The air was so thick it felt like I was breathing day-old pea soup. There wasn’t a drop of rain falling on my back yet I was still covered in a fine mist from the heavy fog that rolled in from across the fields. The sky was veiled with clouds like a widow heading to her husband’s funeral. It was the kind of day death loves and those that chase death love even more.
Sweet Apple Acres stretched out below me, the trees standing tall like good little soldiers. I gazed down at that blanket of leaves and began to wonder. Even in a town like Ponyville you are measured by how many bits you have to your name and what you can lay claim to. For all their talk of community, in the end the citizens of this little hamlet were no different than the ponies in Manehattan or Canterlot: bits opened doors and the more you had the more folks wanted to be at your side. And I stared at all those apple trees popping up along the endless acres and began to think… ponies had been driven to crime for a lot less than what the Apple Family controlled.
I banked left, curling my wings as I dove down towards the chaotic scene below me. Several of Ponyville’s finest were milling about the pond, making of good show of looking busy while doing nothing. I landed a few yards away, ignoring the glares the coppers where flashing me. Ponyville’s finest are no different than their big city brothers in that aspect: none of them like it when a private dick comes snooping around. They get all jumpy and start accusing me of interfering with their business, like I’m taking food out of their foals’ mouths. Normally I just smile and let them know that I was thinking the same thing.
“Thunderlane! What are ya doin’ here, ya lazy daft lad? Come to chase the ambulances again?”
Detective Grits. Of course my luck saw to it that he would be working the scene. Grits was everything that was wrong with the police: he was lazy, simple, and unimaginative. The last case he had gotten to the bottom of had been filled with Twinkies. For him it wasn’t a matter of solving a case; all he wanted to do was close it.
I adjusted my fedora and stared him down, hoping he’d pick a fight. If there is anything in this world that made me smile it is seeing his rotund form trying to keep up with me.
“Lay off Grits, I won’t make you look too bad on this one. Give me a little help and I might mention your name to the papers.”
His ruddy red checked puffed out and his dark little eyes sank deeper into his thick skull. It was a little wonder he kept missing evidence, what with his brow hanging so low over his eyes. “I won’t be putting up with your tomfoolery today, Thunderlane. We have a tragedy on our hooves here and these fine ponies don’t need the likes of you whispering in their ear, trying to steal their hard earned bits chasing after phantoms. Why don’t you go play in the mud over at Froggy Bottom Bog; maybe you’ll get lucky and your sense of decency will be buried in the filth.”
“Or your ability to arrest the right stallion.” I trotted past him, ducking under the caution tape and making my way towards the pond. “I was invited here by the widow, Grits. Seems word of your stellar record has even reached ears in Manehattan. You want to make a fuss, go right ahead. I’m sure the Widow Orange will be happy to hear you and your colts are wasting my time and her bits trying to prove you have the bigger tail.”
The vein just above his left eyebrow bulged out, thundering in time with his heart. “You have 5 minutes, not a second more!” Grits bellowed. “You hear me, Thunderlane? If you are here 5 minutes and 1 second I will personally haul your flank to lockup.”
“Be the most work you’ve done in months,” I muttered, making my way through the gaggle of beat officers. From the way they were standing there, talking about the hoofball game the night before I knew they’d already made up their minds that this was an accidental death and were just waiting out the clock. If even one of them had a lick of ambition I might have out of a job. Lucky me.
Coming to a stop at the muddy bank I spread my wings and began to hover about the water’s edge. One glance at the murky depths and I knew that the only smoke Valencia had been blowing during our visit was from the soy stem. I couldn’t see a pony like Mosely Orange diving into a scum-infested pond like this one, especially at night; yet that is exactly where they had found him. How did a rich snob like him end up bobbing in the water like an overfed goldfish?
I followed the faint outline of hoofprints the police had managed to not to trample over in their race to destroy the scene. They led around the pond towards a small rise that jutted out over the deepest part of the pond. A withered oak, a remnant from when the Everfree had held domain over the land, perched at the top and an old tire hung from knotted rope like a condemned pony on a noose. If somepony had followed Mosely to the pond they hadn’t been an trotting right behind him.
Taking one final look at the water, I flew to the other side of the pond, where Rib Split was finishing up with the body. The coroner and I were on good terms, or at least better terms than I was with Grits and his men. The balding cerulean unicorn did not even bother to look up as I landed beside him, his focus entirely on the sapphire glow he was projecting over Mosely Orange’s bloated corpse. Maybe it said something for how twisted we were but both of us were able to look upon the wreckage and not find ourselves humbled by the fact that it had once been a pony. This job jades you, wipes away any sense of innocence and leaves you the ability to look death straight on without batting an eyelash. Of course it also can lead you to hitting the cider, cheating on your wife and betting your pay on the badgers. Still, neither me nor Splitter could see ourselves living a normal life with a wife to cook us pancakes and 2.5 kids needing braces. Some ponies just aren’t designed to live like the rest. Some ponies can’t handle normal.
