===Chapter 3===

Lucy Heartphilia

Levy sighed deeply as she sat alone in her study. The latest murder scene had been most ghastly, but it led her no closer to the criminal. It was frustrating. Her books had taught her that all crimes had a series of clues leading to the perpetrator, but real life didn't seem so kind.

She was not so naïve, though. Levy looked at her certification hanging proudly on the wall. She was a member of Scotland Yard, despite her age and gender. She'd fought an uphill battle for recognition for her entire life and been rewarded with the minimum acknowledgment possible. That in itself was a feat, but she wanted to establish herself as something more, something extraordinary.

The Slayer. What an appropriate name her foe had chosen for himself. But…he appeared to be a madman, killing at random. How could one possibly ascribe motive to such actions? And without motive went one of the detective's most powerful tools.

That of course assumed true randomness. Was there a pattern here? The locations were the only thing in common. Dark alleyways in the dead of the night. The murders were fairly separate to look at a map, but they gave a certain sense of locality, engulfing her office, Redfox Smithing and the Cheney Household.

She shook herself. Why was she even pondering this Redfox fellow? The only thing that linked him to the crime was the knife, and it was quite true that that indicated nothing. Otherwise no one would produce weaponry for fear of prison time! And it wasn't as if he was a nice man; he was rude and crass. But that hair was rather splendid.

Levy went bright crimson in her cheeks and slapped herself. Clearly, she was weary and allowing her thoughts to wander. Perhaps a visit to her best friend was in order, to relax and recharge her energy. Then again, she didn't like Levy dressing so mannishly, did she? So that meant dressing like a lady. She screwed up her eyes and summoned all of her courage.

"Mira! I need a change of attire!" She called loudly. Footsteps hurried to her door like gunfire. Mira burst in, eyes aglow.

"Then, shall we dress you up?" She asked happily.

===][===

Levy sat in the back of a coach feeling quite frustrated. There was nothing quite like having Mira prod and shove her into a dress and yank her hair into shape to make her feel glum. Why was society so set on normative behaviour? Why couldn't one simply dress as one wanted? After all, not everyone was equal in their ability to wear a flattering dress. Some women were more…dainty. Yes that was a good choice of word.

Her hair was tied back into a bun and she was wearing an elegant blue dress. It was pretty enough, but she hated the way the voluminous skirt restricted her legs and the ridiculous bobbing motion that it gave to her stride. She glowered, remembering the way Mira looked at her like a doll to dress up, probably aided by her diminutive stature.

The coach stopped and the driver went to let her out, but she let herself out before he got there and stepped onto the cobblestones below. She was always a bit overwhelmed by the size of the Heartphilia estate before her. It dwarfed that of the McGardens, and they were not poor by any stretch of the imagination.

She wandered up the garden path, nodding a greeting to the gardener, Droy, who worked on lots of properties in the area, including her own. She missed his awestruck look as she pressed on and knocked on the main entrance's huge door. It opened to reveal the familiar form of the butler, Loke Leon. He greeted her warmly and took her to her friend's office.

"Levy!" Lucy Heartphilia sang happily as she entered. She rounded her enormous desk to take Levy in a hug. Levy returned it with as much force as she could. Levy and Lucy had been best friends for as long as either could remember. They'd studied at Cambridge together, Levy in criminology and Lucy in economics. Lucy practically purred as she took in her small friend's appearance. "You look wonderful! Mira keeping you in line, eh?"

"Something like that," Levy mumbled, trying not to admire Lucy's radiance, of how that corset displayed her ample bosom. Life just wasn't fair like that. In many cases Levy would remind herself that at least she had been gifted with a keen mind, but Lucy was the whole package: Beautiful, sexy, intelligent and fun. And tall…at least from Levy's point of view.

Lucy was heir to the Heartphilia Organisation, a massive merchant group that dealt with buying and selling just about anything one could imagine. They were immensely wealthy and it showed from every detail of the property.

"So, how's business?" Levy asked amiably.

