Chapter Two: Blood Stained
Eye of The Beholder
by
Jake The Army Guy
Chapter Two: Blood Stained
The flight to the station house was mercifully short, though the rising temperatures still left Gusto’s mane plastered to his skull. He let his mind wander, his wings on autopilot as he mulled over the new information from the scene. While Silver did had a point—the revelation of the killer’s likely species meant little in the short term—the shift of the suspect pool from mind-boggling to merely daunting was still something to be celebrated. Not to mention the biggest step forward since he volunteered to take charge of the case. Maybe now Chief Arturo would ease off his flanks for a little while.
“Gangway!”
Gusto yelped as a brown pegasus zoomed by him close enough to ruffle his feathers. He opened his mouth to yell, but the pony was already out of earshot. Instead, Gusto merely rolled his eyes and flapped his wings just a bit harder when he saw the camera hanging from the pony's neck.
Smack in the heart of Manehatten, One Police Plaza was a blocky, utilitarian building as opposed to the usual, more ornate designs of public buildings. Despite the uninspired trappings, the building was home to probably the most advanced police force in the world, more so even than Canterlot. The five above ground floors housed both the actual police and the district courts, and the two basement levels housed the envy of law enforcement agencies the world over: state-of-the-art computer systems to analyze data, DNA labs, a veritable candy-land for the squint squad.
The building was nestled in the middle of a large garden entrance way. A statue of former Mayor Bloom Burg sat at the center, surrounded by fancy-cut shrubs, followed by a trail of poles bearing flags from each of the Provincial Territories that led like a landing strip to the front steps of the station. Gusto eyed the brown pegasus as he came to a hover above a crowd of ponies and other creatures standing at the base of the steps leading to the front entrance.
What was obviously supposed to be the press conference Gusto had mentioned earlier was quickly devolving into a storm of flashbulbs, shouted questions, and general bedlam. Standing on the top step, Chief Arturo was talking animatedly, his jowls flapping and his feathers ruffled. The overweight griffon, dressed neatly in his dress blues, was desperately trying to control the chaos, but even Gusto could see that the sharks had smelled blood. Gusto noted with a dry chuckle that a certain wiry unicorn was absent from the crowd; it seemed Slick Back had taken his suggestion to ‘go home’ to heart. Gusto made a mental note to ease off next time.
The Chief looked like he could use a hoof handling the rabid reporters, but Gusto had, as the griffons say, bigger fish to fry. He angled his flight towards the back of the building instead. He touched down on the asphalt of the back loading dock and walked towards the sliding door that lead down to the basement labs, where Doc Vlad would be performing the autopsy on the victim. He shuddered just a hair at the thought. Seeing a body torn up was one thing, but cutting it open and laying its organs out like a yard sale was something entirely different.
Gusto nodded to the officer by the door as he stepped through. The instant the doors slid open, Gusto felt his body release a bit of the tension it held; the blast of cold air, even tinged with the scent of antiseptic and mothballs, felt like heaven compared to the stale, muggy air outside.
Unlike the lavish upstairs areas, the downstairs gave of a strict air of utilitarianism with its steel walls and unpolished tile floors. The first basement level was the science labs, where evidence was processed and analyzed. He had to speak with the techs a bit later, but right now he made his way down the steps to the second floor. A hallway of sterile metal on all four sides, ending in a T that lead to the only things that the basement level housed: evidence storage in the right, the morgue on the left.
As Gusto turned the corner towards Autopsy, the first thing he saw was Officer Silvermane standing next to the double doors. "Silver, has Doc Vlad started his exam?"
"Uh, yeah, but..."
"But what? And what are you doing out here? I told you to babysit the body."
Silver's hoof kicked at the tile floor. "I, uh... got kicked out."
"Wh... kicked out? By who?!"
"That's why I called you," Silver said meekly.
Gusto opened his mouth to ask further, but shook his head and decided against it, instead pushing past Silver and through the open doors. Immediately, the harsh sting of chemicals assaulted his nostrils and the cold air of the cavernous room sent a chill down his wings. The far wall, lined with large body drawers, was lost under the harsh overhead lights above the main slab in the center of the room, where a large white sheet covered what he knew was the body. Standing over the body, however, was not the coroner, but a strikingly pale stallion wearing a black suit-coat. His gaunt frame was bent over the body, his grey eye scanning the corpse.
Gusto stormed towards the newcomer. “Hey, hey, hey! You can’t—”
“Can I help you?”
An azure mare stepped in his path. The white trenchcoat she wore was the same tone as her sparkling white mane, and the questioning gaze on her face oozed the same kind of smug superiority that Slick Back’s had. The look of pure entitled pride had the same effect on Gusto. “Yeah, you can get out of my way,” he said curtly as he moved to bypass the mare.
She moved to block him again. “I’m sorry, but this area is restricted.”
“Ex-cuse me?!” Gusto snapped, wings flaring out behind him.
“Authorized ponies only.”
“Auth...” he sputtered. Gusto could feel the blood rushing to his face. “Lady, who in the h—”
“Vinny, my friend!”
The stand-off ended as Doctor Ilyich—a skinny, brown-coated impala clad in a white lab coat—all but leapt in between the two and placed a lanky foreleg around Gusto. A tiny spark shot between his pronged horns. “It has been too long, and yet much too soon, yes?” he said through his thick Slavic accent, then turned to the mare. “Is okay, Miss Trixie. Vinny is lead detective on case!”
