It was only mid-morning when we arrived at the aptly named Horseshoe Street. It was - as you might have guessed - in the shape of a horseshoe, with one long U-shaped street that left you back where you started if you bothered to walk the whole way round.
We didn't need to walk the whole way round; a certain Good Conduct only lived in the third house along the street.
All of the houses were a uniform dark stone; each with a completely flat face and a door located in the centre of a symmetrical face. They were tall - four storeys high - with a floor below street level you could see behind the railings, with a cramped courtyard reached via some very narrow steps. Above this the first and second floors, with four lofty windows between them. Finally the top floor loomed as two windows peeked out beneath grey slate tiles, arched eyebrows framing them angrily.
The only difference between each was the coat of arms that hung from the doors.
As to be expected, our house carried the same coat of arms as seen at the manor - an unfurled scroll overlaid by two flaring trumpets. Conundrum alighted the stairs first and went up to the door, banging the brass knocker loudly so that it echoed disruptively through the empty street.
It took a long time before anypony came to answer the door.
"Hello there," Conundrum greeted the stallion that had opened the door. He wore a black jacket across his back and had a silver bell for a cutie mark, so I assumed he was the servant. "We're investigating the death of Gently Articulate, and would like to speak to Good Conduct and Pink Diamond. Are they in?"
"Yes." The stallion moved aside to let us in. "If you would wait in there, please." He directed us to a room off to the left of the main hall, closing the door behind us. Leaving the modest reception room, he went off in search of his masters.
"Must be weird having servants..." I muttered, looking around the pleasantly attired room.
"I don't know," Conundrum was over by the fireplace, lifting up random ornaments and sniffing them, "you're a young mare, Nocturne - your parents were probably your own personal servants." He sneezed loudly and put the candle sticks back down.
"Not my mother," I snorted, wandering around the sofas before a painting caught my eye, "we were always her servants - you know, when we first came to Canterlot -"
"The investigators, madam." The stallion opened the door on us, leaving the entrance open for a rather plump, incredibly pink mare. Not bright, girly pinks - rather the deep pinks of rose petals and red wine. Her face was heavily made-up, with crimson lipstick and curling dark lashes, perhaps in an attempt to hide the red rimmed eyes and tremor as she smiled slightly. I remembered that she fainted yesterday.
"Ah, Complex Conundrum, I believe? Lady Grace informed me that she had hired you." She trotted into the room like the thorough-bred that she was, expecting to make a good impression, but failing as she had to keep blinking to clear her eyes. Settling down on one of the sofas like a pregnant dove, she met my gaze and squealed.
"Sorry to startle you, ma'am," I lied. Startling her was the most fun I'd had all day, and it wasn't as if I could help it if I looked slightly demonic. Squawking even louder this time, I flattened down my ears and scowled - she could have at least respected my insincerity by keeping quiet.
"Don't worry yourself about her, Mrs Diamond," Conundrum said, sitting opposite the fragile mare, "she's just an apprentice - you won't notice her at all." He glared back at me, indicating to the ground beside him for me to sit on like an undisciplined puppy. Glancing wistfully back at the other empty spaces, I took my place dutifully like the idiot I was.
"It's not like I did anything wrong!" I hissed under my breath so that only Conundrum would hear.
He ignored me and took out the notepad for the third time today, "So, Mrs Diamond, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you about what happened last night."
"Oh, really? I thought they had already arrested somepony?" She held a manicured hoof up to her mouth daintily, no doubt trying to hide her uncouth habit of biting her lower lip.
"No solid evidence has been found yet," he explained slowly, "and we believe that the wrong pony was arrested - so it's in our best interests to continue the investigation." He waited, realising only after about a minute that he would have to lead the questioning. "So, what happened to you last night?"
"So while my husband was talking to Enterprise, I was talking to my dear mother-in-law about the price of pearls..." I stifled a yawn as Pink Diamond continued to talk. She was probably giving the most detailed account that any witness had ever given in the history of Equestria; the only problem was that none of it was relevant.
"Where is your husband?" I interrupted her - it was a rude gesture, I know, but she had been talking for too long, and with so many short breaks for sobbing, that I was past caring.
"I... oh - well, he's busy working in his office - he's always been busy, but now that he's taken over the business..." She went off on a tangent about the business, and how they'd managed to snag a good deal on a small statue of Celestia, apparently given to a zebra tribespony five hundred years ago. What I needed to do was find Good Conduct.
"Could you tell me where your toilet is?" I burst out again. Conny stared daggers into me, and started to apologise profusely to the dull mare. Thankfully, all of his simpering did the trick, and she tersely instructed me it was the second door along the hall.
