Confidential Cases: Winggarden

by Anneal

1-3: Wage Bonus

Azerda sat quietly on one of the dining chairs, holding a wad of toilet paper against her muzzle while staring at Izavel; the stallion was cuffed by the fore hooves, which were tight enough to prevent him from bending his hooves down to move beyond a slow walk. Trace carefully trimmed his fur with a pair of scissors along where his scalds were, applying a bandage afterwards.

"Damn zebra bucked me right in the face," she grumbled, placing her bloodied wad on the table and pulling a new strip of toilet paper from the roll on the table. A subtle, reddened bruise had formed on her right cheek. She briefly contemplated using the healing potions she had prepared in her satchel; healing potions were one of the most rudimentary potions a zebra could make. Not worth wasting on such a minor injury.

Static trotted out of the kitchen with an opened can of peaches, placing it on the dining table next to Azerda. "Here. I don't know jack about cooking, so this is the best you're going to get," Static said. "Make sure you chew with the good side of your muzzle."

Azerda picked up the can of peaches and poured it straight into her mouth, angling it to the left to avoid her bruised right jaw. Trace applied a moist bandage onto the shaved burn area on Izavel's shoulder, closing up the first aid kit as he finished his treatment. "Backup will come in a few minutes. Before that, Mr. Izavel, you might as well tell us what you know," he demanded. "We can start by asking why you were running from us."

Izavel looked away defiantly. "Police like you storm our neighborhoods to lock us up. What would you have done when you saw two cops in your home?"

"We have enough evidence to convict you, Mr. Izavel!" Trace exclaimed, pointing back to Azerda. She waved her hoof dismissively as she slowly chewed through the peach slices. "She has a slip of paper that shows you were getting paid for stealing Crystalstar equipment. Add resisting arrest to that and you're looking at four years in prison. Please make this easier for us."

"The twit's just a transport mule for the ring leader, Trace," Azerda commented, placing the can down on the table and feeling her bruised cheek. "My contract requires me to find the leaders responsible. I don't get paid for locking up a driver."

Trace blinked in surprise. "I didn't know you were the sympathetic kind, especially since you were up in that hippogriff lady's face just an hour ago."

"I'm plenty sympathetic when there's a Zumidian involved," Azerda clarified bluntly, tapping her hoof on the table. "If he wasn't stealing for the company I'm working for, then I would be applauding him for trying to make a living. It's either that or starve on the streets."

Izavel stared at Azerda and grunted. "We meet in front of a house at Barracuda Drive for my pay every evening," he explained, kicking the saddlebag on the ground with his free rear hoof. "I just came back from my side-job when you two showed up."

"What's your role in this whole charade?" Azerda asked. "And can you identify the creature you met?"

"Hippogriff, beige coat, yellow mane, swept back like your buddy over there," Izavel tilted his head toward Trace's direction. "He never gave a name. We only worked on a need-to-know basis."

"Well, this is the first time I've heard about a weapon smuggling ring... we had plenty of that back in Tobuck. Who would have thought one of our roommates would be in one?" Static interjected with a short chuckle. "Back when my sister and I were fillies, we used to have a gun runner by the name of Pea Shooter run our country. He made tons of dough from smuggling weapons across the three continents."

Trace glanced at the young mare. "So you have some experience in it?"

"Not old enough to get involved myself, but my mother was a mercenary," she answered more evenly. "They wouldn't be dumb enough to exchange the money in front of their own home or reveal their identity. And more importantly, they might still have those weapons laying around somewhere. They can't sell them immediately without attracting unwanted attention.”

Pea Shooter. Heard of that name before. Azerda thought. He was a well known name in North Zebrica, running a sham republic before they became the Chiropterran Commonwealth's first victims. Of course, he was long gone from the country, along with most of the country's gold reserves. Probably in Manehatten now, snorting drugs off his luxury table...

Trace nodded politely. “Thanks, Miss Static. You’ve been a great help."

As the hippogriff finished, a police truck slowed in front of the rundown row house, the front wheel almost cutting onto the curb as it parked. Water Spout and a yellow female hippogriff in a clean white, mosaic-like jacket existed the vehicle; the mare appeared to be in her mid-thirties, with her mane pulled back into a ponytail. "I think that's good enough, Officer Spout. At least you're keeping the vehicle intact," she commented, momentarily taking a short glance of the misaligned vehicle before entering the front door.

Trace looked up and waved his claw at the well-dressed hippogriff, with Water Spout approaching behind a few seconds later. "Criminalist Paper Trail. It's surprising to see you outside of the crime lab," he greeted. "I trust it's something important?"

Paper Trail pulled out a small vial of blood from her chest pocket. “Yes. It’s about the blood samples we’ve retrieved from the crime scene,” Paper replied, noticing Azerda and Static, who were still sitting at the table. Her eyes stopped at the zebra mare’s bruised cheek. “Did some altercation take place?”