The mare—Trixie, apparently—arched an eyebrow. There was enough smugness in that face to make Gusto want to punch it, just on principle. "You're Vincenza Gusto?"
Gusto's wings fluffed up behind him. "Yeah," he said. "That a problem?"
"You don't sound like a 'Vincenza'."
"What, I'm Neightallion, so I have to sound like a gutter rat?" He took some satisfaction in the look of shock on her face—it seemed she wasn't used to ponies challenging her like that.
"Maybe you'd like me to get you some spaghetti?" he asked. "Make you an offer you can't refuse?"
"I—" Trixie began, but Gusto tuned her out before she even said a word.
"Interesting."
Gusto blinked—and then remembered the stallion who'd been by the body. His face set into a heavy scowl, and he turned on his hoof to face the coroner's table.
The other stallion had a jarringly blonde mane—almost white under the harsh light of the autopsy table—and was styled enough to stay slicked back against his skull as he bent over the body. One gaunt hoof was on his chin, and he hummed quietly to himself as he inspected the dead mare's leg.
"Hey," Gusto said. He stepped past Trixie, pushing her aside. She let out an angry yelp, but he ignored it. "Back up from there! What do you think you're doing?"
The stallion ignored him. "Her hooves are immaculate!"
"Look, buddy, you need to—" Gusto's train of thought ground to a halt as the stallion turned to face him. Now at his full height, the stallion stood a good few inches taller than Gusto, though he seemed almost painfully thin. His face bore an impassive gaze, but what brought Gusto up short were his eyes: they were slightly sunken into his skull, furthering pale pony's ghostly visage, but while the left was a pale grey, the right was bright yellow and slitted vertically like a dragon's. “Uh... I—”
“Come take a look at this," the pony said in an odd, almost musical southern accent. He turned back to the body and raised the left foreleg, inspecting it under the harsh lights of the autopsy table. "This is an impressive hooficure! No visible overlap in the paint strokes, even coating all around, and it perfectly matches her eyes."
"What are you, a—"
The pale pony sniffed. "And such a notable fragrance. Lilac and vanilla, reminiscent of Haute-de-Trotter. And something else...”
“Hey, what are you... Hey, stop!” Gusto could only balk as the stallion brought the corpse’s hoof to his face and took a dainty lick.
He smacked his lips thoughtfully. “Hmm, jasmine. Quite distinct, I would imagine. I dare say that if we can pinpoint the fragrance, we—”
“That’s enough!” Gusto roared, through the stallion’s mismatched eyes never even blinked. “Look, pal, you two have exactly five seconds to tell me who the buck you are, and under what authority you kicked my officer out of the autopsy suite before I have you and your marefriend arrested for trespassing and obstruction!”
The impassive gaze never left the pale pony’s face. “Oh, my apologies, how rude of me.” He gently laid they corpse’s leg back down and pulled a small leather case from his pocket, flipping it open to reveal a gleaming silver badge and a government ID. “Special Agent Bentgrass, Their Majesties’ Royal Investigative Service, Division Six."
Division Six.
The words sent a tiny chill down Gusto's spine. "What... what are you doing here? Why does the RIS care about this case?
"Well, four bodies in as many weeks tends to grab our attention." Bentgrass stepped away from the autopsy table. Even without the harsh lighting his golden eye still seemed to glow eerily. "As for why we asked Officer Silvermane to wait outside, it seems the poor fellow isn't as acclimated to the sights and, ah, smells of death as we are. It was as much for his benefit as ours. Now then, I believe Doctor Ilyich was about to begin his examination."
The coroner shot a look at Gusto, seeming to ask permission. Gusto glanced back at the two agents: Bentgrass had his eyebrows raised expectantly, while Trixie was still eying him with that same smug grin. Gusto's eyes flicked to Bentgrass's badge one final time. After a moment, he sighed. "Come on Vlad, let's get to it."
The impala nodded and joined Bentgrass and Gusto at the slab. "Da. Beginning recording now. I will need you all to clearly speak your names." A spark of magic danced between his pronged horns and a recording device above them whirred quietly. "This is Doctor Vladislav Ilyich, head medical examiner for Manehatten Police Department, date is Monday, August 24th, Tenth Year of New Sister's Reign. I am joined by..."
"Lieutenant Vincenza Gusto, Manehatten Police Department."
"Special Agent Agrostis Bentgrass, RIS."
"And I am Agent Trixie Lulamoon, of Their Majesties’ Royal Investigative Service, Division Six."
"Probationary Agent Lulamoon," Bentgrass said tersely.
"Uh, y-yes." Vlad cleared his throat, but Gusto could hear Trixie’s teeth grinding. "Anyway, we are here for autopsy of latest murder victim. Removing cover."
All three turned to face the slab. Gusto winced; now removed from the open air, the stink of decay was much clearer, notable even over the alcohol and disinfectant. The white sheet covering the body had a small red stain on it where the blood soaked through. Gusto was suddenly thankful for his light breakfast; blowing his guts in front of the Royal agents would be a hay of a way to start the investigation.
Vlad's horns sparked again, and the white sheet peeled back, revealing the body. In the corner of his eye, Gusto saw Trixie sway just a hair, her cerulean face paling. He did his very best not the feel too superior.
