The Sweetwater Ghost Case: A Pony Detective Story

It wouldn’t be Halloween if M and his crew didn’t have a case to solve. This year they’re working on a case brought to them by a ghost. Read on for more.

by N.A.Souer

“Let me get this straight,” Mousy said with disbelief.  “We’re being hired to solve a 40-year-old murder, and our client is a ghost?”

The whole team of the M&T Pony Detective Agency stared at their miniature, equine boss.

“Yup,” M answered with a smirk.  “I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what the so-called communicator told Mrs. Sultan.”

It all started when M got a call from his neighbor, Big Diamond Jim Sultan, who ran a lesson barn across the street. Severe storms had damaged the building where the riding arena and stalls were located and a new facility needed to be built.  However, when clean-up crews began clearing the rubble they found a body hidden under the building’s foundation. Not long after, workers began reporting mysterious sightings of a ghost horse, and the property owner’s wife became convinced the place was haunted. When she contacted an animal communicator, supposedly the ghost horse told her he had been murdered and wanted his murder solved before he would allow further clean up.

“So, who is,” Mama Kitty began to ask, “or should I say, was our client?”

“His name was Trevor Sweet Man,” M said, “and he claims he was murdered 40 years ago.”

“This has got to be some kind of spooky prank,” Tweak said.

“No, Big Jim was quite serious when he called,” M said. “His wife will not let construction of the new barn start until the murder is solved.”

Sasha stomped her foot

“That mare needs to get a life!” she said. “Really!  Talking to a ghost through a communicator! Next she’ll be reading the tree leaves in the water tank.”

“Look, with everything getting so expensive,” M said, “our business needs to make a profit. If Big Jim wants to pay us to look into an old murder case, why not? That is what we do, right?”

“But where do we start?” Mousy asked, looking up from his kitty-sized laptop. “I just did a Google search of this Trevor Sweet Man character and came up with nothing.”

“Figures, since it’s a ghost,” Sasha remarked with sarcasm.

“I know,” M said. “I did the same thing when I got off the phone. Then I called a friend down at the county sheriff’s department. He said given the age of the crime and the fact they do not have a dedicated cold case unit they’d be willing to let us work the case privately.”

“That still doesn’t give us a place to start,” Mousy said.

“It might,” M said. “I am waiting for the sheriff’s office to approve our firm as a subcontractor and send over the crime scene files.”

“What’s that going to tell us?” Tweak asked. “We already know the demolition crew found a 40-year-old body in the rubble.”

“Yeah, but my friend was one of the crime techs on the scene and says the medical examiner was able to get a small DNA sample from the body. It’s a long shot, but maybe we can run the results through GEDmatch and narrow down the identity of our victim.”

“You mean client!” Sasha added.

“For now I’m considering Big Jim our client,” M said, “since he’s the one paying the bills.” M paused and looked over at Sasha, then added, “We’re gonna have to have someone talk to Mrs. Sultan and the communicator.”

“Don’t look at me,” Sasha said. “I don’t believe all this nonsense.”

M took a deep breath and let it out slowly

“Just put your pessimism aside and go talk to them. You can take whatever they say with a grain of salt.”

“I’ll go with,” Mousy added to tease the big horse, “in case you’re scared.”

“Please!” Sasha said, dragging out the word with an exasperated tone.

M turned away, muttering, “Moody mare!” under his breath.

* * *

An hour later Sasha and Mousy stood beside the pile of twisted rubble that used to be the property’s barn.

“This is all that’s left of our home,” Mrs. Sultan said. “I’m anxious to settle this matter and rebuild.”  As she was speaking, a small POA approached. “This is April,” Mrs. Sultan said, “She is the communicator I told your boss about.”

Sasha turned to the pinto colored newcomer and winced at the site of a  purple dyed forelock and  row of dreadlock mane  braids.

“So you talked to the ghost?” Sasha asked.

“I talked to a distressed spirit,” April answered, as Mousy’s phone chimed the arrival of a new text message. April went on, “He said he had just got done teaching a riding lesson and was going to the shower stall when he got a terrible headache.”

Mousy jumped up on one of the remaining posts still upright and showed Sasha the text from M. The message read, Just got the case file. Cause of death was gunshot to the head.

Sasha turned back to April.

“And this took place 40 years ago?” she pressed.

“Yes,” April said. “He worked here as a school horse.”  She paused, then added. “He knows you might not believe this, but he wants you to know he was an honest horse. He just wants to know who did this to him and why.”

Back at the barn M asked, “So what did this so-called distressed spirit have to say?”

Mousy shrugged and said, “He was an honest horse and he suddenly got a headache.”