Azerda nickered. “I’m fine. Your zebra is cuffed up in the corner right there,” she muttered.

Paper handed the vial over to Trace, who carefully pinched the lid with his claws and examined the vial. The blood inside had separated into dark red clumps with the plasma floating to the top. “The blood wasn’t like this when we found the abandoned vehicle,” Trace commented with a frown.

“Blood agglutination,” Paper explained calmly, like a doctor explaining one's symptoms to a patient. Azerda looked at the hippogriff with a confused expression crossing her face. "An antibody reaction to incompatible blood types. It occurs in improper transfusions, but in this instance, it appears that the blood in the vehicle came from multiple recipients, mixed together."

"Mrs. Paper was performing a blood test for the sample," Water Spout added, walking next to her to eye the blood vial on Trace's claw.

"A preliminary one. An extensive blood test would have taken days. It matters little as this sample is unfit for testing anyways," Paper corrected.

"I doubt the suspect would have killed several victims on the same exact spot in the truck," Trace quipped, handing the vial back to Paper Trail. "But how would the blood get mixed up in the first place?"

Azerda tapped her chin in brief thought. "A blood bank, maybe? That's one method of getting plenty of blood," she proposed.

Trace nodded in agreement. "It's likely. Let's check the address at Barracuda first, see if we can get any more leads," he said, turning to Water Spout. "You mind taking Mr. Izavel back to Harbor Division, Spout? Also, have Spotlight arranged to be released by tonight. I'm thinking a few months of community service after being locked up would teach that kid a little lesson."

"Alright, Trace," Water Spout saluted hastily and removed the cuffs tying Izavel to the table, closing it back afterwards and guiding him towards the truck. "Spotlight was making a big fuss in his cell, anyways."

"Oh, and she's coming with us, Criminalist," Trace added, pointing to Azerda with the thumb of his claw. "Zamarata's a PI working for Crystalstar. She has some experience and has helped us with the case."

Paper furrowed her brow. "PI? The WPD's had enough of them nosing into affairs," she remarked dimly. "She can come, but I'm keeping my eye on her so she doesn't contaminate any evidence. Barracuda isn't too far from here, so you two can drive while I fly to the scene of interest."

Azerda snorted at Paper's comment and stood up, crumpling the tissue into a bloody wad and throwing it into the trash bin. Her nosebleed had cleared up by now.

---

It was a short five-minute drive to 325 Barracuda Drive – Paper Trail had already arrived at the location, Trace's Buck Super being slowed down by traffic. The house was in Marina Heights, one of the eastern suburbs of Winggarden, tailored towards a more respectable, middle-class demographic than Communication Hill. Barracuda Drive was right next to a tramway, with an occasional tram bell breaking the silence of the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Trace stopped the vehicle near an empty lot, opening a paper map of the city to verify the address. In front of the two was a stone-veneered ranch-style house, defined by a freshly painted white picket fence. A red sign stood on the front lawn, reading: FOR SALE – S10050, only S2000 down! Contact CV3899 now!

“Empty address,” Azerda grumbled as she jumped out of the vehicle.

Paper Trail was surveying the driveway as Trace parked the vehicle, pointing to a set of faint skid marks – they were quite wide apart, and the bright noon sun made it difficult to discern at first glance. “All-terrain wheels, judging by the diagonal treads,” Paper stated, kneeling down in front of the marks to get a closer look. “And they’re spread too far apart to be from a passenger vehicle.”

"So it came from a commercial truck. That matches Izavel's earlier movements and Spotlight's testimony," Trace added, flying towards the porch to scan the house's interior from the front windows. The living room and kitchen were completely empty, save for the built-in birch kitchen countertops and sink. A thin layer of dust formed on the counters. "Doesn't look like any creature has been inside the house, either."

"What about outside?" Azerda suggested, pointing her hoof at a riveted metal garbage can. "Do empty houses normally take out the trash?"

The zebra mare opened up the can; it was barely used, with cardboard boxes cut apart into smaller pieces and empty tin cans. Her eyes stopped at what appeared to be two empty rifle cartridge cases and three blood bags stained crimson red. "So there's where the missing casings were," Azerda muttered, making sure to put on a new set of clean hoof gloves before tilting the garbage can sideways.

"I know we're scouring for evidence and all, but you could at least clean your hooves before fishing through the trash!" Trace remarked with a slight grimace.

Azerda tilted the trash can at an angle, extending her forehoof deep inside to pull out the casings and blood bags. She examined the casings closely, the caliber instantly being familiar to her. She hummed. "7.62 Alaudia. I'm sure this would match the bullets we found at Coral Street."