Obviously, the first thing I did once I got into the hall was find the stallion who had let us in.
He was in the lounge across from our room, hanging black mourning drapes from the curtain poles. Dust coated his black jacket, but it wasn't just from the heavy lace of the curtains. The whole house was filled with a layer of the stuff.
"Can you tell me where I could find Good Conduct?" I asked, diving into the room when the stallion dropped a curtain pole in surprise. Hovering a few meters in the air while holding up the end of a curtain pole wasn't something I usually had to do during an investigation.
"Oh, thank you, miss." He readjusted his grip, helping me secure the pole back to the wall. It was then I noticed that he was an earth pony.
"Is there nopony else to help you?" I stayed beside him in case the cumbersome drape tried to make another escape from the wall.
"No, I am the only servant employed here." He finished his work before backing down the step ladder he was perched on. Beside it was a pile of black lace, no doubt intended for every room in the house. "You wanted me to direct you to the master of the house?"
"You can just give me directions," I suggested, gesturing to the mound of material, "I can see you're busy here."
"He is upstairs, through the opposite door on the left." He grabbed my hoof as I started to leave. "I should ask you to be careful, miss; he hasn't been himself since the incident."
I thanked the stallion and trotted up the stairs at the end of the hall. The house was disturbingly empty, and seemed to be suffering several years of neglect. Nothing on the outside of the house had suggested this abandonment, but clearly there was something wrong. The way Pink Diamond had gone on about the social circles she liked to move in, it would have taken a lot of money to keep up appearances - but this house didn't seem to be trying to impress anypony.
The second floor was just as empty, with the stairs facing towards the front of the house again after experiencing a twist on the way up. I sidled up to the door I had been instructed to, knocked three times and waited.
No answer came.
Carefully, I hoofed open the door, peering around the opening.
It wasn't a lavish study. None of the opulent reds of his father's adorned Good Conduct's office. There was a desk; the occupant facing the window with his back to the door. Two dark armchairs flanked the desk, sitting behind so that nothing blocked the view to the window. They looked hard-worn, with the threading beginning to wear thin and the stuffing started to show. An ocean of stained wood served as the floor, which had several crumpled sheets on it. The most notable object was the filing cabinet overflowing with documents. I would have to be closer to take a proper look at them.
"Good Conduct?" I took a couple of tentative steps into the office, as if entering a dragon's lair. Actually, that would have been easier - dragons are a seriously misunderstood species.
"Mm? Who's there? Issat you, Hob?" A pair of bloodshot lilac eyes gazed vaguely at me. Yes, this stallion was definitely working hard. Working hard to get drunk.
"No," I came closer, realising that trying to interview a drunk stallion wasn't going to work, "my name is Nocturne, I'm a private investigator. I'm trying to find out what happened last night."
"Nothing I want to know," he muttered, his blond mane falling limply over his eyes as he took another swig from his glass. By the looks of it, whiskey - and not the cheap kind the Night Guard always got their hooves on.
"You don't want to know who killed your father?"
"No," he grumbled, "they can go rot in Tatarus f' all I care." I shrugged an put it down to the drink. The bottle was open on his desk, the seal broken and still lying there, though over half of the bottle was gone.
"So... if I asked you to tell me what happened last night?"
"Nothing happened," he slurred, wiping his eyes with a grubby blue hoof. "It was jus' a silly party, with silly ponies, for a silly event."
"I have to agree with you there," I sighed and glanced at the filing cabinet, which was a lot closer now. I blinked a few times before realising exactly what they were. Bank statements - several in red. So much to be the heir to a successful business, working hard to support his elegant wife and son. "Do you mind if I -?" I pointed at the bottle of whiskey, taking a spare glass I had noticed on the desk.
"Sure..." We raised glasses and I took a swig. It was strong stuff, but I swallowed with a relieved sigh, feeling the liquid burning down my throat. Don't judge me; I'd had a very tiring day - even if it wasn't technically lunchtime yet.
"So, last night - you arrived with your family and sat out in the garden?"
"Yeah," he moaned slightly, but looked up at me and grinned blearily, "least it let me see other ponies than Pinks." I smiled with him, trying to get him to open up a bit more. "But it was dull - everypony wandered off at some point. I got stuck with her."
"She is a bit boring," I empathised, hoping it was his wife we were talking about.
"You should try living with her." He laughed, obnoxiously loud in the way only a drunk stallion can. I took another sip of my drink and tried to remember the timeline we had established.
"So you never left the garden?"
