Field Services and Technical Evidence Team: Riverton

by bahatumay

Chapter 3

The two earth ponies stood outside the Riverton Morgue. Cane noticed that Slip seemed hesitant to enter, and couldn't keep a small smile from playing at one edge of his lips. “I promise you, Rookie, they don't bite in there,” he said.

“Oh, it's not the victims I don't like,” Slip said as he shuffled nervously in the harness.

“Explain, please.”

Slip seemed hesitant to answer, but finally spit out, “Sir, I don't like this guy.”

“Ah... And why not?”

“He's creepy, sir. He talks to the bodies, he's always cracking jokes, I'm pretty sure he's mentally insane and he's just creepy. Also, I think he thinks I'm cute.”

“But you are cute, Rookie. You have a slight build, large eyes in proportion to your face, and you're carrying a weapon that is a bit too large for you. I'm amazed I'm not beating the mares off of you with a stick.”

Slip huffed, slightly offended; but Cane just laughed.

“I'm just messing with you, Rookie. As for your first point, he's probably just trying to keep himself from objectifying them. Sometimes we get so caught up in catching the criminal that we forget the victim was a living, breathing pony with hopes and dreams. I imagine he talks to them to try and keep their legacy alive, if only for a short moment. After all, life is sacred.”

Slip paused as he took this in. “Sir, I think that's the most profound thing I've heard all day.”

“Don't get used to it. And if you call me sir again, so help me I will take your badge and shove it down your throat.”

“Yes, si- ss... sure.” Habits die hard. Slip looked up and giggled nervously.

Cane patted him on the head gently. “You live for now.”

With Cane leading the way, the two entered the morgue. Cane looked around. The place was clean, though not spotless, and there was the overwhelming smell of cleansing alcohol. Slip wrinkled his nose, but Cane was used to it. It was a smaller place, with apparently only one undertaker, but since that undertaker happened to have his name followed by M.D. on the window outside, Cane felt certain he could get the information he desired.

A unicorn secretary, still very young, looked up and was mildly taken aback by the sight of two police ponies and a dead pegasus on a cart. Even so, she smiled and went with a generic, “Can I help you?”

Cane jerked his head towards the body on Slip's cart. “Could use a little help on c. o. d.”

“Looks like he got shot in the head to me,” the secretary said flippantly.

Slip saw the line under Cane's left eye twitch slightly, and he took a subconscious step back. He hadn't seen Cane angry yet, and doubted that he ever would, but that didn't stop him from being scary.

“All right. So did he have any drugs in his system?”

The unicorn cocked her head. “What?”

“And if so, which kinds, and are they prevalent in this area? Perhaps subtle differences indicate that he's visiting from a nearby town. Or are there previous breaks of bones? And if there are, do they indicate accidents, defensive wounds, or gang-related punishments? Are there defensive scars, like from knife fights? Removed tattoos? Blunt force head trauma? Was this a first-time hit, or do bodily bruises indicate they have tried before? What kind of bolt is it? How deep did it penetrate? Where did it penetrate? How soon after impact did he die?”

“I...” the secretary stammered, “I don't really know.”

Cane chewed his upper lip thoughtfully. “You don't know... Well, please go find somepony who does.”

Frowning, she turned and walked into the back of the building. Soon, she returned with a rather fat unicorn, dark blue, wearing a white coat and smiling brightly. His eyes gleamed behind his glasses, and Slip took a slight shuffle-step back.

"Cane Sugar," came the introduction.

“Nice to meet you! I'm the Doctor.”

Cane knew what was coming. “All right. I'll bite. Doctor who?”

“No, Doctor what.”

Cane blinked.

The unicorn sighed. “As the sign on the front should have indicated, my name is Deep Water. Most just call me Dr. What for short.”

Cane digested this. “And you're a doctor who is also an undertaker?”

The unicorn smiled. “Well, certainly not at the same time. Let's just say my life took some interesting turns, eh?”

Cane shrugged. “Very well. What can you tell me about c. o. d.?”

Dr. What leaned in, and studied carefully before lifting his head and responding, “Looks like he got shot in the head to me.”

Slip cast a wary look at Cane, who merely nodded. “All right. So did he have any drugs in his system?”

The unicorn pulled over a pair of what Slip thought looked like little tongs, and began to examine his mouth and nose. “Well, answer the nice pony,” he said, addressing the body. “You a user?”

Slip suddenly found himself wishing for a pair of sunglasses to hide behind as well.

Summoning a pair of tweezers, the unicorn nonchalantly removed and examined a booger from the dead pony's nose, prompting Slip to shudder in horror. A little more prodding, and he looked up. “If he did use, he just started again, because what damage is here isn't recent. I see no recent traces of powder. I'd need to run a hair sample, but I'd say he's been clean for a while.”

“What kinds do you usually see around here?” Cane asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Around here it's mostly the powder stuff. Our stuff is a little stronger than the surrounding cities, so our OD-ers usually have scarring of the septum. Very sensitive piece of skin, that.” He addressed the body again. “But you were trying to clean yourself up, weren't you?”