"Fantastic!" Lucy beamed, going back to sit in her chair and gesture to the sheets of paper covering her large desk like a mountain. "We've just signed up three retailers in Plymouth. It was rather a nice coup on my part, I like to think. The travel was long, but seeing them in person was worth every second!"

"Plymouth? That's a large naval port, isn't it?"

"Oh my, yes! I tell you Levy, it was grand. The scale of operation there was staggering. Getting our hooks into such a lucrative trade route will really help us out!" She grinned evilly. "And you should have seen some of the ships! I thought that freighters were amazing, but you should have seen the HMS Dreadnought. The size of the guns…"

Levy giggled, wrinkling her nose with humour. "I never took you for the military type! Or is your new beau bringing out the love of firepower in you?"

"Natsu is not my beau," Lucy protested weakly. "He is my admirer. Confidant. Close friend."

"Boyfriend? Fiancée? Husband?" Levy laughed.

"Oh yes? And what about you? Has Jetson finally summoned the courage to ask you out?"

"What!?" Levy exclaimed. "We're only working partners! He hasn't got any interest in me in the personal sense!" How could he? I'm so small…and I know that my profession is unappealing. Men want wives and child-bearers, right?

Lucy shook her head. How on earth could a person be so dense while being a great mind in the field of analyzing people's motives and behaviours? Poor Jetson could hand her a box of chocolates and she'd merely think that it was dessert. If he wrote a love poem, she'd criticize its literary qualities.

"Levy, you will have to stop being so hard on yourself. You're only seventeen. There is plenty of time to meet eligible bachelors yet."

"Um…actually I wanted to talk to you about that…," Levy said falteringly. Lucy became spiritedly interested, leaning forward with crystal clear eyes, her mouth in a happy little v. "It's just that there's this man – a suspect, really – that I just can't get out of my head."

"A suspect?" Lucy responded, face falling into wary concern.

"Well, not really a suspect. Have you read the papers recently?"

Lucy blanched. "Levy, please tell me that you're not involved in the case of 'The Slayer of London Town'."

"I am," Levy replied firmly, not allowing her friend to treat her like some kind of invalid. She understood the risks that the criminal element posed, but would not back down before them. Lucy sighed, clearly resigning herself to grudging acceptance.

"So, this man is a suspect?"

"Sort of. The knife used in the first murder was made by him. However, he also told me that he couldn't write save for his own name, and the Slayer wrote on the wall, so I suppose it couldn't have been him."

"Unless he was lying. Or he considers 'The Slayer' to be his name," Lucy interjected.

"I did think of that. I'm not ruling anything out…but I find him to be crowding my thoughts a lot of late."

"So you think that there's more to him? That he might have done it? What was his name?"

Levy felt glad that Lucy has assumed professional interest rather than personal. "His name is Gajeel Redfox."

"Gajeel," Lucy repeated, standing and walking over to the cabinets that lined her walls. She pulled out a drawer and leafed through some papers, eventually plucking one out and sitting back down. She began to read. "Gajeel Redfox of Redfox Smithing is a blacksmith and orders metal through our organisation."

Levy blinked in mild surprise. She had come here for emotional counselling, not for practical advice. She hadn't considered the extensive roots of the Heartphilia organisation. Lucy frowned suddenly.

"Recently, his orders have increased two-fold. I have no idea what for, but he's suddenly began using up a lot of metal. Perhaps he's had an influx in orders."

"That's interesting," Levy agreed.

Lucy looked up with pursed lips. "It is purely on legal matters that I share this with you, alright? If you came to me with a warrant I would have to divulge this information anyway, so let's just pretend that we've skipped that part."

"I understand," Levy replied, nodding sagely. Lucy thrust a piece of paper into her hands and she began to read. It was a letter of referral. All suitably large clients or risky prospects required some kind of guarantor for the Heartphilias to serve them. Levy rather assumed that Gajeel fell into the latter category.

Dear Miss Heartphilia,

I understand that you request a letter of referral for a Mister Gajeel Redfox in respect to orders he has placed with you. It would be my pleasure to furnish you with said letter.

