Chapter Two

They followed Armstrong without a word through the dimly lit halls of the residence. Riza kept her eyes on the large man's back, watching the way his shoulders moved, riding high with a tension she herself could feel.

They reached the library, its huge oak doors pulled shut, and Armstrong stopped turning to face them.

"Before we go in," he said somberly, "I need to warn you that what you're about to see is rather… shocking."

Roy looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded. "Go ahead, Major."

The first thing Riza saw past Roy's shoulder as the door opened was the blood. A small pool of it was on the polished hardwood floor, stopping just shy of the expensive Xingese rug that was stretched in front of the hearth. She only had time for a brief glimpse, before Roy abruptly turned and caught her around the shoulders, easing her back.

"No." His voice was low, urgent with the need to prevent her from seeing any more. "You don't need to see this, trust me."

Riza pulled away from him. "Sir, I-"

Then she caught the look. His eyes were wide, watching her with the sort of haunted shock that she hadn't seen since….

Since Hughes….

His hand touched her arm, a gesture meant to he comforting, but with that look on his face, all it did was raise goosebumps over half her body.

He saw her look turn determined, and his own eyes widened with the realization of what she was about to do. "Lieutenant, don't -"

Too late. Shrugging free of him, she ducked past his arm, dodged the hand Armstrong reached toward her, and slipped through the door into the library.

The body lay face-down on the floor, facing away from the rough stone fireplace with the blood underneath the white-haired head. A wooden carving of a growling badger, at least two feet in length, lay on the floor a short distance from the old man's body, the snarling head coated in blood.

Riza stood still, taking it all in before her eyes roamed the shadowed corners of the room as if the perpetrator might still be lurking there.

Roy's hand brushed against her back, his arm wrapping around her shoulders in preparation for leading her away. "Hawkeye, I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Come on, you can't-"

She pushed his hand away, stepping deeper into the room. In the heavy gold-framed mirror above the fireplace mantle, she was aware of Roy turning to look at Armstrong, shaking his head with a rueful, half-felt smile at her stubbornness. Ignoring him, she circled to the right, coming up on Grumman's right side.

She pulled the thin chiffon outer layer of her dress over her hand before pressing two fingers to the old man's neck.

Roy watched, feeling something inside tearing at his heart as he watched her kneel beside the body and check for a pulse. It seemed so incongruous, this beautiful young woman whose face was so solemn and betrayed nothing when only fifteen minutes ago, she had been smiling at him with promise for after they left.

He saw her withdraw her hand and sit back, looking vaguely confused and unsettled. She met his gaze for a brief moment before she turned her attention to the envelope still in her hand from the Solstice tree.

He moved toward her as she opened it and pulled out a note. He didn't see the words, but they seemed to ease some of her confusion, or at least comfort her.

She folded it in half before he reached her, hiding the words, and he didn't press to know what they said. This was not the time or place. Gently, he helped her to her feet, keeping his arm around her for her own comfort as much as his own.

"I'm sorry, Armstrong rumbled quietly as they reached him. "I thought you two would be best to notify first. Though now that you know…." He hesitated briefly. "I'm afraid I have to ask you not to leave the premises until we get this sorted out."

Roy's head snapped up. "Just what are you saying, Major?"

The big man looked uncomfortable as he ushered them out and closed the door. "Only what's true of everyone else here: no one is above suspicion."

Once again in the ballroom, it was mere moments before the rest of Roy's staff gathered around, Rebecca joining them moments later.

"What's going on, Chief?" Havoc asked quietly, eyes travelling around the vicinity. Men and women were casting curious surreptitious glances at the little group.

"It's, uh…." Roy shot Riza a nervous glance, but found her as impassive as before. "It would appear," he said softly, leaning forward to allow his voice to remain at conspiratorial levels, "that the Führer-President has been murdered."

Stunned silence fell on the little group, four pairs of eyes widening as they stared. Rebecca reached out, settling a sympathetic hand on Riza's back.

"Dare I ask with what?" Falman asked, voice hushed.

"One of those wooden carved statues he was always polishing," Roy murmured. "Somebody…." He dragged a hand over his face, suddenly weary. "Somebody… took it to his head."

Fuery gulped, the colour draining out of his face. Breda swore quietly.

"So who do they -"

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention again!" Armstrong was back in the door, with a shaken-looking young woman who clutched nervously at a piece of paper.

