Disclaimer: Any characters of Fullmetal Alchemist aren't mine. Warning! Some characters will be OOC so if you don't like OOC then do not read this story… Wait don't do that. Just give it a chance. :D This is an AU fic and there will be characters that I just made up on the spot. I'm not even sure people read these side notes I write… :D
…
"Detective, the body is over here." The policeman's face is pale and queasy. He lifts over the yellow tape to let in the detective in charge of the case.
"Thank you." Detective Roy Mustang sympathetically pats the new officer's back. Roy adjusts the collar of his white dress shirt. The sun is cooking him alive.
His partner, Maes Hughes is already at the scene questioning the owner of the house.
Roy squats down and lifts the plastic covering the body.
"No head. No blood. No mess." He places the covering back down and massages his temples. This is the fifth murder in one month. Every time his team closes in on the perpetrator, somehow the person always manages to elude them.
Hughes walks to his partner with a perplexing look on his face. "The owner, King Bradley said he didn't hear a thing last night. He said he lives alone and he just got back home after a corporate meeting in Vegas. He's not home often. When he woke up the next morning, he found a headless man on his kitchen floor." The men walk inside the house, carefully walking around the broken flower vases and damage tables.
Maes reads his small notepad. "Mr. Bradley said he is an avid collector and several painting was stolen. He locks all his treasures in his basement. Strangely enough, a postcard that has value to the owner but no value to anyone else was also stolen."
The two floored colonial house is surrounded with a white picket fence and tall trees. It is several miles away from other houses so it's in a quiet isolated location.
There isn't a speck of dust, dirt or hair inside of the house. No fingerprints, no trash, no nothing. It's like no one has ever lived in this house. Obviously, this house has been thoroughly cleaned. Bradley must have some house cleaner.
Hughes leads his partner downstairs to the basement.
Roy tries to turn the handle of the door but its lock. "It's stuck." He checks the side of the wooden frame and it hasn't been broken into. "Is there another door to the basement?
"I don't think so. Perhaps there's something Bradley isn't telling us. Let me double check." Maes turns and goes outside for another interview with the owner.
In the corner of Roy's eyes he notices the carpet at the bottom of the staircase slightly disturbed. "Curious." He takes his pen from inside his jacket and raises the carpet up with it. There's a rusted key that looks like a perfect match for the door.
He uses the key and not surprisingly, the door opens. He wonders if the robber/killer knew where the key was, why hide it again?
The detective finds a switch near the doorway and the whole basement is illuminated. There's a lone sandy colored cabinet next to the only circle window in the room. The rest of room is scattered with a plethora of weapons. The pallid walls are decorated with esoteric relics that Roy wouldn't see in any museum.
There are two suit armors across from the window. There's a door in the middle. Maybe he's just being paranoid but it seems like the armors are guarding the maroon entry way. There is a single rose decorated in the right hand corner of it.
"Roy, you manage to open the door" Maes returns with a spiky haired man wearing a navy blue CSI jacket to take pictures of the room and mark anything out of the ordinary.
"Bradley said he had recently misplaced the key."
"Fury, bag this and check the carpet at the bottom of the stairs." Any of the weapons here could be the potential murder weapon. He surely hopes one of these is the murder weapon.
"We need to get inside that room." Hughes heads for the "guarded" door. There's a cold draft coming under it. The suits of armors made it difficult to open the door and he accidently knocks the lance from one of the armor's hands.
The weapon clanks noisily against the tile floor. "Shit! Why are these things here anyway?" The lance scratched the floor's surface with the spikes circling the bottom of the knife edge.
After a few more struggles, Maes successfully opens the door. The space inside is sparse that only child can touch the walls if he spreads his arms out to his side.
An off-color freezer is perched against the clean wall. "What's in there Hughes?"
"Just a freezer! This is a strange place for something like this." Since no light is available in the closet, Maes clicks his flashlight on and peels off the freezer's cool roof.
Hughes digs into the ocean of ice and feels something out of place. "Roy, I think we found our missing apexes." Maes steps out. Apex is just code word the two uses for "head".
"How many we got?" They're encased inside a clear plastic trash bag.
"One, two, three. Only three Roy!"
"Hughes, you better go and detain Bradley. We have more questions for him." With the retreating footsteps of his partner, Roy gets to work and shoves the obstacle that's preventing the door from opening up fully.
