//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3 
// Story: The Painless Murders 
// by bkc56 
//------------------------------//

A police detective met us as we entered the Bureau of New Product Registration. “Hi, Citrine. How’s retired life?”

“Hey, Shadow. Oh, you know. Lots of sitting on the front porch eating bonbons.” She tossed an invisible snack into her mouth followed by a few fake chews and a swallow.

The stallion snorted. “I can see you doing a lot of things. That’s not one of them.”

“You might be surprised to see how well she’s taken to being retired,” I said with a smile.

The detective glanced at me. “If by taken you mean found something else to do… When I heard she was retiring, I thought no way. Then I heard she was joining a detective agency and it all made sense. You must be the husband?” He reached out his hoof.

I did the same, and we shook. “Yes, Dark Steel. Good to meet you.”

“Same.”

Citrine stepped up next to me. “Steel, this is Shadow Hunter. I worked with him for several years. We were even partners for a while.” She leaned against me for a second. Without words, she confirmed where her feelings lie. Not that I had any doubt, but I appreciated the gesture. A quick flick of his eyes told me the detective noticed too.

“The captain said you are working for the defense attorney and would be dropping by.” His smile faded. “I assume you’ve both read the preliminary reports?”

“Yes,” I answered. “But I can’t get what I need from a written report. I need to actually see the scene.” I tilted my head towards a pony seated in one of the chairs. “Is that the supervisor mentioned in the report, Mr Head Honcho?”

He nodded. “Yes. We sent the clerk home. She was in shock and a total mess.”

The waiting area was too small for him to not hear everything we said, and he stood up as I approached him. “Hi. I know it’s been an awful day for you. Do you think you can stand to answer just a few more questions?”

He raised his head almost as if standing at attention. “Absolutely. What happened here was horrible, and I want to see Raven’s killer, that unicorn, brought to justice.”

“Raven was a clerk here, correct?”

“More than just a clerk. Raven Silverwood was a skilled researcher and probably our best employee. She had years of submissions in her head and could remember details that everypony else had to look up. She was friendly, even with problem customers. She had a wonderful sense of humor, and she always…” His voice cracked as he closed his eyes and lowered his head for a moment. He took a deep breath and looked at me again. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…”

I took a step closer and lowered my voice. “You liked her?”

“Yes, but not like that. My wife and I had her over once or twice a month for dinner. We have no foals of our own, and she has no relatives in Canterlot. It just seemed natural. She’d also spend most holidays with us.” After a pause, he added, “My wife is going to be devastated. But Raven loved this job. I believe she felt more at home here at work than she did when she was at home. She’s going to be missed around here.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a stuttering breath in.

“I’m sure she will be. And I’m sorry to make you go through this again. But I believe the unicorn the police arrested is not the killer, which means the real killer is still out there.”

His eyes went wide. “But they said it was clear he did it. They said there was proof.”

Sometimes when a suspect is offered up on a silver platter, the police don’t dig deep enough. But this silver has started to tarnish. “There are some… inconsistencies. One is the fact that Quicksilver, that’s the unicorn’s name, said that Raven had filled out a receipt for his submission, but he didn’t get it. Where would I find that receipt pad?”

Mr Hancho walked around behind the counter that bisected the room, as I followed. “There’s not one single receipt pad. We keep a number of them around, and you just grab the closest one if somepony is dropping something off.” He checked the length of the counter. “Well, there should be some around. Perhaps Ivy put them away.”

“You mean the other clerk, Ivy Dawn?” He nodded. “Where would that be?”

He pointed. “In the top drawer at the far end of the counter.”

I walked to the drawer and opened it. Inside were a number of different pads of pre-printed forms, and I noted that a couple were titled ‘Submission Receipt’. I removed the top few pads, setting them on the counter. Then I saw it: a pad with the top sheet filled out. I checked the submitter’s name. Quicksilver. I looked at Hunter who paced around the waiting area. “Detective?” I took out the pad and flipped it around so he could read it from his side of the counter.

“There’s your proof that Quicksilver made a submission last night. The completed form, with Raven’s signature at the bottom. And since you found no such submission, that means somepony removed it from the office. This shows Quicksilver has been telling the truth, and also that someone else was here during or after his visit.”

After he finished reading the receipt, he pulled out an evidence bag and slipped it in. “As soon as we’re done here, I’m going to get this to the precinct.” 

I turned to study the space behind the counter. At the far end were three desks. There was a table with several stools around it at this end where we stood now. The back wall was covered in pony-height bookshelves filled with books and binders with date ranges printed on the spines.

Seeing me take it all in, Mr Hancho offered an explanation. “That wall has submission records for the last couple decades. Older records and all physical submissions are stored in the back room." He pointed to the open door. "It's even larger than this room. We also have an off-site warehouse."

I whistled. "That's a lot of new products."

He snickered. "Despite the name, we record more than just products. Anything a pony wants to officially record comes to this office. Products of course, but also books, music, artwork, and lots of other things. We receive submissions from other offices too. For example, if you submit a new business application, we get a copy to verify that the business name is not already registered for exclusive use by somepony else."

I turned to face him. "What was Raven working on last night?"

"Based on the appointment, she probably would have been looking at prior art for the submission. She really enjoyed doing research in the evening when it was quiet. But since we didn't find a submission anywhere, I don't know."