"We are beginning our initial investigation into what has occurred," Armstrong began gravely. "We are -"

"What happened, exactly?" someone in the crowd called, eliciting shouts of agreement. Armstrong quieted the room with a gesture before continuing.

"As I was saying, we are going to begin speaking to persons of interest in the case. When you hear your name called, please step forward."

The young woman - Grumman's secretary, Roy recalled - handed her paper to Armstrong, who began to read names aloud.

Major-General Armstrong. General Hakuro. Colonel Mustang. Major Miles. First Lieutenant Hawkeye. Second Lieutenant Breda. Second Lieutenant Catalina. Second Lieutenant Falman. Second Lieutenant Havoc. Sergeant-Major Fuery. Former First Lady Bradley.

Gasps of shock echoed continuously throughout the recitation, but Armstrong paid them no mind. Finished, he looked up. "Please keep in mind that at this time, you are not charged with anything or even true suspects. We are merely trying to get to the bottom of things. In the meantime we ask that the rest of you remain here. Thank you."

The little group assembled and moved out together, accompanied by two of the plainclothed guards and led by Armstrong, toward the spacious study. Roy, walking just behind Riza, saw her shoulders rise in a brief shudder as she passed through the doors, and a wave of sympathy passed over him. Out of sight of the others, he let his hand brush hers on its backswing. She looked back, giving a small smile.

They dispersed to the seating scattered about the room, and Roy took advantage of the sudden distance to murmur, "You okay?"

"Yes," she said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "Just… memories. Having to come here when it was Bradley's."

He nodded, understanding, stopping behind a dark brown leather club chair and handing her into it in gentlemanly fashion. Around the semi-circular seating arrangement that faced the fireplace, the persons of interest settled into places with reactions anywhere from curiosity to trepidation.

"I'd like to begin," Armstrong said, "by reiterating that you are not suspects. The Führer-President has been murdered –" Gasps and exclamations of reaction came from around the circle. "– but you are not suspects. Not yet."

His sister's eyes flashed with annoyance; like Riza she was seated in a plush club chair with Miles standing just behind it. "Then just why are we here, Alex?"

To his credit, the big man flinched, but only slightly. "To determine whether or not any of you could be suspects. I went through the guest list for this evening, and all of you were deemed to be the people with the most reason to want the Führer-President dead."

Everyone spoke as one. "What?!"

Hakuro's face reddened with anger. "I seriously hope you are joking, Major. To accuse any of us of the possibility of being a murderer, on Solstice Eve of all times…."

"Nevertheless, General, there has been a murder, and it needs to be investigated." Unlike with his sister, Armstrong did not allow himself to be cowed into submission this time. "And since I'm from the Investigations Office, it logically falls to me."

"And just what have we done to warrant suspicion?" Riza asked calmly.

"I was getting to that." Armstrong consulted the list still in his hand. "We may as well start from the top."

"Olivier: your ambition is no secret, and neither is your role in the battle of Central last spring. It stands to reason that you could be harbouring some resentment toward Grumman for assuming a position that you coveted for yourself." He looked to the man standing behind his sister's chair. "As for your assistant, he could have acted on your behalf."

Olivier's smile was as frosty as her nickname might imply. "Loyal to a fault."

"You could say." Armstrong glanced back at the list. "General Hakuro, your potential motive stands as your open disapproval of Grumman's leadership, and the several counts in your file of insubordination toward him directly."

Scowling, Hakuro folded his arms across his chest. "It's considered suspect to disagree with someone's politics or their management style?"

"Most people, myself included, tend to regard any strong feeling - especially feeling evidence by action such as insubordination - as potential motive," Armstrong explained. "I hope you'll pardon my saying so, sir, but people have killed for less."

Another quick look at the list. "Colonel. Your motive is the same as Olivier's: you're an ambitious man, and Grumman beat you to the top after your actions on the Promised Day that could have put you on the track toward the Presidency."

Roy had shifted to rest one hip on the wide armrest of Riza's chair, his hands folded comfortably in his lap. "It would make more sense if Grumman hadn't been a personal mentor of mine for several years," he pointed out. "Not to mention a family friend."

"Most murders are committed by someone known to the victim," Hakuro pointed out, just loud enough for the group to hear. "Personal relationships in a case like this only tend to strengthen motive, not weaken it."