“Broken bones? Defensive wounds? Head trauma?”

“Before the x-rays? You're a pushy one!” The doctor wagged his hoof in scolding, as if Detective Cane were being an over-eager foal. “Come along, then," he said to the body. "Be back in a jiffy!” And he quickly unhitched Slip from the cart and gleefully wheeled it through the double doors into the back.

Slip, Cane, and the receptionist stared at each other. None of them were entirely sure what had just happened, and none were sure what to say.

“Well,” Cane finally broke the silence. “He sure loves his job.”

The unicorn stuck his head out of the doors to reply. “More than life itself!” He grinned impishly before pulling his head back inside.

Cane was starting to see why Slip was so creeped out by this unicorn.

“That's not normal, is it?” the secretary asked fearfully, her face clearly reading 'what did I get myself in to?'. “This is only my first day.”

“Hopefully you stick around longer than my last receptionist.” Dr. What came back out with a bolt in his hoof. “This is the bolt. It caused some major damage to the frontal lobes and passed through the hippocampus. The guy was dead before he knew it.”

Slip looked at the bolt. “That's a G series with a barbed tip.”

“You know where to get these?” Cane asked.”

Slip smiled. “I know where to start.”

* * *

“Welcome t' Everything 'Bout Bows. Owner and proprietor Keen Eye. How can I help you?”

Slip made a mental note that were he ever to retire from the force and take up business, he too would address himself as 'proprietor'. Something about that word just sounded good.

Cane extended a hoof in greeting. “Detective Cane Sugar, with the Mareami PD.”

“You're a long way from home,” Keen Eye noted as he bumped the proffered hoof.

“I'm part of a special task force,” Cane answered smoothly. “I go many places, but technically-” and here he gestured to his flank, where the Mareami PD seal gleamed proudly, “-I'm still a member of Mareami PD.” He shifted conversation topics easily. “With a name like Keen Eye, you're a natural for crossbows and such.”

“Of course. Anything that has to do with 'em—you want it, I got it; or I know how to get it.”

“What do you know about this crossbow?” Cane asked, hefting his own on the counter.

The shopkeeper's eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “You don't see many of these around anymore. It's a shame, too. Locking action, large bolt, double stop, this is one nice crossbow. The style looks at least twenty-five years old, but it's in excellent—dang near pristine—condition. It's a little heavier than they make now-a-days, a real solid weapon.”

“And bolts?”

“The double stop means you can either fire 24s or 60s. The only downside is you can't shoot 40s, like most of the modern single stops do. If you're ok with sacrificing some accuracy, you could probably go up to a 26, but I wouldn't load anything bigger than a 62."

“And what of barbed bolts?”

Keen Eye gestured to a pallet of bolts. “Yeah, I make 'em in 60s, but nothing smaller than a 40. You looking for protection or target practice?”

“Something a little more drastic. See, there was a murder this morning, and the killer used a barbed bolt.” Cane pulled out the wrapped bolt from his saddlebag and set it on the counter. “Look familiar?”

Keen Eye barely had to look at it before rendering a verdict. “Yeah, it's a G series 42. I sell a ton of these. They fit most smaller and tournament bows, like that one.” He gestured at Slip's crossbow, and Slip nodded to confirm his words. Keen Eye continued, “They're popular with shooting ranges because the barb will stick to a hard target better than a normal bolt. Otherwise, they gotta use a softer target and replace it more often.”

“Do you know who bought them?”

The shopkeeper pulled out his records book and tossed it on the counter. “In the last month alone, I've moved at least three hundred G series 42s, not counting the others. I sell 'em by packs of five, ten, and fifty. They could be anywhere with anypony.”

“You'd think such a dangerous item would be categorized differently,” Cane remarked.

The shopkeeper rolled his eyes. “This close to the forest? With animals comin' out every so often? Every pony here either has a crossbow or knows somepony who does, and it ain't always for practice at shooting ranges. It's for protection.”

“And apparently murder. Thank you,” Cane said, and turned to leave.

“I don't suppose you'd consider selling that weapon,” Keen Eye asked quickly.

A ghost of a smile may have crossed Cane's face. “Never.”

As the two left, Slip realized something. “You said Mareami. You forgot you were in Riverton, didn't you, sir?” he asked, a playful smile on his face.

Cane didn't even break stride. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

* * *

Burns growled as he caught sight of Cane and Slip in the office. That probably wouldn't be a problem in and of itself, but Cane was laying on the ground playing with a marble, and Slip was very sheepishly playing with a spinning top. “What are you doing back here?”

Still in his position laying flat on the ground, Cane rolled a marble in between his outstretched legs. “Thinking. Regrouping. Waiting for a break to come.”

At that moment, Surprise walked in. She looked at Cane and shook her head. “They didn't have much,” she said. “He'd been working as a cloud pusher while still in high school. He had many infractions for showing up late, but he got his work done so they usually let it slide. His boss was shocked when she heard the news.”