“You have Grits upset,” Splitter said.
“He’ll live.”
“I hope so. You give in a heart attack and I’ll be the one opening him up.”
“My condolences in advance.”
Splitter scoffed, lifting up Mosely’s rear right leg. Either a lot of little fish had taken a nibble out of it or the Apple Family was stocking sharks in their pond. “What brings you to my happy little scene, Thunderlane?”
“Valencia Orange.”
“Never thought you’d end up on her payroll.”
“I’m not,” I said gruffly, flapping my wings in an attempt to dry out my feathers.
“Oh, you say that now,” Splitter’s horn flashed and within the glow of his magic I could clearly make out Mosely’s leg bone, “but I’ve seen how that mare looks at ponies, Thunder; like a rabbit stares at a carrot. Once she decides you’re of use to her she’ll do everything she can to keep you.”
“She can barely afford to pay me now,” I stated. I adjusted my hat as I leaned down to get a better look at the corpse. “How long has Mr. Orange been floating in the drink?”
“I won’t know for certain till I get him back to my lab but I can give you an estimate.”
“If your cop bodies will let you hand it out for free I’ll be happy to take it.”
Splitter rolled his eyes. “They aren’t my friends, Thunder. I’m just stuck with them. Besides, I’m not giving you anything I wouldn’t a reporter.”
“Surprise there are none around," I stated.
“Grits drove them off. He has his uses, believe it or not. I think he enjoys seeing how many curses he can utter before the news boys are forced to delete his quote from their stories.”
“Where are the vultures?”
“I think they are all hunkered down at the house, trying to get a statement out of Applejack or Big Macintosh.”
“Hope Mac is smart and keeps his sister away from the parasites; filly can’t lie worth a tick.”
Splitter didn’t so much chuckle as he let out a sigh without a trace of annoyance. “Ain't that the truth. As for time, I’d say he’d been in the water for at least 8 hours.”
“When did they fish him out?”
“About 8:30.”
“So he went in around midnight.” I looked over Mosely’s right ankle but dismissed the torn flesh there as being the result of Applejack’s lasso. I made my way around, taking a few moments to brush his grime-encrusted mane away from his face before pushing it back. “Fish went after everything, didn’t they?”
“Indeed. That’s why I let his mane cover his eye sockets like that… even I have my limits.”
“Anything pop up to make you think this is anything but an accident.”
“Sorry to make life hard on you but no. If you look at his legs you can tell the muscles were underdeveloped. I don’t mean for an earth pony either… even a healthy unicorn would have more muscle mass than our friend here.”
“A lifetime of sitting on your flank can do that too you.”
Splitter nodded in agreement. “I’ve read about cases like this in Manehattan, where some rich pony ends up crippling themselves trying to go for a jog. The moment Mr. Orange here hit the water he was a goner.”
“30 seconds, Thunderlane!” Grits shouted.
“That means I have another five even if he hustles,” I stated. I tilted my head, eyes narrowing as I got a good look at Mosely’s lips. “Doc, can you pry his mouth open?”
“Sure.” Splitter’s magic latched onto the corpse’s jaw and slowly forced it open with a crack. “What the hay?” he redirected his horn towards the inside of Mosely’s mouth and began to tug. “It’s a chain.”
“No… a necklace.”
Splitter slowly began to reel the jewelry in, not wanting to damage it. “You think he was holding it when he dove in?”
“Looks like it. But why a woman’s necklace?”
“How can you tell?”
“Old girlfriend is into fashion,” I said.
Splitter decided not to press me, which showed just how smart he was. “Maybe it was for his wife. Could have snuck into town to get her a gift.”
I dismissed that theory instantly. “No way.” I gestured at the greenish links that formed the necklace. “That’s old copper right there. Can’t see Valencia Orange wearing something that cheap.”
“Well, that’s true. I swear that mare would rather freeze to death then wear clothing that wasn’t designed by some snooty designer.” Splitter gave the necklace another tug and it finally emerged fully from Mosely’s mouth with a wet ‘swuck!’. “Looks like you were right, Thunder.” Splitter held up the necklace for me to see. At the end of the chain was a smooth piece of amber set in a copper frame. “Is it just me or does that look like an apple?”
“Isn’t just you,” I stated, examining the new evidence with a critical eye. “Why does a rich stallion like Mosely Orange have an amber necklace lodged in his throat before he takes his big dive?”
“Don’t ask me, Thunder. My job is the stiff, not the stuff they bring with them.” Splitter brought over an evidence bag and placed the necklace inside before gathering the rest of his tools.
“Don’t suppose you can let me keep that,” I asked.
“Sorry, Thunder. I’m not risking my job for you.” He paused, giving me a sly wink. “But come by my lab tomorrow and it might find its way inside your hat.”
“You’re the best Splitter,” I muttered, extending my wings and leaping into the sky as Grits came huffing and puffing towards me, screaming curses that would make Celestia blush. I didn’t care about his attitude, however; my business was with the Apple Family.