===Chapter 5===

Confrontation

"He's busy," Orga stated and slammed the door in Levy's face. She stood there for a moment, simply staring at the wood in surprise. Jetson watched her warily, practically able to see the steam pouring from her ears. She knocked again, harder and harder, but gained no response.

"Nothing we can do for now," Jetson said kindly. "We can just go and get a warrant and…"

He stopped as Levy took off her hat, removed a hairpin and picked the lock on the front door. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment as she disappeared inside and then dashed in after her with a pathetic squeal.

"What are you doing?" Orga snarled as he stormed back into the foyer. He glanced at the door. Had he not closed it properly? "I told you to leave!"

"And I chose not to," Levy retorted, ignoring the fact that this man was probably three times her weight, and angry as hell. "I am here to see Master Rogue and you will convey that message!"

"Why you little-" Orga ground out in a strangled voice. "I don't care who you are; if you trespass on this estate I will forcibly throw you out!"

"Thank you, Mr Nanagear, that will be enough," Rogue ordered as he entered the scene, walking down the stairs. Levy stared. He was naked, save for a towel around his waist. It exposed several scars on his torso. "I do wish Miss McGarden could have waited, though. I will require a few minutes to make myself decent. Please lead them to my study, Mr Nanagear."

"As you wish, my lord." Orga bowed low and led the pair away. As they waited for Rogue, Levy scanned the books on his shelves. It was all fairly standard literary affair, but she always felt happier when dealing with a well read person. Now dressed in fairly casual attire, Rogue joined them.

"Now, what couldn't wait for my bath?" He asked with thinly concealed amusement. "Have you located the killer yet?"

"No, Mr Cheney. In fact, we are here to question you on your whereabouts last night." A frosty silence descended on the room. Rogue's normally inscrutable expression only deepened.

"I was not aware that I was a suspect," he said at last.

"The most recent victim left a message that the Slayer had red eyes. A most uncommon eye colour, I am sure that you will agree."

"Not in my family," he responded easily, "but I can see why that may lead you here when combined with Sting's murder. You ask where I was last night? I can't give you any reassurance. I was here, alone in my room reading."

"What were you reading?" Levy asked.

"Huh? I don't see how that's relevant," Rogue replied coldly.

"Oh come now, Mr Cheney. Fulfil a fellow bibliophile's curiosity," Levy teased lightly. He didn't appear to share her camaraderie, sensing some deeper trap here. "You must remember, surely?"

"In fact I do not," He replied with some annoyance cracking through his façade. "I was drowsy and unfocused. I have no memory of which book I read."

"You…couldn't even think of a lie on the spot?" Levy asked archly. "Could you have not simply said 'Romeo and Juliet', or 'Macbeth'?"

"I'm not lying!" Rogue shouted hotly. Jetson tensed, interposing himself between the pair. Rogue's eyes flickered up at him with an angry snarl, but he made no aggressive movement. "Even if you believe my alibi to be dubious, that does not make me a murderer!"

"Murderer? Who said there was a murder last night?" Levy asked with a triumphant smile.

"Don't play such childish word games! Do you really think that you can ask me of my whereabouts on a given date during a murder investigation and that I wouldn't leap to that conclusion?" Rogue blazed with passion now.

"Rogue darling, perhaps you should tell them the truth," said a light female voice stepping into the study. She was a woman with dusky black hair and faint crimson irises. She carried herself elegantly into the room, moving with clear poise and grace.

"Mother," Rogue said quietly.

"I am Lady Cynthia Cheney, Rogue's mother. My son is telling you the truth, Inspector."

"Are you witness to his alibi?" Levy asked.

"No, I cannot vouch for his exact whereabouts, but as to the quandary of which book he was reading, I can shed some light."

"Mother, please," Rogue hissed. His mother smacked him over the back of the head.

"These are serious matters! You cannot hide your shame to save face here! You see, Inspector, my son suffers from a neurological condition that causes him to be unable to read."

"Dyslexia?" Levy asked, remembering that Rogue's family were doctors.

"Yes, a rather serious case. I have no doubt that he was reading, but I suspect that he was failing. Weren't you, darling?" Rogue looked away, face burning. "Poor thing tries so hard, but the letters are all a jumble to him."

"Shut up! I don't want sympathy!" Rogue snapped. He turned to leave the room, seething with anger. "I'm done talking with you! Orga! Throw the Inspector out!"

===][===

"Well, he certainly got touchy quickly," Jetson mumbled as they road in the back of a coach, returning to Levy's office. "You know, we can get a warrant and go back."

"I don't see much point at this time. He's answered all that I want to know. And if he is truly unable to read or write, then he isn't a suspect." She frowned, pushing her finger into her brow as she thought. "Both of our suspects had red eyes. That in itself is an amazing coincidence. But now, neither was the red-eyed killer? We have nothing?"

"Maybe red eyes meant something else. Maybe he was talking about his own death, that he saw the grim reaper or something."

"A bit philosophical for your dying moments," Levy replied wearily. She was tired. Her progress had hit zero. There were two basic ways forward. Prove that Gajeel or Rogue actually could read, or find another man with red eyes. Maybe another Cheney?