“The lab report did indicate a gunshot wound,” Tweak said. “That would give somebody a headache.”

“Going over there was a waste of time,” Sasha said. “What else was in the file?”

“Not much more than we already know,” M said. “All it really says is that a body was found in the destroyed barn after the storm.”

“What about the DNA?” Mousy asked.

“I uploaded it to Gedmatch, but haven’t gotten any results back yet for your mom to work with,” M said. “Meantime, let’s research the property. If we can find out whose name it was in then we might learn who our ghost was working for.”

* * *

The next day the team got to work. By mid-morning everyone gathered in the feed room for an update.

“Where are we?”  M asked.

“Gedmatch came up with a number of matches from the DNA sample,” Mama Kitty said. “Two of them traced back to individuals registered with the Jockey Club as a Felix Sweetwater and a Foolish Sweetwater. Judging by the number of centi-morgans from the DNA they are either first cousins or siblings. I’m researching public databases now to figure out their exact relationship.”

“If they were registered with the Jockey Club,” M said, “then most likely our ghost was a TB.”

“But the names don’t match, “Tweak said. “Our ghost says his name was Sweet Man, not Sweetwater.”

M thought a moment then turned to Mousy. “Check the state’s vital statistics database,” he said. “Maybe one of these Sweetwater characters changed their name but didn’t bother recording it with the Jockey Club.”

“Why does the name Sweetwater sound familiar?” Sasha asked.

“Because AmeriKan Sweetwater was a big player in the racing world back in the ’80s,” M said, “and his offspring dominated the industry throughout the decade. At least until Alvin Sweetwater was caught with illegal steroids. He got himself banned from racing for life and the whole scandal tainted the Sweetwater family’s reputation.”

Before M started his own detective agency, he had worked as a special agent for the Northland Pony Secret Service, also known by the acronym NPSS.

“And how do you know all this?” Sasha asked.

“During my secret service days I worked a case where the TB mob was trafficking designer steroids and narcotics. Our investigation implicated several members of the Sweetwater family, but Alvin was the only one we could make any charges stick to.”

“So, if the Sweetwater family had mob connections,” Mousy said, “could our victim have had mob ties as well? “

“It’s hard to say right now,” M answered. ”First we have to figure out who are victim was.” M paused, then asked, “What have we learned about the history of the place where the body was found?”

“Only standard stuff,” Mousy said. “The land was used for cash crops up until the early 80s when the farmer died and his estate sold it off to a land developer.”

“And what did they do with it?” M asked.

“That’s where it gets unclear,” Mousy went on. “Most of it was broken up into 5 or 10 acre plots and sold off by the developer, but the 20 acre section we are interested in sat idle because the county took it by eminent domain.”  Mousy pawed through some papers by his computer. “These old newspaper clippings indicate a new high school was supposed to be built on the land, but when voters did not approve a referendum to raise taxes in order to build it, the county was forced to sell the land off in a public auction.”

“So who bought it then?” Tweak asked.

“Another land developer in partnership with a TB charity group,” Mousy answered. “From there the ownership trail goes dark until Big Jim Sultan bought it.”

“That leaves us with more questions than answers,” M said, “Is the second land developer still in business?”

“No,” Mousy said. “They filed bankruptcy in the mid-90s, but I do have a call in to the state’s Racing Aftercare office. I hope to track down someone who was involved with the charity group.”

M turned to Tweak, “What do you have?”

“A possible connection to another murder,” Tweak answered. “The report from the sheriff’s office indicated a bullet, lodged in one of the barn support beams, was found in the rubble.”

“Since our victim was shot,” M said with a smirk, “that would make sense. “

“Yes, but the report goes on to say the body of our victim was found in a deep indent in the ground under an added on section of the barn.”  Tweak looked down at his notes. “The county records office shows a permit was pulled by a construction company to build a new tack room right around the time our victim was shot.”

“So the body was shoved into a hole and covered up by a new addition,” M said, thinking out loud.  He then turned to Mousy and added, “This is starting to look like your mob hunch wasn’t far off.”

“But the ghost said he was an honest horse,” Sasha said mockingly.

“Yeah well, his choice of friends says otherwise,” M said. “What about this connection to another murder you mentioned?”

“The crime scene techs were able to run a ballistics report on the bullet found in the rubble,” Tweak went on. “The results were an approximate match to another victim found not far from here around the same time.”

“What do you mean approximate?” M asked “It either matches or it doesn’t.”

“Not in this case,” Tweak said. “The body was found in a remote, swampy area, and it was pretty decomposed. The sheriff’s report indicates a 60 to 80% chance match with our victim.”

“Who found the body?”  Mousy asked.