Vlad leaned in to the body. "Victim is unicorn mare, white coat with red mane. Dental eruption suggests late-teens, early-twenties. Cutie mark appears to be cocktail glass with star pattern above, should help with identification if horn swirl does not return positive." He reached a hoof to the corpses foreleg and lifted it gently, working it up and down. "Late stages of rigor mortis. Most likely, time of death was eight to twelve hours ago."
A quiet groan came from the foot of the table, and Gusto's satisfaction waned, a bit of compassion eeking in; Trixie appeared to be caught in that horrible state between morbid fascination and utter disgust. Her eyes were locked on the ravaged corpse. "She's... she's so... violated."
"Da, much like last victim," Vlad said, running his wiry forelegs along the corpse's torso. "Most obvious, there is massive trauma to the face, centered in the ocular cavities. Wound track appears to be the same as before—vaguely resembles some kind of claw marks, though the cuts are smooth, not ragged. No DNA has been found before, but I will swab for trace evidence."
"No DNA?" Bentgrass stepped closer to the slab. "That's highly curious. Even the toughest of scale or hide leaves some trace."
"This is true, however it changes not the fact that the wound is clean. In addition, multiple contusions along her trunk, running from haunch to neck. I count one... two... eh, possibly three broken ribs. There may be more, but I will not know until x-rays return. Bruising pattern suggests she was beaten with bare hooves, and coloring indicates damage happened peri-mortem."
"So she was alive when the killer denucleated her?" Bentgrass asked casually. He sounded like he was asking about the latest hoofball scores instead of and act of violent mutilation.
Gusto scratched his head. "Denuc... what?"
"Denucleated, Vinny. It means removal of the eyes, and in fact of point, she was not. Come, look." Vlad hovered over the victim's head and Bentgrass joined him. "See the orangish, viscous fluid leaking from the orbital cavities?"
"Vitreous humour?"
"Da."
"So, the eyes were not removed, but... destroyed?" Trixie asked shakily.
"Shredded would be better word, and to your question, Agent Bentgrass, there is lack of clotting, also no signs of active bleeding. This is most likely done post-mortem."
"How... how long postmortem?" Trixie's voice sounded small in the cavernous office.
"Eh, is hard to say. Bodies stop bleeding when heart stops, and as you can see—” he pointed to the purplish, bruise-like spots on her back “—the blood has pooled, meaning she was positioned on her back for some time. If I had to guess... maybe an hour or two?”
Gusto took a deep breath through his mouth. "The claw marks don't match any clawed species in the city. We've also talked to a few sources at the Manehatten Zoo, but they can't match them with any of their animals."
"A wise decision," Bentgrass said. "If I may suggest also checking to see if any exotic animal licenses have been filed by private parties?"
"Already did it," Gusto countered. The agent's honeyed voice carried no air of a challenge, but for some reason his calm demeanor still irritated Gusto. Bentgrass' voice was smooth as a salesman and gentle like an oily politician. Gusto knew the type, and he didn't like them. "No wild animals have been reported sighted within the city limits, either." Bentgrass answered only with a quiet "hmm," so Gusto continued. "We're still working on the why, at any rate. I've seen some violence in my day, but this... Why would the killer do that?"
"Hmm, any number of reasons," Bentgrass said as he slowly began to circle the table. Despite his lanky build, he moved with a fluid, cat-like grace, his hoof falls barely audible even in the cavernous silence. His mismatched eyes scanned over the body, his pale hoof tracing along just inches over its cold skin.
"Perhaps some kind of styling, or a message. The mind of the psychotic is rarely a straightforward place. Of course, it could also be fetishistic in some way." Gusto once again winced in disgust as Bentgrass, now at the foot end of the table, grabbed the body's hind legs and lewdly spread them, leaning in close. "There are no obvious signs of sexual trauma, however."
"It..." Trixie cleared her throat. "Perhaps ritualistic in some way? Numerous rites involving the desecration of corpses have been documented all over the world."
"Hmm. Tell me, Doctor," Bentgrass said, "was there anything else unusual about the eyes beyond the obvious?"
"Eh, besides you mean them being pulped?"
Bentgrass nodded.
"I, uh... Eto nemnogo nelovko. I mean, there was so little to work with, any tests I may be able to run would take quite some time to yield results. I decided it best to be sticking with more general observation."
"An understandable conclusion," Bentgrass said, now leaning disgustingly close to the pulped remains of the victim's eyes. "All the same, please examine them in detail. It is quite possible that they were destroyed as a means of forensic cleanup."
Gusto cleared his throat, both to steel himself from the stench and in a desperate attempt to keep the lanky Bentgrass from getting any closer to the gore. "Uh... yeah, so, cause of death, Doc?"
"Well despite the, eh-heh, obvious lack of petechial hemorrhaging, cyanosis around the lips points to manual strangulation." He gently pressed his skinny hoof against the mare's throat. "Hm, yes, her larynx has been crushed, just like last two victims."
"Now that's what I don't get," Gusto said. "The first victim, pegasus named Saunter Hoof, was stabbed through the chest. Why stab him but strangle these three?"
"Well, the first victim was a stallion, the others all mares. Perhaps that has something to do with it?" Trixie offered.