I met Gajeel Redfox as a young man, unkempt and out of control. He sought a place in the queen's forces as a way to vent his violence on the world in a way that prevented him from becoming entangled with the police. I was personally responsible for his training.

I watched the violent young man turn into a splendid soldier in a few years. Gone were the callowness and back-talk, to be replaced by discipline and a strong sense of will. Perhaps most gratifyingly, he took up role as regiment quartermaster, in charge of our weaponry and equipment. Creation brought the man peace that destruction never could.

Unfortunately, in the line of duty, Mr Redfox suffered an injury that ended a possibly glorious career. It was with deep regret that I watched him be sent back home. However, it fills my heart with great joy to know that he has returned to an occupation of crafting. I hope to have a chance to visit it myself one day.

So, if one were to ask me if Mr Redfox would be a suitable client, then I give him my full backing as a member of the queen's officers. Please write to me if you require further correspondence. I am aware that this old man tends to ramble.

Yours sincerely,

Captain Makarov Dreyar

"He was injured in service?" Levy mumbled to herself. She hadn't seen an injury or a limp; what was the nature of the wound? But she remembered the way that he'd dodged Jetson's punch. That had clearly shown a level of fighting experience. And if it was the case that he'd become polite, he'd clearly regressed out of the military.

"The letter's not exactly the sort of thing we look for in a referral," Lucy noted, "but with the weight of a captain behind it, we thought that it was sufficient. That name, do you recognize it?"

"Makarov, wasn't he the one who won the campaign in India?" Levy asked to a nod of affirmation. That was certainly a famous war and it had made many famous names. Is that where Gajeel had fallen?

Lucy leaned forward, a predatory smile on her face. "Now, have I helped your investigation or your love life?"

Levy made her excuses to leave, blushing madly as she did so.

"The Trimen."

"Huh?" Levy wheeled to face Lucy again. She was resting her head against her hands and tears were at the corners of her eyes.

"Hibiki. Ren. Eve. I knew them all. They were foolhardy playboys, but they were good honest men. They didn't deserve this. Please, Levy. If you're going to catch this man, do it soon. I don't want any more people to die."

===][===

Alzack O'Connell yawned and looked up from his paperwork at the clock. It was late, he thought. He really should give up on this tax return for now. It could wait to the morning; Bisca might well not. He chuckled and went over to the coat rack, pulling his jacket over his shoulders.

He wheeled in place as his window exploded inwards, a darkened figure amongst the razor sharp glass, warded off by his thick black cloak. Alzack panicked; this could only be the famous Slayer! Perhaps if he could grasp his identity and flee he could be a hero!

But it was not to be, the Slayers face was now covered by a plain oval metal mask, revealing only his eyes amidst his crown of raven hair. He held up trembling hands.

"I am a simple accountant, you have no reason to kill me," he stammered, words spilling over one another in his haste to get them out.

"No, I don't," the Slayer agreed. "You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Alzack ducked to the side as a knife slammed into the wall behind where his head had just been. Diving behind his desk he drew a flintlock pistol from the second drawer down and surged over the desk, aiming it for where the murderer had just been. The Slayer was right in his face and wrenched the firearm out of his hands and smashed the grip into Alzack's face.

Alzack howled in pain as his nose broke and stumbled backwards onto his rear. He looked up to see the Slayer perched on his desk, looking down on him with the inquisitive gaze of a hawk making sure that its prey was finished. He reached inside of his cloak and another dagger slipped out.

For once, the Slayer didn't stop to enjoy himself and instead passed into the storeroom adjacent to the office. It was a short search to find the drawer marked 'B'. He pulled it open and began to rifle through the papers inside. He murmured as he searched.

"Bixlow…Bixlow, he said. It was Bixlow. Maybe Bickslow? Bickslough? Maybe not his surname?"

He was rewarded, clutching a bloody piece of paper in his gloved hands. Bixlow. A man's name and his wife.

And an address.