evil eye.

“Well? Aren’t you going to leave? I have to close this place up, so…” she mentioned in a soothing voice that had somewhat of a Manehattan accent. I shoved my last empty cup of cider away from me and whipped out my quill and notepad, smiling.

“I will leave. Just gotta ask you some questions before I do.” I reassured, but she groaned and facehoofed.

“Oh, sweet Celestia… is this another one of those ‘door-to-door salespony’ pitches again? If so, I’m not interested, and you can defer your—“

“What is your name?” I asked, cutting her off, which wasn’t too kind of me, but she didn’t complain. She simply rolled her eyes and started cleaning some glasses. Funny thing is, she had cleaned those same glasses just minutes ago, which indicated that she was nervous, if anything.

“Joyce. That’s my name.”

“Joyce…?” I asked, indicating for her to finish. 

“McMillan. Joyce McMillan.” She finished, placing the glasses upside down for optimal drying. I scribbled this down at the top of my notes, nodding, with a hiccup.

“I recognize you but don’t remember you.” I explained, watching her turn away from me and wipe down the counter across from me. “How about you? What do you feel?”

“I feel like... you may be reaching a bit. I’m single but I’m not looking to… ‘get together,’ if you get what I’m saying.” Joyce answered, flashing me a bit of her evil glare again. I dropped my notepad and quill on the counter and raised my hooves defensively, as she was accusing me of something that I wasn’t doing.

“I’m not trying to flirt with you, Miss Joyce,” I said with a slight chuckle. “I genuinely recognize you from somewhere… and that might help me on my case.”

Joyce immediately stopped what she was doing and looked at me with wide eyes, her expression bare. “First off, don’t address me formally, because I think that’s silly,”

I nodded. With a hiccup.

“But… you’re a cop?”

“No, not a cop. A detective. I examine cases—“ I tried explaining my profession, but Joyce quickly cut me off.

“I know what a detective does, mister. I just can’t tell the difference sometimes.”

“Aw, well that’s just offensive.” I replied with a friendly smile, but just as I thought the mare was about to crack a real smile, she shut her mouth and rolled her eyes.

“...whatever. If you’re a detective, shouldn’t you be elsewhere trying to solve this ‘case’?” She pointed out, finishing cleaning the last of the glasses. I once again picked up my notepad and quill and scribbled down a few things before putting it down again.

“Like I said, I’m just here to ask a few questions relating to my case…” I claimed, tapping the notepad with my quill. “...and then I’ll be out of that lavish mane of yours.”

Joyce groaned and shook her head, kneeling down to empty out the ice container. “If it doesn’t take too long…

“Ask away.”

“Where were you at approximately 11 this morning?” I started right away. She gave this question some thought, which was understandable. I was sure it had been a long day for her.

“I believe I was discussing my hours with my manager. Over the phone, of course.” She recalled, letting the remaining ice flow into a bucket from the container.

I wrote her answer on my notepad.

“Joyce, has the thought of murdering another pony ever crossed your mind?”

“Not that I recall.” She answered.

“Has the thought ever enticed you, in some sort of way?”

“Of course not. Anypony with some kind of moral sense knows that it’s wrong.” She scoffed after her reply, which had me a bit suspicious, so I marked that down on my notepad as well.

“Are you sure?” I asked. She went dead quiet, so I continued with my questions.

“What were you employed in before accepting this job?”

“I had brief stints working as a clerk in several different department stores.” Joyce revealed, wiping the counters with a wet tissue. “That could be a reason why you recognize me. A lot of ponies recognize me, honestly.”

I rubbed my chin as I wrote that last bit down. It wasn’t awfully important to the case; Tartarus, none of what I wrote was crucial at all. I was, although I was afraid to admit it, struggling with this mare. She was difficult to understand or read, and she was ferociously stubborn at times. There was only one occasion where I was able to break her skin, and I was quickly turned away.

I tossed the case file on the table, and she stared at it for a couple seconds. I nudged it and asked her if she ever was going to open it, so she sighed and walked over and looked through it.

“Go on page 11 and stop there. There’s something important I need to ask you.” I told her, putting down my notepad and quill for a moment. Joyce hesitated.

“Aren’t all of your questions supposed to be important?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. Now it was my time to roll my eyes, which I did.

“Just do what I say. Please.”

Joyce flipped through the file and stopped at page 11, just like I had said. I could tell right away that something had caught her eye, and that was the exact thing I was going to ask her about. “Do you recognize these three stallions?”

It was the photograph of the victims. She stared down at the photo for a second, her eyes becoming glazed over. It was obvious that she had seen them somewhere.

“Yeah, I know those stallions… are they who you’re investigating?” She asked, but before I could answer, her jaw flew open again. “They didn’t do anything wrong, detective. I can assure you…”

I sighed and tapped the photograph. I admit, I was a bit touched by Joyce pleading their cases, despite the fact that I knew they didn’t commit any crimes. But I always have had trouble breaking bad news to ponies who are already in despair.

