//------------------------------// // The Case // Story: La Femme Fatale // by bkc56 //------------------------------// I let the paper slip from my hoof. “You want me to… foalnap you?” With a slight tilt of her head, she replied, “If you’d be so kind.” This was either some sort of prank, or she was one pony short of a full team. My eyes flicked to the bag of bits on my desk. Perhaps the latter. “To the best of my knowledge, foalnapping is still a serious crime resulting in a quick trip to a small cell for a long stay.” “I imagine some accommodation can be made when the intended victim requests, and even pays for the service.” She removed her hat allowing her mane to spill out. Lifting her muzzle into the air she gave her head a couple shakes to distribute the mane over her neck. For the first time, I could fully appreciate the stark contrast of her crimson mane against her snow-white coat. To say it was striking was to call Canterlot a quaint country hamlet. She lowered her head and the twinkle in her eyes told me she knew exactly the effect that would have on anypony in the vicinity. This was somepony to always keep on the far side of the desk. I cleared my throat. “I think this is where I say: why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me the entire story.” She placed her hat on the corner of my desk and leaned back in her chair. “As you wish. For the better part of a year, I’ve been receiving anonymous threatening letters delivered to my main store here in Canterlot.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a folder. “For example…” She opened the folder and hoofed me a single sheet of paper. It was a photograph of a note, which had been made out of letters cut from newspaper or magazine article titles. It was totally cliché, but still effective at being untraceable. I read it aloud, “‘I look forward to the day you will suffer as I have.’” I flipped it over to look at the back. “That’s a Canterlot Police evidence stamp. So you turned the originals in to the police?” She nodded. “After I’d received a few, I contacted my attorney who advised me to involve them.” “Did they open a case and assign a detective?” I set the photo on the desk. She handed me three more photos. “Yes. A Detective Citrine and her partner Detective Hunter.” I looked up from the photos. “I know Citrine. She’s a good pony. I don’t know Hunter. But if there’s anything to find, Citrine will find it.” I looked back down at the photos. “Although, this isn’t much to go on.” I silently read the text from one of the pictures: ‘You’ll understand after you too lose it all.’” She gestured at the photos. “Yes, I realize it’s not much. And I’m aware of the limitations. They have more important cases than somepony receiving a few vaguely threatening notes. That’s why I started my… contest, as you called it. I wanted to initiate my own independent investigation.”  “I see.” I set the three photos atop the first one. Something nagged at me. Why hire so many firms to investigate? It’s almost as if she wanted everypony to know about her problem. A defense? A smokescreen? There were better ways to pick a private investigator than hiring a bunch of ponies to do fake investigations. She flipped through the pages in her folder. “Then, a few months ago the tone of the notes changed. They became less vague, more… explicitly threatening.” She hoofed me a few more photos. “‘A heart pierced by steel.’ … ‘Your last breath will be alone.’” I glanced up to see her looking at the floor, her ears down against her head. “Oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be reading these out loud.” She took a deep breath, composed herself, and looked up. “No, it’s fine. I’ve read them all myself, multiple times.” She paused. “It’s just… different, hearing them aloud.” She’s a tough mare, but not invincible. A little more tact would be in order here, Steel. I tossed the photos onto the desk. “I can read them later. Let’s move on. Do you have any enemies? Customers or business associates who may have a grudge? Anypony who could conceivably want to hurt you?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Of course, there is always the occasional dissatisfied customer. Most of the time a replacement or refund is all they need to be satisfied. Treat them fairly and with respect and they’ll leave happy. They’ll tell their friends about how they were treated, and one failed sale can turn into multiple new customers. This is standard policy in all my stores.” I snorted softly. “You don’t miss any opportunities.” She smiled sweetly. I wonder if she’s really that friendly towards customers, or if it’s just her approach to growing business. “I’m sure there are some customers you simply can’t satisfy.” She nodded. “Of course. I imagine you know the type. They demand to speak to a manager. Nothing will placate them. And they usually end with ‘You’ll never see me in this store again.’ If they’re speaking to me personally, I will smile and reply ‘Thank you so much,’ as I open the door and invite them to leave.” I snickered as I shook my head. “And I bet none of them catch that little dig, do they?” “Some might, later that night or the next day.” Her smile faded away. “I know the detectives were interviewing all the names I could provide.” Yet another sheet of paper was pulled from her file and set on the desk. “Last I heard they didn’t find any likely suspects.” I glanced at the paper. There were a couple dozen names listed, though it was upside down to me, so I couldn’t read them. Didn’t matter right now anyway. I looked at her file folder and could see another sheet of paper that was almost blank. I pointed at it, “Another list?” She pulled out the sheet and hoofed it to me. “I try to be fair and honest in all my business dealings, but sometimes things still happen. The first name on that list was a supplier selling defective goods.” Miss Chapeau began to collect the various photos, putting them back into the file. “They refused to address the issue, so I reported them to the Canterlot Business Administration. Word got out, and other companies reported them for similar problems. They were shut down in under six months.” She carefully set the file folder down onto my desk and after a brief pause, adjusted it to lay flush with the edge. She has an eye for details... “And the other name?” I looked up at her. “Mr Calico. I never fully figured that one out.” She glanced down at her dress and smoothed out a wrinkle. “He owned a textile mill that we did business with.” Her gaze returned to me. “A couple years ago he was under contract to supply the main cloth we needed for a spring line. It was a hat and shawl combination, which meant a much larger order than we’d typically need for a new line. The contract date passed with less than half the order completed.” After a pause, she continued. "He didn’t even tell me himself. He sent a foreman. Something about an accident that broke the weaving machine. A month later the mill was closed.” She sighed heavily. “We lost a lot of bits that year as we barely produced half the desired inventory.” I scratched my head as I looked at the two names again. “Neither of those seem like they were your fault. I don’t see them holding a grudge.” I set the list on the desk. She picked up the two sheets of paper and slipped them into the file with the pictures. “The detectives agreed. They talked to both of them, the first one in prison, Mr Calico in Appleloosa, and determined neither one was involved.” She was out of photos and papers, so unless she had another file… “Does that bring us up to date then?” I asked. She glanced at the file folder she’d set on the desk and gave it a little push in my direction. The implication was clear enough. “Yes, it does.” I took the file folder, tapped it on the desk a couple of times to align the contents, and set it on top of a pile to my right. She pointed at it. “Will you require anything else?” I brought a hoof to my chin for a moment. “I would like to review your employee records and a little more information about your company. Policies and procedures, that sort of thing. I imagine it’s the same information the police requested at some point.” She nodded. “Yes, exactly the same. I’ll have a courier deliver those to you as soon as I get back to the office.” She didn’t make a note of it. She struck me as the type who didn’t need to make notes. If it was important, she remembered. “Great. I’d also like to see the results of the police investigation…” I paused. “But I’m not sure how.” I glanced at the ceiling. “I wonder if I can convince Citrine to let me have a little peek.” “I’ve got that covered too. As my representative, Equestrian law allows you to see the official police reports.” I gave my head a little tilt. “But wait… That law is for ponies accused of a crime. It allows their defense lawyer to understand the case and do their own investigation. You aren’t accused of anything, so it doesn’t apply.” “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” She winked. “I requested my attorney to study the actual law. The wording refers to the subject of an investigation, not just a pony accused of a crime. The threatening notes make me a subject of an investigation. He unofficially ran it past a judge who agreed with what the letter of the law says, even if the common interpretation is more restrictive.” She pulled an envelope out of her satchel, setting it on the desk. “Here’s the paperwork all signed and ready, designating you as part of my legal team, thus giving you access.” This mare was good. Add in a competent lawyer to deal with the technicalities and they could probably find a way to do whatever needed to be done. I sat back and crossed my forelimbs over