"Here let me help you Detective." Kain Fury attempts to push the other suit armor. Detective Mustang appreciates his effort but his Roy doesn't want the younger man to hurt himself.
"I got it Fury." Fury's face lights up. This is only the third time he's in the same crime scene as Mustang so it startled him that the detective remembered his name. "Yes sir but the lab is being overrun and they're just not enough people in the field to help with the crime scenes. There's just too much death going on these days."
"All the more reason to catch the perps responsible for all of this." Roy yanks the freezer from its resting place. He's surprised he had any strength left. He hasn't slept in weeks and leaving off on caffeine.
"Make sure these gets to the lab. Lucky for them, it's already been gift wrapped."
…
She checks the cabinets for any canned foods or anything that indicates that someone lives here. "Nothing." In one of the drawers is a paper plate and plastic fork. Besides the two bedrooms upstairs and the paintings on the walls, the furniture of this enormous house is meager.
She opens the fridge door and finds an expired carton of milk. She expects the same amount of items when she checks the freezer.
She is greeted by another pair of eyes, its pupil already glazed with death. "Excuse me but who are you?" Roy is behind her, staring at the back of the unfamiliar blonde woman's head and the surprise she found in the freezer.
"Detective, it's a head." She reveals her face to him. Her bangs protrude to the left, almost above her left eye. She wears a simple black Capri pants and a coffee colored blouse.
'She's hot.' Embarrassed for even thinking it, he clears his throat and dismisses the thought.
"Thank you Miss for pointing that out. You do realize that this is a crime scene. No civilians are allowed here. I will escort you out." He puts on his most charming smile. Girls love his smile. When that didn't work he just throws a bunch of questions her way.
"Who are you?"
"A concerned citizen." She answers swiftly.
"Do you know Mr. King Bradley?"
"No."
"Are you his neighbor?"
"No."
"Okay, better question, do you live around here?"
She responds with another no. Their comical exchange ended with him sighing in exacerbation.
"This guy is dead. You think that's his head?" The oozing stench, the summer heat is starting to get on his nerves. This woman isn't helping his aggravated state. How could she be oblivious to his captivating smile?
"I don't know Miss Concerned Citizen but I'm going to ask you respectfully to \remove yourself from this area before I arrest you for trespassing and meddling with evidence." The concerned citizen kneels down and only unfolds the part of the plastic that covered the upper part of the body.
She doesn't listen and disregards his badge when he showed it. "There's a bullet on his head but why cut his head off?" She says to no one in particular. Roy parted his lips to say something but stopped himself. The COD (Cause of Death) for the other victims is drowning but he too wondered why the apexes were cut off.
He glances at the woman and watch as she examines the cold body. She looks at his face and then back to the body. Does she see something that he doesn't?
She stands up and leans on the island counter. She traces the square patterns on the surface like she's counting them. Her actions are bizarre but it also made him curious. No matter how strange she behaved, she seems to act deliberately.
"The owner loves the number seven." She raises one brow. Roy isn't sure how that relates to the case on hand and he's about to ask until she says "The paintings aren't even."
"Paintings? What do you mean they're not even?" Their eyes connect and she stares at him for a couple of minutes before breaking their sudden connection. "Eight isn't even." Roy went to school and he surely sure that eight is an even number.
"Did you check the welcome mat?"
Two personnel from the CSI unit interrupt their tête-à-tête to place the deceased inside a body bag and leaves with it. He continues their discussion but the subject about the painting is diverted to the welcome mat. "No it hasn't been checked." Intrigued by this woman, he follows her to the mat. She kneels down and he imitates her. She's waiting for him to peek under the mat.
He sees Hughes leaning against their work related ebon car, looking at his peculiar actions. His partner is probably wondering what he's doing and who this woman beside him.
"There's nothing Miss." Perhaps amusing this woman is a waste of his time. She knocks on it. It's sounded hollow; as if something is suppose to be in it.
"What's in there Mr. Detective?" He pries open the wooden floor.
"A 9mm pistol." His curiosity suddenly turns into dread. What if this woman has something to do with the murders? She's harmless enough, even with her recondite manners.
"Miss, I'd like to ask you to come with me to the station." She tilts her head to her right and then tilts to the left. It reminds him of a dog.
