One by One

by DreamWings

Three.

The police looked around the room with puzzlement. The murders were only predicted as being a one-off pulled by a local terror from the insane ward of the local hospital, but now it was shaping up to be a full on homicide. Two bodies had already been found and now a new one had been discovered in the local bakery. Chief Constable Longshot peered around the room; his long snout poking into every tiny little crevice to see if he could find anything. He could leave nothing to chance anymore; he had to find some kind of clue to the truth or he could lose the case and hence lose his job. It only took one major catastrophe for a policepony to get kicked out of service for good. Longshot shuddered at the thought.

His Deputy was comforting the other ponies in residence, trying to make the young foals feel better about the goings on. They hadn’t seen it coming; this cruel killing of their wife or Mother, and it was unfair that they had to suffer through this turmoil. This killer truly must have no heart to let innocent family members feel the pain that came from the loss of a loved one.

Deputy Soft-shoe bent down and patted an older stallion on the shoulder, trying to comfort the husband in his time of despair. Mr Cake couldn’t believe this had happened. It was horrible to think…to think that he would never see his lovely wife again. She would never be downstairs helping him to bake and serve their tasty treats ever again. He couldn’t bake without her. She was the current to his bun, the queen to his pudding, the cherry on his cake, the mascarpone to his marzipan and meringue. She was the most creative mare when it came to baking, and now she was gone and her recipes along with her.

Mr Cake’s eyes teared up as drop after drop fell onto the wooden floorboards of the room. His legs crumpled beneath him and he collapsed in a huddle on the floor. Soft-shoe had no idea what the best thing would be to do next. He looked to his Chief to see if he could help him, but his boss was far more interested in the room itself to take any notice of the weeping stallion. Pound Cake rubbed his hoof against his Father’s face, being gentle for once in his life. Pumpkin sidled up and lay down next to her Father’s warm stomach, holding on to his left hoof and cradling it in her arms.

Mr Cake looked down at his two foals and gave them a watery smile. They were being so strong in his time of weakness, almost like they had switched roles; he the foal and they the parents. They would be by his side at least, his wife would have loved to see them happy together and getting along. He slowly stood up onto his legs wobbling slightly with the effort of not breaking down again. His lips quivered.

“I-I-I think we’ll go to a-another room” he stuttered. He slowly turned and headed out of the door watching as Pound and Pumpkin followed him. ‘Almost like looking at a funeral march’ Soft-shoe thought ‘it’s horrible all of this; absolutely horrible.’ He peered towards the centre of the room were the forensic ponies were dabbing at the floor with their brushes, trying to find any clue to do with who may have done this horrific job. It seemed to be taking a long time. The Chief moved closer to his Deputy, staring at the corpse on the floor.

“Poison they’re saying” he told Soft-shoe without even a flinch “Found remnants of arsenic in the cake she was eating; poor dear must have swallowed a great mouthful without thinking about it.”

The young Deputy shuddered. Who would do such a horrible thing? They sell the cakes they make; a whole herd of ponies could have been poisoned in this way. He told this to his boss but his boss did not show any signs of care.

“No” he said “We analysed the rest of the cake that this slice came from, there was nothing in it. Only the slice that Mrs Cake had been eating was poisoned.”

So…Mrs Cake had been chosen specifically then? Then it was not possible that it was simply a pony looking to kill whoever they saw at that point; poisoning only one pony would signify that they had only wanted to kill that mare specifically. Yet the first murder had been so different, Mac had been pulverised with some kind of blunt object, not exactly a weapon of choice for a serious killer. Unless that was what they wanted them to think that is.

“What do we do now Chief? How do we know who’ll be next?”

Longshot turned to look at his young Deputy. He noticed the dilated eyes, trembling hooves and small beads of sweat on his brow; he was scared, more than scared: terrified. He had lost many a young partner to fear and he could see that this new pony would be another one that would go eventually. He had to do his best for the young colt, he had to teach him how to be a good Cop and not let anything stop you from being it. It was imperative that the lessons began soon or Soft-shoe would struggle dealing with this case.

“We don’t know who’ll be next.” Somehow this didn’t help ease the young Copper’s mind.

“But…But…” he struggled to get his words out. If they didn’t know who was next then there could be many more before it was stopped, if it was stopped at all. How much more of this torture did they have to endure? Longshot peered at the quivering colt again.

“But we’ll darn well try to figure it out.” He hoped this would reassure his partner but it didn’t seem to help ease his mind at all. He was worried, worried that they would never solve this and everypony would be gone. The victims seemed such a random choice so far, it could literally be anypony who was picked next. It could be him…It could be his sister or her husband…It could be his Mother. And there was nothing he could do to stop it, they would only find out who it was to be after it had happened, when it was too late.

“Sir” a young Policemare ran up to the two stallions. “I did the check of the house that you asked for.”

“And?” Longshot questioned.

“It was just like the last sir. Windows and doors all locked and no signs of forced entry. The only way a pony could have got in is through a small mouse hole, but that’s impossible.”

The Chief chuckled.

“Never count out the impossible, quite often it’s the only answer. And as to the murderer, if he thinks he can get away from me he’s very much mistaken.”

He trotted closer to the corpse and his face contorted. ‘Disgusting. Revolting, and I’m going to get you. No matter how many deaths happen in order for it to happen.”

Three.