She looked up at a commotion and called for the driver to stop. Outside, a crowd was forming as Brother Zeref was again preaching. Levy gasped. Red eyes. And listening to him briefly, he sounded like he could possibly be the Slayer himself. Was he so foolish as to make himself so visible? She jumped out of the coach.

"Oi you!" She shouted, struggling to be heard as she pushed through the crowd. Why was everyone so damn tall? "I have some questions for you!"

Zeref glanced down at the tiny girl, having pushed her way to the very front, looking somewhat flustered for the experience. His smile was leering and ugly.

"And who do we have here, little girl? Lost your mother?"

"Where were you last night?" She shouted, cutting straight to the point.

"I was at home, deep in prayer. I called for the Slayer to show his justice and he did! Isn't it great?"

"People are dying!" Levy yelled, unable to control her rising anger. To be a murderer was one thing, but to be so sick as to applaud a murderer? She knew that criminals were like celebrities to some people, but still…this made her feel unwell.

"People should die!" He laughed maniacally. "You're all scum, worthy of the guillotine!"

The crowd began to boo and jeer and objects were thrown. Brother Zeref grimaced and jumped down from his crate, fleeing down an alleyway. Levy was about to run after him when she felt a hand reach into her pocket. Startled, she tried to grasp the offending arm, but with a powerful wrench she was sent spinning to the floor.

"Levy!" Jetson cried, hurrying to help her up, fearful of her being trodden in the crowd.

"My notebook!" She wailed, realising what had been stolen. But her assailant had long since disappeared into the crowd. She'd never even gotten a glimpse of him.

===][===

Fried eventually stopped running to check if he was being followed. He waited until his heart stopped pounding in his chest, and then began to skim Levy's notebook.

"Gajeel Redfox and Rogue Cheney? I imagine that Laxus will wish to 'interrogate' them as well."

===][===

It was late and the moon had risen, though it was concealed behind a heavy cloud bank. Levy sat sadly in her office. Mira had repeatedly tried to get her to retire for the night, but Levy couldn't. She was just so depressed. Everything was going so badly.

She had two suspects and it seemed that both were most likely innocent. There was a new, third suspect, but the preacher seemed like a talker rather than a doer in Levy's opinion.

Her notebook had been stolen. That was worrying. Why had anyone considered it worth taking? Who was interested in the case? And most importantly…if she had been a full grown male, she wouldn't have lost it, would she? No, it was the tiny weakling girl who had lost it. Everyone was right; she just wasn't cut out for this. Maybe she had the mind, but it wasn't enough.

She looked down at her attire. Bereft of her coat, she was wearing a vest and britches – both clothes made for young boys. They were the only things that fit her size. It was a constant reminder of her frailness, her limitation. What happened if she actually found the criminal? He'd overpower her in seconds.

Just as she was about to sigh despondently for the hundredth time, she heard someone shouting from the street outside. Looking out of the window, there was a green-haired woman strolling down the road with a rifle in her hands. She was shouting for the Slayer to show himself.

Levy didn't really think, she just acted. Pausing only to grab Gajeel's cane sword, she hurried from the office to confront this woman.

===][===

"Come out, you coward! You killed my husband, why don't you try killing me?" Bisca hollered down the street. She could hear people in windows whispering about the madwoman trying to get herself killed.

Levy ran up, shivering in the cold night air. Belatedly she wished she snagged her coat on the way out.

"Please ma'am, it's late and it's cold. Why don't you return to your home?" She asked kindly, politely.

"Get lost, Shorty. I've got a date with the Slayer," Bisca returned harshly.

"Um, you're Bisca O'Connell, right? I was there at the scene of your husband's death. I understand that you're hurt and confused-"

"Understand!?" Bisca swung around and Levy flinched as the barrel of the rife came her way. "You understand nothing, child! Do you know what it's like to have your lover taken away in an instant?"

"Um…no…"

"Then you understand nothing!"

Levy made a decision. As Bisca turned back, she threw herself at the larger woman, trying to knock the gun out of her hands. Levy might be small, but she'd learnt the close-combat training methods of Scotland Yard. This was her first real-life application, but she managed to stun Bisca and get the weapon pointing at the ground.

Bisca snarled and drove the stock back into Levy's sternum, sending her to fall on her ass on the hard cobblestones. As she looked up, Bisca was over her, pointing the rifle at her face, point blank. Levy could not understand the pain that drove a person to act this way.

There was a sound, awful, deafening. The sound of hundreds and hundreds of heavy metal chain links being dragged across the cobblestones of the street. In whatever mood had taken him this night, he'd wrapped them around his arms and legs, thinking that they added to his terror.

Levy was shaking like a leaf. The man was tall, but his girth was hidden under his heavy leather cloak. A metal oval mask covered his face, leaving black hair falling everywhere, length indeterminable in the darkness of the street. Eyes like rubies burned in the eyeholes of the mask.

"I have been challenged. This cannot go unanswered."

Said the Slayer.