===Chapter 4===

Decapitation Strike

"So he can read," Levy stated firmly, assessing the crime scene in one go. The assembled policemen looked at her as if she was insane. Amidst all of this devastation, with a dead body lying over there, she was talking about reading?

"But all of this damage," Macao spluttered.

"The devastation is not total," Levy asserted. "There was a fight in this room – the damage to the furniture and window makes that clear – but then only a single drawer was ruined in this other room. He was searching for something. I suspect that Mr O'Connell may have just been unfortunate."

"What would he have been searching for?" Wakaba asked, interest clearly piqued.

"Someone's name beginning with 'B'. I imagine he was trying to hunt someone down and was hoping that he was a client at Mr O'Connell's practice."

"Who?" Macao asked.

"I don't know, I'm looking for the name that isn't here. It would be impossible to deduce. Hmm…constable, could you please put out a press release asking all of Mr Connell's clients whose surname begins with 'B' to meet you at the station? Then cross-reference them with the files here."

"That's a lot of work for little chance of reward," Macao grumbled.

"I know, but we have so few leads, we must chase everything," Levy said fiercely. She turned to leave. "In fact, there is something I have to confirm one way or another."

===][===

"Can you read!?" Levy demanded sharply as she burst into Gajeel's workshop apropos of nothing. He looked up at her from his anvil, clearly bewildered.

"W-what?"

"I asked if you could read! You told me that you couldn't!"

"What the fuck, woman?" Gajeel growled angrily. "Are you trying to mock me? I know my flaws and I don't need you rubbing them in!"

"This is important!" Levy insisted.

"Do you think I won't beat the shit out of you because you're the law? Because you're a little girl? You better start making some fucking sense right now or I'll place your head on this anvil and smash it like a watermelon!"

"It concerns your innocence! I can't say more than that, so just tell me!" She pressed hotly.

"No! I can't fucking read! Not a single fucking letter!" He shouted at her, stomping closer to loom intimidatingly over her head. "I know how to write Gajeel Redfox and that's it! Oh, I also know that the first one is called g if that's a big deal," he spat sarcastically.

Levy took out a notepad and pen. "Write red."

"What?"

"It's part of your name! Write the word red!"

Gajeel frowned, confused by her tactics. He took the items and with trembling, inexpert hands scribbled something and handed it back to Levy. She took a look and sighed in relief.

He'd written the word 'fox'.

"Thank you, Mr Redfox. I believe you. You could be tricking me, but I don't think so. Thank you for your cooperation."

"Humph. Thanks," he replied coarsely, rolling his eyes. He turned back towards his anvil. "Now get the fuck out of here while I'm still being polite."

===][===

Levy felt oddly glad to strike Gajeel off as a suspect. In truth it made life harder, but it felt good to prove a man's innocence. Even though he could be faking illiteracy…no! She had to trust her instincts. He seemed completely sincere.

She entered her grounds and bumped right into Droy as she wandered lost in thought.

"Oh Droy! Forgive my clumsiness!" She cried, going bright red at her foolishness.

"N…not at all," he replied, going bright red for a different reason. He watched her leave and enter her house. He felt so stupid. She was far too good for him. But he wished he could be like that lucky orange-haired bastard who got to spend time with her all day.

He frowned, noticing a figure standing near the garden gate. It was a woman with long brown hair and delicate glasses.

"Excuse me ma'am, can I help you?" He called. Evergreen glowered at him and turned to leave without speaking. Droy frowned as she left. Had she been…following Levy?

===][===

Bixlow returned to his apartment in the small hours of the morning, exhausted. Laxus was really driving them in this matter. Gildartz wanted the impossible, and they would have to do it. Still, tonight had been incident free. He lit an oil lamp as he entered his home and set it down on the living room table as he normally did.

His heart stopped.

Right next to the lamp, square in the centre of the table was the head of his father, expression set to slack nothingness. He was shaking so violently, unable to comprehend the grisly scenario before him.

"You're a hard man to find."

Bixlow unashamedly squealed like a little girl, prancing away from the sound of that terrible voice. Shadowed in the doorway to the next room was the shrouded form of the Slayer, face still covered by the iron mask.

"Nice mask," Bixlow replied with a grin, trying to find some strength in bravado. "I like it."

The mask cocked inquisitively. "No response to the death of your father?"

"Psh. Pretentious asshole never approved of me. Glad he's dead, really."

"Oh? Then maybe this'll cheer you up." The Slayer threw something at Bixlow and he caught it with both hands. He hurriedly dropped the severed head of his mother in abject disgust. "Not so happy? See, I've been looking for you, and I found your parents instead. I asked them where you were. Your father was most compliant as your mother bled out."

"You're one sick son of a bitch," Bixlow growled. "You might kill me, but the boys will get you eventually."

"Now that's something I'd like to talk about," the Slayer said menacingly, advancing into the room. "You were chasing me. Why?"

"You killed our bosses' daughter. That insult cannot stand."