His eyes met mine darkly, sagging under heavy lids. I doubted that he'd slept since. "I went in when he came out - needed to get something - y' know - f' the... stuff - the blood." He buried his muzzle in the depths of the glass, breathing into it like an oxygen mask.
I drained my own drink, knowing I wouldn't get any more from the stallion. Conny was probably wondering where I had gotten to.
"I'll talk to you later," I stood up, checked that my head was clear enough to walk straight, and left, stopping to bump the drunk unicorn on the shoulder in camaraderie. He grunted a goodbye, head resting heavily on the desk. Shutting the door softly, I slowed for a second. Inside I heard the thump of a hoof and the shattering of two glass tumblers. Peering back inside, I saw that he had resorted to drinking straight from the bottle.
Rather than going back Conundrum, I found the servant - Hob - and warned him about the broken glass. He merely exhaled slowly through his nose before nodding.
"Has his happened before?" I asked, praying that the stallion's liver was at least used to coping with so much alcohol. Otherwise there might not be much for me to interview again.
"Mr Conduct has always been a... keen drinker," he phrased it politely, "though he would usually do it socially with his friends over a card game."
"Did he lose much money?" I enquired directly, not being one for euphemisms.
Hob frowned, unused to my coarse language, "I believe that he often lost more than was compatible with his income."
"Debts?"
"I do not believe that is for me to divulge," the earth pony turned his nose up at me slightly, "if you would excuse me, I have some cleaning to do." He turned swiftly from me and hurried up the stairs. So that would be a 'yes'.
"Ah, Nocturne, there you are," Conundrum was just coming out with Pink Diamond, his notepad tucked away and his eyes sagging with the weight of boredom. "I believe, Mrs Diamond, that will be all for now. We may return to speak to your husband when he's free."
"You are welcome to return at any time, Mr Conundrum," she replied sweetly, though her face darkened significantly when she saw me. I could guess that the invitation didn't extend to me. Not that I cared - I didn't think that she was the pony I needed to be questioning.
We let ourselves out, with the servant occupied, and both of us having at least half a brain to work out where the door was. Back on the streets the atmosphere was just as empty, with the whole of Horseshoe Street seeming more like a deserted back alley rather than a street of expensive properties and intriguing inhabitants.
"Did you get anything from her?" I asked dutifully, worrying that Conundrum would fall asleep if I didn't say anything soon.
"Nothing useful," he breathed out slowly like an emptying set of billows, slowing his pace slightly as we trotted, "I take it you weren't surveying their bathroom facilities - and it had better be good; you shouldn't be insulting fine ladies like that."
"She's a suspect, nothing else," I tried to explain, but thought better of it - the unicorn was giving me an evil look, "I found her husband working hard to lose consciousness in a fine bottle of whiskey." I raised an eyebrow and grinned. "So you can probably guess that I didn't get anything. Said he was outside the whole time, anyway."
"Bother," Conny cursed in his bumbling way, kicking a pebble down the street. It span ahead, before getting trapped beneath the wheel of a cart that was trundling by. The cart rocked, though continued on its course - the pebble was not so lucky, and was launched to the side, striking a tough looking stallion in the skull. He turned on his mates and started to make threatening gestures, not realising where the blow had come from. One of the mates pointed over at the pebble, and started searching for where it had come from. I tried to size them up from across the street. I could possibly take two or three of them before they knocked Conundrum unconscious...
"Let's go this way," I said, hastily ushering Conny down a side alley, "it's too bright down there."
After returning to the office to scrounge some food from the kitchen (and plot out a timeline and list of suspects on our investigation board), Conundrum let me have the rest of the afternoon off. Not out of kindness, because it was, in fact, a national holiday - instead he let me go when we ran out of work, telling me to meet him again once the police would have finished for the day so we could return and interview Bold Enterprise.
Obviously, my first course of action was to buy a new pair of sunglasses.
With that matter complete, I decided that this scorching afternoon needed to be avoided with a particularly long nap. As I was trying to avoid my landlord, the best option was to settle on one of the clouds occupying the skies of Canterlot. Unfortunately, there were none out today, and they had a habit of floating off. Canterlot lacked pegasi, leaving the weather teams short of enough pairs of wings to effectively control the weather. Years ago I'd snoozed off only to wake up over what was once the sleepy little hamlet of Ponyville, being jolted awake by the thunderstorm they'd been forecast. The flight back had taken forever, especially while drenched. How pegasi manage to fly while wet was beyond me - I had waterproof wings, but their's would be like feathery sponges.
So I was left to sneak back into my apartment through the kitchen window.