my chest. “Okay… now… why exactly are you hiring me to…” I cleared my throat. “Foalnap you?” “Detective Citrine suggested that it might be a good idea for me to…” Miss Chapeau hesitated, “‘disappear’ for a while, out of an abundance of caution. So I’d like you to take me someplace safe where I can relax and enjoy a little break. I haven’t taken time away from work for… well… never mind. During this little vacation, you and the detectives can try to get to the bottom of all this.” I pursed my lips for a moment. “So you were just being dramatic with the whole foalnapping thing.” “And I shall treasure your expression for many moons to come!” She laughed in a way that removed any thoughts of being upset over the deception. “Still, there is a hint of truth to it. I want to vanish on my way to work tomorrow with almost nopony knowing where I went.” I pulled out a pad and pencil. She may not need to take notes, but I do. “So I take it, you have a plan?” She nodded. “I do.” After a brief glance to her left and right, she leaned forward in the chair with an air of conspiracy. Speaking just above a whisper she continued, “Every morning I stop on my way to work to have some coffee. It provides both a little quiet time to help me focus on the upcoming day as well as an opportunity to chat with various socialite ponies that might be present at the time. I rotate among a half dozen different shops.” I decided to play along and lowered my voice to ask, “And tomorrow’s shop will be the scene of the… ‘crime’?” Being clear about every detail kept things from getting… complicated. In response, Miss Chapeau leaned on the desk. For a proper mare such as herself to lean on a desk would certainly seem out of character. I searched her face looking for any cracks in the calm facade. There was, I think, a touch of actual excitement there. “Yes. Tomorrow I shall arrive at Le Café Noir promptly at eight in the morning. I shall travel light; a few bits for the road and a bank check I can cash at our destination. Anything I need I can simply purchase there. I’ll be prepared to stay for six weeks, although I hope you won’t need nearly that much time.” After making some notes, I asked, “And where do you wish to go?” She shrugged as she sat back. “That’s up to you. I don’t want to know until we’re on the train. Or perhaps you’ll select something more exotic, like an airship. In any event, use your best judgment. But when you return to Canterlot, please inform my attorney, Mr Writ, where I am, so that somepony besides yourself also knows. Just in case of an emergency.” Tell no one, yet tell someone? I wonder… “Do you completely trust your attorney?” “As it so happens, I own another business in addition to my hat shops. It’s–” I held up a hoof. “I know.” Flipping open my own file which I had built on her, I pulled a sheet from near the bottom. “Gossypium Textiles Incorporated. It was started by your great-grandfather and passed down through the generations.” I looked up. “Technically, as a corporation, it’s just the control that is passed down. In effect, you are the sole stockholder giving you complete authority. The plant manager is a…” I glanced down at the page. “Mr Twillery, who reports directly to you.” I returned the paper to its place and closed the file. She was quiet, staring at me with her mouth open a crack. “I… I’m truly surprised. And I’m not often surprised by anypony. None of the other investigators’ final reports had anything about this. What prompted you to…” “I still had bits left.” Her brow furrowed. “Excuse me?” “When I’m given a case with no clear goals, I investigate until I run out of leads or bits. Whichever comes first. Running out of bits usually means the client is satisfied and tells me to stop.” I poked the bag of change still on the desk. “I still had bits, so I kept digging until all the leads were exhausted.” She smiled. “Impressive. As it so happens, my attorney previously worked for my dad. When my dad passed, I inherited the mill. Mr Writ effectively came with it, so I guess I inherited him too. Besides which I’ve known him since I was a foal. So yes, I trust him.” I wrote down a few more notes. “Okay, I will contact him with the details tomorrow.” She stood up and put her hat on. It was pretty clear this meeting was over. “Do you have any other questions for me?” She wasn’t really asking. “No, thank you. I have a folder of evidence to study,” I tapped the file she’d given me, “as well as the additional information you will be sending by courier. Any questions that come up can wait until tomorrow.” “Excellent.” She offered a hoof over the desk, which I gently shook. “I look forward to our little…” Miss Chapeau shot me a mischievous smirk, “‘tryst’ in the morning.” And with that, she seemed to almost float out of the office like a gentle breeze, leaving behind only a faint hint of honeysuckle.