The deadpan expression on her face never leaves her.
"Are you buying me lunch?" She innocently asks. He gently ushers her outside with one hand while dangling the small firearm in the other.
"No Miss, I'm taking you to the police station where I will be asking you more questions." Doesn't she realize that she's being taken to the police station?
"Then you'll buy me lunch?" He agrees, if only to stop her from asking him again.
He notifies the other officers out on the lawn to keep the site out of civilians.
"Who is she Roy?" He opens the door for the young woman. "I don't know yet Hughes."
He sees from his mirror that his back passenger is strapping the seatbelt around her. "Hughes, did you see her enter the house?" His partner shakes his head no.
"Is she a suspect as well?" Roy chooses not to answer him yet.
…
Although the county where Bradley's house is in has its own police department, he wanted the supposed suspects to be questioned in Roy's home turf, downtown Manhattan.
Besides the main forensics lab is in the heart of New York and that's where all the evidences is sent to.
Roy sits her down in one of the interrogation room. The room is enough to make anyone crazy with its bright white walls and the one-way mirror that lay on the wall facing Riza.
Roy assumes she's staring at her reflection. No one is at the other side but even if there was a person there, she wouldn't be able to see them.
"I know I should've asked earlier but I'll ask now. Do you have a name?" She yawns. She has no identification on her; she didn't even have money on her.
"You're not being charged with anything. I just want to know why you were there, at my crime scene and I'd prefer to talk to someone whose name I know." He'd like to think he's not wasting his time on her when he could be with Hughes questioning their supposed lead but she must know something.
"All right. How did you know the gun was there?" He'll try different approaches with her. He likes challenges.
"It wasn't even." He considers holding her in the station but on what charges?
"You know I can charge you with trespassing. Perhaps conspiracy to murder? Then you'd have to stay here, at the police station, in a jail cell. That's never a pleasant experience so maybe it would be wise for you to cooperate." She angles her head up, and gazes on the detectives face.
"Do jail food serves pickles?" She doesn't speak again and he's waiting for her to continue. Her hazel eyes on him made him slightly nervous.
"You should get some sleep. Your judgment is foggy." So his not-so-subtle threat just whizzed by her.
"Riza." She suddenly mentions her name.
"Miss Riza. Okay I can work with that." So let me get this straight. You have no association with Mr. Bradley. You don't live in his neighborhood. So why were you there?"
She never breaks her eye contact with him. "Mr. Detective, maybe instead of asking me that question, maybe you should ask why he was there." The "he" is referring to King Bradley.
"What are you talking about? He lives there. We checked. That house is his property." He shifts his eyes away from her and maintains his fight with his fatigue.
"Miss Riza if you know something, just blurt it out."
"I know you're tired." He bites the side of his cheek. He is a gentleman. He would never yell at a woman.
"Thank you for your concern but I am fine so if you know something about the case, I would appreciate it." He's at his breaking point. Depending on what she says next, He might yell at her, curse at her, and maybe blame her for the cruelties of life.
"Are you doing this on purpose? To piss me of–" Someone knocks on the door. Roy's boss, Chief Grumman enters, carrying a folder. "Detective Mustang, there's no need to interrogate her. She's on our side. She was there because I had asked her to."
Roy takes the folder his chief is handing him. "Riza is my granddaughter. I was about to tell you that you will be expecting her but as always, you just charge in right away." Roy skims through the file given to him.
It has some information about this Riza woman but not as much as he would like. Her relationship with Grumman might explain her unconcern behavior towards him.
It just has basic information like her height, age, etc. Her whole name is Riza Hawkeye. He has heard of her surname before.
"Why would I need her? I can't even communicate with her." Roy whispers rather loudly to his superior.
The old man laughs lightheartedly. "You need a fresh and certainly a different perspective on this case." Grumman pats his back this time. "Get some rest Detective. You can't work like this. Go home and come back to work tomorrow with a clear head." His calm demeanor is the same as his granddaughter.
"Chief, I can't sleep knowing there's a killer out there." Grumman expects his star detective wouldn't comply.
"Go home Detective. Unfortunately, I don't think our killer is going to go anywhere."
As much as he would like to admit, his boss and his granddaughter are right. "I'm also sending Detective Hughes home. You two are over-exerting yourselves. Now go home. Don't make me repeat myself."