I managed to land while keeping a little more of my dignity, though in no less pain. I'd had aches before, but these just weren't going away. Considering to see somepony about it, I resolved to go once I was no longer under the threat of homelessness. Having cracked ribs before and done nothing about them, I wasn't in a desperate hurry.
Just as I was leaving the kitchen I noticed something out of place. A knife left out on the counter, smeared with peanut butter... I picked it up and dropped it into the sink. Immediately my brain was rushing through the possibilities; who did I know who was mad enough to like peanut butter? I only kept the jar for Lullaby. In addition to this, I only kept my knives at the top cupboard so that Lulu couldn't find them. Fantasia, in one of her few moments of wisdom, like me, despised the stuff. Only she stopped Lulu from eating it at all... So who else could be here?
While I stared blankly at my kitchen, I noted the crumb-strewn plate as further evidence, and - to top it all off - a little velvet bag, perched on my fridge, with a gold bass clef pin glittering on it mockingly.
I needed to fit a lock on that window.
"I wish you wouldn't just come in here!" I shouted, storming out to the lounge. Here, a small, skinny bat pony was reclining on my sofa, her sickly pink eyes sparkling.
"You always treated my house like your own."
"Yes - because I lived there at the time!" I knew I wasn't going to win the argument, no matter how much logic I employed. So I slumped down in the seat beside the mare, huffing loudly. "Why are you here?"
"Why shouldn't I visit my little pup?" She snorted down that pointy snout of hers and flicked her mane from her eyes, "And that's hardly the tone to address your mother with." She scolded, making me feel about five years old again.
"Sorry, ma." I grumbled, crossing my hooves on my chest, staring determinedly at the wall. "But you must have a reason for coming - you never turn up for a sociable chat."
"I heard that you had been arrested." Her tone was conversational, despite drawing her lips so that they turned agonisingly pale. I ignored the warning signs and grunted.
"Oh, that." I shrugged. "Did Fantasia tell you?"
"That's all you have to say?" The pleasant tone disappeared as she turned on me, bringing with her the full righteous power of motherhood, "'Oh, that'? You were arrested for murder, young lady! It isn't even just a little murder - it's all over the papers; 'Gently Articulate, notable business-colt, murdered'!"
"I don't think there is such this as a 'little murder'..." I mumbled, rubbing my hooves together uncomfortably. She was a terrifying mare when she chose to be; which was frequently. She worked as a conductor for the Royal Canterlot Sinfonia, and I had seen grown stallions run out of her rehearsals crying. After you saw them run out, an unmistakeable furry blue blur would chase them out of the theatre until they were on the streets, and then proceeded to throw their instrument at them. Nopony to date has dared sue her for breaking priceless instruments.
"And then I find that your apartment is an absolute tip, with foals' toys everywhere, and a bathroom that probably hasn't been cleaned for several months..." She ploughed on, barely pausing for breath. I sat dutifully until the cascade had abated, tuning out the noises while I considered more productive uses for my time - like napping.
"So what do you have to say for yourself, young pup?"
That phrase snapped me out of my daydream, and I murmured the required offering; "Sorry..."
"Now kiss your mother and tell me what happened." I leaned over and pecked her cheek, feeling her stiffen beside me. "Now, Nocturne..."
"Yes, mother?" I asked innocently, feeling the danger levels rising. She never called me Nocturne; it sounded weird coming from her.
"I thought you'd kicked that habit..." she continued, forming each word very deliberately.
"What ha-"
"The DRINKING!" she screeched, her wings flaring, "The only good thing to come of you leaving the Guards! Now what will I do? An unemployed, alcoholic daughter on charges for murder!" She wailed, putting any tantrum of my sister's to shame. What can I say - I come from a dramatic family.
I tried to calm her. "Look - I have never had a drinking habit, I merely enjoy moderate amounts from time to time." Though, in comparison to what my mother drinks, one sip once a week of watered-down cider would seem excessive. "And I am not unemployed! I'm currently working on the Gently Articulate murder case - I'll clear my name, the agency will get some more work, and I'll clean the bathroom - all right?"
"And the drinking?" She sniffed, looking at me with bright pink eyes a-glimmer.
"Today was a one off, okay?" I sighed, "I needed to encourage a witness to open up. Anyway..." I rounded on her, "why aren't you having this conversation with Fantasia? She drinks far more than I do, and she's got more responsibilities."
"But, on the other hoof, your sister hasn't been accused of murder, has she?" The mare across from me raised an eyebrow mockingly.
"Oh... yeah, I suppose not."