“How do you know she wasn't lying?” Burns demanded.

In response, Surprise flared her wings. “We're pegasi. We speak and listen with more than just words.” She shook her head condescendingly. “You should know that!” She turned back to Cane. “She couldn't think of anypony who would want him dead. And when I talked to some of his co-workers in the break room, they said he was engaged and didn't want to do anything stupid. He was even turning down some of the more dangerous jobs, like managing lightning. And the janitor said he wasn't mean or anything.” Surprise shrugged. “Maybe it was a random fly-by shooting?”

Cane shook his head without losing a beat with the marble. “It was a hit. The morgue ponies took the bolt out and I got a good look at it. It was barbed. Somepony was shooting to kill. If they wanted to scare ponies and kill randomly, there were foals everywhere that would have sent a bigger message. I say we keep digging into his life.”

“And that's why you're laying on the ground with a marble?” Burns snarked.

Cane made a noncommittal grunt. “Sometimes you think of things, when you're not thinking of things. There's a bouncy ball in the back left pocket of the suitcase if you want it, Surprise.”

Surprise gleefully pulled out the red ball and began bouncing it off the walls with her wings (much to the surprise and horror of the secretaries).

Burns rolled his eyes. “Now I'm no CIS, but do you really think the answer's just gonna waltz in that door?”

As if on cue, a pegasus pony walked in, holding a camera and a folder.

“First off, it's abbreviated 'CSI', and secondly, stranger things have happened,” Cane said, rising to meet the visitor. He met him with outstretched hoof. “Detective Cane Sugar,” he introduced himself.

The pegasus returned the gesture. “Flash Bulb. Freelance photographer, but today I'm a father who got lucky.”

Tactfully ignoring the possible connotations of that sentence, Cane nodded. “I assume you have something for me?”

“That I do." He set the folder on the desk. “I developed some pictures from earlier today, and I found something in the background of one that might help.” He slid the picture out, and Cane lifted off his glasses to get a better look. In the edge of one of the pictures, above the smiling family (well, the colt was pulling his sister's mane and her face was screwed up with rage, but isn't that normal for a family portrait, anyway?), there was the hindquarters of a cyan pegasus, with a rainbow trail leading behind her. It was blurry, but the color was clear. There was even a slight hint of what her cutie mark could be—three colors under a cloud.

“You said anything suspicious, and this called my attention.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bulb. We'll return the picture at the conclusion of our investigation.”

“Keep it,” Flash offered. “I kept the negative.”

As he left, Surprise (in the air) and Slip (on the ground) looked at it carefully. Surprise dropped to the ground in surprise. “Rainbow Dash?”

Cane lifted an eyebrow. “You know this mare?”

“Well, more like she's an urban legend among us pegasi. She pulled off a sonic rainboom at the Best Young Fliers competition a few years ago.”

Her companions stared at her blankly.

Surprise thought for a moment. “Uh... I think the earth pony equivalent is a mountain mover?”

Slip nodded in understanding, and Cane blinked impassively. “Ok. So what can you tell us about Rainbow?”

“She's fast. They say she lives in Ponyville, which is a little town on the other end of the Everfree.”

“And how far away is that?” Cane asked. Geography was never his strong point. Mental math? Yes. Lie detecting? Better than most. But geography had always evaded him.

Surprise tapped a hoof thoughtfully. “Well, far enough that unless she really likes night flying, she'll be staying here tonight. It's such a small town that the train only goes there like three times a week.” She examined the picture again. “And if she's flying that fast, she's going to be tired tonight.”

“How do you know she's still here?” Slip asked. “Maybe she skipped town already. Look how fast she was going.” He paused. “How fast was she going?”

He wasn't really expecting an answer, but Cane provided anyway. “Judging by how far her shockwaves are moving the pine trees, I would guess she's pushing 95 miles an hour.”

Slip stared. Cane shrugged. “Don't ask a question unless you want an answer, Rookie. So even if she went at a quarter that speed, in these two hours, she could be anywhere in a sixty mile radius.”

“Oh, I doubt it. She's probably still here. Pegasi just like to fly around fast sometimes. I mean, don't you?”

She said this with such a straight face that Slip had trouble deciding if she was serious or not. Fortunately, Cane's mind was much more linear. “Then unless she's staying with a friend, we've narrowed her location. Show me where the hotels are. They're usually all in one row, right?”

Slip nodded. “Competition breeds success,” he said.

Cane put his sunglasses back on. “And cheap rooms breed something else entirely. Let's go.”

Author's Note:

I apologize for the doctor's introduction. Try reading it when sleep-deprived; it's a lot funnier then.
I also was going to put a hunting reference or two in the store scene, but then google informed me that ponies are definitely herbivores. Sad day.
Though deer have been known to eat flesh when starving. Remember that this Christmas when listening for reindeer on the roof.