“...well, unfortunately, they were, uh… murdered.” I revealed, wincing, with a hiccup afterwards.

“Oh, dear Celestia…” Joyce said softly.

“But since you seem to have known them, I was hoping you could provide some details about ponies they were affiliated with? Their connection with you? Things like that?” I questioned, trying to talk softly and comfortably for her as possible while I picked up my notepad and quill. Joyce rubbed her chin for a moment while she rested her arm on the counter, likely recounting the times she met with the three gentlecolts.

“Alright. Well, all three of them—Felix, Scott, Kyle...—started showing up here at the bar about 3 months ago. It was around the same time I was hired as the bartender. Essentially, they would show up every Friday night after university and every Saturday night to get their last shots in before going to school on Monday. And they would occasionally show up in the middle of the week, sometimes alone, sometimes only two… anyways, they were always very respectful. Polite. Even when they were… buzzed, I guess.” She explained. I wrote down most of it in my notepad, and she continued.

“...I related to them, you know. When I was their age, going through the whole university process, I drank a lot too. And I thought it was good for me because it supposedly dealt with stress. But, it wasn’t good for me, so I advised them to tone it down just as I did. So, soon, they were managing their alcohol consumption and going home safely and soundly. I didn’t have to worry. Because, y’know, I liked these kids.

“Anywho, it was around a couple of weeks ago when they started to show up less often. Sometimes they would sit down at the counter, order a few drinks, and we would talk a bit, just like old times. But that was becoming less common, and I was getting a bit worried about them. I was aware that school was starting back up for them soon, and I knew they were busy getting ready for that, but it was unlike them to just not show up. They always found time for this place, y’know?”

I nodded in response, documenting the rest of her explanation on my notepad. When I was done, I hiccuped as I gazed down at my hoofwriting. Everything seemed to be in order, so I was ready to begin the next part of my questioning of Miss McMillan.

“Were the three of them ever accompanied by other ponies?” I asked, tapping my chin with the end of the quill. Joyce pursed her lips for a second as she thought, but her eyes soon fluttered wide open.

“Besides the occasional outside friend tagging along with the trio, there was this one time where a few well-dressed stallions showed up with them… I guess I should note that this was really, really recent, perhaps one of the last times I ever saw them.

“I’m going to be honest with you… I can trust you, right?” She asked.

I nodded. She glanced around for a second before continuing. I could tell she was disturbed by this whole thing. So, I probably would have to visit another day.

“They… well, the stallions that came with Felix and the boys were… aggressive, to say the least. They demanded drinks, and they wanted them fast. I don’t know what they said to the boys while I was busy… but I could tell they were uncomfortable with it.

“The stallions must’ve been there for about a half hour. Felix and the rest left about 20 minutes in, and the stallions just ordered a couple more drinks and then THEY left. So, that was that. I’m pretty sure that was the last time I saw those three alive…”

Now, for this next part, I don’t think I heard Joyce correctly. I was either too buzzed or was just focusing on writing down her account. But I believe I got the main point down.

“Hell, they didn’t even leave a tip… but they did leave something I don’t think they intended to forget.” She said.

My ears perked, and I immediately stopped what I was doing. I put my notepad and quill down and stared at her for a few seconds, during which she shifted uncomfortably in her spot, before I shook it off with a hiccup.

“So you’re saying… that the stallions left something here? On accident?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. Joyce hesitated for the tenth time of the hour, before pulling something out from one of the drawers in the counter.

It was a small, folded piece of paper that was no larger than a coaster. She tossed it to me, and I flipped it open. In it was an address, an address to a place I had no familiarity with. At least, that was until I looked a little closer.

“...this is the address to one of the abandoned war seaports, right?” I asked, showing Joyce the address. She squinted at the hoofwriting, which was quite sloppy, before shrugging. She then started to put on her jacket, indicating that she was about to close up for the night.

“I don’t know. I don’t really go down there at all…” she replied, moving out from the counter to turn off the lights in the restaurant. I shoved the paper in my trench coat pocket and got off my stool, taking a cigar out of my pocket.

“Just a couple things before I go,” I told Joyce, who was walking to the door as I was. When we both got there, I took out an $8 bill from my pocket and handed it to her, and instantly a wide smile crossed her face.

“Wow… this is a nice tip, Detective…?”

“Parker. Dennis Parker.” I cut her off with a wink. “Most of that money I gave you was because of your cooperation in this case… and I think I might be coming here more often. I see why Philip hangs around here more than I do.”

Joyce nodded and opened the door with me, and as I walked out, I lit my cigar. We both said our goodbyes and good nights and walked our separate ways.

I have to say, it was so quiet on that street, you could hear my hiccups for miles all through the night.