"An astute observation, Miss Lulamoon." The praise was barely a whisper, and spoken through all but gritted teeth. "Now, Doctor Ilyich, I see no bruising on her neck. How could she have been strangled?"
"I wondered this myself, but using the STD, I found slight traces of thaumatic radiation. My theory is that the killer used magic to physically crush her throat."
"That's intriguing," Trixie said. "To reach with kinesis through the skin without leaving a mark would take an incredible amount of skill."
"And that matches what we found at the scene today." Gusto flipped out his notepad. "Our techs used the Sparkle... ah, whatever, at the scene and found traces of unicorn magic."
"The sparkle what?" Trixie asked.
"Sparkle Thaumatic Detector," Vlad said. "It finds background thaumatic radiation and determines it's source and type. One of the newest pieces of technology we have."
"Sparkle?" Bentgrass said. "Would that happen to be in reference to Professor Twilight Sparkle of Canterlot University?"
"Da. She pioneered the method. Apparently she used it to solve a murder sometime last year. You know her?"
"We've met," Bentgrass and Trixie said in unison. The two blinked, then looked at each other with an odd glare.
Gusto's cop instincts perked up at the silent exchange, and stored it for later. Whatever weird shared history was being discussed between their eyes wasn't important right now. "So, uh, yeah, apparently the killer teleported several hundred pounds of garbage across a street. Only unicorns can so that, so he must be—"
"Not necessarily." Trixie flipped her mane and spoke again in the same smug tone as before, though slightly still affected by her unease. "There are other methods besides teleportation. An Antelope tribe in southern Zebrica uses a kind of quantum tunneling to achieve the same effect, and a Minotaur Mage once mastered a technique to bend space time to create wormholes."
"Wormholes?" Gusto repeated the word slowly.
"Furthermore, I once heard of a griffon scientist who was able to use a series of runic scripts to move an entire fleet of troop carriers over five kilometers." Gusto only offered a skeptical glare. Trixie simply smiled. "I am not saying they are likely scenarios, but as multicultural as this city is, it would be foalish to assume it has to be a unicorn."
Gusto was silent for a moment, then turned to Bentgrass. "She for real?"
"Snark aside, in this instance we should listen to her. Her expertise in obscure matters of the arcane are why she is here in the first place."
"Allow me." Trixie stepped up to the slab. Though her face was still a choice shade of white, the look of horror had drained from her eyes, replaced by a haughty confidence that reminded Gusto of a stage performer rather than an agent of the Crown.
Shutting her eyes, Trixie took a slow breath and lit her horn.
Gusto stormed up to her. "Hey! No magic! We don't want to con—"
"It's a low-level scanning spell, Detective. It leaves no traces." A soft pinkish hue scanned the body several times as Trixie chewed her lip. "Hmm... faint traces of thaumatic radiation. The fractal patterns are indeed swirled, but not in keeping with the flute of a horn, more like... twisted; jagged and rough."
"And, that means..."
"Magic is unlike other forms of radiation," Bentgrass spoke from behind him. "It does not move in traditional waves, but flows from its source like water through a straw. The spiral she speaks of is the shape of the residual magic, meaning it most likely came from a unicorn."
"But not the same," Trixie muttered, eyes still closed. "As I said, it's a pattern I've not seen before, and that is saying something. And..." She frowned, looking as though she smelled something distasteful.
Bentgrass said nothing, still not even bothering to look at her.
"It's... odd. There's some sort of interference."
"Interference?" Gusto asked.
"Yes. The residue itself is odd, but I can't see any deeper into the lattice. There's some form of foreign magic blocking me. Almost—"
"So, is it a unicorn or not?" Gusto said quickly.
Horn dimming, Trixie opened her eyes and shot that same smug look at Gusto once more. "It... may be a unicorn, but if it is, he has some kind of deformity, a birth defect maybe, that hindered his magic. Of course, it may just be nothing, and it's some other species altogether." Then: “Take that, Professor,” she whispered under her breath, though Gusto could still hear it.
"Great," Gusto sighed. "Now were back to square friggin' one."
“Fret not, dear Vincent,” Bentgrass said. “When at the starting line, the only way to move is forward.”
“Vincenza."
"Of course. Now, Doctor—"
"You say several hundred pounds of garbage, yes?" Trixie asked.
"Yeah. I mean, I didn't weigh it or nothing, but it looks like a lot."
"And she was wrapped in something?"
"Yeah, a plastic tarp."
"Mm-hmm." Trixie doused her horn then trained her smug eyes to Gusto. "Let me examine the tarp."
Gusto felt his jaw tighten. "That an order?"
"Yes." She never even batted an eye.
Before Gusto had a chance to tell her to go buck herself, Bentgrass stepped in between them. "As I was saying, Doctor Ilyich, is there anything else of note at this time?"
The impala shook his head as he made his way to the wash-up station on the wall. "Beyond what I have said, I will not know more until I begin the autopsy."
"Very well," Bentgrass said before turning to Gusto. "Well, Detective, I believe there is nothing else to gain here, so I suggest we begin our investigation."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." When Bentgrass moved away from the slab Gusto stepped in front of him, stopping him with a firm hoof on his expensive-looking suit. "What do you mean 'our' investigation?"
Bentgrass looked down at Gusto's hoof with a ghost of a smile. "Just what I said, Detective. Miss Lulamoon and myself are here to aid you in catching this ne’erdowell."