“At that table?” I gestured towards it.

“Probably.” He stared blankly under the table.

I looked down at the floor. Some chalk markings on the wood provided a rough outline of where Miss Silverwood’s body was discovered. The outline extended under the table.

Few would ever consider lying down where a pony had died. Personally, I didn’t believe in such superstitions. Although, if there was any connection to the deceased there on the floor, I hoped she would share something with me that only she would know. If you have any clues to share, Raven, please, now is the time.

I lay down on the floor, moved myself part way under the table, and then rolled on my side just as she had been. Nothing. Then I looked up.

“Detective? There’s something here.”

He trotted around the counter. “What do you see?”

“It’s a set of numbers, magically burned on the underside of the table. And they look fresh. Write this down. One. Three. Seven. Four. And… I can’t make out the last two digits. I think these were placed here the last seconds before she lost consciousness, and she wasn’t able to get the last two digits inscribed clearly.”

Thank you, Raven. I slid out from under the table and stood up.

“That’s a submission reference number,” the supervisor said. “Based on the first four digits, I’d say it’s from a few months ago. But you’re looking at a hundred possible submissions over probably several months.”

“Please get me those records.” I stepped to the counter. “The second to last digit had a pretty clear vertical line. So I’d say it was one, four, seven, or nine. That could drop us from a hundred to just forty submissions to check.”

The supervisor selected several books off the shelves and set them on the counter. I grabbed the first and hungrily began to check the ten entries starting with 13741. Nothing. I moved on to 13744. Ten more submissions, and nothing. 13747. No, no, no… “Bingo! 137476. A submission for Message Fire, a mixture for sending paper messages long distance.” I looked up at the detective. “That’s exactly what Dragon’s Fire is.”

I flipped the book around so Detective Hunter could read it. “See?” I tapped the form. “Submitted six months ago.”

As he read the form, he noted the submitter’s name. “Kaafe Mane. What is that, Saddle Arabian?”

“It does sound like it, but...” I looked down at the form even though it was upside down now. “It could also be a fake name.”

He tilted his head. “Why would this pony use a fake name?”

“What if this earlier submission isn’t legitimate? I know Quicksilver has been working on his version for several years. What if--”

From across the room Citrine cut me off. “Quicksilver, the report! The burglary at their house seven months ago.”

I stared at her as my mind raced. A burglary to steal one or more profitable mixtures. Stolen bits to hide the true theft. A copied mixture fraudulently submitted a few weeks later.

I pointed at Citrine as I spoke to detective Hunter, “That’s why. This submission may have been stolen from Quicksilver’s house. If you were going to submit a fraudulent claim with an official branch of the Equestrian government…” I paused for him to consider that. “Would you use your real name?”

“I see your point. Still, when I get to the precinct, I’m going to get some resources trying to find this pony, or if that’s not possible, try and confirm the name doesn’t exist.”

I nodded. “Good plan. Please let us know what you discover.”

“Will do.”

I suddenly had another thought. “Hunter, what items does it say were submitted with that registration?”

He studied the form for a bit. “Ahh, here it is. The submission included release notes and a sample.”

So, the minimum needed for a submission, meaning the least he would need to steal and still have enough to submit. But no lab notes means no proof of when the development took place. Quicksilver’s included lab notes, which could potentially prove he had the idea first.

I paused. “And who processed that submission?”

He reviewed the form again. “Here it is. It was Outflank.”

I turned to the supervisor to ask, “That’s the pony who was here with Miss Silverwood last evening?”

“Yes, but the log showed him clocking out at 4:00.” He glanced in the direction of the logbook on the shelf.

I kept my focus on the supervisor. “What can you tell me about him?”

“As much as Raven was one of the best, Outflank is one of the worst. He has multiple infractions for preferential treatment and other offenses. We suspect him of taking bribes, but we haven’t been able to prove it. He’s also having problems at home. I believe I heard his wife was divorcing him.”

Half speaking to myself, I summarized, “So he was here yesterday. He would have known Quicksilver was coming in from the appointment book. Perhaps he didn’t leave when he clocked out. Or perhaps he contacted this Kaafe Mane.”

I turned towards Detective Hunter. “We need to find Outflank, now.”

“We’ve already tried. I sent a couple officers to his house as soon as we discovered he was here yesterday afternoon. So far we can’t find him, and no one has any idea where he might be.”

I snorted in frustration. We have a potential witness, or even an accomplice, and no one can find him. I grabbed the record book from the detective. “I see this Message Fire mixture is also licensed to Fancy Pants.” I looked at the supervisor and tapped at the form. “What’s this bank information here?”

“That’s the account to deposit any royalties or licensing fees submitted through this office. Some ponies like all the funds to go through this office for official record keeping. Some deal with the licensors directly.”

“Can you tell which he used?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, no, I can’t. That’s all handled through a different office. Is it important?”

“Probably not. I think I have what I need for now. Thank you very much.” I started to leave and then changed my mind. Instead I stepped closer to him and lowered my voice. “Raven Silverwood was a special mare. In her final moments, she provided a clue that may well solve her own murder. She was an ingenious and quick-thinking pony.” It was little comfort, but his sad smile told me he still appreciated it.

I walked around the counter towards the door. “Citrine, time to go. We have work to do.”