She then turned her attention towards the three blood bags, flipping them towards the front. Each one indicated a different blood type: A(a), C, Q(b). Azerda tapped her hoof at the address at the bottom: Collected by: Southern Aris Blood Center, Winggarden. Manufactured for: Crystalstar Corporation, Starfield. "We have these blood bags for private security," Azerda added. "So our suspect is closer to the corporation than I thought after all."

Paper Trail looked beside Azerda and nodded. "We can take these two pieces of evidence back to the crime lab for analysis. We can match the casings' ballistic markings with the bullets bagged near Coral Drive," she commented. "We can determine the location and range from where the bullets were fired as well."

Azerda grunted and handed over the evidence to Paper Trail. "Careful enough to pick up their casings before fleeing the scene, but not enough to dump it in some random bin. Now we know where they got the blood."

"Southern Aris Blood Center's Downtown," Trace interjected, pulling out a small travel map from his jacket pocket. "We can check the records there, see if there's any creature from Crystalstar collecting the blood packs."

"Since both of you are going downtown, you don't mind if I take the vehicle, yes?" Paper Trail asked, placing the bullet casings and empty blood bags into separate plastic bags. "Officer Spout has already taken the other one, and it would be inconvenient to fly back with these evidence bags. These locations should be fairly close to the Central Police Station. You two can get a different vehicle there."

Azerda pulled out a small, bright red card with a slight smirk – it was a weekly transit pass, already partially punched. "Guess this would come in handy."

Trace stared at Azerda incredulously. "We could just call the nearby police station for a new vehicle. Do you just take the tram for every case?"

Azerda shrugged. "Don't have a driver's license, and hippogriff vehicles are too uncomfortable to drive in. Plus, I can't imagine who would want to drive through Winggarden traffic."

The hippogriff detective sighed and placed his claw to his forehead. "Alright then. Guess we're taking a bit of a tram trip."

---

The Winggarden tram network was one of the few features of Legation rule still left over; although the city already had an existing tram system, it had not aged with grace, and prior to the Legation takeover there were plans to scrap the network for a cheaper bus system. With a bright red and white exterior, Winggarden's trams were some of the more modern ones on Aris Island.

Azerda and Trace disembarked from the tram's rear doors in front of a clean, white brick building near a busy downtown street. The Southern Aris Blood Center did not have many windows and had an almost industrial appearance, with an unassuming flat roof and a simple International Red Heart logo.

The two briefly exchanged glances as they approached the building. "Could have tried making this place look less clinical than it already is," Azerda commented with a nicker.

The glass double doors opened up to a modestly sized waiting room, covered in vinyl wooden tiles in a checkerboard pattern. Sterile, light blue chairs with thin legs lined up around a coffee table, with a small stack of magazines at the center. A white hippogriff nurse sat behind a sleek wooden counter, her light brown eyes scanning through a newspaper report from the Daily Fish.

Trace strode towards the counter, waiting for a few seconds before promptly tapping the bell. The nurse sat straight up, putting her newspaper down. "Nurse Field Care. Are you here for a donation?" Field Care greeted in an artificially cheery tone.

"Detective Trace Drizzle. We're looking into an investigation that involves a withdrawal of blood bags from this location for Crystalstar Corporation," Trace replied firmly, straightening his neck collar. "Do you have any records from this month that we can check?"

Field Care hummed and bent down, pulling out a small leather book from the counter shelf. "Yes, we do. Every blood bag is meticulously cataloged."

"Do you recall seeing a beige hippogriff arrive to pick up blood from this center in the past few days?" Azerda asked, flipping open the book impatiently. She swiftly ran her hoof down each of the lines, her hoof stopping at one of the lines: 12-05-1024, 19:50. x4 300mL, types x2 A(a), x1 C, x1 Q(b). Withdrawn by request from: Crystalstar Corporation, Winggarden Branch Office. 15 Stratus Road, Winggarden.

The nurse shook her head. "No, at least not during my shifts. I work from 8 to 14, weekdays only. Only a part-time nurse," Field Care answered.

"And are you sure these records are accurate?" Azerda questioned further, tapping her hoof on the book. "I see four blood bags in these records, but during our investigations we only found three blood bags, and no blood type B."

"Like I said, we take into account every single blood bag. Those records are completely accurate and show a withdrawal of four blood bags," Field Care returned insistently, with a look of mild irritation.

“So there’s one blood bag missing from the trash can,” Azerda concluded to Trace, flipping the book shut. “The address tracks to one of our branch offices downtown. If I remember correctly, they have a clinic inside the building where we can look. The office is just down a few blocks.”

Trace bowed his head in front of Field Care. “Thank you, Nurse. You’ve been a great help. We’ll head to Crystalstar's office and see where this lead takes us.”