Gusto closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This southern gentlecolt routine was getting on his last nerve. "Look here, Mister Pendergast—"
"Agent Bentgrass."
"Whatever. Your badges got you and your partner this far only because Doc Vlad hasn't opened her up yet, but unless I see some sort of official order or memo, you can't just—"
A tri-folded piece of parchment blinked in front of Gusto's face. His eyes flicked to Trixie, whose smile somehow seemed even more entitled. With a low growl, he snatched the paper from the air and began to read.
Gusto could feel the wind die from his sails as he read. His eyes scanned the paper several times, quickly, then more carefully, trying to find some kind of flaw or obvious sign of forgery. Sadly, everything seemed legit: the header of the MPD, Chief Arturo's signature at the bottom, and a massive red stamp bearing the word Approved.
When Gusto finally looked up, Bentgrass was still smiling—light and gentle, obviously trying to be polite, but having the complete opposite effect on Gusto. Still, all he could do was sigh. "So, you're here to what, take over?"
"Oh, good heavens, no," Bentgrass said. "I've always found that charging in bullheaded does nothing but make a tense situation even more so. We are here simply to aid you in solving this crime. We have vast resources that you may tap—at your leisure, of course—as well as years of experience in these sorts of dealings. Also, Miss Lulamoon has been brought into our fold due to her, hmm, extensive knowledge of magic, which dear Doctor Ilyich has already confirmed to play a part."
At the mention of her name, Trixie stepped towards them. "I assure, you, Detective Gusto, I am a mare of many talents."
Bentgrass didn't even look at her. "Detective Gusto, we are only here to help end this violence. You can put away your fears of government bureaucracy and muddied arrests.”
Gusto heaved a deep sigh. His eyes flicked to the parchment in his hoof, then he fixed his gaze on the two agents, taking them in: Trixie radiated a sense of superiority so palpable that he could practically taste it, but Bentgrass was even more off-putting. It was very obvious that he had a lot he was hiding, but for as much as he studied the lithe pony, Gusto couldn’t detect any kind of malice or ill-intent. Still, the idea of Agents of the Crown shadowing him sent little twinges of nervous energy down his wings. "Alright, look. I'm stallion enough to admit that yeah, we could use the help, and this—" he handed the paper back to Bentgrass— "seems legit, but you listen to me: ponies in this town are scared, more than they've been in a long while, so we don't have time to play games. We're gonna work together, we do it by the book, no shadow games or anything. I don't like the idea of working with ponies I don't know, but—"
"Heh, of course you don't."
"I’m sorry?"
Bentgrass didn't flinch under Gusto's withering glare. "Oh, nothing, it's just... well, you know: the gruff detective, shows up late to a crime scene, consoles the young officers, and distrusts the federal agents." Bentgrass arched his eyebrow, though his draconic eye still bored into Gusto, like he was looking through his very mind. "Seems almost a bit storybook, doesn't it?"
A chill ran through Gusto, his wings fluffing just a hair. "W... what’s that supposed to mean?”
A pointed cough came from behind them.When he turned to look, he saw Silver standing in the doorway, ears cuffed like a schoolboy. "Oh, for pony's sake, Silver, get in here!"
"Uh, right. Sorry." He stepped into the room, Though he angled his body away from the corpse, he couldn't stop his eyes from looking. "It's just..."
"Silver!"
"S-Sorry, Vinny. Anyway, you were right. Horn swirl pattern pinged an open Missing Ponies case. Victim’s name is Scarlet Note. Her mother reported her missing two days ago."
Gusto nodded, then flicked his eyes back to the lifeless husk on the slab. Scarlet Note... "Okay, good work, Silver. Dispatch a flier to notify the mother and bring her in."
“Already done. She lives on the Upper East side, and she’s a unicorn, so she should be here in about twenty minutes.”
A weight fell on Gusto's chest. Notifying survivors was always the hardest part of the job; seeing the hope, the very life in their eyes blink out from just a few words. He was not looking forward to this.
"Vinny," Vlad said, stepping forward, "I would advise waiting to have her identify the body until I have had chance to clean her up."
Gusto nodded. "Yeah, good call, Doc." He flicked his eyes back to the parchment before turning to the agents. "Well, since I guess you two are here to stay, why don’t we head over to the squadroom and get you fully briefed up before the mother gets here."
"Capital!" Bentgrass walked to the door in his quick gait. With a cordial bow, he pushed the autopsy doors open with his slender hoof. "Shall we?"
Before Gusto could answer, Trixie briskly walked past them into the hallway. Gusto could hear a quiet sigh of relief from the mare as soon as she clear the door.
Gusto rolled his eyes. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Doc, keep looking her over."
“Konechno, moy drug!” Vlad said with a salute.
Gusto nodded, then turned to Silver. “I’m gonna take these two and talk to the mother. You stay here this time. If Vlad finds anything—anything—you let me know ricky-tick, got it?”
Silver gulped, eyes flicking to the corpse. "Yeah, sure sure."
Leaving the trembling officer, Gusto pushed his way past Bentgrass and out the door, the two agents falling in line behind him. An air of tense silence followed the group down the hallway to the stairs. Gusto kept his eyes forward, but couldn't help the feeling that one or both of the agents were eyeing him from behind.