"I did? That's quite possible. The faces all sort of run together after a while."

"You're insane," Bixlow said breathlessly. "You kill for no reason. Five people so far."

"Five?" The Slayer laughed uproariously, shoulders shaking, head thrown back. "FIVE!? You have no idea! I have killed precisely one hundred and thirty six people. I'll add you to the list, right now."

Bixlow was pondering how he could have killed so many people if it had just come to light as he realised the import of his words. The Slayer closed the distance with staggering speed, blade produced from somewhere. His arm struck swiftly.

There was the sound of ringing metal. Bixlow had drawn his own stiletto dagger and parried the blow. The men's unusual eyes, one set ruby, one emerald met. They clashed, knives flickering at high speed. Bixlow winced as cuts appeared on his arms and one on his cheek. He couldn't penetrate this bastard's defences at all in return. He may be an opportunist, but he was no weakling.

He took a step back to regain his bearings as his foot caught something and he stumbled. In true macabre fashion, he saw his mother's head roll away as the Slayer pounced on him, driving him to the floor and knocking the breath from his lungs.

Both daggers were in the Slayer's possession now and he slammed them down into Bixlow's hands, pinning him to the floor. He placed a hand over the screaming mouth to stifle the noise. His mask came low, inches from Bixlow's nose.

"Now, before I let you die, I've got a few questions."

===][===

"That proves nothing," Jetson grumbled, arms folded. "In fact, it makes no sense. Even if he can't read, he can understand that red comes before fox and know that those are the letters to use."

"Jetson, please! I know that you don't care for him as a man, but he is not a murderer!"

"I never thought that he…" Jetson stopped abruptly and sighed, rubbing his temples. "Okay, if we're done wasting time with dead ends, do we have any leads on the case at all? Has Constable Macao contacted you about your idea yet?"

"No, but it's not likely to turn anything up," Levy replied glumly.

Mira burst into the office, clearly urgent. "Levy, Constable Wakaba is here to grab you; there's been another murder."

===][===

"Do we know who this man is?" Levy asked, looking down at the body. It was a most disturbing scene. Not only had the man been decapitated, but his head joined two others on the table, arranged in some macabre game.

"Um…the neighbours called him Bixlow, but none seemed to know his first name. It seems that he kept to himself and was out all the ungodly hours of the night," Wakaba filled in from his report.

"Bixlow…his name began with a 'B'," Levy replied, frowning deeply as she thought.

"Coincidence?" Wakaba shrugged. "If not, it would be the first incidence so far of the Slayer hunting down a specific individual so far."

"Yes it would," Levy agreed distractedly. She was looking at the man's right hand. There was evidence of stigmata through both palms, but apparently at some point between that and being separated from his head, his hand had been released and he had scrawled a messy message with his own blood.

Red eyes

"Oh no," Levy mumbled. That wasn't reassuring, but if this described his assailant, then it certainly narrowed things down a bit. A bit too much, for Levy's liking. "Come, dear Jetson! We must speak with Master Cheney and see if he has an alibi for last night."

===][===

Outside, Laxus watched the policemen at the scene from a distance. He seethed with rage, angry that Bixlow had allowed himself to die, furious at the Slayer for crossing him and worried about how much Bixlow had let on before he had died.

"Ever," he called coldly. "The second they're gone, I want you combing that scene for any little detail. We need to get a step ahead of this bastard quickly. Fried?"

"Yes, Laxus?"

"That girl. Follow her. She must have notes on the crime scenes so far. See if you can steal them. She's from the Yard, so I want to avoid hurting her, but in the end of the day, beat the shit out of her if you have to. We need information and fast. If we're slow, it may not be Gildartz who has our heads."

A moment passed where no one spoke and Laxus sighed, his shoulders sagging briefly.

"For Bixlow."

"For Bixlow," his comrades agreed with small smiles.

===][===

In a large square, a crowd was gathering. A preacher in a dark habit stood upon a wooden crate, gesturing wildly and lecturing the audience. He had raven hair and crimson eyes, called himself Brother Zeref and considered himself the Slayer's disciple.

"Don't you see? London is corrupt! The Slayer wishes to seek out corruption and excise those scum from our society!" He spoke with the fervour of a madman, convinced of his words.

"You're a loony!" Someone called from the audience and they laughed at the insult, enraging Brother Zeref.

"You are all fools! The Slayer is grand! Born of shadow, forged by iron! He's is god's hand! No, he is God himself, the Lord's wrath made incarnate! He will – gurkh!" His tirade cut off as someone kicked the crate out from underneath him and he hurtled into the cobbled street below. He rolled over, moaning feebly. A sharp heel dug into his chest and his angry cry stopped as his open mouth had a gun muzzle pushed into it.

A green-haired woman snarled down at him with fury. "If you consider this asshole son of a whore to be a god, then do me a favour. When you go to your bed this night, get on your knees, put your hands together, bow your head and tell him that Bisca O'Connell is going to blow his head off!"