“Some trail walkers,” Tweak answered. “It wouldn’t have been found at all if the swamp had not been dried up at the time from a drought.”

“Who was it?”  Mousy asked.

Tweak shrugged. “It remains a John Doe case,” he said. “But the police definitely suspected foul play because the body was found with cement hobbles on all four feet.”

Mousy looked over at M, “Mob hit?” he asked.

“It’s gotta be,” M said, then turned back to the group. “Let’s do a deep dive on the Sweetwater characters,” he instructed. “Find out who they were and where they were at the time when our victim was shot.  Meantime I’ll call some NPSS contacts and see what kind of mob activity was going on in this area back then.”

* * *

The next day everyone gathered in the feed room.

“What more do we know?” M asked.

“I’ve determined Felix Sweetwater and Foolish Sweetwater were half- brothers,” Mama Kitty said. “They shared the same father, Alvin Sweetwater. I contacted a DNA match who said she knew Felix’s mother.  She said Felix had become addicted to steroids and pain drugs while racing. When he left the track he wanted to put that life behind him.”

“And , what about his mother?”  M pressed.

“Felix talked to his mother every week, until one day he just didn’t call. The family story is that the mother went to pieces and died of a broken heart, even though her death certificate says colic.”

“Any indication when he stopped calling his mother?”  M asked.

Mama Kitty shrugged.

“I’d guess around the date the permit was pulled to build the new section of the barn where the body was found,” Mousy said. “I was able to track down someone from the TB aftercare group. He says he knew both the Sweetwater boys. He said Felix was a nice horse who got in with the wrong crowd and was working to clean up his life.”

“And Foolish?”  M asked.

“Foolish Sweetwater was a wild-child-colt,” Mousy went on. “He ran with a rambunctious crowd, was heavy into the track drug scene, and owed money to a lot of shady characters. Felix did not want anything to do with his wild living brother.”

“Maybe that’s why he changed his name?”  Tweak said.

“Felix changed his name to Sweet Man,” Mousy went on, “cuz he didn’t want anyone from his days at the track finding out where he was. That’s why the name was never registered with the Jockey Club. Felix wanted a clean start.”

“So Felix was part of the TB aftercare program?”  M asked.

“Yeah,” Mousy went on. “Felix went through a 12-step program, then did some kind of vocational training. Later on, when the charity went belly up, one of the volunteers leased the property and ran it as a hunter-jumper barn. Felix stayed on and worked as a school horse.”

“I found this in the track’s historical archives,” Sasha said, then pushed a copy of an old newspaper clipping across the table. The headline read the Sweetwater Legacy Goes on with Rival Brothers.

Everyone studied the photo.

“Gee, if you didn’t know they were half-brothers” Tweak said, “you’d think they were twins.”

“That confirms what I got from an NPSS buddy,” M said. “He said years ago they located an old TB crime boss with advanced Pony Alzheimer disease living out his days in a special needs barn that kept talking about a botched hit. Supposedly they took out an identical half-brother instead of the intended victim. NPSS sent agents out to interview him, but in his declining mental state they couldn’t get any solid leads.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Mousy asked.

“Yeah,” Tweak added. “We don’t have enough evidence to say for sure if these two victims are the Sweetwater brothers or not.”

M thought a moment, then turned back to Tweak.

“See if there are any dental records or x-rays on file with the Jockey Club,” M said. “Maybe we can get a positive ID that way.”

* * *

Two days later M and his team met with Big Jim Sultan, his wife, and April, the communicator, beside the pile of storm rubble across the street.

“Are you sure it was him?” Mrs. Sultan asked.

“Yes,” M said. “The dental records were a match. Your ghost was Felix Sweetwater, a.k.a. Trevor Sweet Man.  He was murdered 40 years ago by the TB mob who thought he was his brother, Foolish Sweetwater. “

Mrs. Sultan turned to April and asked, “Can we rebuild now?”

“He says yes,” April said, then looked over at M and his associates. “He also wants to say thank you for solving his case.”

M gave an awkward nod of acknowledgement.

“I found this in the tracks archives, Sasha said, changing the subject. “It’s a photo of Felix after winning a race. I thought you might like it.”

Mrs. Sultan studied the picture.

“That’s beautiful!” she said. “I’d like to have it framed and hang it up in the new barn as a sort of memorial in honor of Felix.” She turned back to April and asked, “Do you think he would like that?”

As Mrs. Sultan was speaking, something caught M’s eye in the distance. Beyond where April stood, another horse appeared faintly.  It was a big, bay TB, standing by an overturned hay feeder.  He had a pleased expression and was nodding his head slowly.

“Yes,” April said, “he says he would like that very much.”   She paused, then added, “Felix wants to be remembered as an honest horse!”