As the trio made their way up from the basement, Gusto fell into step next to Trixie. Another pang of sympathy shot through him at her stiff posture. "First body?" he asked quietly.
She shot him a very brief smile, though it was much thinner than before. "Trixie is fine."
"Is she, now?"
Trixie's step faltered for a moment. She took a deep breath. "Yes, I am."
"Hey, there's no shame in being grossed out. My first body? Heh, I blew my break—"
"I assure you, I can handle anything this case may throw at me." With that, she flicked her mane and stepped past him.
Gusto opened his mouth, but quickly shrugged it off as they exited the stairwell.
The Floor, as most MPD officers had come to call it, was a sea of controlled chaos. Rows of desks spanned the entire atrium, seated officers taking statements from citizens and filing out the seemingly endless piles of paperwork that followed.
As they made their way across the hall, the doors leading from the front desk area blew open. Chief Arturo stormed in, an army of reporters clamoring to follow being held back by a line of uniforms. Voices filtered in through the chaos.
"Chief Arturo, what about the reports of sexual assault?"
"Chief, you can't just run away from this! The ponies of this town have a right to know!"
"I heard this is related to the murders in Ponyville last year, Chief! Is that true?"
"How many more bodies have to be ripped up before you ponies listen to me?!"
"No further questions, dammit!" Arturo slammed the doors shut, silencing the mob, and a deep sigh escaped the fat griffon. "Scheißkerl! Ah, Vinny! Thank the Eryies for you. Please tell me you have something. These verdammt reporters are bleeding me dry!"
Gusto pushed past Bentgrass and Trixie. "Well, based on evidence from the scene, we now believe the killer might be a unicorn."
"Might be?" Arturo squawked. "Gusto, you mean to tell me—"
"More on that later, Chief. When were you planning on telling me about these two?!" He gestured back to the agents.
"Now, now, calm your feathers," the chief said, raising a claw. "This is not the place. Come, follow me to my office."
Gusto sighed, then turned back to Trixie. "All right, squad room is up those stairs"—he gestured with a wing to a stairwell across the hall—"to the right, first door on the left. Everything is already laid out. I'll be along..." Gusto blinked as he noticed Bentgrass not heading to the stairs, but towards the double doors leading back to the front desk. "Hey, where are you going?"
Bentgrass turned to look at him. "This direction, obviously."
"I just told you the squad room and interview rooms are upstairs. Why are you heading outside?"
"Hmm, let's say... following a new lead."
"But, don't you want to talk to the vic's mother?"
"No," Bentgrass said, shaking his head. "In my experience, grieving mothers are rarely a source of any useful information. Rest assured, Miss Lulamoon will assist you in any way you need."
"Um, okay, but what about getting caught up on the case first?"
Bentgrass waved a hoof dismissively. "I read the files on the train ride up here. Suffice to say, I am well versed on the minutia of this case."
"You had the file?" Trixie asked. "And you didn't think to share to with me?"
Bentgrass gave a low smile, one that Gusto felt was more than a little condescending. "You didn't ask." Apparently feeling no further explanation was needed, he turned once more. Right before he opened the doors, he stopped. "Oh, and Miss Lulamoon?"
Trixie cocked an ear, but said nothing.
Bentgrass looked at them over his shoulder. "Be sure to observe the Detective closely." His eyes moved to Gusto, and once more, the agent's mismatched gaze left him feeling exposed. "I get the feeling that he has many... interesting things to teach." Without another word, Bentgrass slipped through the doors and disappeared like a spirit into the swarm of reporters.
Trixie heaved a deep sigh and strode to the stairs.
Gusto just stared at the spot Bentgrass had occupied for several seconds before a talon tapped his haunches. "Vinny!"
Gusto jumped slightly at the contact. "Uh, y-yeah, Chief?" The fat griffon simply nodded back towards his office. "Oh, yeah. Coming." Gusto moved to follow Arturo, but spared one last glance at the double doors.
There's no way. He can't know.
The act of shutting the doors did little to quell the seething mass of reporters. Flash bulbs exploded, the sound lost under the roar of questions and shouts. The poor uniformed officers did their best to keep the crowd at bay, slowly pushing them away from the atrium and towards the main entrance. Eventually, the crowd began to disperse amid muttered curses and indignant huffs.
Bentgrass stood sentinel at the eye of the equine storm. His eyes were closed and he took slow, calming breaths as he focused. His ivory ears perked and twitched like the bat he had once resembled, searching for his quarry. Among the howling storm of questions, a single voice had stood out: a lone plea for attention, desperate to be heard. Coincidence, he knew, did not exist during a murder investigation.
"Jeez, how thick can you be?!"
His ear twitched, mismatched eyes snapping open. Bentgrass strode forward, dancing in between the slowly shrinking crowd with nimble grace.
The entrance lobby was a large hallway lit by cold fluorescent lights hanging above a highly polished faux-marble floor. A single row of chairs lined one side. The walls were adorned with placards and random fliers attached with tape, bearing whatever slogan the police department was using that week to try and bolster public opinion.
Smack in the center of the hallway was a heavy wooden desk formed into a horseshoe. Bentgrass gingerly slid along side it, taking in the scene: a rather burly earth pony mare with a burnt orange coat and a jarring red mane was fuming at the wizened old stallion behind the desk. She blew out a sharp breath to clear her oddly-coiffed mane out of her eyes.