Field Care nodded and glanced back down on her magazine, frowning as she tried to find the page she had earmarked. “No problem, detectives,” she muttered with a short grumble.

The two trotted out of the building, and in a few minutes' walk, approached the office further down the street. The Crystalstar branch office was located behind a small parking lot; unlike most of the traditional, white brick Arisian buildings that defined the downtown, the building was largely a block of glass and steel, roughly five floors high. Azerda swerved around a few parked cars while Trace landed next to her in front of the building's glass doors, which were locked by a number pad. The zebra hummed and punched a set of numbers, the door responding with a soft click.

The main reception room of the office building was spacious, if empty of activity; Azerda surmised that most of the employees were busy at work in the upper floors. "The clinic should be on the first floor. Easier to rush in injured employees when it's close to the entrance," she reasoned, pointing to the doors on the right. One of them was still open, revealing a near-immaculate white tiled room. Her stomach growled gently, reminding the zebra that she had yet to eat a proper meal since morning beside the occasional snack. Azerda impatiently trotted ahead of Trace into the clinic.

Inside, a freckled yellow hippogriff examined an illuminated board, staring at different x-ray panels before glancing back at Azerda. He blinked and pushed his glasses, placing down his clipboard on the steel counter. "I can't say I've seen you folks around here in the offices."

Trace walked in behind her, taking a short scan of the rest of the clinic. A few hospital beds lay in the corner, next to a shelf filled with medical supplies and a large fridge. "I'm a Crystalstar investigator, doctor. What's your name?" Azerda stated.

"Lemongrass," the doctor answered, creasing his brow in concern. His eyes wandered towards Azerda's bruised cheek, the hippogriff grimacing at the sight. "Is something wrong? Besides your face, that is. We do have medical supplies around here to treat these kind of injuries."

Azerda grunted and put her hoof on her cheek. It still ached, though the injury was less painful than before. She wondered how Paper Trail and the nurse from before hadn't mentioned it until now. "I'm fine, doctor. More importantly, have you made a withdrawal of four blood bags lately?"

Lemongrass tapped his claws onto the table. "I make withdrawals from the blood bank all the time. It's normal for my profession," he answered defensively.

"If you don't mind, Dr. Lemongrass, may we look at your fridge?" Trace added. "There was recently a withdrawal from the South Aris Blood Center that traces back to this clinic."

"You are free to search inside, but please keep the fridge door closed as much as possible," Lemongrass said. "The bags spoil quickly at room temperature."

Trace opened the fridge, inching his head closer to search through the different compartments. "You familiar with any beige hippogriffs lately?" Azerda pressed further.

"There are a few hippogriffs with beige coats that come into my clinic," Lemongrass returned before pausing briefly. "But since you mentioned the South Aris Blood Center, you may be talking about a particular Brack Marsh. He came in yesterday to pick up medical supplies for a job abroad in Karthin. The clinic here isn't big enough for him to pick up all the supplies he needs, so I gave him written permission to get his supplies there."

Yesterday...that's the same date on the blood center records. "There are some A(a) blood packs in here, Azerda, but none of them match the date," Trace muttered, closing the fridge. He rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Lemongrass doesn't seem to be missing any stock. I don't know if we can find anything useful here."

"We've got a name. Brack Marsh," Azerda declared, turning to Trace. "According to one of our suspect's testimonies, he's still in Winggarden to give him some shells. So unless he's found a way to be in two places at once, this Brack Marsh seems to have a skill for fabricating stories."

"We appreciate the help, Lemongrass," Trace continued, closing his notepad and trotting out of the clinic.

As Azerda followed behind him, Lemongrass raised his claw before pulling out a small metal ointment case. "Oh, and before you leave, you should probably apply this to your cheek if you don't want more creatures giving you strange looks."

Azerda stopped and trotted back to grab the case, opening it momentarily to check the inside; it was a faded yellow cream, one that looked oddly familiar. The zebra mare stared aimlessly at the ointment. It's the same kind of cream the apothecaries would give back home at Zirta...

"Are you alright, detective?" Lemongrass added.

Azerda blinked and closed the case, placing it into her saddlebag. There I go again, thinking about the past. "Erm, thanks," she answered, nodding awkwardly at Lemongrass before rushing out the door. Lemongrass shook his head and sighed.

Trace was waiting outside the door, leaning against the concrete wall and crossing his arms. One of his claws had tightened against his elbow. "Can't believe that we have all this evidence and it all leads to a dead end..." Trace grumbled. "We've got our suspect's name, but without any leads there's no way to track him down."

"We still have one lead," she corrected.

Trace blinked in confusion. "What lead?"

Azerda smirked and tipped up her hat. "Maybe we need to pay Izavel at the police station a visit."

Comments

[Thenodpony09]

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