"Which brings us to Lieutenant Hawkeye," Armstrong interrupted before a verbal sparring match could get too far off the ground. "Like Major Miles, she could have been trying to secure a better position for her superior… but that's not the only factor." Blue eyes looked at her; Riza stared back, unintimidated. "There's always the possibility of a harboured resentment for the years of estrangement from your grandfather."

"Come again?" Olivier leaned forward in her seat. "Did I hear that right? The old man was her grandfather?"

"Estranged, but yes," Riza answered calmly. "But I don't hold that estrangement against him. If I'm to have a motive in this, it should be loyalty and nothing else."

Armstrong nodded, but turned back to his list once again. "Unfortunately, the same can also be said of the rest of Colonel Mustang's staff, including Second Lieutenant Falman. All of you have reason for wanting to see your superior succeed, even if it's only to give yourselves a higher position since you would doubtless be carried along with him.

"Second Lieutenant Catalina, your motive is a little more serious." He looked up. "Am I right in saying that, at one time or another you have mentioned incidents of sexual harassment perpetrated on you by Grumman?"

Rebecca flushed. "…Once or twice, but never anything terribly serious. Or at least, I didn't take him seriously. If I had, I would have reported him, or at the very least asked Riza to tell him off if I didn't do so myself."

"I see. Which, last but not least, brings us to our former First Lady." Armstrong's expression turned sympathetic as he looked to the older woman. "Ma'am, it brings me no joy to say this, but –"

"Then allow me," she said, with near-perfect composure. "I have motive to have committed the murder because Grumman occupied the position held by my late husband, and perhaps I resented that fact."

"Exactly."

"Hold on just a minute," Roy put in, looking hard at Armstrong. "You're presenting all these motives, but let's not forget that motive is only part of the equation. There are three criteria to meet: motive, means, and opportunity." He spread his hands. "Sure, anyone can be said to have motive, even a flimsy one. But you need the other two before the MPs will even consider an arrest."

"Fair point," Miles spoke up. "You said the Führer-President was – my apologies, Lieutenant Hawkeye – bludgeoned to death with a wooden statue? Am I right in calling this a crime of passion then? Severe rage?"

Roy nodded. "From what I saw, there were a few good blows, and that statue is no featherweight. It would take someone with muscle in addition to anger. Which I think would exclude Miles, Falman, and the majority of my staff, save Hawkeye. Anyone who's motive wouldn't be resentment or anger-based."

"I can agree to that," Olivier commented, almost grudgingly. "If we're narrowing down the persons of interest, why don't we send anyone we eliminate back to the ballroom? It's not like they're going anywhere yet."

"Very well." Armstrong looked first to Falman and Miles, then to Havoc, Breda, and Fuery. "You can all go, but remain in the ballroom with everyone else where we can recall you if necessary."

The five men just reached the door, where they passed a guard entering, carrying a second piece of paper. This, he passed to Armstrong, who read it over briefly, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. "You're sure?" he asked the guard. "All these sources are viable? Unbiased?"

"Yes, sir, though there's one other thing." The guard cast a look at the others in the room before adding, "We checked the murder weapon for prints but only found the Führer-President's. Whoever it was must have worn gloves."

Armstrong's frown deepened. "I see. Well, nevertheless, well done." He waited until the man had gone, before holding up the new page. "I've had the guard asking around, trying to see if any of you had the opportunity to slip away from the party and commit the murder. So far, multiple witnesses place all of you in the ballroom at the time."

Hakuro suddenly went very still. "They can place all of us there," he said slowly, "but don't I remember seeing you slip out the doors?" His eyes narrowed. "And don't we only have your word that you only found the body, instead of committing the murder yourself?"

"I did lose track of you for a little while." A similar expression was on Olivier's face now as she regarded her brother. "And you certainly have the strength to get the job done, Alex." She didn't look away as her brother turned to her in surprise. "Hakuro has a point. You told me you had an appointment with Grumman, and the next thing I know, you come back saying he's dead."

"Except he has no motive," Rebecca put in.

"Not to mention that the first thing you learn about Major Armstrong is that he's essentially harmless," Riza added. "He would never attack anyone without provocation or reason."

"Then who did it?!" Hakuro demanded. "Or do you think it was ghosts?"

"I did it!"