"I'm telling you, I have evidence!" She said in a severe Manehatten accent.
The officer behind the desk rolled his eyes. "Look, lady, this is the third time this week, and the answer is the same. We're a little busy with real cases with real clues."
"Please, you wouldn't know a real clue if it bit you on your wrinkled old plot!"
"Real classy, lady," the officer chuffed.
The mare stamped her large hoof, causing the press badge hanging from her neck to twirl around. "I’m telling you, this guy is dirty! Ponies are dying—"
"Which is exactly why we don't have time for your half-baked conspiracy horseapples! What, you get turned down for a scholarship?"
The mare sputtered, then with a loud growl turned to walk away.
"Yeah, that's right," the officer said through a smirk. "Take a walk, thunder thighs."
The mare froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned back to level a smoldering gaze at him. "What did you just call me?" Before he could answer, she spun and charged for the desk, only to be snatched by two officers. "Hey, lemme go!"
"Get her outta here!" the old desk sergeant said.
"Get yer mitts offa me!" Her bulk twisted and writhed, but she could do little to stop them as the officers dragged her out the doors.
"Interesting," Bentgrass muttered, then moved to follow.
By the time he stepped out into the sweltering city heat, the two officers had already dragged the mare to the bottom of the steps. She thrashed once more as they roughly released her. "You're lucky," one of them said. "One more step, and you would be in the clink for assaulting an officer. You almost messed up big time."
The mare dusted herself off. "Yeah, I’d mess up your face, but ya mother already did it!”"
The cops just rolled their eyes and walked away, stepping back into the building, not even casting a glance to Bentgrass as he nimbly made his way to the retreating mare. She was already storming her way down the street, but his long limbs let him catch up quickly. "Excuse me, madam?"
She ignored him, continuing to stomp away.
Bentgrass tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Miss?"
The mare rounded on him. "What do ya..." Her annoyed glare fell to a look of shock as she locked eyes with him. "Whoa. Buddy, what's with the eye?"
Bentgrass arched the brow over his serpentine right eye. "Eye? What eye?"
She blinked, then shook her head. "Whatever. Who you supposed to be, the undertaker?"
"Not quite," he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. "Special Agent Bentgrass, RIS."
The mare gave a puzzled glance as she eyed the proffered badge. “Hey, I paid my taxes this year! A little late, but—”
“Division Six.”
After a few moments, the scrutinizing gaze fell from her eyes. “Holy smokes. I’ve heard’a you guys! You’re, like, secret police or something!”
“Or something,” Bentgrass said, tucking his badge back in his pocket.
“You’re here about the bodies, yeah?!” The mare was almost bouncing on her hooves as she spoke.
"Indeed. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the desk sergeant."
"Yeah, I been trying to get somepony to listen, but the eclair-to-crap factory in there won't even let me past the front desk," she spat. "Don't wanna upset the apple cart and risk the money flow."
"Hmm," Bentgrass said with a slow nod. "Well, if you do actually have some insight into this case, I'd very much like to listen to you, Miss..."
The mare blew out a sharp breath, dislodging a few strands of her mane from in front of her face. "Barbara Seed, Manehatten Post, and I know who's behind these killings."
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Barb Seed, you say? Most intriguing...
Babs? Interesting.
Also, second to last paragraph is missing an indent.
"Division Six."
"There is no Division Six. This is bullshit."
Nice to see this updated!
3816973
3817491
No, it's Babs herself. Babs is usually a shortened version of Barbara, so I inferred a bit.
Hmm... First Silvermane is a weak-stomached cop, and now Saunter is the first victim of these murders... I can only wonder how you're going to put Firebrand, Navron, and the rest of FOB Equestria into this.
3818291 I thought it might have been, but I wasn't sure.
Heh. Now that's actually getting really interesting. Since when did Babs manage to become a fat lady?
.
Also, a funny scene with Italian stereotypes
Speaking of stereotypes, a quick note.
"Vlad" is not short for "Vladimir", but actually for "Vladislav". The correct short form of "Vladimir" is "Vova". Still, 'Vlad" might be used as a nickname, so whatever. I even have a friend, who always introduces himself as "Vlad", despite actually being "Vladimir".
Also, if "Illyavich"? If it's a reference to Lenin (with all the "impala -> goat -> goatee -> Lenin" logical string), then maybe it would've been "Ilyich"? Then again, it might just be a funny Russian-like nickname, and it's your story and all that.
Just a quick "Ask a Russian guy anything" session :D.
3819329
No, thanks for the corrections! I know next to nothing of Russian culture, so that helps! Changes made!
Also, Babs isn't fat, just... big. I'll go back and edit it a bit, but she's not some fat slob. Think of someone who would be a bouncer. She's just a big mare.
3819411 Awww.. It's just, for any Russian-speaking reader (or anyone who knows Russian history) the name "Vladimir Illyich" would have been much funnier. Because of the obvious reference to a Russian communist revolutionary.
Still, whatever you want. I think if everyone will start demanding you change something...
Also, will gladly consult on anything Russian-related, if necessary.
Yay!
Here's Bentgrass! And Trixie too. 
That's interesting. An impala who speaks Russian.
Wait, is Bentgrass criticizing one of your OCs for being cliched?