…
It's five am in the morning the next day. Riza travels back to the crime scene at the crack of dawn, and with her is a good friend who coincidently works in the lab working on the case.
King Bradley was advised to stay somewhere else since his house is under investigation.
"You'd think the basement would be in the same immaculate condition as upstairs but no. It's covered in cobwebs, dirt…" She pauses when she saw a half opened cabinet that looks like it has been recently unlocked. She pulls at the handle. Seven rows of old wine bottles are lined up by.
She picks up the one bottle with a label on the front bottle. She sniffs the tip of the bottle and takes a swig of it.
"Oh for god sake Riza. Don't drink it. " Riza makes a sour face and sticks out her tongue in disgust.
"It's not wine. It's apple juice. I hate apple juice." Riza studies the bottle's faded label. Calais May 16, 1998 is written on the bottle's front.
She smacks her lips together. The bottle is a thing of a past but the apple juice has been recently poured inside. It's Mott's apple juice. Rebecca bags the bottle. There could be other traces of saliva in it besides her friend's.
"Apple juice? That's kinda weird. Well anyway speaking of weird, why did you call me at the middle of the night? What if the killer comes back? I'm an expert in dirt and plants. I can't throw down with a serial murderer!" Rebecca Catalina screams in one breath.
"Rebecca, look at this." She calms down and squints at what her friend is pointing at. "It's part of a plant. It's a type of rose." Then a light bulb hits her. "It's got to be the Geum Triflorum." Rebecca picks it up with tweezers. "I remember this certain flower when I was strolling along Central Park." The reddish bell-shaped flower is usually grouped into threes but this one has been cut off from its family. The flower was sitting by the labeled bottle.
"Geum Triflorum?" Riza asks while assisting her friend with the bagging of the bottles.
"Oh sorry, it literally means Three-Flowered Avens but I like Old man's Whiskers better. It's indigenous to the eastern part of New York." Rebecca wanted to explain why she thought the flower was given the latter name but Riza has a sort of urgency on her face. She's troubled by something.
"The flower seems to have a more of sentimental value since its place next to this certain bottle. Does this flower mean anything?"
Rebecca ruminate all the information she knows about this flower in her mind. "Well I read that the Three-Flowered Avens was used as a type of medicinal herb to treat tuberculosis by the people of the Northwestern Plateau."
Riza leaves the abruptly leaves the room, as if that information is all she needed.
"Riza! Where are you going?" Rebecca couldn't chase after her. All the remaining evidence needed to be bagged but being here all alone makes her anxious.
Half an hour later, Riza returns and is cradling two withered flowers in her hands. Her gloves are caked with soil.
"More Avens?" Rebecca opens an evidence bag.
"Yes, I had initially thought the disturbances on the soil was the result of the police yesterday morning but when I inspected it closely, it is not so. Something or someone has been digging around the area. These flowers are just victims of a tragic affair."
She leaves again. Rebecca shrugs her shoulders. It's been six years since she had seen her childhood friend and she hasn't change a bit. She's always leaving the room without any explanation.
Then again her whole family is like that.
…
A good rest was really all Detective Roy Mustang needed.
"Detective Mustang, good morning. You should be in the interrogation room. Your partner is questioning a very good suspect." The boss man amiably smiles at him and sips his coffee mug.
"Who is he questioning?"
Roy rushes into the other side interrogation room to watch Hughes grill the suspect. The interrogation is being recorded.
"Mr. Detective, good morning." He isn't expecting Riza Hawkeye to be here. In fact, he was hoping he would never see her again. Talking to her gives him a headache and her pretty face can't rectify that fact.
"Good morning Miss Riza. I just missed the whole morning didn't I? Who she?" He tries his best to be polite.
"One but not five but clearly seven." She says. Roy groans. Did he mention he hates riddles?
…
So I'm not an expert it the whole CSI, detective shenanigans , I just have some idea from all the shows I've been watching…lol I'm not sure if the Three-flowered Avens grow in Central Park but if it doesn't, let's just it does for the sake of my story lol :D. So don't forget to review and write me your thoughts on this story. Have pleasant day! :D
P.S. To the tens of readers still reading my other story, Compassion, it will be updated…eventually. I'm in a bit of a writer's block when it comes to that story.