Oh look it's Babs Seed!
Looks like this show is now on the road. I'm going to be looking forward to future installments. Keep up the very good work.
Alright, we finally get Bentgrass and Trixie.
You did a good job giving Trixie that arrogant, flamboyant personality without making her chew the scenery, then bringing out a more vulnerable side of her without turning her into some bleeding-heart. A good one-two for characterization. I wish you didn't make her talk in the third person, and I hope she's not THAT obsessed with Twilight Sparkle, but that's just me. Bentgrass is bentgrassier than ever. Outwardly polite and affable, but pissing people off anyway. Babs Seed's intro is also intriguing.
We're getting deeper into the police procedural now. I would caution you about using too much jargon. It's okay to show off some research and knowledge once in a while, but not to the point where we need reference books lying nearby when we read the fic.
Jeez is a minced oath for Jesus. I'd certainly like to know who this Jesus is in your Equestria and why ponies are swearing by him.
Consider making your sentences more compact. For this one, I would suggest
Eight words less and most of the meaning is there.
Looking forward to the next one.
So was this intentional or...
3821544
3818498 - Oh, just you wait...
3819474 Sorry, I'm too 'Murican for that.
3820109 - Don't mind Bentgrass. He's just being... Bentgrass. And as for the coroner, I'm just eagerly awaiting the hate that will come once people figure out the joke there...
3821466 - Well, seeing a dead body for the first time tends to rattle you, so I figured she may briefly slip into old bad habits. And more will come about Trixie's feelings towards Twilight. This particular incident was just a random moment where she knew something more than Twilight did.
3825151 - D'aww! Thankies!
3824954
Well, murder mysteries traditionally begin with someone finding a body.
3825233 Ooooooooooooh!
I get it now. Vlad the Impala.
Vlad the Impaler!
Also known as Dracula. 
3825233
Wait... The killer is possibly a unicorn, you're putting FOB members into the story...
Firebrand is the only unicorn in the FOB...
NO!!
YOU WOULDN'T!!
Josh would kill you.
two quotations.
I have a rule that I live by when reading any book or story: if I'm not interested after the first three chapters, I don't continue reading. In this, I'm interested.
Late to the party but what the hell.
Gotta read that book again now.
Really enjoying this so far and looking forward to more. I wonder how long it will take for Trixie to get up to mischief?
D'Agosta and Pendergast ponies. Love it.
I am sorrowfully late to this here par-tay. Tesla's beard...
I'm liking how you're pulling inspiration from Preston and Child on these stories, but re-making it with an Equestrian spin. I almost had problems with Trixie's character, but then you had her slip into the third person and correct herself, so there is that.
The locales and almost inconsequential scenes are extremely life-like. An example is the first part of the story with the garbage collectors, but the one problem I did see with it was the way Bentgrass and Co. were inserted from the last story. After two killings with different M.O., how did the RIS determine it was the work of a serial killer? I can understand at the point of a third killing, but you mentioned that the present killing was the third.
Update!
Applejack is best pony.
Jake, forgive me, but this, as compared to the prequel, is very dry and trite, almost unsatisfying. 'Tho it is quite Pendergastian in execution, it is lacking.
4860611
Yeah, that's what I was afraid of. Just not sure if I can pull it off.
4860706
A rewrite, mayhap? Eh. I am not Author; 'tis not my decision. I tell you, I anticipated the release of this sequel, and as it is, it is still quite readable, (the opening chapter, 'specially), yet trite. I wanted to say over-used, but that's not quite right, not quite sure.
Curiously, the prologue of my first novel, still in development hell, is extremely similar to yours, almost eerily so, what with the bodies dumped in the garbage, mutilated and wrapped in a tarpaulin.
Hi,
as a rule, I don't read unfinished stories (exception for "The Chase", but after I finished "Under A Luminous Sky" in under 12 hrs I'm sorely tempted...
Tell, please, after the best part of a year, will you continue the sequel? I need my Trix...
5200814
I came here to ask the same thing, actually. Normally I don't like to ask after this sort of thing because I suspect it comes across as nagging no matter the intent, but it's been about a year and I can't find a blog post about this (nor any comments, obviously). It seems like you've only recently returned to being able to write at all, so what I'm really wondering is if this shouldn't be tagged "Cancelled" (I hope not, though!), or if it's lower-priority than new stuff, or you're already working on the next chapter but it'll take a while, or... just, what's up.
5473507
5200814
I'm sorry
For some reason, this reminds me of John Ringo's "Special Circumstances" books. Which is a great thing. I absolutely love this so far, hopefully you'll get back to updating soon.
I really enjoyed this series. Even though this second story never got completed, I would have loved to read the rest of it. Murder mysteries just aren't done enough on this site. Is there any particular reason why it was canceled?
10610570
Several reasons. Chief among them, I never fully got the plot figured out. I had the ending, and all the big plot moments, but the connective tissue just never came out. To this day, I still can't figure out how to link the beginning, middle, and end. The other big reason was simply that this was around the time my passion for writing really began to die. I still love telling stories, as you can tell by the several I have written since, but any long form story idea since this has petered out.
That said, I may at some point do a "How It Would Have Ended" blog like I did with Princess Twilight Takes A Walk. The big plot moments I'm really proud of to this day.
10610899
I’d still be happy to read that blog, if you write it.